by Scott Cook
Officer Bradley Raker was not doing well. For over a week now, ever since Veronica Bradford’s boat had caught fire and exploded, he’d been a nervous wreck. It seemed that every day that passed, something new cropped up or some new bit of the puzzle appeared. No amount of alcohol, or anything else, could shake the feeling that he was being dragged ever closer to the edge of a bottomless pit. A pit that would swallow him and utterly destroy his life.
When he thought about it, though, hadn’t that feeling been there from the beginning? Or at least for several months back? Certainly before he’d met Sarah Beth Bradford, he hadn’t felt that way. And certainly he experienced bouts of discomfort since.
At first, it had been fun and exciting for Brad. Here he was, a local Saint Pete kid who came from nothing. His folks never had a pot to piss in… still didn’t. His dad was fifty and still driving the same damned backhoe he’d been driving since high school. His mother was the manager of the deli department at the Walmart near Central and 34th Street. They still lived in the same three-bedroom old dump in the Admiral Farragut area that he and his sister had grown up in. They were decent people, to be sure, but they weren’t going anywhere in life and getting there awfully quick.
When Brad got older and was nearing his senior year in high school, he knew that his parents couldn’t send him to college. He faced the prospect of living the same sort of dirt-grubbin’ life they did. Working your ass off for forty years and then trying to live on Social Security… if it was even there.
Then one day, a Saint Pete cop had come to school to talk to the students about drugs and crime and shit. He also talked about a career with the police department. A solid government job, benefits, chances to advance, okay pay and a chance to do some good in the community. It sounded like an opportunity to Brad. Not so much the do-gooder part. He liked Saint Pete, for sure, but it wasn’t like he was sporting a huge hard-on to serve his community. Although the idea did sound pretty cool.
So he’d graduated and gone to the police academy. As a life-long water lover, he brought a dive certification to the table, and after only a year on the force, he was approached about doing part-time duty as a police diver. He’d jumped at the chance. Not only did it mean better pay, another five hundred a month, but it also meant he would be able to up his certs at the department’s expense.
Brad liked his job. He liked the diving, which was mostly not fishing out bodies, thank God… although that did happen occasionally. He also liked working drug interdiction. Again, it paid better and was more exciting. So five years after graduating high school, at the age of twenty-three, Brad Raker was a vice cop/police diver making forty grand a year. Not getting rich by any means… all he could afford was a two-bed townhome in the Waterside community on the south end of Coquina Cay. It was nice, though, and he had a boat slip right behind the place.
Then, nine months earlier, he’d met Sarah Beth. The company she worked for had business offices in the Sundial downtown. They happened to meet in early October while she was having lunch at Fresco’s Outdoor Bistro down by the south basin. He’d strode in all decked out in his uniform and must have caught her eye. Lord knows she caught his.
Brad was six feet tall and a lean muscular one-eighty-five. His curly blonde hair was kept close-cropped and his green eyes were set off by a square jaw and clefted chin. He’d sat down at the bar to order a fish sandwich and Sarah Beth had brazenly slid the empty chair next to him closer and sat down. This was when even outdoor bars were leaving empty spots between chairs to comply with social distancing.
They’d hit it off right away. She was slim and lovely and laughed at his jokes. She was very interested in his work, and they began to date. It wasn’t until several weeks in that Brad learned just how truly connected Sarah was. That in addition to her salary, more than three times his own and she a year younger, she was also privy to large dividends from her father’s company. He hadn’t started out seeing her as a meal ticket… yet as the weeks turned into months and their romance grew, part of him thought that maybe he’d hit the jackpot.
After all, she was fun, a wildcat in the sack, and loaded. She spent a lot of time in Florida, going up to Wyoming for a few days or a week at a time. She said she’d probably be taking over the Saint Pete office and be here permanently soon. But like most things in Brad’s life, no road was without its bumps.
