“Thank you, sir,” Tony said and they both headed off to the back of the property where Rufus’ cabin was located. Now my curiosity was piqued. An agency that didn’t bind its men with ridiculous rules and was able to recruit from the best of the best? Other than rules, what would be the incentive? I headed into the bar to find Rusty and Deuce.
“Bout time you rousted yourself, Devil Dog,” Rusty said, as I walked through the door. “Julie and me done cleaned up the whole damn island all by ourselves,” he added, smiling at Alex.
“Sorry about your tree, Rusty,” I said as I sat down next to Alex, who leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Tony and Art are gonna cut it up into board length. Where’s Deuce?”
Julie looked up and replied, “He said he had to make some phone calls when he got up this morning. He left just after sunrise. Don’t know how he’s gonna make a call, all the phone lines are down and there’s no cell service.”
Deuce stepped inside and motioned for me. I followed him back outside and he said, “Our training’s been moved up. We have to leave at noon to make a flight out of Miami. I’ve been authorized to tell you a bit more.” He was all business now.
“Deuce,” I said, “I told you last night, I love it here and I love what I do. I doubt anything could tempt me away.”
“That’s just it, Jesse,” he said. “Nothing much will change. If you accept what my boss is offering, you’ll just keep doing what you’ve been doing. Occasionally, you might be called on to do something a little different, but you’re free to say no at any time. My boss is meeting us at the plane and he’ll come back down here in the rental. He really wants to meet you in person and explain things in more detail. Just hear him out, that’s all I ask. I think you’ll like what he has to say. I’ll have to wait a few weeks until I can get back down here to take care of dad’s ashes.”
The roar of Rusty’s big Stihl 40 inch, 8.5 horsepower chainsaw suddenly split the air, like an over revving outboard engine. “What the hell is that?” Deuce asked, astonished.
“I think Tony and Art found Rusty’s big saw,” I replied. “I’ll listen to what he says, Deuce, but no promises. Let’s go give your guys a hand.”
Art was on the saw. His large arms taught, wrestling with the twenty-pound saw, as Tony was trying to manhandle the branches that he’d cut from the tree. I knew from experience they were more than the wiry man could handle. Hell, they’d be more than I could handle alone, but he was giving it all he had. Art shut the saw off as we approached and said, “You weren’t kidding about the big brother or this wood, man.”
I just laughed and said, “Yeah, we’ll need to sharpen that blade at least twice before we get this done.”
Struggling with a small branch, Tony asked, “Is this damn tree made of steel, or what?”
There was a small knot from one of the branches sitting on the ground, that wasn’t useful for anything. I picked it up and said, “Watch this.” I carried it over to the dock, with all three men following me. When I got to the edge, I tossed it out in the basin and it sank straight away to the bottom and never came back up. “Damn,” Deuce said. “A wood that doesn’t float?”
“Lignum Vitae is the densest wood on the planet,” I replied. “My house is made of this stuff.”
“Some day I’d like to see that house,” Deuce said.
“Be glad to show it to you. The island’s small and surrounded with mangroves. I cleared part of the interior, a circle about 150 feet around, intending to plant some vegetables. Except the ground’s too rocky and the water too salty. Now, there’s just a single coconut tree in the middle of the huge clearing.”
Deuce looked at me and said, “You know, if you cut down that tree, a clearing that big would make a great LZ.”
LZ is military speak for a helicopter landing zone. “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” I said, “if I ever decide to buy a chopper.”
“Or if friends want to come and visit,” Tony said, with a grin.
“You too?” I said. “Already told Deuce I wasn’t interested.”
We went back to work and had the rest of the tree cut up in just over an hour, even stopping to sharpen the blade twice. Everything that was usable we stacked neatly behind the bar. The trunk we left where it had fallen, once it was cut away from the roots. Rusty would have to use the backhoe to load it on a flatbed, it was so heavy. The small stuff we put in the back of Rusty’s pickup. Alex came out, just as we were finishing up, with four tall glasses of suntea and said, “We got everything cleaned up inside. Rufus has lunch ready.”
