Rising Tide

by Wayne Stinnett

  I also thought about the kid, Alberto, if that was his name. He’d been starved most of his life, beaten, and put on a leaky boat to die slowly under the baking sun or drown in the Gulf.

  These things angered me—a deep, seething rage that I knew I wouldn’t be able to just shake off. It was an irritation to a primal part of my brain, the part that society has tried to bury for thousands of years.

  If you boiled down the animal kingdom to its very base, there were really only two kinds—prey and predator. The two were easily identified by the location of their eyes.

  Animals that fell into the prey category—like mice, rabbits, deer, and horses—had eyes on the sides of their heads, giving them greater side vision to watch out for predators all around them. Some of these animals had eyes that evolved to have long, horizontal pupils, allowing them even greater peripheral vision. Horses and other animals of the plains became ridiculously hard to sneak up on.

  Predators, like wolves, lions, owls, even humans, had eyes in the front of their heads, which could focus on a single object. That gave them a three-dimensional image, allowing them to judge distances better. Cats’ pupils are long and narrow, also, but vertical, allowing them a greater field of view above their heads.

  Predators kill prey to survive. It’s the law of the jungle.

  But there are some animals that will murder their own kind. A male lion will kill male cubs to maintain dominance. Many species of fish will devour their own young. It’s a natural part of the evolution of a species.

  Only humans will kill one another without reason.

  Those humans who preyed on weaker people, using them for their own sick purposes, or for financial gain, only to toss them aside when they were finished with them, were at the bottom of the evolutionary scale.

  Then there were animals like me.

  That deep, dark part of the human brain that society has pushed down for centuries is in all of us. The will to hurt, maim, and kill can be honed, trained, and, as we are thinking creatures, redirected.

  Right now, my hostility was directed at an unknown, unseen enemy—a group of people who kidnapped, tortured, and murdered others, whose only mistake was in passing before the forward-looking eyes of a predator.

  With a following current, I made good time and was soon idling up to the south pier, packing away the rage I felt; that need to seek animalistic justice.

  Clicking the key fob button, I reversed Cazador’s engine, and stopped her alongside the pier as Savannah came down the steps from our house, Woden and Finn following dutifully behind her. There was a time when they’d have run down the steps.

  I stepped up to the dock and into Savannah’s embrace, holding the bow line in one hand. The dogs tried to wedge their heads between us from either side, but Savannah wasn’t allowing it. Finn actually whined.

  She kissed me, then stepped back. “I know it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours, but I missed you.”

  “Me too,” I said, as Finn and Woden vied for my attention. I gave them both a good neck rub, then bent to tie the line off to a cleat. “Being alone in that big bed on the Dog was like being adrift in the middle of the ocean. Only the ocean smelled like you.”

  I kissed her again as the dogs moved to the end of the pier to lie in the sun.

  “Next time,” she said, “we’ll all go together, or you won’t go at all.”

  I laughed and pushed Cazador’s stern away from the dock. She drifted slowly in an arc and, when she’d moved out far enough, I untied the bow line and pulled it the other way, turning her around. With a single inboard engine, it was easier that way.

  “I’ll go inside and help you get her into her slip,” Savannah said, then climbed quickly up the steps.

  With the outboard boats, backing into a slip was easy—point the back of the motor in the direction you wanted to go, and that’s where it went. Gaspar’s Revenge, with her twin inboards, was even easier. By using the thrust from each prop separately, she could be turned around almost within her own length.

  But El Cazador had a single inboard and the rudder was several inches behind the prop—of little use in reverse.

  We managed to get the boat tied up alongside the Revenge and I shut down the engine.

  “I spoke to Andersen,” I said, handing her the bag from Rufus. “He said the boy might be released this afternoon and he’d phone before he brings him out.”

  “What are they calling him in the hospital?” she asked, opening the bag, and inhaling the fragrant mix of herbs and spices. “Mmmm.”

  “I didn’t think to ask. I’m sure it’s not ‘boy’.”

  “He looked like an Alberto,” she said, referring to the name Deputy Fife and I had found on the transom of the boat he’d been in.

  “Names don’t have a look.”

  She looked up at me. “Oh? If I mention the name Waldo, what mental image do you get? How about Brutus?”

  I clicked the key fob again and the hydraulic pump began to whir, pulling the doors closed.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “But I’ve met guys named Alberto who were tall, short, thin, or fat.”

  We went upstairs to the living room, where I discovered she’d done some more redecorating. Beside the bed was a table and lamp, which I recognized from Flo’s house. There were two books on the table. One was a children’s book with a cartoon boat on the cover. The other was a picture book for identifying tropical fish.

  “Are you planning to teach him to dive already?” I asked.

  “That was Flo’s favorite,” she replied, picking up the fish ID book. “She memorized every fish in Paul Humann’s books on Florida and the Caribbean.”

  She put the book back down. “We don’t have much in the way of reading material for little boys.”

  I went to the kitchen and poured the last of the coffee from my Thermos into a clean mug, then pulled out one of the chairs. “Come and sit down a minute.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You have that look.”

  “Look?”

