Ten Thousand Islands

by Randy Wayne White

  She became evasive and amused. “Tommy-san? Oh … I think, but I’m not sure … it may be that Betty Lynn took him over to her trailer to, you know, show him around.” Laughter. “Like Jack said, we’re trying to take care of you boys.”

  Betty Lynn, the stocky deep-south blonde who couldn’t fit safely into a tank top, so had to wear a jogging bra beneath her Mandalite waitress outfit.

  Tomlinson. He had always been extremely selective about liaisons until the mother of his young daughter had married a Boston politico. It had put him in an emotional tailspin. Since then, he’d demonstrated the jaunty sexual abandon of a lovebug.

  I walked out the dock to No Más, stepped aboard, swung down the companionway steps and there, on the wooden door to the ice box, was the beige telephone handset.

  As I reached for the phone, it rang. I picked it up and heard Salina’s voice say, “Doc, honey? Man’s on the line, he says he wants to speak to you.”

  Then I heard Detective Gary Parrish’s voice. “Yeah, Doc honey, it’s me. You got a minute?”

  Tomlinson had left the uneaten portion of the fish out on a wooden platter covered with aluminum foil. He’d baked it with onions, fresh chilies, lots of mushrooms, and he’d made fish gravy.

  Despite his many oddities, the man is a fine cook.

  I removed the foil, stooped, got a fork and began to eat, as Parrish said, “Only thing I’ve had time to do is try and find the girl’s runaway daddy, Dart Copeland. Wanted to ask him a few questions. You see him whispering to Mr. Bauerstock? But when he walked away from that funeral, it’s like the man disappeared. You expect me to know anything else, you’re too impatient for this kind’a work.”

  I said, “Oh? My luck’s been a little better.”

  I told him what I could about my conversation with Bauerstock. Without going into specifics, without breaching the confidentiality I’d promised, I presented a very clear image of who wanted the totem badly enough to exhume Dorothy: Ivan or Ted Bauerstock. Perhaps both.

  Parrish whistled, “Man, the chance to take down Ivan Bauerstock. That snobby rich man, he got the overseer attitude. I can see it when he looks at me. Wouldn’t I love to put the bracelets on him.” He paused for a moment. “But if the man knew where the wooden carving was buried, why’d he bother having someone rob Mrs. Copeland’s trailer?”

  “I don’t think they did know at first. Della’s address was on file with the city cemetery, so she was easy to find. She hadn’t sold the carving, hadn’t donated it. They could have searched their computers on that, too. So the reasonable assumption was that she’d kept it. I think one other person knew where the totem really was, the big guy who was at the funeral; The guy with the red face, Frank Rossi. When Ivan or Ted dropped the word, Rossi probably told them about the grave.”

  Parrish chuckled. “That reminds me, man. We got a report this other big white guy from the funeral beat the Johnny-cakes outta two of the local crackheads. One of them Tony Rossi, Frank’s boy. ’Bout ripped one’a their ears off, put the other one in the hospital. Families decided not to press charges. Who knows why? You wouldn’t know anything ’bout that, man?”

  I said, “I know enough about Frank Rossi to not much care.” Then I told Parrish what he’d done to Della, adding, “So after he robs her, he date-rapes her. A woman who’s absolutely crippled by grief. He and his son aren’t going to get a lot of sympathy from me.”

  Parrish said, “You eatin’ something?”

  I told him.

  “Man oh man, fish gravy and mushrooms. That’s Bahamas soul food, man!” Then he said, “We got that goin’ on here now.”

  “Bahama’s cooking?”

  “No. A version of it, date rape. Only worse. We got the whole staff workin’ on this one. That’s why don’t expect me to be doin’ much about Mr. Bauerstock and his politician son. Thing is … wait, tell me something first. Anybody else around to hear you and Teddy talkin’ about how much his daddy wants that carving?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s his word against yours. All the people on Mr. Bauerstock’s payroll in this state, how you think that’d go? So I best spend my time tracking down this very bad man we got roamin’ around the Everglades.”

  “The date rapist, you mean? Any man who rapes a woman should be put away for life. Or killed. Or chemically altered. You’ll get no argument from me. You can’t work both cases at the same time?”