It was already getting hot, so we drank down the tea and Deuce said, “We’ll have to eat and run, ma’am. I mean, Alex. We have a plane to catch up in Miami at 1400.”
Alex looked at her watch and said, “It’s over a hundred miles, you’ll never get there in time to get through security.”
“It’s a private plane we’re taking out of Miami,” he said. Hmmm, I thought, a chopper and a company plane? Just what the hell kind of outfit were these men working for?
We headed inside and sat at the bar, eating jerked chicken and potatoes and talking about the storm. Afterwards, Deuce and Julie walked outside, while Tony and Art went to the Revenge to grab their sea bags. When they came back inside minutes later, Deuce said, “Thanks for the hospitality, Rusty. We really appreciate it.”
“No sir, thank you for all your help,” Rusty said, shaking hands with all three men. “Y’all come on back down here any time.”
Tony went to the back and talked to Rufus for a minute. Then he shook his hand and came back. “I got a recipe,” he said.
Everyone laughed and we all walked with the three Sailors out to their car. Tony and Art carried the sea bags to the trunk and Julie gave Deuce a bear hug, much like her dad did, when they’d first met. She kissed him and told him he’d better be back soon. The three men then got into the sedan and drove down the shell driveway.
“Think he knows Rule Six,” Rusty asked, as we walked back toward the bar.
We both laughed and Julie just rolled her eyes. “Rule Six?” Alex asked.
“It’s a bunch of dumb rules Jarheads have for men who want to date their daughters,” Julie replied, rolling her eyes.
“Really?” Alex asked. “Do you guys have rules for everything?”
Without missing a step, Rusty and I said in unison, “Yep, Semper Fi.”
“Rusty?” I asked. “Mind if Alex and I borrow your skiff to go out to the house and get mine. I’ll have it back tomorrow.”
“No need to even ask,” he replied. “Julie can trailer it down to Dockside, while I finish up here.”
“I’d also like to borrow your barge and loader. Jimmy used to operate one just like it and he’s agreed to come up to the house later this week and help me enlarge the channel. My permit’s still good until the end of the year and I’d really like to not have to pay Dockside to dock there.”
“Sure, you wanna borrow my skivvies, too,” he laughed.
“I’ll get the skiff hooked up to the truck, dad,” Julie said. “Give me a hand, Alex?”
The two women headed around the side of the bar, where the skiff had been secured the night before. Rusty turned to me and asked, “What’s your take on those three men?”
I knew exactly what he really wanted to know. Julie had never shown much interest in men and he was worried. Yeah, I had some experience at being the guy that was always away and he didn’t want Julie to be hurt.
“I could be totally wrong, Rusty,” I said. “But I think Deuce is a straight up guy. I haven’t seen either of my daughters in years. If I could choose a man for them, I’d pick someone cut from Deuce’s cloth.” My daughters from my first marriage lived in North Carolina, with their mom. She’d filled their heads from childhood on what a terrible person I was and other than sending them a card on their birthdays with a check inside, I hadn’t really had any contact with them in fifteen years. The checks were never cashed. Guess that said something, in and of itsel
f. “Truth is,” I said to my old friend, “I look at Julie like she was my own kid. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Besides, how much of a romance can bloom in just two days?”
The pickup pulled up on the side of the bar just then and Alex said, “Let’s get a move on, Captain Carpenter. I want to see that house.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” I told Rusty.
“Yeah, right,” he said. “I won’t hold my breath.”
I climbed in next to Alex and Julie drove down the long shell driveway and turned left on A-1-A, then left on Sombrero, toward Dockside. “So, what do you think of Russell?” Julie asked.
“Who?”
“Russell, I’m not crazy about a nickname like Deuce.”
“Um, Julie, Rusty is your dad’s nickname. You don’t have a problem with everyone calling him that, do you?” I asked. “Deuce, I mean Russell, is a good enough guy. What do you think, Alex?”
“He sort of reminds me of what you must have been like a lifetime ago. Very serious,” she replied.
