Bonefish Blues

by Steven Becker

  Braken’s car was loaded with the materials, bags of fertilizer stacked in the back seat when he pulled out into traffic, trying to control his usual urge to speed. Either an accident or a ticket would be fatal to his plans. The former could blow the car, the latter land him in jail. The Meetup notification had accelerated his plans. Tomorrow morning, if the video was any indicator, hundreds of people would be surrounding his island. And with these activists you never knew how long they were going to stay. Hell, he could see a commune being set up there. The evidence had to be destroyed before they showed up. Several minutes later, he pulled into Braken’s driveway and parked under the carport. A quick check of the storeroom door showed no change, the lock still mangled.

  “You guys in there?” he called out.

  “Let us out of here!” Matt yelled.

  Satisfied that they were under control, he went upstairs to finish his research, wincing when a security light came on as he was halfway up the stairs. Glancing toward it, he noticed a kayak hanging from two ropes. The image of Braken floating around in the plastic boat made him laugh out loud. Maybe he could take out a bunch of the kayakers. There was going to be hell to pay with his bosses in Jersey, anyway. Carnage was never a bad thing. Several years ago he had been exiled to Miami for a botched deal, and since then his results had not been stellar. The mob bosses didn’t understand that there were different dynamics in South Florida. How could he generate the no show jobs they needed to show a W-2 to the IRS when there were no union jobs to scam off. And everybody in real estate here was running some kind of scam. A lot of competition and half of them spoke another freakin’ language. But a body count always seemed to satisfy them.

  Once inside, he went to Braken’s computer and turned it on. A porn site came on the screen as soon as it warmed up. He laughed as he minimized it and opened Google to finish his research. He looked like a college student taking notes as he scanned through site after site. Surprisingly, it took only three sites to piece together enough information to start assembly. The printer started its warmup and then spat out five pages, which he grabbed and took downstairs.

  ***

  Will stood by the dock, wondering what their next move should be. He felt energized, but at the same time confused. Hero duty was not in his wheelhouse. Usually the guy on the side lines, he hadn’t gotten in a fight since grade school. Now, with the police at a standstill, Matt missing, and Nicole in danger, he didn’t know what to do. He looked at Sheryl, wondering if she sensed his inadequacies. How could she not? he thought. Quicksand could have been sucking him in for all the good he was doing.

  “What’cha thinking?” she asked, moving toward him. “Looks like smoke’s about to come out of your head.”

  “This is getting complicated, and I’m not sure what to do. I’m worried about the Meetup tomorrow. If something happens around that discharge pipe, it could get ugly. Makes sense now why I’ve seen so many sharks around there. We have no idea where Nicole or Matt are, and the sheriff hasn’t even shown up yet.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Any ideas?”

  A picture of kayakers and chum floating around the island formed in his mind. “If that sewer discharge is putting out whatever you want to call it and all those boats are floating around it might bring in sharks. Why don’t we cap it or something before the Meetup? It shouldn’t be a big deal to do that. I’ve got some lights, we can grab some gear and go now. I hate to even say it, but if Scarface is really going to do something bad to Nicole and Matt, that’s where he is going. He’s out of time.”

  “I’ve been in the government long enough to know there are too many agencies that are going to want a piece of this. It’ll be at least morning, maybe later, before they sort it out and get someone out there. It’s a kidnapping now and the sheriff is going to wait for the FBI before they go out there. We may be the best chance to stop something bad from happening.”

  “Okay, the least we can do is fix the pipe,” he said. “I’ve got supplies at my house. Why don’t we take a ride there and get what we need.” He drove the dark and quiet streets to his house deep in thought. It was one thing to fix a pipe - he knew how to do that, but he did not have any idea how to handle a deranged mobster and wasn’t sure he had the nerve to go through with it if he did. But with Matt in jeopardy and the beautiful woman sitting next to him, with her hand on his knee, he knew the only way to go was forward. They drove in silence, both thinking about what lay ahead. He stopped in his driveway to open the gate. Once inside, he left the gate open and pulled up to the house. “It’s kind of not done yet.”

  “Looks pretty awesome to me,” she said as they got out of the car and he went to the piles of construction materials under the house.

  He started to rummage through several piles as she walked away, apparently to check out the property. She seemed to instill confidence in him; even her small touches had settled him down. Or maybe it was not having to do this alone that reassured him. He tried to focus on the task at hand. From a pile of PVC fittings, he pulled out two caps, one for three-inch pipe, the other for four-inch.

  “Love your place,” she said, startling him.

  He lost his train of thought. “Thanks. You can check out the house if you want, while I finish up here. There’s probably some food in the refrigerator if you’re hungry. Power’s not on, but there’s a flashlight by the door and some hurricane lamps around.”

