Florida Son

by W. J. Costello

  “Max!” Julie shouted.

  The boy froze.

  She ran toward him.

  He turned and rabbitted away.

  “Wait!” Julie shouted after him.

  But he was gone.

  I am a fast runner. Always have been. I was on the cross-country team in high school. And on the track team. I broke school records and won lots of trophies. I still run four or five times a week. My pace is a little slower than it used to be but it is still a pretty good pace.

  I sprinted after the boy. He had a big lead on me. He would have had a big lead on Carl Lewis.

  I focused on my running form. I lifted my knees high, swung my arms to balance my body, lengthened my stride. My arms pumped, my legs stretched, my feet pounded. I ran flat out.

  My shoes weren’t made for running. They were a battered old pair of Sperry Top-Siders. They were boating shoes. I don’t wear them all the time. Only when I go boating. Which I had planned to do during my visit to Florida. My plans hadn’t included racing through a mall. Otherwise I would have worn my Adidas running shoes.

  When I zipped past Julie she yelled for me to catch Max. I wanted to give her a thumbs-up but it would have seriously hampered my aerodynamic running form.

  The mall was packed. Shoppers swarmed like ants on an apple. I zigzagged through the throng. Twice I had to leap over benches. Nobody got hurt.

  I caught a glimpse of the boy when he darted into a department store. I headed that way.

  When I got to the entrance of the store I looked to my left. Then I looked to my right. No sign of him. I had lost him.

  Damn.

  Maybe he had stopped running. Maybe he was hiding.

  He had to be nearby. He couldn’t have simply disappeared. He wasn’t a ghost after all. Or was he?

  I began to move past the racks of clothing. I moved as if I were a raptor from Jurassic Park. I searched through the . . .

  Wait a minute.

  Think about this, Rip. Think about what you are doing. This boy may not even be Max. He may just be a kid who looks like Max. A kid who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. And you are probably scaring him to death. No doubt he will scream for the mall police when you finally catch him. Can you imagine their reaction?

  The boy burst out of the sales rack.

  The chase was on again.

  But not for long.

  “Let go of me,” the boy said. “You’re hurting my arm.”

  When I plucked the red cap from his head I could see his face clearly for the first time. His eyes were very blue.

  My hand fumbled in my pocket. It came out with the age-progressed photo of Max. I held it up beside the boy’s face.

  “Let me go.”

  “Hold on a minute, kid.”

  I could seen the resemblance. But I wasn’t completely sure.

  Until Julie showed up.

  “That isn’t Max,” she said.

  CHAPTER 16

  I HAD THE spoon halfway to my mouth when I saw the dog hunch down for a dump. He glanced guiltily at me, then cast down his eyes. I didn’t want to look at him either. It was embarrassing for the both of us.

  My appetite was gone. I set my Greek yogurt on the picnic table.

  The dog finished his business. His tail wagged wagged wagged. He was a happy camper. He sniffed at his achievement. Then he scratched the ground, kicking up dirt and grass.

  His owner took out a plastic bag and scooped up after him.

  I recognized the man. He and his wife had arrived at the campground the day before. Everything about them seemed spick and span. Nothing was messy or out of place. They liked to keep things neat. They were neat people. Mr. and Mrs. Neat.

  Mr. Neat looked like retired military. He had the physique. What little hair he had was cropped short.

  I watched as he and his dog strode back to their RV. It was a Keystone travel trailer and it sparkled with cleanliness. Under its awning were folding chairs, a folding table, a large rug. Mrs. Neat stood at the grill. The Neats were having a cookout. I could smell the barbeque in the breeze.

  Parked in an adjoining site was a ratty-looking Montana fifth-wheel trailer. The eyesore belonged to a family that had befriended the Neats. But this family was anything but neat.

  I watched as they stepped out of their grubby RV. Mr. Messy wore a loud Hawaiian shirt that stretched tight over his big belly and barely covered his small ass. Mrs. Messy’s hair looked as if it had been groomed with a Garden Weasel. Junior Messy sniffed back some snot.

