by Les Goodrich
Colin absently drove the speed limit through nearly nonexistent traffic across the narrow highway that crossed the sea. At one point where no cars were visible in either direction Dolph could almost imagine how the islands might have looked a hundred years ago. In his mind he deleted the endless power lines and the skulking remains of Henry Flagler’s glorious railroad. That trans-Atlantic train had romanticized the tiny isles until Labor Day 1935 when a hurricane swept it out to sea like dried leaves under a porch broom leaving only the decaying arched concrete track platform. Five hundred seventy-seven bodies were recovered but skeletons still occasionally and to this day, Dolph had heard said, wash ashore or are found entangled among the Red Mangrove roots.
Dolph lost himself in thought and he wondered if such things were some higher power’s way of dealing with mankind’s arrogance or volition. It happened on the Titanic. It happened on the Hindenburg. And it happened again on a train that was now an artificial reef. On the first two occasions hundreds of society’s finest had dressed to the hilt, clad their privileged children in bonnets and bows, set forth waving silk scarves and holding parasols only to be obliterated from the Earth. In the case of the Overseas Railroad it was tough-as-nails World War I veterans who had joined on as highway workers along with defiant, tenacious Keys settlers who looked to man’s machines to rescue them and were decimated. These were just three instances that Dolph could readily think of where man’s efforts to defy nature had resulted in disaster. But these three events had caused dramatic loss of human life that came with water, fire and wind. The idea was biblical and he wondered why he had never thought of it before. All of those people dead he thought. But none of them any more dead than you will be someday. None of them any more dead than every person you have ever known or will ever know or not know. And someday this bridge too will be at the bottom of the sea. And the fish will swim over it. And under it. And none of them will waste such thoughts as you have today considering those who drove machines across this concrete highway that feels so solid and seems so permanent but that is, like all coveted and strived for things, exceedingly fleeting and barely yours on loan.
Perhaps he thought of these things to stray his mind from something else. Or perhaps these thoughts were coming to him more than from him simply because they were true.
Colin, however, had been considering Murphy’s offer full force since leaving the bar. Visions of action ran through his mind: car chases through the cities at night, the radio blaring some strange instrumental. Girls in bikinis with nickel-plated automatics. Of course not he thought but whatever it is it’s better than anything so far and he felt absorbed by a concentrated awareness. A deep seeded desire for excitement had been aroused and it was as if this desire took the shape of a demon, a reckless yet charming rogue, who had taken up residence to drive from the back of his mind and he knew it would be there for some time.
Dolph finally abandoned his efforts to ignore the offer and began to think about it also. Images of a perfectly planned and executed robbery thrilled his imagination. His thoughts came in rapid interconnected pulses like the grouped three-round bursts of a controlled marksman firing a machine gun. He questioned and answered himself for an hour.
Why do it? Why not do it? Could they get away with it? What would happen if they got caught? Would it be worth it? What if Murphy was a cop? Murphy is no cop. How much money could they make? Would it be worth it? What if they got caught? What if they got away with it?
Dolph smiled and then caught himself. Was he seriously considering this? He looked at Colin. Colin too was wondering if his friend was actually considering doing it. Colin’s mind was made up: he wanted to. At least he wanted to theoretically. And each of them knew the other was thinking about it but it was Colin who broke the silence.
“Have you ever wanted to just bail and ditch this whole rat race? Just haul ass to the Bahamas for the rest of your life?”
It was weak rhetoric and Colin knew the answer by heart; they had walked through the same conversation a million times.
“Yeah,” Dolph said routinely glad for a chat that would distract him from thinking.
Wish my dad would just slide me a couple hundred grand a year so I could get this shit over with and do whatever the hell I feel like for once. Open a marina. Something. He’d never even miss it.
“The money?”
“The money.”
“No shit.”
“No shit.”
“My dad either.”
“No shit.”
“No shit.”
