Bill grabbed some rolling papers and found one of the biggest, resin-filled buds that he could find and began to twist up a joint. He broke up the bud onto a tray and pulled the stems from the fine weed. As he sifted the seeds out of the bud, he thought back to the instructions that Jamie Watkins had given to him. Bill had two weeks to get the money back to Jamie. That was it; two weeks, and no more. He didn't have to ask what would happen if he went past the two week deadline without payment. He knew that Jamie was a ruthless bastard and one way or another, he'd have his money. Jamie would have his own mother's fingers broken if she was late on payment. Why am I dealing with a bastard like Jamie? Well, it was too late to worry about that. The deed was done. He had work to do. He lit the joint that he held between his lips and began dialing the phone.
Outside the town of Apopka, some twenty miles to the northeast of Orlando, Al Michaels' phone rang. Al had just come in from fixing a broken sprinkler line in the number three greenhouse and he wasn't in a good mood. The water line had severed and had been pumping water directly into a philodendron bed for the last six hours. The break was located just upstream from the controlling solenoid valve so there was no way to isolate the leak. He had to kill the power to the well pump’s motor. That had to be done manually. Al had just gone up to the greenhouses for a final inspection after dinner and to lock the doors for the night when he discovered the watery mess. A whole bed of Philodendron had been washed out and was now scattered throughout the greenhouse. The water from the break had been flowing freely. The entire 100 foot by 24 foot greenhouse was a muddy mess.
Al shut off the pump and made the repairs on the PVC water line. The muddy mess on the floor would have to wait until morning. It was just too much to worry about now. He'd already sent his employees home and he didn't want to try to call them back in at this late hour. It could wait. Besides, the peat moss would dry some overnight and so would be easier to handle in the morning.
Al had been in the nursery business since he graduated from high school. He started out in a partnership with his mom and dad, but his dad had taken ill with cancer and couldn’t work the business once he started with chemotherapy. He was able to give Al advice but was physically unable to help in the day to day tasks. Then Al’s mom was involved in an auto accident. She died in the hospital after holding on for several days. Al’s dad gave up trying to fight the cancer and died two months after his wife. At the very vulnerable age of eightteen Al was left alone to run a business and a household. He married young but was divorced within six months. His young bride couldn’t stand him working all the long hours and felt neglected.
That was a number of years back now. He was able to survive the tragedy and was stronger for it. He was 6’2” tall, and weighed a trim 195 pounds. He let his dark, wavy hair grow to his shoulders. He had rough, workman’s hands from working twelve hour days in the greenhouses. He always wore blue jeans and tee shirts. His work clothes were stained with peat moss, fertilizer, and other remnants of the business. He had a clean set of blue jeans that he wore when he went out on the town, which was almost never.
Al picked up the phone and asked, not too politely, "Yeah, who is it?"
"Hey, Al. This is Bill. What's up?"
"My greenhouses are flooded. I'm filthy, wet, and tired. That's what's up," Al barked into the phone. He wasn't in the mood for Bill Grimes tonight. He really didn't care too much for Bill and he didn't spare words on him. "What do you want, Bill?"
"Sorry to catch you at a bad time, man. Sounds like you could use some good news. I thought you might like to check out some red-bud. I just got it and its real good. The pounds are real fluffy too. I can get some coke, too. I don't have it on me but it's easy enough to get hold of. I can have that here in an hour or so. Interested?"
Al thought about it for a few seconds. He'd wanted to get some good weed for some time. He also knew his buddy, Mitch, would want some if the dope really turned out to be good quality. Al wasn’t into coke anymore, but Mitch would probably take some coke, too.
"I'll tell you what, Bill, I'll call Mitch and see what he needs and call you back in a few minutes. We'll probably get some, I'll let you know. How much are we talking about, cash-wise?"
Bill hadn't thought about this for very long and he wasn't sure what price a pound should go for. He thought for a minute. He was paying eleven hundred dollars a pound for the dope. So he figured he should charge at least $1500 per pound. On the coke, he was paying one thousand dollars an ounce, so fourteen hundred didn't seem unreasonable. He spoke into the phone after the long pause, "The red-bud goes for $1500 a pound and the coke for $1400 for an ounce. Those are good prices, the best you'll find in this area."
Al thought for a few seconds. Not too bad, if the quality was good. "Okay, Bill. I'll call you right back." With that, Al hung up and thought for a few minutes. The deal sounded good. He was dealing with Bill Grimes, though, and that was scary. His thoughts drifted for a few minutes. What a strange night. First, the greenhouse disaster. Now, he was buying dope from an idiot. What else could happen? As soon as the thought hit him, he looked for some wood to knock on. Weird occurrences always happened in three's, didn't they? And he'd only experienced two.
At the other end of the line, Bill thought to himself, this is going to be easy. This stuff sells itself. All you have to do is call people, and they beat a path to your door. He hadn't actually sold anything yet. He'd merely had someone say that they were interested. But to Bill, that was evidence enough that he'd hit the big-time. He picked up the phone and dialed again.
