Key Weirder

by Robert Tacoma

  “I reckon we can head on over. It looks like a good day, and the wind ain’t bad yet.”

  I tried asking her about how the boy Henry would know to bury that gold in that spot, and was she sure he hadn’t said anything about Mr. Small. She seemed to have her mind on other things and didn’t to want to talk much, so I let it go figuring I’d try asking her again in Key West.

  We got things stowed away at the cabin and set off in our boats poling through the swamp towards the river. If we didn’t run into any problems, I figured we could make KW before dark easy. Sara was poling her boat behind mine and I was concentrating on getting out of there without getting lost.

  “Hey Taco Bob, I just thought of something! When I was in Key West the place was crazy with people getting ready for some kind of big show. I sure hope that’s over by now and everything is back to normal.”

  ∨ Key Weirder ∧

  56

  Key West

  With the big concert coming that evening, US 1 into Key West was even more jammed than ever. The bumper-to-bumper traffic was at a crawl and backed up almost to Miami by mid-day. For every vehicle leaving Key West there were twenty trying to get in.

  Food, souvenir t-shirts, sunscreen, beer, and other emergency supplies had been airlifted into the Navy base and distributed on an as-needed basis to the bars, restaurants, and shops of Key West. Most of the streets were filled with parked RV’s, vans, and cars that had become temporary shelter for their owners. Even with so many of the streets blocked, the bikers were still able to cruise around easily. The whole island rumbled with the sound of motorcycles.

  The police had given up on arresting people for public nudity and intoxication since the latest Fantasy Fest parade the night before, and were concentrating on working the larger beer and food riots with the National Guard.

  The water around the island continued to fill with boats. Hundreds of boats. Every type of water vessel imaginable, from giant cruise ships to canoes and even a few Cuban refugees in large inner tubes who’d made the trip for the show. The turquoise sea surrounding Key West was looking like a huge marina.

  The USNS Mercy hospital ship had been brought in the day before and was doing a brisk business treating tourists and boaters for exposure, alcohol overdoses, gunshot wounds, boating accidents, and shark bites.

  Besides the Navy helicopters ferrying people back and forth to the hospital ship, there were police helicopters, National Guard helicopters, Coast Guard helicopters, and numerous media helicopters buzzing around overhead. In addition, the sky was filled with small sightseeing planes, planes pulling advertising banners, Navy cargo planes, commercial air traffic into Key West International as well as several blimps, including one shaped like an opossum.

  ∨ Key Weirder ∧

  57

  Getting Ready

  Carol was pissed. Jeremy had come back from paying off the fortuneteller with the news.

  It seems the spirits hadn’t given her any clues as to the whereabouts of Sara, but they had indicated to Mama Rosa that there was a mysterious man looking for the Chacmools. A large man with a shaved head was the key to the Idols, a man named Saul Thorpe.

  Jeremy couldn’t understand why Carol wasn’t happy until she told him Thorpe was the name of the guy the agency in LA had hired to find the Idols for her. Carol was pissed.

  ♦

  Saul Thorpe figured he needed a gun. Found out from one of the neighbors in Orlando the reason no one seemed to be around the apartment was they’d all gone to Key West. Told some geek neighbor he was a fishing buddy of the guy with the truck and boat. Was supposed to hook up for some fishing. Geek was a fisherman, ready to tell all he knew. All he knew was they went to Key West.

  Hand was still a little swollen, threw off his aim for gumming. That really sucked. Traffic got real bad into the Keys. All these people weren’t going to help either. Make it harder to find the guy. Maybe find the woman and dog though, a start.

  Still hurting from the dog bites. Hurt to sit down even. Fucking dog was one reason he needed a gun.

  ♦

  Marty the Manatee was ready. He’d been getting ready for coming out of retirement for years. While he was enjoying life as a recluse on his island in the Caribbean, the media rumor mill kept his image alive.