Sarah was a bit wild and a bit hotheaded. They didn’t argue much, thankfully, but she seemed to carry a big chip on her shoulder. It seemed to come from the fact that after her father died, her stepmother slid into the captain’s chair and the family felt that the situation should go differently. And then there was the coke.
Sarah liked to party, and the fact that she was dating a police officer didn’t daunt her in the slightest. She always wanted a fix, and between her own connections, which he suspected were deeper than he wanted to know, she began to get him involved, too.
At first it was only a sniff here and there. Yet he began to enjoy it, too. He had to be careful, of course, as there could be a random drug test from the department at any time. Before long, within a month or two, he was as hooked as she was. Not dangerously so, but enough that he had to find his own way to get her the dust that drove her crazy and made her do things to him he only ever dreamed of before.
He began to skim the take on drug busts. He also had connections into the world, thanks to his knowledge of the local drug scene in the Tampa Bay area. There was a close call that began to make him re-think his position, though. He did have to take a random test. Thankfully, it came after Sarah had been gone a couple of weeks and he hadn’t used in a while. Of course, traces still showed up in his urine, but that was explained away by the fact that he’d recently made a coke bust and had tasted the powder to check it. That passed, but it did give Brad a bit of a scare.
He decided to lay off the dust for a while. He couldn’t afford to lose his job, even with a rich girlfriend. Especially one as volatile as Sarah Beth. So when she came back from Wyoming after the test, he sat her down and explained the situation. Strangely, she’d been understanding and said she’d even lay off the stuff for a while, too. She said that she had a plan that would ensure that neither of them would ever have to work again and that they’d have enough money to do anything they wanted.
She started talking about Veronica and how she was holding the company down. How the Bradford family was being kept away from their rightful place. Sarah said that they needed to get rid of Veronica. At first, Raker had balked, suspecting she was going to try and talk him into killing her or something. She only laughed and said no, that there was a plan in place to reveal how incompetent she really was.
He’d asked what she meant and what she wanted him to do. Sarah had only smiled and said that he’d know what to do when the time was right. In the meantime, though, he was just to do his job and not worry about things. He shouldn’t worry and that some odd stuff might happen, but just to keep an eye on things.
The first occurrence was pretty minor. A robbery at the BA offices downtown. Nothing major, just some files rifled. He’d been called in on it to assist Lieutenant Muñoz because it was known that he was dating Sarah Beth. Nothing had come of that, but a few days later, Sarah asked him to plant a baggie in the marketing director’s office. He’d done it on one of his follow-up visits, but it left a sour taste in his mouth.
Sarah Beth soothed him by stating that the woman really did have a drug problem… yeah, no hypocrisy there… and that she’d been hired by Veronica. When it came out that a personal choice of hers was a dope user, it would begin to erode at Veronica’s credibility. It would also mean that Sarah Beth would be spending more time in Florida. She’d further soothed him in her usual way, her sexual ardor erasing all of his doubts and pulling him further into her world.
There were one or two more silly incidents and then the big one. Sarah hadn’t even mentioned it, yet when Veronica’s boat caught fire and then exploded, Brad was certain this was the thing
he’d understand when he saw it. Christ! If it hadn’t been for that Orlando P.I. and his friend jumping aboard and aiming the boat back out into the bay… it might’ve blown up at the pier or at the yacht club and caused who knew what kind of damage!
Naturally Brad had tried to get in touch with Sarah but hadn’t been able to, as she was in Wyoming. Establishing an alibi maybe?
Then that private detective shows up on the barge the day Brad and his team are diving the boat. Something about the man made Brad nervous. There was something dangerous about the guy. Like he was the kind of guy who could see right through you and knew what you were hiding. The kind of guy who’d hound you and hound you until he finally dragged you down.
And then Brad had found it. On their second dive he’d discovered an intact electronic device. Probably a signaling device or timer or whatever. It had only been him and his partner, and April hadn’t noticed, as she’d been near the bow when Brad had discovered the thing in what was left of the saloon. He’d pocketed it, slipping the small flattish thing, about half the size of a smartphone, into his wet suit. It wasn’t until he got home later and started doing some research that he was able to look up the device by its serial number. A serial number that indicated it had been built by Bradford Avionics.