  “It’s worse than date rape, man. I told you about the three women disappeared? We finally found one of ’em. She must’a put up a hell of a fight. Jumped out of her abductor’s car while it was moving, but she chose the wrong time ’cause he was on the Marco Bridge when she bailed. That’s a very long fall.”

  I said, “Dear God,” picturing it. “How old was she?”

  “She was twenty-four, on vacation down here from Columbus. Medical examiner says she had a drug in her, this new drug come up here from South America from what the natives there call the Borracho tree. It means ‘drunk tree.’”

  I said, “Borracho, Jesus. I’m familiar with it.” The drug made from the leaf of the Borracho tree is scopolamine. I knew about it because, south of Cartagena and off the Rosier Islands, locals boiled skin off the roots and dumped the liquor into calm backwaters to stun immature tarpon which they then sold in the markets. Colombia is one of the few places in the world that considers tarpon to be a table delicacy.

  Shamans there also used it to induce waking trances in their patients. An individual under the influence of Borracho is unaware that the dream they seem to be having is actually real. They can be ordered to engage in sexual or illegal acts without their consent or knowledge. They are also extremely suggestible.

  I also knew about scopolamine because it was used for interrogation and subjugation in the world of international espionage.

  “You think Mrs. Copeland feels bad ’bout her daughter? Listen to this. Man, I had to call this girl’s parents on the phone, tell them we’d found their missing child. Then stand there beside her father when the medical examiner pulled the sheet back for him to ID his dead girl. Know the worst thing?”

  I had a terrible feeling of dreamy premonition as Parrish added, “The man who got the drug down her. He’d already hurt the girl bad before she jumped. He’d taken her eyes out; probably used his fingers, the medical examiner said. I had to tell the daddy the truth about that. It happened while his child was still alive.”

  I said, “How do you know she jumped out of a car?”

  “What you mean? ’Course she jumped out of a car. How else we find her floating under that bridge?”

  “A boat,” I said. “She could have jumped from a boat.”

  20

  Tomlinson stood at the top of the companionway steps, looking in. For no reason that made sense, the individual ropes of his beaded hair created streamers of colored light as they swung back and forth. He said, “Uh-oh, uh-oh, holy shitzky. What you been eating there, Doc?”

  “Some of your snapper. Thanks for inviting me, by the way. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. It’s excellent.” I touched a fist to my chest. “But I think it’s giving me heartburn.” Then I said, “Whew! Is it hot down here? All of a sudden, it seems really warm.” I tried to stand, then sat down quickly on the settee cushion. No Más seemed to be dancing around in the wind.

  He came down the steps fast, held his palms outward. “Okay, first thing is, stay calm. I’m here by your side. I’m not going anywhere; not a thing in the world to be afraid of. Some consider me an expert in this field.”

  “Are you nuts? I’ve got to fly. You know where Ted Bauerstock’s ranch is? We need to get up there right away. Take the truck, bang on the gate till they let us in. I think the girls could be in trouble.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere, compadre. What you’re feeling right now is very typical. Mild panic, sweating, mild heartburn, all symptomatic. Especially the panic. It’s to be expected on your first journey.”


  I was sweating and burping. Colors through the companionway door had gotten much brighter: molecularized purples and fruity pinks. As the boat rocked back and forth, the mast created a metallic slash in the tissue of burning, sunset sky. It was an opening large enough to swim through.

  “Doc, there’s something I need to tell you. Before I do, I want you to promise me something. Please don’t hit me. I’ve seen you hit people. I’m much too fond of my nose to risk it. Plus it makes my eyes water and it looks like I’m crying. It would be embarrassing. I cry too much as it is.”

  “Hit you? I don’t have time to hit anybody. I’ve got to get to Marco, find that ranch.” I tried to stand again. My legs had turned to water. I looked down at my boat loafers to see orange streaks scoring the leather. Then my brain, in rapid succession, transferred the outline of the loafers onto a leather hide hanging on the wall, then onto a cow that was sprinting away from a bald-headed cobbler who was chasing the animal, thread and needle in hand.