  “Marty thought to be talking to Russians about going up as space tourist.” “Marty seen in England talking to Queen.” “Marty busted in Daytona Beach strip club dressed as Pee Wee Herman.”

  The end result of the media attention was ever-increasing record sales and Marty’s popularity approaching that of living legend.

  The band had moved to the island a couple of years earlier. They practiced twice a week and Marty could belt out a song better than ever. He ran on the beach everyday, worked out, and lived on salads, fruit, and seafood. He had lost most of the excess weight and had a special body suit made up to make him look fat for when he made his return to the stage. The offer from the governor of Florida to play in Key West was just the opportunity he had been waiting for. Marty was very ready.

  ♦

  Governor Walker was nervous. The whole Key West thing was supposed to draw attention away from the now famous Southernmost Bandit, and it had done that. But the advertising blitz for the event had worked so well it was causing a situation in Key West that might eventually require declaring martial law.

  The plan was for the Governor to be on stage to introduce Marty and the opening act. Since the event was being carried live by at least three networks, it was an excellent chance for some spontaneous politicking. The governor’s speechwriters had put together a magnificent piece of work that would rival Martin Luther King Jr. or John Kennedy.

  If they could only keep the lid on the situation in Key West caused by the crush of humanity that had shown up for the concert, it could be a big boost for the upcoming re-election campaign. Or if things went bad it could make him look like an incompetent boob. The governor read over the speech again, but he was so nervous he couldn’t concentrate.

  ♦

  Richard “Little Dick” Jawaski was dead. His biker brothers of the Key Biscayne chapter of the Hog Fuckers Motorcycle Club had laid him to rest two days after the Coast Guard pulled his body from the water near the Seven Mile Bridge. Little Dick’s old lady had been following him across the bridge in their station wagon, and had fallen behind because she was changing a diaper on the youngest while she drove. She saw a van with a big bald man laughing hysterically coming in the other direction just before she saw the wrecked bike on the bridge.

  Mrs. Jawaski taught computer language at a community college in Miami to supplement her husband’s salary as a laboratory test case. She had a photographic memory, and even in her confusion and grief had remembered the license tag number of the van.

  The club had contacts in law enforcement, so running the tag and getting intel on the driver of the van was easy. After the funeral they handed out pictures and a description of the man they believed to be responsible for numerous motorcycle accidents that involved projectiles thrown from passing vehicles.

  The other bike clubs agreed: they wanted to take care of this in-house and didn’t want to get the police involved. Some of the accidents, like Little Dick’s, had been fatal.

  ∨ Key Weirder ∧

  58

  Saul

  Four hours in the hot sun to move twenty miles. Van was about to overheat. Only a couple miles from Key West now. Traffic was stopped because a truck full of portable toilets broke down up ahead.

  Couple of ugly biker-types walking down the two lanes of stopped traffic looking in vehicles. Saw the one in the next lane was holding a picture up and looking in windows. Picture was of Saul. This was most likely a bad thing.

  Traffic was starting to move up ahead, but the biker checking his lane was coming up to the van.

  Had the big shades on already, put on a hat. Reach back around for the toolbox. Dirtbag comes to the window. Roll the window down and lean back so he
has to get close to see in. Scooter trash was giving him the eye.

  “How ‘bout you lose the shades for me, baldy?”

  Typical biker, greasy beard. Reach out and get a handful of chin hair and pull down and in. Reach quick with the other hand and linesman’s pliers, grab a good hunk of tongue and pull him close. Guy forgets about the shades, starts making funny noises. Sure enough, reach out the window and down – find a gun stuck under biker’s shirt. Traffic moving.

  Quick head butt and guy wants to lie down all of a sudden. Give him a little shove and catch up with traffic.

  ∨ Key Weirder ∧

  59

  Film at eleven

  A TV news crew was set up near the huge stage at the former site of the Southernmost Monument. Hundreds of people were wandering around the area already, several of whom bore a striking resemblance to Papa Hemingway.

