by J. M. LeDuc
Sin felt Troy’s stare as she stomped from the bar.
In fact, she felt everyone’s eyes follow her out of the bar.
CHAPTER 9
Sin knew her anger and emotion got the best of her and she wasn’t happy about it. She screamed as she rode along the overseas highway. The growl of her bike more than drowned out her outburst.
She knew she needed to get back to Tumbleboat and start trying to make some sense of the little she had been told, but she needed time to clear her head. She needed time to come to grips with her life.
She didn’t even hesitate as she drove straight past the pier that led to Tumbleboat. She twisted her right wrist, upshifted into fifth gear, and flew past. Instinctively, she knew where she was headed.
Forty minutes later, she pulled into a small cemetery just to the south of Marathon. Marathon was considered the halfway point along the keys. Not a city or even a small town by most people’s standards, but to those who lived along the narrow strip of land known as the Florida Keys, it was a metropolis.
Sin drove into the cemetery and pulled her bike up to a grassy area that looked out over the Atlantic Ocean. She smiled when she gazed at the view. Her mother insisted on this plot site. She never insisted on much, but there was no denying her this one extravagance.
Her mother, Susanna Juanita Angelina Sanchez O’Malley had been born in Cuba two years before Fidel Castro took control of the island paradise by military coup. Although she left in nineteen eighty at the height of the Mariel Boatlift, she considered Cuba her first home and she insisted that her final resting place have a view of that home.
The memories of her mom regaling her with stories about the beauty of Cuba made Sin smile. Truth be told, Sin had been to Cuba many times during her ‘freelance’ days.
Walking to the gravesite brought back other memories. These were not as pleasant as the first. She remembered her mother’s own battle with cancer and how hard she fought the disease. Sin remembered her mother telling her that no matter what life threw at her, she was to always fight.
“Fight for everything, mi hija,” her mother would tell her. “When you know you are right, don’t you let other people tell you otherwise.”
Hearing those words in her mind brought Sin a sense of pride and a whole lot of guilt. Guilt for running from her home, guilt for running from the FBI, and guilt for trying to run from herself.
Sin wiped the dirt and leaves from the marble gravestone, knelt in front of it, and began talking.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here to see you in a long time. I saw Dad earlier. It was the first time we spent more than five minutes together in fifteen years without having an argument or knockdown brawl.” Sin smiled. “It felt nice. I wanted to come by and promise you that I will take care of him and . . .”
Sin heard leaves crunching behind her. She quickly stood and turned toward the noise. Standing fifteen feet in front of her was a man—a big man. He stood about six-foot-five inches and had a wide girth. His gut protruded from the waist of his pants to the point where his belt had to be buckled under his gut. He was dressed all in white and had a white panama hat with a wide brim resting on top of his sweaty brow.
“Didn’t mean to startle you, young lady,” he drawled. The accent seemed a bit thicker than it needed to be. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand. Sin didn’t reciprocate. The big guy slowly retracted his hand. “I’m Prophet Jeremiah Heap, Pastor of The Church of the New Son.”
“Mister Heap,” Sin said, “it’s nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I was just paying my respects to my mother.”
“Prophet Heap,” he punctuated.
“Excuse me?” Sin said.
A pasty smirk rose on Heap’s face like dough rising in a bowl. “I am called Prophet Heap and I would be grateful if you would give me the respect I deserve and call me by such, young lady.”
Sin bit the inside of her cheek. So many things she wanted to say, but she knew this wasn’t the time or place.
She nodded. “Very well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you Prophet Heap, and in return, you can call me Sergeant Sinclair O’Malley because I know I have earned the right to be called such and not young lady.”
Heap took a step closer to Sin and was about to say something when a man came running. It was Bubba. His right eye was black and blue from where Joey hit him with the club. He glared at Sin before addressing the prophet. “Prophet Heap, your car is waiting, and I know you said you didn’t want to be late for your next appointment.”
Heap looked at Bubba, back at Sin, tipped his hat towards her and said, “I hope to see you at services on Sunday, Sergeant.”
Sin nodded and then scowled at Bubba. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Sin looked out over the water and saw that the sun had begun its descent. Without looking at her watch, she knew it was approximately four p.m. I better get back to the hospital before the doc has a meltdown, she thought.
As she walked to her bike, she noticed the white Lincoln Continental in the parking lot. There was no doubt whom it belonged to, but just in case someone wasn’t sure, the name Prophet Jeremiah Heap was written in gold script lettering on the driver’s side door.
Heap and another man—possibly the cemetery director—were in the middle of a discussion as she straddled her seat. Bubba strutted over to goad Sin. Before the first insult could slide from his chapped lips, she kick-started her Harley, applied the front brake and revved the engine causing her rear wheel to spin, fishtail, and kick up enough rock, sand, and shell to plaster Bubba’s face and body.
CHAPTER 10
The paperwork was tedious, but the time spent at the hospital gave Sin a chance to talk about her dad’s condition with Dr. O’Rourke.