  I sat again. Forced myself to be calm, and said, “Tomlinson, something’s happened to me. I’m not sure what. But my brain has begun to … has begun to.” I realized that I was focused on the telephone sitting atop the icebox. The phone was melting. As it did, drops of beige plastic turned to black and jumped around like grease on a griddle. “My brain, Tomlinson … it’s my brain. It isn’t translating information the way it should.”

  Now my heart was pounding, and sweat was streaming down my face. I felt my friend’s hand pat my shoulder, trying to comfort me. “It’s okay, Doc, after I explain, you’ll understand. What I want to tell you right off is this: psilocybin mushrooms are illegal in forty-nine of the fifty states. Know what the good news is? Florida is the fiftieth state. So it’s legal, rest your mind about that. We’re not breaking any laws. What you’re feeling right now is legal. Isn’t that great!”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you saying that the mushrooms on the snapper are psychedelic mushrooms?”

  “Shrooms we call them. Friendly little guys who know just how to mix with a natural chemical in the brain. Think of them as tour guides. It’s a chemical called scrotonin. Kind of a cool, masculine name, huh? It’s fun.”

  I was looking at him, trying to remain calm. “Oh shit.” Then I said, “Okay, okay … I would never have consented to this. But I’ve got to deal with it, so … so when I see something crawling around your neck … something that appears to be a scarlet boa constrictor—like now, for instance—I should assume it’s bad information altered by chemicals?”

  Tomlinson pulled the snake away from his neck, and it became a Vietnamese flag, red backing, single yellow star. “Yep, see! It’s really just a scarf.”

  “Right, that explains it. File this away, Tomlinson. If you ever do this to me again, leave psychedelic food lying around, I will personally grab you by the neck …”

  I lost my train of thought. Realized I was gazing at the shell mobile hanging from a locker. It really was rather pretty. Nice earth colors on scallop shells that were wonderfully formed with precise ridges. Reminded me of Arizona where I’d seen petroglyphs on red stone high above Tempe …

  My wandering inattention startled me. I straightened myself and said, “Help me out of this damn boat. I need to get up. I’m going topside and try to make myself puke. Is there an antidote?”

  “An antidote?” Tomlinson was shaking his head, slinging colors against the bulkhead. “Doc, you know how to take the fun out of everything.”

  “I want this to be over. I hate it. Isn’t there something I can take to make it go away?”

  “You’re speaking, like, heresy, man. Good shrooms are hard enough to find as it is. Why would anybody want an antidote?”

  Five minutes later, Tomlinson pressed the phone to my ear, saying, “Put a smile on that mug of yours. Guess who just answered her cell phone? I explained things to her. She understands.”

  I heard Nora’s voice say, “Doc? Are you okay?”

  My heart was still pounding in my ears and I was hyperventilating. “Are you at the ranch? Are you with Ted? I want you to get out of there right away. I mean it. Get Della and run.”

  She was laughing. “Oh sweetie, I wish I was there to see you. Marion Ford on psychedelics! I don’t think the world’s ready.”

  “Please, listen to me. I’m probably wrong, but if I’m right—”

  “You’re not right. Believe me. The shrooms are getting to you, babe. I’ve been through it. Just hang on, stay calm, you’ll be fine and so will I. Ted’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. I’m going to work in his campaign. Don’t worry, though. He doesn’t have your magnetism. But he’s genuine. He’s making cocktails for Della and me right now.”

  “Don’t drink it. Don’t eat or drink anything he gives you.”

  “Marion. Calm down. Depending on how the hurricane goes, we’ll be home tomorrow. I want you to take some long slow breaths. I’m not going to hang up until you feel better.”

  “Are you there with him alone?”

  “No. His father’s here, too. What could be safer?”

  Did that make any difference? I couldn’t analyze it; couldn’t make my brain function properly. “You have your cell phone? You have the number here?”

  “Of course.”

  I was shaking my head; couldn’t seem to clear it. “Okay, here’s what I’d like you to do. Indulge me, okay?” I had my billfold out. Found Gary Parrish’s card with his home number scribbled on the back. “The moment we hang up here, I want you to call Detective Parrish. Do it in front of Ted and Ivan, make sure they know what you’re doing. Talk to Parrish or leave a message. Tell him where you are, who you’re with and when you plan to leave.”