“Look, Jules,” I said, “I can see you like the guy and he’s a decent person, that’s for sure. But you’re not likely to see a lot of him.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” she said, smiling.
I just left it at that, hoping she was right and wouldn’t get hurt. We pulled into Dockside and it was a mess. Several of the boats that lay at anchor in the harbor had broken loose and were crashed against the shoreline all around the bay.
“Oh my,” Alex said, pointing to where the Revenge had been docked yesterday. A thirty-foot catamaran had crashed into the docks and the left side of the dock was now halfway through the cabin. “I’m so glad you moved your boat,” she added. We idled on down to the launch ramp, which was thankfully cleared. Dozens of people were busy everywhere, cleaning up what they could. That’s the thing about a storm like that. It brought out the best in people.
12
Monday afternoon, October 24, 2005
We backed the skiff down the ramp into the water and told Julie we’d be back tomorrow with the skiff, then boarded the little boat. I noticed that Alex’s overnight bag, a suitcase and two rod cases were already aboard. I started the big Johnson outboard and it settled quickly into a low burbling. Backing away from the ramp, Alex said, “I sure hope nothing’s sunk in the channel.”
“Yeah, me too.”
We idled along, following the channel along the docks, amazed at all the damage that had been done here. “You think your house is alright?” she asked.
“That’s something I’m certain of. The island might be a mess, but the house will be fine.”
I passed Sister Creek and turned right toward the bridge and open water. Once we were clear of the old bridge, I could see that the water outside was nearly as calm as usual and opened the big motor up as we crossed under the Seven Mile Bridge. I was anxious to show Alex the house, so I steered a rhumb line, straight across Florida Bay, toward Johnson Keys and the Spanish Banks. After we were several miles out Alex said, “Out here on the water, you’d never know a major hurricane had just passed through. You have no idea how much I’ve missed being on the water.” She stood up next to the helm then, and spread her arms wide above her head, her blonde hair flying in the wind. She let out a loud yell. I admired her love for the open water, it was the one thing I knew we’d always have in common. Ten minutes later, we rounded Little Spanish Key and the small island just to its north and turned due west, to cut between Big Spanish Key and Cutoe Key. The water here is usually very skinny, but the tide was high, so I knew we had at least eighteen inches under the keel. More than enough for Rusty’s skiff.
“What’s that,” Alex said, pointing toward the small island on our left.
I turned and at first didn’t see anything. Alex, being a flats guide had a much more attuned ability to read the water. Then I saw what looked like a coconut just off the tip of the island. The coconut suddenly lifted from the water and splashed. What the hell? Alex was already unhooking the pole from under the gunwale and said, “Turn that way, it’s a dog!”
I turned toward the island and slowly backed down on the throttle. When I reached idle speed, Alex stepped back to the poling platform and I shut down and raised the engine. She poled us closer and sure enough, there was a dog in the water. It kept jumping and going under, as if it was in trouble. Then suddenly, it came up, with a good-sized snapper firmly in its jaws. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I said. “A fishing dog?”
Alex poled closer. The dog hadn’t noticed us yet. It was too wrapped up in catching the fish. It turned and headed back to the little island, which really wasn’t anything more than a sand bar, with a couple of palm trees on it. About twenty yards from shore, we grounded. I stepped out as Alex put the pole on the deck and joined me. Together we hauled the skiff a little higher onto the sand bar and walked in ankle deep water after the dog. Our sloshing must have alerted it. It turned toward us, the snapper still in its mouth, flopping to get free. The dog’s ears came up and it started wagging its thick tail.
“He’s some kind of Labrador retriever mix, I think,” Alex said, walking toward the large dog. “How’d you get out here, boy?” she asked the dog. “You think he was washed away from wherever he lived, during the storm?” she asked me.
“Could be,” I answered. “But, there’s not a house or a soul for five miles out here.” The dog looked expectantly at me. “Here boy,” I said. The dog trotted straight to me, with the fish still in his mouth. He stopped directly in front of me and sat down, right in the water, his large tail stirring the sandy bottom. I reached my hand out and the dog dropped the fish right in my hand. “Unbelievable,” was all I could say.