  A well-dressed young woman stood in front of the camera holding a microphone. An assistant was dabbing at the shoulder of her blazer with a damp towel. She did not look happy.

  “I can’t believe that fucking bird did that!”

  The video crew was watching. The young woman gave them each a hard look. The members of the crew all seemed to be holding their breath. Someone snickered.

  “I heard that!”

  She shooed the assistant away and gave her clothes a quick check.

  “Okay, let’s try it again. Is the hair right?” The cameraman still seemed to be having trouble with speech. He just nodded and gave her a signal to continue.

  “That’s right, Peter. In just a short time the final parade of the Special Edition Southernmost Monument Benefit Key West Fantasy Fest will wind up right here where I’m standing. The governor of Florida…”

  A fat, balding, middle-aged man, wearing only a Marty the Manatee T-shirt and holding a beer, staggered through the shot behind the reporter.

  “…himself is expected to MC the benefit concert following the parade featuring…”

  The man suddenly came back into the shot and looked toward the camera. He smiled a big drunken smile and waved.

  “…the long awaited return of the legendary singer/songwriter Marty the Manatee. As you know, Peter, these last few days have been quite chaotic here in Key West, as thousands of people…”

  The man mouthed, “Hi mom!” then seemed to become aware of the young woman between himself and the camera.

  “…have flocked to this small island to show their support for the efforts to raise money for a new monument after the Southernmost Bandit’s daring…”

  The man killed the beer in one pull and belched. He looked down at his exposed lower body and then at the reporter standing in front of him. He smiled a wicked smile, closed his eyes, and started making a grinding motion with his pelvic area.

  “…theft recently of the original. Now what’s wrong with you morons?”

  ∨ Key Weirder ∧

  60

  Taco Bob Goes Home to Key West

  “You never know who you’re going to meet!”

  Coming across Florida Bay toward Key West in the boats, the first thing Sara and I could see was the blimps. As we got a little closer we could make out some small planes with long tails and dozens of helicopters buzzing around like a swarm of hornets.

  About a mile from the island we started to come up on the boats. Boats everywhere. Lots of boats had diver-down flags, and we saw people in the water holding up lobsters. There were folks fishing and water-skiing, and fast little jet-skis zipping around everywhere. Way more cruise ships than you’d ever want to see were anchored close in with boats ferrying tourists to and from the island. There were sailboats, houseboats, cabin cruisers, kayaks, inflatable rafts, and a huge white boat with red crosses.

  We slowed down and managed to work our way into the marina without getting run over. I was afraid we’d have a hard time finding a place to tie-up, but it seemed just about everything that could float was either over on the south side of the island for the concert, or was heading out that way.

  I got with Sara and told her that under the circumstances, we might want to wait until the next day to get back together so I could loan her the little Chacmool statue. She didn’t like that idea at all, so I finally agreed to meet over at Mr. Willie’s place after I’d found my truck and got the statue for her. Sara told me to go ahead while she got things squared away at the marina office.

  Key West was a mess. A big Fantasy Fest parade was just starting when we got there, and people were heading that way on foot since most of the roads were blocked. Mary Ann was supposed to park my old truck at Pete’s sister’s place, which was on the exact other side of where the parade was happening. I could hear motorcycles roaring and marching bands starting up along the parade route a few blocks away. The road was barricaded off by the marina, so I took a convenient shortcut down an alley between too old warehouses. The buildings blocked the parade noise enough I could plainly hear a sharp metallic click off to my left, kind of like the sound you’d expect jacking a cartridge into a large caliber gun would make. I froze, then turned slowly, knowing all to well what I was likely to see. But I held out hope.

  “Surprise! Did you miss us?”

  So much for hope. Two big grins proudly showing off years of poor dental hygiene, and what looked to be a fifty-caliber machine gun on a tripod, all aimed my way. Daltons.