  The Messys waddled over to greet the Neats. Hands were shaken. Backs were slapped. Air kisses were exchanged. The husbands bobbed and weaved and threw fake punches at each other. The wives cooed and chattered. Everybody laughed loudly.

  It all seemed superficial. The friendship between the two families had no depth to it. It was a surface friendship. There was a surface warmth to it. But there was nothing beneath the surface. Nothing meaningful.

  Most friendships seem superficial to me. Including many of my own. I have seen only a few meaningful friendships.

  This isn’t to say friendships aren’t important. Because they are. The world would be a bleak place without them.

  Nobody wants to end up all alone. Everybody fears it. Many people are incapable of being alone. They need togetherness. They need to be surrounded by other people. They need to be comforted by the safety of superficiality.

  I like being alone. Not all of the time. But most of it. I am more of a loner than a group animal. I embrace solitude.

  My grandfather used to say his only friend in the world was the almighty dollar. He didn’t have too many friends.

  Mrs. Neat flipped a burger on the grill while Mr. Neat poured the drinks. Mrs. Messy and Junior Messy set the table with paper plates and plastic utensils. Mr. Messy told a dirty joke and everybody laughed like donkeys.

  Good times.

  It was the calm before the storm.

  CHAPTER 17

  WE WERE CRUISING the aisles at the Piggly Wiggly supermarket when Julie spotted an old college friend standing at the deli counter.

  “Tina and I used to be roommates in college,” Julie told me as we walked toward the deli. “We roomed together for all four years at Florida SouthWestern State College.”

  I eyed Tina. She dressed slutty. Nothing wrong with slutty. I wished I were her roommate too.

  She recognized Julie immediately.

  “Julie? What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in years. In years. How have you been?”

  “Tina, you look great.”

  They hugged.

  Then Tina slid a look up at me.

  “Is this your man?” she said, and bumped me with her hip.

  I half expected her to purr like a friendly cat.

  “Yes,” Julie said. “Rip and I have been dating for a few weeks now. He’s a good guy. I think I’ll keep him. How about you, Tina? Are you married? Do you have children? Are you dating somebody? What’s the story?”

  “I’m seeing somebody. Nothing serious. You know how it is. Finding a good man and keeping him? Not so easy. Not so easy.”

  Apparently Julie had been able to do it.

  Tina wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. She wore lipstick the color of cherry pop, eye shadow the color of grape juice, rouge the color of fruit punch. I felt a sudden pang of thirst.

  “Are you teaching elementary school somewhere?” Tina said.

  Julie shook her head.

  “Actually I’m an education professor at the University of South Florida. After you and I graduated I went on to get a master’s degree in education. Then a doctorate. So now I’m a professor. How about you? Where do you work?”

  “Overseas mostly.”

  “Really? Doing what?”

  “Business consulting.”

  “An international business consultant. Living the glamorous life.”

  “It’s not as glamorous as you might think.”

  “What are you doing in
Florida? Do you live here now?”

  “Just passing through. My flight leaves tomorrow.”

  I noticed a strange tattoo on the back of Tina’s shoulder. I had seen one like it before, though I couldn’t remember where. I began to say something, then thought better of it.

  “I can’t believe the coincidence,” Julie said. “Imagine running into you here at the Piggly Wiggly. What a small world.”

  “It is,” Tina said. “Listen, I have to run. We should get together sometime and catch up. Sound good?”

  They exchanged phone numbers, hugged good-bye, promised to stay in touch.

  “She was hot for you,” Julie told me when Tina had gone.

  “Of course she was.”

  “She was always hot for my boyfriends. All of my college boyfriends. She tried to steal them from me. Every single one of them. I don’t know why. I think it was a game to her. A challenge.”

  “She ever succeed?”

  “Once. We were in our last year of college and I was engaged to a philosophy major. Walter and I had been dating for nearly two years when he proposed.”

  She looked at me with a crooked smile.