That was probably what Sarah Beth had wanted him to find. It was luck, because if he hadn’t, and any other cops had gotten that device… it would certainly be a solid evidentiary connection between the attempted murder and the now dead woman’s suspects.
For more than a week, Brad used his extensive network of locals to keep track of Veronica and Jarvis and anybody else connected with the case. He’d also been growing more and more irritated that Sarah Beth had not contacted him. Irritation was growing to anger as he began to think that she was only using him and didn’t give two shits that he was worried about being found out. That he had taken a vital piece of evidence in a murder investigation. That if Captain Cutler found out what he’d been doing over the past few months, she’d string Brad up by his short and curlies.
Finally, two days ago, Sarah had called. She’d gone on and on about how sorry she was. But she was worried about communicating with him too much just in case her phone was traced or something. She said she loved him and that she’d be back in Florida soon and would make it up to him in spades. She also said that the big plan was coming together and that soon he’d never have to put on that silly uniform again.
He didn’t think it was silly. There was a time not long ago that he’d been very proud to wear the blues. Now when he dressed for work, he felt shame and fear. All because of one crazy and exciting woman.
Then Veronica Bradford had been murdered. Dumped in the parking lot on Second and Central on First Friday. And then that Jarvis guy had vanished, and some weird shit started to happen. A local doctor vanishes. The two dudes who killed the woman were found at her house. Then a buddy at Albert Whitted told Brad that Veronica’s plane had filed a flight plan to go to Wyoming and hadn’t returned. And once again, Sarah Beth was incommunicado.
Brad was really scared now. Scared for himself and even more so for Sarah Beth. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Jarvis had gone to Wyoming. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to know it was Jarvis who’d collared those two clowns and left them for SPPD. He knew something, and sooner or later, he’d come for them all.
Then Brad had gotten another break. His buddy at the airport knew quite a few other guys at other small airports. One of his friends worked at the municipal in LaBelle and said that a fancy Gulfstream 500 had landed seemingly out of nowhere and had been parked there overnight. Further, the man said that the plane had been met by a pickup truck, and he swore the driver was a big dude, maybe six-six. It was only a hunch, but Brad figured that was probably the BA plane and probably Jarvis. Brad didn’t know who the taller man was, but that the guy at the LaBelle airport would ask around. He had a friend that might be able to help Brad out.
So Brad had packed a bag and driven down to LaBelle. He thought briefly of going to the jail and interrogating the two murderers. Aside from the fact that it’d look odd for him to do so, he knew from others in the department that the guys hadn’t said anything. They stuck to their story that they were hired but didn’t know by who. Brad figured it’d be better to let sleeping dogs lie and just go after Sarah Beth instead.
Brad drove his Ford Ranger to the small LaBelle airport and met the man who was his buddy’s contact. He was an older paunchy dude who ran the communications for the airport. One of these good old boys who seemed to, or claimed to, know everybody. That included a wily looking older man who met them when Brad arrived.
“Hey Brad, nice to meetcha,” the paunchy guy, Ray, said when Brad got out of his truck. “Travis and I go way back, and he said I should do what I could to help you out. And this is the best I can do.”
Ray indicated the rangy older man in the cowboy hat. The man was probably closing in on seventy but looked pretty robust. His hair was iron-gray under the hat, and he sported a salt and pepper beard and was smoking a Camel.
“Lester Trip,” the man said in a gravelly voice heavily laced with Florida cracker. “Hunting, fishing and tracking is the game. Ain’t nobody better in South Florida. Pleasure.”
Brad shook his hard, crusty hand and smiled, “Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Trip. I’ve got a bit of a problem and wonder if you can help me out.”
“Just call me Lester, son,” Trip said. “As I understand it, you think that plane over yonder delivered some friends of yours and that somebody met the plane and carted ‘em off, right?”