  “Got ya this time, Taco Bob! If you’d be so kind as to get those hands up, I’m kind of a stickler for tradition when it comes to killing folks in cold blood.”

  “Evening, George, Lenny. I see you haven’t lost your sense of fair play either.”

  George, the small-statured mastermind of the two-man gang gave the big gun a loving pat.

  “Found this here beauty over at the Navy base. Them years of experience breaking into places comes in handy sometimes. I was hoping for depleted uranium bullets, but we had to settle for regular ammo. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Big as a house and almost as talkative, Lenny held up an impressive cartridge belt that came out the side of the machine gun and went to a box on the ground.

  “No, those’ll be fine I’m sure. You boys got this planned out well. Timing’s pretty impressive too.”

  “Hey, we’re no small shakes at escaping from prison these days neither, long as we’re giving credit where due.” George pulled out a cell phone and punched a number. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I gotta make one quick call, then we can get back to killing ya.”

  “Take your time, George. No hurry.”

  I tried to assess my current predicament. Another small alley behind the Daltons next to an overflowing dumpster. Not much chance of making a run for it, not with George looking anxious behind the big gun. Hundreds of thousands of people crawling over Key West, and I was down the only deserted alley on the island.

  “We got him!” George put the phone away and went back to grinning like a possum.

  “Something going on here I should know about, George? You boys working for somebody? Wouldn’t be a big guy with a shaved head, would it?”

  Instead of answering, the Daltons looked at each other and busted out laughing.

  “I reckon you’re going to find out soon enough!” George looked like he was dying to tell the story. Man always did appreciate a captive audience. “Funny how things work out. A few days ago, me and Lenny here were just hanging out, planning another of our ingenious escapes from prison. The DEA comes along, starts burning a few hundred bales of pot in the field next-door from a big drug bust. Maybe it was just the thunderstorm coming in, maybe it was them hundreds of prisoners praying hard, but the wind changed direction just right.

  “So, while all the cons and guards were facing into the wind hyperventilating, we took the warden’s car for a quick test drive. Piece of shit by the way, those Lexus cars are way overrated. They drift on corners and don’t float in canals. I’m a Chevy man, myself.”

  I heard a vehicle going down the street. Without turning my head, I could see a c
amo-colored truck go by out of the corner of my eye.

  “Anyway, after water testing the car, Lenny cleaned out a buffet table in Homestead.” This got Lenny grinning and rubbing his belly appreciatively. “Walked out of the restaurant onto the street and held up a sign ‘DIRTY DEEDS DONE CHEAP’. Hour later we had us a ride to Key West and the perfect job.” George pulled out a big wad of cash. “Yep, job of a lifetime. All we had to do was block off the street by the marina and wait here in the alley for the airplane pilot to call, then keep a guy around till the boss showed. Imagine my surprise when we found out the guy’s name was Taco Bob.” George winked big and shoved the money back in his pants pocket.

  “Boss didn’t say what was going to happen to you, but I’m in such a good mood today I’m seriously considering throwing in killing ya at no extra charge.” He gave the gun a loving pat. “I figure a few hundred rounds with ol’ Betsy here ought to do the job!”

  George got busy with a round of insane laughter and didn’t notice a black Harley coming down the alley behind him until his partner tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Alright, this should be the boss.” George looked back at me and gave me his best evil grin. “Won’t be long now, Taco Bob!”

  The bike stopped a good twenty feet behind the Daltons. Saul Thorpe didn’t look that big to me sitting on the Harley. The black helmet and tinted face shield came off, and there was a good-looking woman instead. She parked the bike, walked up next to Lenny, and stood there with her arms crossed. I couldn’t place her right off, maybe it was the black leather jacket and pants, but she did look awful familiar. She also looked mighty pissed.

  “Where is Ponce?” Which would explain the familiar. She was the latest girlfriend I had seen Ponce with. “And don’t lie to me. I’ve been following you by land, sea, and air for days, I know you must have met with him.”