  Crap, he thought. Something he had been thinking about when she interrupted had slipped his mind. Hoping it would come back to him, he finished assembling the materials and tools then went to the locked store room to get his dive gear. Mask, fins, BC, and regulator all came out of the room, along with a tank. Several wetsuits were hanging on the wall. The water was warm enough to skin dive but he was hoping a covering of neoprene would give him some protection from the toxic discharge while he repaired the pipe, he selected the thinner three-millimeter suit. The gear loaded into a laundry basket, he did a mental walk thru and realized he’d forgotten extra weight to compensate for the wetsuit. Four pounds were in the pockets of his BC to compensate for his body’s buoyancy, but he searched around for another four pounds, needed to counteract the floatation of the wetsuit. Weights and a dive light finally topped off the basket, which he set in the back of the truck, along with the tank and plumbing supplies.

  Still thinking there was something he missed, he headed upstairs. The smell of bacon grilling on the camp stove greeted him as he opened the door.

  “Hey. Hope you don’t mind. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

  His stomach groaned at the thought of food, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Sure, it’s almost midnight. Breakfast sounds great.”

  He sat at the bar and watched her move through the kitchen. She seemed to know where everything was without asking. “I love this place. Even the camping thing. It’s fun,” she said as he took the offered plate. Eggs, bacon, and some cut fruit were quickly demolished as they sat and ate.

  “We should probably get going. I’ll get those later.”

  “No. I will,” she said with a smile.

  ***

  Pagliano was back downstairs, having spread the supplies out in a line along the back of the house. The mosquitos were swarming around him, attracted by the light he’d been forced to turn on. It was careless, but at this time of night and partially screened from the street, he hoped the light wouldn’t attract attention. Now it was time to build the bomb. First, he took the empty buckets and filled them two thirds of the way up with fertilizer. Next he dumped the acetone in, until the fertilizer was saturated. Anything else added at this point would be too combustible, so he put the lids on the buckets and loaded the trunk of the car with the buckets and the rest of the supplies.

  He used the flashlight to blind his captives when he opened the door to the storeroom. The crowbar prying the door open would have given them enough notice to plan an attack, though he doubted they would. But the light would stun th
em long enough to disrupt any plan they had. They instinctively covered their eyes when the light hit, and he smirked.

  “Nothing funny, now. I’ve got you covered.” He waved the gun with his other hand while still shining the light at them. “One at a time, out of here and into the car. Braken in the passenger seat. Girl, you drive.” He looked at her. “Anything happens, the boy gets it. I’ll be in the back with him.” They complied without question, just as he expected them to do.

  Once they were out of the driveway and on US1, they drove slowly, Pagliano making sure the speed limit was obeyed. The only anxious moment came when they passed a police cruiser waiting for drunks, speeders, or both to come barreling down the road. They were neither, though, and he watched through the back window as the cruiser remained parked.

  Chapter 18

  Will drove quickly through the moonlit streets. A waning gibbous moon had just risen, lighting the cloudless sky.

  “You sure you don’t want to wait until daylight?” Sheryl asked.

  “I think I’d rather get this done right now. Anyway, by the time we get out there the sun will be starting to rise, for now the moon will be directly overhead. We should be good.”

  “Sorry. I just worry about stuff sometimes.”

  “You? I’m the worry guy.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, and extended his hand toward hers. Their fingers locked. He thought for a minute. “You go on some of those Meetups?”

  “Yeah, some people are pretty cool, but some are creepers. You know, like that Braken guy. Tried to hit on me a couple of times. Then he walks in the building department the other day and doesn’t even recognize me. Usually they’re fun.”

  “Maybe we can do that sometime,” he said.

  “I think I’d rather have you to myself,” she slid closer.

  The marina was deserted when they pulled in a few minutes later. Will pulled up to the dock, got out, and started to unload the truck. Once everything was out, he asked Sheryl to start taking stuff to the boat and he got back in. She gave him a questioning look but did as he asked. Several minutes later, he came jogging back to the dock.

  “Just wanted to stash the car. If Braken and Scarface are going out there, I don’t want them to see my truck.”

  “Won’t they see that the boat’s missing?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Not sure they’ll be looking for my boat in particular.” Will grabbed a load of the remaining gear and headed for the dock. Once the boat was loaded he lashed down the tank and stashed the gear and supplies.

  The engine started, breaking the predawn silence, rousting several birds from the trees. Will watched as Sheryl tossed the dock lines onto the dock. Once clear he backed the boat out of the slip. The bow disturbed the even pattern of the wind ripples on the water. It was pretty calm now, but he knew a front was close and it would pick up. The NOAA weather report for the Florida Keys came through the speaker as he turned the VHF radio on and tuned to channel two. Weather was just one more thing to add onto the list of decomposing bodies, sharks and mobsters. He was getting anxious as they idled through the canal and reached open water, the moon lighting the water and giving him enough security to put the boat on plane. The light hull jumped as he pushed on the throttle, quickly leveling out and skimming the small waves.

  They watched the lights of the shore pass in silence, and Will slowed when they neared the Key. He turned on the depth finder and idled toward the shore, trying to remember the spot where the pipe extended out from the island.