“How long has my dad had cancer?”
“He was diagnosed four months ago,” Dr. O’Rourke answered. “To answer your next question, we caught it late. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was having problems keeping his food down, he probably would not have gone to his primary.”
Sin stood and paced the doctor’s office. “I don’t understand how he could have liver cancer. Isn’t that a disease caused by alcohol. He has never had a drink in his life.”
Dr. O’Rourke removed her glasses and folded her hands on top of her desk. “That’s a bit of a misconception. Alcohol can be a contributing factor, but there are others. Trying to narrow down the cause would just be speculation.”
Sin sat back down. “So what are the options? What is his prognosis?”
“I’m afraid the options are few. Radiation and chemotherapy are the protocol. The problem is that Thomas wasn’t diagnosed until his cancer was already in stage four.”
“Meaning?”
“Look, Sergeant O’Malley—”
“Sin, please call me Sin.”
“Okay, Sin, I’m not going to sugar coat this, your father’s cancer has spread to his lungs and to his spine. The best we can do is prolong his life, but. . .”
Sin finished the doctor’s thought. “Death is inevitable.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How long does he have?”
Dr. O’Rourke shook her head. “I don’t know. I can tell you that he has responded remarkably well to treatment considering the degree of his cancer. He is already doing better than I originally thought. He is a tough old bird.”
You have no idea, Sin thought.
“What do I need to do for him at home?”
“Not much really. You need to make sure he eats and drinks plenty of water and try to keep his stress levels to a minimum. Stress plays a big role in this type of cancer.”
Sin’s eyes elicited a sad smile. “The first two are easy, I will do my best with number three.”
“That’s all I can ask,” the doctor said.
As Sin made her way to her father’s room, sh
e thought she heard Jeremiah Heap’s voice. Her steps quickened. The door to his room was closed and Bubba and Tommy Morton—another inbred-looking redneck from her youth—were standing in the hallway. They blocked the door as she approached.
“The Prophet’s in a meetin’ and can’t be disturbed,” Bubba scowled.
Sin fumed with rage. “I don’t give a damn what Heap is doing, I’m going in to see my father.”
“I don’t think so,” Bubba said.
The muscles in Sin’s jaw tightened with anger. “You can let me in, or I can move you out of the fucking way.”
“Watch out, Bubba,” drawled the other, “she knows that kung fu shit.”
Bubba pulled a knife out of his pocket. “Reach for the door and I’ll cut you wide open.”
Hospital personnel began to gather, but no one said or did a thing. Sin eyed both men. She put her hands up in mock surrender and turned to leave.
“See, Tommy, she’s just a pussy,” Bubba said. “She ain’t nothing when she don’t have the upper hand.”
Tommy began to laugh. It was stifled when Sin spun towards him and drove the palm of her hand into his throat. The sound of cartilage snapping could be heard by everyone. As he collapsed, Bubba lunged at Sin. She side stepped his advance, wrapped her arm around his throat, and drew her straight-edged razor from her back pocket. The open blade pressed against his throat.
“One word—one movement—and I’ll cut your fucking head off,” she seethed.
His knife hit the floor.
The door to her father’s room opened and Prophet Heap stepped into the hallway.
“What in God’s name is happening out here?” he bellowed.
Sin looked up at him with venomous hate. “If your boys ever threaten me again, I will defend myself without restraint. Got that, Heap?”
Murmurs and whispers from the bystanders could be heard throughout the hall.
Prophet Heap straightened his suit coat. “We are men of God and do not act without provocation.”
Sin dropped Bubba to the ground, flicked her wrist retracting her blade, and stood nose to nose with the Prophet.
He looked around at the stunned expressions on the faces of those watching. He removed a monogrammed handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped his pasty brow. “I was just having a friendly conversation with Thomas. If my men said anything to provoke you, Sergeant, you have my apologies.”
Sin pulled a paper out of her back pocket. “These are the legal papers giving me guardianship of my father. Next time you want to talk to him, you come to me.”
She was so close, her chest pushed against him with every breath.
He instinctively eyed her chest and then took a step back.
He leaned in to say something, but Sin cut him off.
“Move away from the door.”
He again plastered a fake smile on his face and looked at the crowd that had gathered. “I hope to see you on Sunday,” he said as he stepped from the doorway.
Sin looked at the hospital personnel and then down at Tommy whose color was turning blue. “You’ve got about two minutes to get him to the emergency room before he stops breathing.”
Her words snapped the nurses from their funk. Suddenly, people were yelling and Tommy was placed on a gurney and wheeled down the hall.
Bubba stood and rubbed his neck. He pointed at Sin. “This ain’t over, bitch.”
Heap backhanded Bubba, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him down the hall.
Inside the room, her father was half out of the bed: leaning and craning his neck in order to listen and watch the ruckus in the hall.
Sin expected a scowl, but instead he seemed proud.
“What are you all puffed up about?” she asked.