Brad nodded, “Yes sir. I believe they were kidnapped and are being held prisoner.”
“Got any proof of that?” Trip asked.
“No… just a hunch based on some things I’ve seen and heard up in Saint Pete,” Brad said. “I’m a cop up there.”
“Well…” Trip said, hitching up his pants which tended to ride low under his protruding belly. “From what old Ray here tells me, that plane was met yesterday morning by a pickup truck bout five a.m. Said the dude driving was a big fucker bout six and a half feet high with a long braid, that right, Ray?”
Ray nodded, “Way I heard it. Was wearing a cowboy hat, too.”
“Well then,” Trip said with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “My money is on just about the only man who it could be and could keep a group of folks out of sight down here. That’d be old Rick Eagle Feather.”
“You know the man? Brad asked.
Trip guffawed, “Son, me and that old Injun go way back.”
“So he’s a friend of yours?” Brad asked suspiciously.
“Haw!” Trip laughed again. “Not exactly, son. Me and Rick are what you might call… gentlemen competitors. So no, I got no problem helping you track the som’ bitch down. Course… Rick and me grew up round here and in the Glades. Like me, he ain’t no softy. Gonna need a couple of my boys to come along, and it could be dangerous.”
“What do you charge?” Brad asked, wondering how much the old pirate would take him for.
Trip chuckled, “This ain’t what you might call my normal daily, son. Gotta equip and pay two of my best guys… gas for the boat… my fee course… figger twenty grand oughta do it. Less things go and get sticky… could need hazard pay then.”
Brad cursed. He didn’t have that kind of money. He had a little squirreled away, but not twenty G’s. He drew in a breath and said: “I can give you five now. If you help me, and if we rescue these folks, twenty grand will be chicken scratch. These are the Bradfords, and they own Bradford Avionics. Big company up north.”
“Bradford?” Trip asked, his beady eyes gleaming with undisguised greed. “As in Marcus Bradford of the Big B? Them Bradfords?”
Brad smiled and nodded. Trip was on the hook, “Sure enough, Mr.… Lester. I think, but I’m not sure, that his niece and nephew are among those being held. Maybe Marcus, too. Help me get them back and I’ll see to it you can retire in style.”
Trip laughed, “You’re a pretty good salesman, son! Okay, you got yourself a deal. Hell, keep your five grand. I know Marcus Bradford personally. Taken him fishing plenty of times. I got no doubt he’ll be generous, what with all his dough. You just put up fuel and beer money and we got ourselves a deal! Okay, son, time’s gettin’ short. If I know Rick Eagle Feather… and I do… I got a pretty good idea where he took them folks. Oh, and Ray… you keep quiet about this, you hear? This works out the way I think you’ll be gettin’ a nice bonus yourself.”
Ray grinned, “Course, Lester. Goes without sayin’.”
Trip slapped Ray on the back, “I know. Okay, kid, you ready to go bush?”
29
Although rustic, the fishing cabin was quite comfortable. There was even an air conditioner running that drowned out the faint but audible generator outside. The cabin was perhaps six hundred square feet, consisting of a small bunkroom, bathroom with shower, pretty well-appointed kitchen and a living area. A round table was set up in one corner by the kitchen, and two large sofas that didn’t at all smell musty or mildewed occupied the living room portion.
It was in this cabin that Andrew, Sarah Beth and Will awoke well into the morning after their abduction. They found themselves in three of the four bunks, with the smell of a freshly brewed pot of coffee filling their nostrils.
This was by no means their last surprise. When they got up and came around the dividing wall, they found Jean Belmar sitting on one of the sofas reading a paperback book. Something called Isle of Bones with an airboat chase scene through a swamp on the cover. Jean seemed unharmed and unflustered by the whole thing. Sitting on the other sofa and glowering was an older man dressed in a bathrobe and slippers.
“Jeanie?” Andrew asked a bit groggily. “What… where…?”
The older man scoffed, “Yeah, good questions.”
“You guys okay?” Jean asked, setting down her book and going to hug Andy.