Together they stalled. Neither of them was going to be the one to back out. They both craved it. They both wanted it although in different ways and for different reasons. But it would have only taken one of them to say no way once and the whole thing would have ended up just another Key West story.
“I think we should do it,” Colin said. “My dad’s got at least eighty grand of stuff between his two boats and that’s twenty-four grand cash for us and that’s one hell of a start.”
“Bullshit,” Dolph interrupted. “You damn well don’t give a shit about a lousy twenty-four grand.”
Twenty-four grand Dolph thought. His dad made that every day. He pictured himself behind his dad’s desk sweating forehead and cussing over the phone. Then he pictured himself in the Bahamas. No contest. He thought once again about how much money he would make taking over his dad’s business, or businesses, but screw the money. He never gave a shit about money and he knew it was because he had lived a life where that was never lacking but he hated how much people clung to it and guarded it even to the loss of their friendships and loves and families. He just wanted his own so he could do things the way he wanted to. Yes he had anything he could want and more but it was tragic and monotonous. No effort. No motivation. Lifeless and empty. Busting his ass to worry over closings and appraisals would never fill those voids. Maybe, he thought, if he had grown up poor like his dad then becoming a huge financial success would have been more important to him. But he had not and he really didn’t give a shit. He didn’t give a shit about much any more. He had grilled himself about his life one too many times and he was exhausted from it. How many nights was he supposed to spend awake screaming silently into his pillow until the alarm clock sounded? How many times was he expected to repeat his college/major/law school/Dad’s over-paid assistant spiel to people he despised? How much weed could he smoke and how much rum could he drink and how many girls could he find and chase and lose? He knew Colin felt the same way whether he had considered the reasons or not. He wondered if he had wanted something like this to happen. He disliked the train he had been on his entire life and he never boarded that train he was born on it and maybe it was time to get off before the big hurricane came and swept him out to drown at sea. Maybe this was a chance to get off and stretch his legs before climbing back on for good. He knew that this chance was now or never.
“Listen,” Colin was on a roll.
We could clean both the boats out in an hour I bet. Be in Miami and back before anyone noticed. The shit’s insured he’d get it right back and he’d probably come out ahead. Christ we’d be doing him a favor. Hell he’d probably—
“No you listen,” Dolph cut him short, “we aren’t stealing shit from your dad.”
“Well he’s not gonna give it to us.”
What I mean is that any dipshit can steal from his parents. Taking stuff from your dad is no great idea. Too personal. Too close to home I mean it couldn’t be any closer. You’d have to be there when the cops came. And they would. Anyone you run into who watches the news or reads the Miami Herald and knows your dad would want to talk about it. How tragic it was and how lowly a state the country has fallen into and how they told your dad not to build in the shores and you having to deal with it every time. Besides, the whole thing reminds me of that kid in high school who stole his mom’s Volvo and traded it for ninety dollars-worth of crack. Remember that?
“Don’t try crack,” Colin said.
“No shit,” Dolph agreed.
“Are you serious then,” Colin moved on. “You want to rob another boat?”
“Or boats,” Dolph added and he had never been more serious. “It will take a good amount of cash to make it worth the risk.” Yet they both knew the money was nothing to them. The risk was the motivation. Colin shook that out of his head and answered.
“Yeah but if we rob my dad’s boat we get grounded. If we do it for real we go to jail.”
“Only if we get caught,” Dolph looked at his lifelong friend and smiled. Colin looked away to the driving road ahead and could not believe what he was hearing and now was more excited than before. He was also more worried. Now that this idea had taken such drastic germination and, it appeared, was being cultivated he began to think of more real world things. Things he had not thought of before.
“What if Murphy’s a cop?”
Thought about that. Why would a cop waste time to entrap two kids who never did anything worse than drink on a fake ID? Do you think that he picked us because we look like world-class thieves? No. He picked us because he could tell we were loaded. Since we know our way around a fishing trip he figured our old men have boats. And thanks to you now he knows it.