  A novice might have missed the small hump on the display, but Will saw it and turned parallel with the pipe. Continuing to idle, he drove about four hundred yards, to where he suspected the pipe was broken. The depth finder showed twelve feet of water under the boat. “You know how to drive this?”

  “I’ve driven a jet ski,” she said.

  Not sure whether it was better to anchor and move the boat once he’d found the break, or let her follow him, he decided on anchoring. She didn’t sound very sure of herself, and in skinny water the spinning propeller would be a real potential for injury if the boat weren’t in experienced hands. He went forward, opened a hatch, and removed the anchor, its chain hitting the deck as he pulled the line out. It slid off the deck and splashed into the water.

  “I’m going to gear up. You going to be okay up here by yourself?”

  She nodded. “How long do you think you’ll be down there?”

  “Might be a while. I have to follow the pipe until I find the break, mark the spot, and come back.”

  “I’m a little nervous, but …”

  They came together in a quick embrace, her hold tighter than he expected. He reluctantly broke it off and strapped on the BC, fished around behind his back with his right arm to retrieve the regulator, set it in his mouth, and checked the air flow. A thumbs up sign and loud splash indicated his entry into the water.

  It was dark and murky. Will turned on the light and descended to the sandy bottom, the dive light moving back and forth over the bottom illuminating the turtle grass swaying with the current. He realized how fortunate he was that it was a slack tide; if he’d attempted this when the water was moving, the visibility, now only a few feet, would have been zero.

  The light found the barnacle-crusted pipe and he began to swim along side it. A couple of hundred yards later he found the break. A Tfitting had been installed, probably as a clean out, and the pipe extended from the top, where it should have had a cap. Instead, the pipe was open. He shivered as small particles floated from the open pipe. Until now he had been focused only on the pipe, but in a moment of panic he spun 360 degrees, light extending out into the water beyond him. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was going to be swimming right in the chum slick. He could only pray that there weren’t any predators out there right now.

  Gulping, he reached into the pocket of his BC and removed what looked like a small dumbbell. It was a small length of PVC pipe, capped at both ends with foam cut from a swim noodle for flotation. Around the center was a weighted line, which he unclipped from the pipe.

  He had just released the line and dropped the weight on the buoy when something brushed his leg. Startled he gave a quick squirt of air into the BC and rose to break the surface. It would have been faster to submerge and follow the pipe back to the boat, but the thought of whatever had just bumped him, and Sheryl alone on the surface, was enough to send him up. He turned on his back and finned hard toward the boat, where she helped him by grabbing the top of the tank as he pulled himself over the transom.

  Back on board, he worked the helm, idling slowly toward the anchor, creating enough slack in the line that she could pull it. Once retrieved, they moved toward the buoy and reset the anchor.

  ***

  Braken stood behind Pagliano, holding a flashlight on the bundle of wires pulled from the clips that held them in place on the engine. He watched as Joey followed the wires one at a time, trying to find the two that would start the engine when touched together.

  “How are we going to start this thing? Back in the day, I could hot wire anything, but if I cut the wrong wire, this boat ain’t moving.” Pagliano put the cowling back on the engine.

  “Let me go look in the cabin, maybe he has a key stashed in there.” Braken went for the small door in the center of the console and tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked.”

  “Where’s your boy?” Pagliano asked Braken.

  “Hell, it’s the middle of the night. He’s probably home in bed.”

  “Go. Get him now. I’ll stay here and keep your family company while you’re gone. I don’t need to remind you what’ll happen if there’s any funny business. Do I?”

  Braken shook his head. Besides what Pagliano was sure to do to Nicole and Matt, he knew that a jail cell awaited him for his role as an accomplice.

  He walked toward the car, and slumped against the wheel, the stress and lack of sleep and food were taking a toll on him. Cody would be home, he thoug
ht, wondering if he had a charter this morning. That’s where he would go.

  The car backed out of the space, turned, and entered the road. Several minutes later, his heart fell into his stomach as he pulled up to Cody’s house. The driveway was empty. He could still be here, maybe someone drove him home. Doubting it, he got out and banged on the door, waiting impatiently for an answer. After several attempts, he tried the handle. Locked. He followed the wrap-around deck to the back door and tried the knob.

  The door opened into the dark house. Lights illuminated the way as he flicked switches and moved through the house, going toward the master bedroom. His stomach dropped further when he turned on the light and found the bed empty. Cody was not here and he had no other plan. He sat on the bed, head in hands thinking about Matt and Nicole alone with Pagliano. If Cody showed up while he was gone they might leave without him and there was no telling what could happen then. He tried Cody’s number again but it went straight to voicemail. He left the lights on as he left the house and went for his car.

  The house receded in his rear view mirror as he drove away, not knowing what to do. Then he remembered something. It was a shot in the dark, but it might work. During the boom of the early 2000s, he had owned a used boat lot. Outboard engines had only a handful of keys for each model, not an individual key like cars used. Maybe he had a key that fit Cody’s boat.