  “It was a sweet proposal. I was at a college bar with a few of my girlfriends. We were drinking and laughing and listening to some horrible karaoke singers. Then I heard the announcer clear his throat. He said, ‘Our next singer on stage is Walter. Let’s hear it for Walter, folks.’ I looked up on stage and there was Walter. My Walter. He grabbed the microphone and began to sing Train’s ‘Marry Me.’ When he was done the crowd was on its feet. Walter stood on stage in front of everybody and asked me to marry him.”

  “And you said yes.”

  “And I said yes. Walter wasted no time planning our honeymoon. He booked us at an all-inclusive resort in the Bahamas. The resort’s motto is ‘Love is all you need.’ Walter reserved a spacious villa with a fully stocked kitchen. We were going to go snorkeling, scuba diving, windsurfing. We were going to get a massage at the spa. We were going to go on a dinner cruise. And visit a winery. And . . . Well you get the picture.”

  “You going to tell me about the wedding plans next?”

  “I guess maybe I got a little carried away, huh?”

  “Maybe just a little bit.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries. So what happened with Walter?”

  “He dropped me like a hot potato when Tina got her claws into him. He took her to the all-inclusive resort in the Bahamas and then she dumped him a few weeks later. He came crawling back to me and begged for forgiveness. I told him to go stuff it. There was nothing he could ever say or do to make me love him again.”

  “How’d you and Tina get along after that?”

  “We had a falling out. She packed up all of her stuff and moved out of our apartment. I was glad to see her go. She had betrayed me and caused me so much misery. Some friend, huh?”

  “But you were nice to her today.”

  “It doesn’t mean I forgive her.”

  “Then what does it mean?”

  “I guess I wanted to make her jealous. I wanted her to see me with you. I wanted her to know I had ended up with somebody better than Walter.”

  “You think she was jealous?”

  “Hell yes.”

  We exited the Piggly Wiggly and crossed the parking lot and climbed on my motorcycle. I fired it up. We sat for a moment on the idling machine as it shivered under us.

  Then I glanced over my shoulder at Julie.

  “Did you think you’d ever see Tina again?”

  “No. I was happy to have her out of my life forever.”

  “Odd running into her today.”

  “It was an unexpected surprise.”

  “When was the last time you saw her before today?”

  “Not since college.”

  CHAPTER 18

  SARASOTA OCEANFRONT CAMPGROUND was quiet most of the time. Not all campgrounds are like that. Sometimes you have to put up with a bit of noise. Usually it is when management fails to enforce the rules and regulations.

  It was another quiet morning at the campground when I stepped out of my RV. There were no traffic sounds. No roaring jets overhead. No boats chugging along the coastline. Most of the campers were still asleep. Including Julie.

  I never sleep past five a.m. My body has an internal clock that wakes me at approximately the same time every morning. It tells me to get up and go into the kitchen and get some food and caffeine into my system.

  I always do what my internal clock tells me to do. My body likes routine. It operates best when it gets up at a regular time, eats at a regular time, goes to sleep at a regular time.

  When I got to the beach I strung a hammock between two huge palm trees. I climbed carefully into it and began to read the Tampa Bay Times. The comics made me smile. The news made me frown. The weather forecast made me grimace. It was going to be another hot day—even by Florida standards.

  In the shade of the palms I sipped my orange juice as the sea breeze rocked my hammock gently from side to side.

  I heard yelling. It came from somewhere near a cluster of RVs.

  My orange juice spilt when I rolled out of the hammock.

  It was an argument. People were fighting. Their language was colorful. I didn’t recognize the voices. I couldn’t imagine who they were.

  My feet flew across the sand, across the concrete, across the blacktop. My feet came to rest on the pavement near a sparkling Keystone travel trailer and a grubby Montana fifth-wheel trailer.

  Mr. Neat and Mr. Messy stood nose to nose. Mr. Neat had curled his hands into fists. Mr. Messy waggled a slip of paper at him. They weren’t yelling anymore but they weren’t whispering either.