“Hey man, he could be an informant or something. What if we do it and the cops show up at our houses?”
Listen Stone, this guy has no idea who we are. He knows we aren’t local but no one down there is. He was sitting in that bar when we walked in. Been there all day said the gay senior citizen bartender. There is no way he saw us coming and beat us in there. You paid him in cash. No way he could tell anyone anything about us. Says he’ll give us thirty percent of the retail for as much gear as we can get. I think we can get a ton. I bet we can break his bank.
“We really have to plan this out,” Colin said slowly and glanced at his passenger who looked back at him and quickly asked, “Are you serious?”
“Are you?” was the answer.
“Yeah,” flatly.
“Fuck it then. We’ll do it.”
They both looked ahead and the Aston sped up the coast all the way to Ft Lauderdale without another word. An enormous boulder had been set into motion, and while it was beyond retrieve, no one made the slightest effort to stop it.
Chapter 11
By four p.m. Colin had passed through the iron gates, taxied down the long driveway and dropped his friend off on the coral stone steps that lead from the motor court up to the fourteen foot mahogany doors of his Mizner designed Spanish mansion. They agreed to get together later at Colin’s to begin making plans.
Colin made the drive down through the shitty part of town, across the river and up A1A to his own gate, his own driveway and up to his house—bright white at the top of the dune and framed by a blue ocean. He parked in the twelve-car garage. The staff lived in the three apartments above it and he looked up to those windows and saw no life. He jogged up the wide marble steps and went in through the front door that was never locked. He wasn’t sure it even locked.
“Hellooo,” he said to hear it echo.
The entire rear of the house faced the ocean and was pane glass two stories high and then some. The central room was a desert of white tile with an oasis of black leather furniture offset to the right of center overlooking the ocean and a modern steel beam sculpture on the other end a bit closer to and reflected in the tall wide glass wall.
“Hellooo,” he echoed again. He walked through the cavernous living room, through the dining room past the twenty-two seat black lacquer table and into the professional kitchen his mother had rarely seen. He opened the convenience store sized refrigerator that held a lunchbox worth of food and took out a green bottle of beer.
“Hellooo,” he said into the door as it sucked shut.
He made the climb upstairs and walked the hallway checking the doors of empty rooms like a night watchman on the beat.
“Hellooo. Any asshole parental figures home today? Yoohoo. Dad? Are you in there with the bookkeeper? Mother? You didn’t overdose on eyeliner again did you? Now that’s funny.”
Across town Dolph slid into the guest apartment trying to bypass the maid. He was in no mood for a thirty minute Spanglish conversation with Rosa, as sweet as she was.
He knew his mother was probably home but if he tried he could evade her at least until dinner. Not that he disliked her, but he had long since grown weary of her inane questioning and her shrieking overly friendly voice. She drank like a fish but never admitted to being drunk. She was the head honcho of the Lauderdale Ladies Garden Club who collectively put away more vodka than the whole of Russia and as far as he could tell never grew a bloody thing. It wasn’t until Dolph had gone away to school then returned for the holidays or summers that he seemed to notice her bothering him a bit.
He walked quickly down the covered walk from the guesthouse to the main. He slipped in the side door and Caina, the benevolent Great Dane, stood erect, draped his paws over Dolph’s shoulders and saturated his face with a big sloppy dog kiss.
“Caina how’s my boy. Jesus quit licking me now.”
He ducked out from underneath the giant’s arms and headed down the hall the dog galloping along behind him.
“Where’s Rosa boy? You didn’t eat her for lunch did ya?”
He snuck through the house, around antiques, across Spanish tiled floors amid paintings and statues and out across the grove-sized courtyard to his room. Caina followed him as far as the first sunny spot in the courtyard.
***
The boys each tried to relax and not think too hard about what had happened or might happen. Their parents had expected them back and back they were. Colin’s parents had planned to see him between five and seven, before Mr. Stone’s speech at the yacht club summer banquet. Dolph’s mother had told Rosa Dolph was expected home and to plan dinner with him in mind. Soon all of the parents and their sons would be home together.