  “You’re upset about something. I can tell.”

  We sat down and I told her about the phone call from Nancy Liddell the previous night and my conversations with Phil Tucker and Billy Rainwater.

  “And he just agreed to do it?” she asked.

  “Billy has a very strong sense of right and wrong,” I said. “If he can help someone out of a bad situation, like Nancy’s niece is in, he will.”

  “It could be dangerous. I’ve heard that gang is quite ruthless.”

  “So were the conquistadors,” I said. “And even with their more advanced weapons and armor, they steered clear of the Calusa people. Besides, Billy’s also a Marine. If anyone’s in danger, it’s the gang, should they go after the girl.”

  “But that’s not all you wanted to tell me, is it?”

  “Something Barney Fife said,” I began.

  “His name’s Bradford.”

  I grinned. “I bet all his cop buddies call him Barney,” I said, then got serious. “We know three things—Alberto Mar is an American kid, he was covered by a tarp made in Fort Myers, but the boat was most likely Cuban. Throw out the odd thing and Alberto’s from the Fort Myers area. I can’t explain how or why I know this. I just do. And you know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “The Blancs are all gone,” she said. “Either dead, in jail, or hiding in the swamp.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “You and I jumped into the water to save a kid. He was covered by a tarp made in Fort Myers and he’d been beaten. The very next morning, I get a call from a woman who lives in that area, asking for help in protecting her niece.”

  “And what? You think these two things are…connected somehow?”

  “Call it an aligning of the planets,” I said, running the fingers of both hands through my hair, “or call it Rufus’s gods manipulating the strings of humanity, but yeah, I do think they’re connected somehow.”

  Savannah sta
red at me. Her big blue eyes gave away nothing of what was going on behind them. She blinked twice. “Call Tank and Deuce. You’re not going up there alone.”

  “You think you know me that well already?”

  “You mean you weren’t planning to go ‘recon’ the area?”

  I grinned. “No. That you’d think I’d go alone.”

  “The dogs and I will be going with you, too.”

  “Oh no—”

  “Oh, very much yes,” she said, cutting me off. “And we’re not going to miss the boat on Friday.”

  “What about Alberto?” I asked.

  “He’ll come too.”

  “No,” I said. “No way. Forget about it.”

  “We’ll take two boats,” she insisted. “You, Tank, and whoever you can get from Deuce can go on Gaspar’s Revenge, and Chyrel and I will meet you there on Sea Biscuit with Alberto.”

  “It could be dangerous,” I said. “There’s no way I’m taking a kid to where we’re going.”

  “He’ll be perfectly safe, Jesse. Once we’re there, we won’t even have to acknowledge each other. Chyrel can run things from my boat and I can assist her.”

  I had to admit, having Chyrel there would make things easier, as would having Tank and maybe Tony come along. I didn’t have any idea what I could do against the gang in just four days, but I was going to do something. Savannah and I both knew that.

  Billy was likely already in place, providing protection to Callie and her family, should MS-13 make a move against them. We could discourage them from another angle.

  “Okay, we’ll take both boats,” I conceded, digging my cell phone from my pocket. “But the dogs are staying with you.”

  I called Tank first. He wasn’t in the best of health and he was in his seventies, but there wasn’t a better strategist on the planet. He’d been diagnosed with cancer several months ago and given less than a year to live, so he’d chosen to live it well and moved to the Keys. Chyrel had kept him on an extremely healthy diet and they exercised daily. For a seventy-year-old man with cancer, he was surprisingly fit.

  “Whatever you have planned,” he said, answering the phone, “you can count us in. Marlin, snook, diving, flying…I’m ready.”

  “What do you think about taking on one of the most ruthless gangs in the world?” I said bluntly.

  There was a pause, and I could hear him whisper something, though I couldn’t make out what it was.

  “When and where, Gunny?”

  “Before dawn,” I said. “We’re going up to Fort Myers to look around.”

  “Chyrel’s coming.”

  “So is Savannah,” I said. “We’ll be taking two boats. And Tony, or one of Deuce’s other men will be coming along.”

  “Have whoever it is come to our house,” Tank said. “You can pick us up here.”

  I agreed and we ended the call. Then I called Deuce, to see who he had available.

  “Tony and Paul are both here,” he said. “Drinking all my coffee and not making a fresh pot.”

  “Have them both meet us at Tank and Chyrel’s place on Grassy Key at zero seven hundred.”

  “Will do,” Deuce said. “DJ Martin stopped by yesterday. He’s up in Miami this week, going over the progress on a house he’s renovating in Coconut Grove.”

  “Think he’s available?”

  “Probably,” Deuce replied. “He seemed bored.”

  “After that dust up in Puerto Rico? How could he be bored?”

  “You know those Ranger types,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’ll give him a call.”

  Ending that call, I searched for DJ’s number and hit the Call button.

  “Jesse McDermitt,” he said. “I was just talking to your partner yesterday.”

  “I know. He told me you were in the States. You busy for the next couple of days?”

  “Nothing I can’t get out of,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

  “Can you meet me across the state in Fort Myers tomorrow?”