“I think you’ve made a new friend, Captain Canine,” she said, laughing.
The dog looked over at her, then back up to me. He wasn’t wearing a collar, or anything to identify him. He was a large dog, probably over sixty pounds, with a face shaped like a lab. His salty black coat was coarse and stringy, the hair on top of his head was matted, and curling up, making him look like one of those Gremlins from the movie. “We can’t leave him here, Jesse,” Alex said.
“No, I don’t suppose we can. Let’s try to get him into the skiff. We can take him back to Marathon with us tomorrow. Maybe the vet there can scan him for a microchip, or something. I don’t think he’s a wild stray. He seems pretty well trained. Want to go for a boat ride, boy?” With that, he sprang up and went straight to the skiff in about four big leaps. “Unbelievable,” I said again. He stood waiting by the side of the boat, as we waked back.
When we were both standing beside the skiff, Alex said, “Get in, boy.” The dog just glanced at her, and then looked back up at me.
“Do what the lady says, dog. Get in,” I said. The dog instantly leaped into the boat, went straight up to the bow, and sat, looking forward. “Unbelievable,” I said for the third time.
“Well, he’s certainly a man’s dog, wherever he came from,” Alex laughed.
We pushed the skiff back out a few feet, to where it floated and turned it toward deeper water. Alex climbed in and I pushed it deeper, until the water reached the middle of my shin and then climbed in. Alex took her position on the poling platform. She poled us out until the water was deep enough to lower the engine, then came forward and stored the pole in its place under the gunwale. I lowered the engine and started it up. The dog remained in the bow of the skiff and only looked back once, when I started the engine. I slowly idled out away from the island into deeper water and then gradually increased the throttle until the skiff lifted up on plane. I turned toward my island home and opened up the throttle once more. A few minutes later, we crossed the cut, where I sometimes catch big snook, turned into my channel and I slowed the engine to idle speed. I was right. The island was a mess. The palm trees were frayed and a lot of the scrub was completely washed away, including the several large piles I’d made. But, the house looked to be completely unscathed.
“It’s be
autiful, Jesse. Just like I’d imagined it,” she said, turning to me, her face beaming. “It sits pretty high off the water, though.”
“I built it with the intent of bringing the Revenge up here and docking her underneath,” I said. “Jimmy and I are going to use Rusty’s barge and loader to dig the channel enough to get her through.” I turned into the side channel and backed the skiff up under the house, to the dock.
“Oh my God,” she said, looking around worriedly. “Where’s your Maverick?”
“Up there,” I said, pointing to the boxed in area on the other side of the docks. “We’ll lower her later, I want you to see the house.”
She looked up, puzzled. Then noting the boxed in area with the corrugated steel on the underside and the two lifts at either end, she said, “Very ingenious, Captain Improviser.”
“One of the motto’s of the Corps,” I said. “Improvise, adapt, overcome.” I tied off the skiff and together we grabbed the bags and started toward the steps leading up to the house. The dog was still sitting patiently in the bow of the skiff. “Come on,” I said and the dog jumped over the gunwale and onto the dock. He trotted past us and up the steps to the deck, where he barked once and sat down, looking out over the island. “Hmm, what do you make of that?” I asked.
“Almost like he thinks this is his home, huh?” she said.
The dog sat there looking out at the rest of the island, and then looked up at me. “You want to explore, don’t you,” I said. “Go ahead, then.” He was off like a shot, leaping down the back stairs to the sand and off toward the underbrush. I experimented and yelled, “Stop!” The dog immediately stopped in the sand and looked back at me.
“Amazing,” Alex said. “He’s obviously very well trained.
“Go ahead,” I called out to the dog and he was off again, nose to the ground, running back and forth across the newly cleared patch of the island, toward the brush on the far side. “Unbelievable,” I said for the fourth time. I unlocked the door and opened it for Alex to step inside, sitting the bags down on the deck by the door.
Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 8