At six o’clock, just as Dolph was sitting down to an artificial albeit splendid family dinner with his parents, Colin’s father pulled his everyday car, the navy blue Bentley (all of the family’s cars were navy blue), into the garage in the space adjacent the one where Colin had parked the Aston. Mr. Stone smiled when he saw the car glad that his old pal had made it home safely. He checked the paint for scratches and the leather for scuffs then took the elevator directly from the end of the garage up past the staff floor which he did not even consider and there was no elevator stop there anyway and beyond to the top where the door opened directly to the master suite’s carriage house foyer.
Minutes later as Rosa served the Stephensons appetizers, Mrs. Stone stepped from the stretch Mercedes driven by Whilhelm the driver and caretaker. She too took the elevator. Her new dress for the banquet under her arm.
When Mr. and Mrs. Stone had dressed they decided to visit with Colin in the gazebo; the humidity was low and the evening clear. Yes the gazebo. Ideal.
Whilhelm knocked on Colin’s door and conveyed the message of drinks with parents in the gazebo adding that they were anxious to hear about the Keys and both Colin and Whilhelm knew instantly that he had made that last part up himself. Colin clapped Wilhelm on the shoulder and said, “Nice one old boy,” and both of them laughed out loud.
Colin and Dolph did their best, when telling how their trip had gone, to make it exciting enough for Dad while keeping it tame enough for Mom. Dolph told his dad that Colin had lost a sailfish. Colin told his dad that he had released one. Colin asked his dad if they had fixed the seaplane. Dolph asked his if he had sold or bought any property. Dolph told his mom that the plumeria were in full bloom and flowers littered the roads. Colin told his mom that porpoises had chased the boat. The two families shared their sparse anecdotes and tried to keep the conversation alive. Sociable. Colin’s mom had four glasses of chardonnay and Dolph’s mom had three martinis. Mr. Stone talked to Colin about what a character Captain Murphy was and Mr. Stephenson asked Dolph if he and Murphy had gotten along.
&nb
sp; At a quarter to Seven Colin’s parents announced they had better be on their way. Colin kissed his mother’s cheek careful to not smudge makeup. He firmly shook his fathers hand and concentrated to look him in the eye.
After Rosa had served dessert, on the lanai overlooking the courtyard where Caina still slept, Dolph told his parents that he and Colin had plans for the night. He too kissed his mother’s cheek and shook his father’s hand concentrating to grip firm. Grip firm and look him in the eye. Then once Mr. Stephenson had offered his requisite empty fatherly advice that reminded Dolph of Polonius’ speech to Laertes in Hamlet, Dolph was out the door.
“Jesus Christ,” Dolph climbed into his truck, a black pathfinder, and drove to Colin’s. He never knew if he should call it a car or a truck since it was neither so he called it a truck.
Colin sat on the front steps, a big unlit cigar in his mouth, when Dolph pulled up.
“Hey boy,” the cigar causing him to mumble. “How’d it go with the folks?”
“Oh just peachy,” Dolph answered, closed the door and talked up the steps.
Mom had her a few and nearly took the table with her when she stood up. Dad. Especially friendly. Asked me if I had decided to specialize in corporate law or not. Where’d you get the stogie?
“It’s a Cuban. Dad gave it to me. You want it?”
He tossed the cigar to Dolph.
“What about you?” Dolph asked putting the cigar in his shirt pocket for later. “How’d your family reunion go?”
“Oh lovely. I think Dad’s still pissed at me about the car thing but it’s hard to tell. Mom didn’t say much, which is normal. Whilhelm’s daughter had a little girl.”
“Well at least he speaks English.”
“Do What?”
“Nevermind.”
Colin stood and the two went inside.
“You want a drink?” Colin asked pointing to the bar as they walked by.
“No but I’ll take a beer.”