  “Where and when?”

  “There’s a place called Landings Marina on the east side of the Caloosahatchee River, just south of the Cape Coral bridge. We’ll arrive there by ten hundred. Don’t you even want to ask what for?”

  “Why bother?” he said, his tone flippant. “If you’re involved, it definitely won’t be boring.”

  I ended the call and put my phone back in my pocket.

  “Who is DJ Martin?” Savannah asked.

  “A one-legged pirate,” I replied with a half grin. “Tony and Paul are both in, too.”

  “A one-legged—never mind, I’ll find out tomorrow. How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you get people to do things,” she began, “without them even knowing what you want them to do? Billy, last night, and Tank and this DJ just now?”

  “DJ’s a door-kicker, too,” I said. “He lost a leg in Afghanistan, but that barely slows him down. The world of spec-ops is pretty small.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why someone would volunteer to put themselves in harm’s way without even knowing what they were up against.”

  “What can I say?” I offered a grin. “I’m just a likable guy.”

  She laughed. “Okay, Mr. Nice-Guy, why don’t you go pull some traps? And take one of these pests with you.”

  “Come on, Finn,” I said, rising from the table. “The admiral wants stone crab claws for lunch.”

  He rose and trotted after me.

  Woden sat waiting for his command.

  “Bleibe und bewachen, Woden.”

  The big Rottweiler rose from where the two had settled on the rug and positioned himself between the door and where Savannah sat at the table. He’d remain on alert and move to keep himself between her and the door until I returned.

  The traps out in the channel had been in the water for just a couple of days, so Finn and I headed across the clearing and out onto the floating pier on the north side of the island. I had four crab traps that’d been soaking there for three whole days. There were four more tied to the north pier, but they’d only been in the water for a little over a day.

  As I pulled up the first trap, Finn started barking in anticipation.

  “Calm down,” I told him.

  Clam season had closed just a few weeks earlier. Finn would usually catch a few in the shallows between the main island and the little one just a few yards off the northern shore while I pulled the traps.

  Hefting the trap to the pier, I saw that it had a couple of crabs with at least two big claws between them.

  Pulling the remaining three traps, I quickly removed the legal-sized claws and put them in a small bucket before letting the crabs go back into the water. Crabs regenerate lost appendages when they molt, which they do up to twice a year for juveniles and at least once for adults.

  As I carried the bucket back to the house, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that it was Detective Andersen.

  “McDermitt,” I answered.

  “Detective Andersen here,” he said. “Alberto Mar is being discharged now. I’m outside waiting for him and have a boat at the dock.”

  “We’ll be waiting,” I said. “He’ll have fun here.”

  I ended the call as I hurried up the steps.

  “How many did you get?” Savannah asked as I came through the door.

  I retrieved a colander from a cabinet. “Over a dozen. But I only checked the four traps on the north pier. Andersen and Alberto will be on their way soon.”

  She looked up. “Now?”

  “Andersen’s waiting for him to be wheeled out,” I replied, dumping the claws into the colander. “I better go check the traps on the south pier and see if we have some more.”

  “Jesse, wait.”

  I stopped at the door and turned around.

  “He won’t have any clothes.”

  “Hmm, yeah, that’s a problem. But not an insurmountable one. I can call Chyrel and have her run to the K
mart this afternoon.”

  “Do that, and then check the other traps,” she said. “We’ll ask the detective to stay for lunch, also.”

  I called Chyrel’s cell as I started down the steps. When I explained what the problem was, she was eager to help and asked what size he was.

  “I don’t know. The doctor figured he was about six or eight, but he looks on the small side.”

  “In comparison to Deuce’s kids or your grandson?”

  “Yeah! He’s about as big as Trey. Can you call Julie and ask her what size clothes he wears?”

  She agreed and promised to buy sizes both larger and smaller, just in case. We ended the call, and I stuffed the phone back into my pocket.

  Finn sat by the end of the pier and cocked his head, watching me pull up the first trap.

  “You know there’s some in there, don’t you?” I said. “Don’t worry, you and Woden will get a little, too.”

  We ate a lot of seafood on our island, and both piers had cleaning stations. The fish waste was just dumped into the water and attracted all sorts of marine life. We caught quite a few lobsters, stone crabs, and even a few blue crabs in our traps. But the season for blue crabs was only two weeks in early fall.

  After pulling up the fourth trap and breaking off three more claws, I rebaited each one and dropped them back in the water. When I turned to head back up to the house, Finn barked an alert.

  He was standing at the end of the pier and looking off to the east toward Mac Travis’s island. His ears were up, or at least as up as a Lab’s ears can get. I’d learned long ago to trust Finn’s hearing and his sense of smell.

  After a moment, I heard the drone of twin outboards. I scanned the water in the direction of the sound. Far out in the wide, natural channel, I could just make out a large center console. It had some kind of marking on the side, but it was too far away to tell what it was.

  “Come on, Finn,” I said, heading toward the steps.

  When I opened the door, Savannah was looking sideways out the south-facing window. Woden must have alerted her to the approaching boat. If anything, his hearing was better than Finn’s.