  “Marion, there’s no need!”

  “I’m asking you to do it as a personal favor, Nora. Please.”

  “It would be so rude.”

  “Blame it all on me. Tell them I’m crazy, obsessive, whatever you want. Neither of them will have any trouble believing that.”

  Her tone softened slightly. “It would make you feel better?”

  “Yes, absolutely. Promise me you’ll call Parrish immediately and I’ll feel a hundred-percent better. It’ll let me concentrate on dealing with this damn drug that’s in me.”

  “If that’s what it takes to give you some peace of mind, I’ll do it. But, believe me, I’m not in any danger. With the security system they’ve got at this ranch, I’m probably the safest I’ve ever been.”

  “I’m going to wait right here by the phone. I expect to hear from you in no less than ten minutes.”

  A few minutes later, the phone rang and I heard Nora’s voice say, “Okay, Jimi Hendrix, I got Parrish’s recorder. I left a detailed message. That ought to put a smile on your face.”

  “Did both Bauerstocks hear you?”

  “I made the call from the great man’s own desk. I don’t think Ted approves of you. He said he thought you were a bit obsessive.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t like you being there. I don’t trust either one of those guys.”

  Nora’s voice was intimate and patient. “I know what you’re going through. Relax. Enjoy it. The first time I did shrooms, I was panicky and goofy as hell. So hang on, I’m here for you. I won’t be happy unless I see you tomorrow. There! That ought to take the panic away.”

  The last thing she said to me was, “Oh, Marion. You are such a big lug!”

  Tomlinson said, “Know what we could do? Hop in the truck, drive up the island to Card Sound. Stop at Alabama Jack’s, have a couple beers. Sit outside and maybe a saltwater croc will come along. I haven’t seen a croc in a couple years. That’d be a nice break. Not many tourists go through Card Sound. Or maybe Ocean Reef. Have a cocktail at the pool bar and meet some rich girls.”

  It was just before dusk. I was jogging, stopping to do push-ups, deep knee bends, trying to increase my heart beat and hurry the chemical through my system. We’d run along Marina Road among mangroves and gumbo limbos past Poisonwood to A
1A, then south, facing traffic on the divided highway. Jogged past the Koni Kai and a Tom Thumb convenience store; running on the road’s shoulder, white coral rock crunching beneath my feet like bone.

  I said, “Last thing I need is alcohol in my system. Are you nuts?”

  It seemed as if Tomlinson didn’t hear. “Or we could drive down to Summerlin, hang out with Bob and JoAnne Boast at Sherman’s Marina. I haven’t been there in a while. Or hell, shoot the wad, go clear to Key West, man. Sit under the ficus and play checkers with my old buddy Shine Forbes. Then stop by Blue Heaven, or the Green Parrot.”

  Tomlinson was struggling to keep up, running in sandals, still wearing his black Hawaiian shirt with the hula dancer on the back. I couldn’t bear to look at her. The pinks and greens of her skirt were so penetrating they hurt my eyes. Also, if I looked at her for more than a second, she became a live person, attached to Tomlinson’s back but openly lascivious.

  “How long did you say this crap lasted?”

  “If you’re lucky, seven, maybe eight, hours man.”

  “And if I’m not lucky?”

  “Four hours tops. Your journey will be over.”

  “I can’t believe you actually enjoy this feeling.”

  “Man, it’s like watching Disney films, but on the inside. I can’t believe you don’t.”

  We’d left the marina when I realized that I was becoming introspective to the point of catatonia. Running seemed to be the thing to do. I was carrying the black briefcase, my left hand pocketed inside, holding the wooden totem. I hadn’t mentioned it to Tomlinson, but touching the totem, feeling the hard curvature of wood beneath my hand, gave me an irrational sense of peace that I attributed to the very powerful hallucinogen circulating through my brain. It reminded me of Dorothy. But … why would that matter?

  “Or we could stop at the Paradise Pub. They got pretty good food.”

  I interrupted him. “Are there really pineapple streaks in the sky, or is that just more bad data?”

  “No, man. Those streaks are real. The sunsets here, that’s one of the good things about the Keys. With all the colors, it’s like being on shrooms half the time anyway. Even when you’re straight.”