  Their wives watched from the sidelines.

  So did I.

  “I ain’t payin it,” Mr. Neat said, spraying spittle as he spoke.

  Mr. Messy’s face twisted in rage. He folded his arms.

  “Oh yes you are.”

  “Ain’t.”

  “Are.”

  “Ain’t my fault your boy got bit. Why should I pay his medical bill?”

  “Because it was your dog bit him, you dumb-ass.”

  “Tough talk for a guy wearin a Hawaiian shirt.”

  “Tom Selleck wore them on Magnum PI. He was a tough guy.”

  “Tom Selleck? You ain’t no Tom Selleck. Tom Arnold maybe.”

  “You going to pay this medical bill or what?”

  “Four hundred bucks? Hell no.”

  “Then I’ll see you in court.”

  “See you in court, peckerhead. Lookin forward to it too. Your boy shouldn’ta been trespassin on my property. Then he wouldn’ta got bit. Ain’t no judge gonna make me pay his medical bill.”

  I wondered how a judge would rule. It wasn’t a clear-cut case. On the one hand the boy had been bitten by the Neat family’s dog. On the other hand the boy had been trespassing on the Neat family’s property at the time. The ruling could go either way.

  I wanted to say something to them but I knew the smartest move would be to stay out of it. Nobody likes it when a third party gets involved. So I stayed uninvolved.

  “Tell you what,” Mr. Neat said. “I’ll pay you half. Two hundred bucks. Fair enough?”

  Mr. Messy toed the dirt. He glanced at his wife. He stared at the ground. He looked at Mr. Neat.

  “Fair enough,” he said finally. “You got yourself a deal.”

  Mr. Neat nodded his head.

  “All right then,” he said.

  He shifted his feet and reached into his pocket. He took out a roll of bills and unfolded them. He counted out two hundred dollars. He was slow and careful and deliberate about it. When he had finished he put the roll back in his pocket. He waggled the two hundred dollars at Mr. Messy. Then he threw the money at him and turned and stalked away.

  CHAPTER 19

  “MAX’S ABDUCTOR HAD options,” I said to Julie. “He could have broken in and taken Max from home. Or he could have
snatched him when the two of you were out shopping somewhere. But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead he chose to abduct him from day care. There has to be a reason why. You have any idea why?”

  “I wish I did,” Julie said.

  I turned and looked at her mother.

  “How about you, Ruth? Any idea why?”

  She took a wad of gum out of her mouth and began to roll it between her fingertips. She stared at it. Then she put it back in her mouth and resumed her chewing.

  “That place where Max used to go to day care?” she said. “It always gave me the creeps.”

  We were sitting at the little dinette table in Julie’s RV. We had just finished eating dinner. It was dark outside. The blinds were down and the curtains were drawn. Night bugs banged on the screen door. We didn’t let them in.

  “The place always gave you creeps?” I said. “Care to elaborate?”

  Ruth trundled her wheelchair over to the garbage can. She bent over it and spat out her gum.

  “Rip, you may have trouble sleeping tonight if I do.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  She spun around and wheeled back to the table.

  “The place is called Toddler Town Day Care,” she said. “It’s housed in a single-family home in Tampa. The neighborhood is nice. The houses are nice. The lawns are nice. But the history of that single-family home is anything but nice. It holds secrets. Terrible secrets.”

  I felt as if I were watching an Alfred Hitchcock film. The only things missing were sodas and popcorn and a catchy tune.

  “The house used to be owned by the Crowleys. Mr. and Mrs. Crowley. Have you ever heard of them, Rip?”

  “Nope. Should I have?”

  “Only if you follow the local news in Tampa. Let me tell you about the Crowleys: They weren’t sociable people. They kept to themselves. Their neighbors thought they were a typical suburban family. They had two cars, a nice house, a cat. They had good jobs. Mr. Crowley worked as a butcher in a meat market and Mrs. Crowley was a nurse at a small clinic.