“You,” he said. “You are so much like your mother. She would have done the same thing. Well, sort of. She would have done it without the knife and without almost killing the Morton boy, but she wouldn’t have backed down either.”
Sin slumped down in a chair. “What the hell is going on around here, Dad?”
Her father looked around the room and reached for a pen and paper.
We’ll talk at home. I think the room is bugged.
Sin read the note and nodded.
“What did Heap want that was so important that he had to come here to talk to you?”
“He wants me to turn over the deed to our plots in the cemetery.”
“He what? What did you tell him?”
“I told him, over my dead body.”
Sin smiled. “What was his response?”
Her father swallowed hard. “He said that could be arranged.”
Sin ranted and yelled like the Tasmanian devil. Through her tirade, she heard her father laugh. Twisted in fury, she turned toward his bed.
“You definitely have your mother’s spirit,” he glinted.
“Is this how you help keep your father’s stress level to a minimum?” a voice yelled.
Sin snapped her head towards the door and saw Dr. O’Rourke standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed and she was angrily tapping her foot.
Sin pointed at her, as if she were throwing a jab. “You keep that piece of shit away from my father and I’ll work on the stress thing.”
Dr. O’Rourke opened her mouth to speak, but Sin didn’t give her a chance. “Draw up the discharge papers. My father is going home tonight!”
Two hours later, as she and Carmelita were wheeling her father toward the hospital doors, Sin saw Troy sitting in a chair outside a curtained room. He was slumped over, his elbows were resting on his knees and his head was hanging low.
“Dad, excuse me for a sec, I’ll be right back.”
Sin walked over to Troy and placed her hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing that concerns you,” he said.
“Try me.”
“A young girl was just found washed up on shore.”
“How young?”
“Too young.”
Another one, Sin thought. She remembered the real reason she was back in the Keys, back in Tumbleboat Key.
“Who is the woman screaming? Her mother?”
Troy didn’t even bother to look in the woman’s direction. “Nah. She found the body.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“Come by the house tomorrow and I’ll make you lunch.”
He looked up and arched his eyebrows.
“I’m not a complete bitch,” she smiled.
“Good to know.”
CHAPTER 11
When Sin woke up the next morning, she took a deep breath and smelled the aroma of Cuban coffee. It was a scent that could wake the dead, and it had Sin scurrying out of bed.
Carmelita was in the kitchen making banana French toast, Sin’s father’s favorite. Maria was in the den with her father. She was giggling and smiling as her dad talked to her. When Maria saw Sin, she became quiet and seemed frightened.
Sin smiled, trying to put the girl at ease, but Maria seemed to curl into Sin’s father when she came near.
Thomas whispered something in Spanish to the little girl and she broke out in a big laugh. It was a contagious laugh and soon Sin was laughing along with the two of them.
Carmelita walked from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is so funny?”
“I told Maria that Sin only looks like a grumpy old bear in the morning.” He laughed. “She said Sin looked even meaner yesterday.” He looked at his daughter. “Then we just started to laugh.”
Carmelita had a way with Sin’s father. Dr. O’Rourke had mentioned that his last bout of chemo left him without an appetite, but she was able to get him to eat three pieces of French toast.
Sin
sat back, watched, and learned. She saw a human side to her father in the way he acquiesced to Carmelita’s calm demeanor and a sweet side of him in the way he treated Maria. It brought her joy to watch, but soon his actions began to cause her insides to twist.
Why couldn’t he treat me that way, she thought. Everything could have been so much easier growing up if he only treated me the same. The self-pity got the best of her and she excused herself from the table.
Standing on the deck overlooking the Atlantic, she noticed the large number of fishing boats off shore. She was surprised, but more bewildered at how far out they were—much further than the two she had seen the previously.
Sin picked up her government issued binoculars and was dialing in the focus when the screen door opened.
“Doing a little sightseeing?” her father asked.
She turned and put the binoculars down. “I don’t remember seeing so many boats fishing along Tumbleboat’s reefs when I was younger.”
“Yeah, that all changed when Jeremiah Heap signed a contract with the Tumbleboat Fishing company.”
“Signed a contract or bought it?” Sin questioned.
Her father looked at her with a deeper respect. “You catch on quick,” he said. “That point is up for debate, but if you ask me, I would say that he owns it. Heck, he has bought just about everything else in Tumbleboat.”
“I heard he bought the entire island.”
“Hmm,” her father groaned, “a fact that hasn’t been proven. He wouldn’t let anyone take a look at the charter he has, but I did a little research and he can’t purchase public property.”
Sin just stared at the father.
“Doesn’t really matter,” he said, “he owns the fishing company and the paper to most of the fishing boats.”
Hearing the word ‘boat’ drew Sin’s attention and she looked back at the action out on the water. “What were you saying about the boats?”
With a gentle touch, her father took the binoculars from Sin and focused on the reef. He put them down and rubbed his forearms. Sin could tell he was getting cold from the breeze.