Chapter 10
The area north of Moniac, Goergia, the southeastern-most point of the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, was a beautiful place in early June. Folks in this area called it ‘the swamp.’ The Spanish moss hung down from the huge cypress trees like veils adorning a bride on her wedding day. The early morning sunlight made an eerie scene as the seemingly random rays of light streamed through the tree branches. A mist rose from the swampy waters. The odor in the air was a mixture of dead fish and musky decaying plants. The bugs were terrible and seemed to come in clouds. Mosquitoes seemed to be the size of small birds and some the insects were unidentifiable. Their bodies looked like a combination of several cross-breeding experiments; something out of a sci-fi movie. Maybe they were from outer space, Pat McKinney thought as he walked with Hatch along the dock to the storage shed across the swampy channel from the main "house."
The main house was a three room log cabin that looked like Daniel Boone would have been hesitant to live in. Pat was somewhat surprised to see that Hatch lived in such a run-down house with no relatives or friends. He'd just have to wonder, though, because Hatch was the kind of guy that you didn't ask personal questions. Patrick had tried once, but he got a polite, but direct, "It really ain’t none of your business." There wasn't anything menacing or nasty about his reply, but it had some finality to it. Pat didn't want to push it.
Once at the shed, Hatch moved some steel sheets that were rusting terribly and exposed a locked cabinet. The cabinet was made of heavy steel, painted haze gray, like the equipment on a submarine. What a coincidence, Pat thought to himself. He watched as Hatch unlocked the cabinet, opened the three foot by five foot door and exposed other locked doors. The interior of the cabinet was broken into several more locked compartments. Hatch unlocked the two foot by five foot compartment first.
Pat's eyes grew wide as he realized that the steel case must have been four feet deep. All he could see inside the steel case were gun barrels. He couldn't tell what kinds of guns were in the case, but he could see by the size of the barrel openings that there was a combination of shotguns and rifles of various sizes. Hatch then opened one of the smaller compartments and exposed numerous automatic weapons. Another compartment contained dozens of hand guns.
Patrick was dazzled. He expected to see several guns to choose from, but he didn't expect to see an arsenal of this size. On previous visits to Moniac, during off crews, or weekend duty d
ays off, he and Hatch would come here to shoot. Hatch only kept about a dozen guns in his log cabin. Patrick was duly impressed by those few guns back then. But seeing this, he could hardly hold his jaw up. Hatch could wage his own small war with this equipment. Much of it was military grade.
Hatch reached into the cabinet and pulled out an Iver Johnson AMAC Sniper Rifle. The powerful gun looked as if it had just been polished and been in a store glass showcase. He made sure the safety was on and pulled the action back, inspected it to make sure no rounds were chambered and handed it to Patrick.
Pat repeated the sequence that Hatch had just performed. One thing Pat had learned from Hatch was that no matter who told you a weapon was unloaded, the only way to be sure was to check it yourself. Pat had seen a friend of his killed by an ‘unloaded’ gun. He was at a party when a seventeen year old kid brought out one of his dad's guns. It was a Winchester 30-06. He started showing off, tossing it around like a soldier in a drill team. A couple of the girls at the party told him to stop fooling around with it, but he said "What's the matter, it's not loaded." He then threw it to one of his buddies who began pointing it at people around the room saying "pow, pow." He didn't pull the trigger as he did this though. He went to hand the gun to another friend, barrel first. When his friend grabbed the barrel the hairpin trigger was pulled by accident. The striking pin was released, striking the chambered round. The report was deafening and the projectile entered the teen’s chest cavity. As the bullet passed through his body it severed the sixteen year olds’ spinal cord. The young boy died instantly. The gasps and horrified looks on the young kids in the room haunt Pat to this day.
Pat gave the weapon one final look. When he looked up, Hatch had already pulled out a box of shells and a Hecklar and Koch 9MM pistol. After going through the same routine with the 9MM, Pat said "this should be everything for awhile. I'll drop you a line in a few weeks and let you know what's going on for my future needs. Did you get the wire receipt?"
"Yeah, Pat. Everything is done for now. Thanks for the bonus too. You don't have to put extra in there, ya know. I'm doing fine without it. My retirement's already taken care of. My folks left me a small fortune plus all this beautiful land." He smiled as he said it realizing that they were standing on swampland.
Pat was surprised by this revelation. Hatch had never talked about his personal life with anyone on the boat before. Pat thought Hatch was poor, and that he spent all his money collecting guns and fishing equipment. When they got back to the log cabin, Pat disassembled the rifle and packed it into the hard plastic carrying case. It was quite compact and fit nicely into Pat’s 26" American Tourister suitcase. He covered it with some clothes. The pistol went into a smaller suitcase along with all the ammunition. His short trip to Moniac, Georgia was a success. Now for the long drive to Dade City, Florida.
It was just before 10:00 AM when Pat thanked Hatch once again. He’d be visiting William ‘Hatch’ Hatcher again. He needed good quality military grade hardware for his ‘missions’. He was glad that it would be real convenient for him to obtain what he needed with a relatively short drive to beautiful Moniac, Georgia.
* * *
Diane McKinney loved her new home. Their furniture had arrived in May, fourteen days late. It was pretty hard to believe that a move from King’s Bay, Georgia to Dunnellon, Florida would take almost three weeks. But they got settled in and, after Diane rearranged the furniture for several weeks, they felt at home. It was now early June and Diane was still thrilled with her new home. The children had already picked out their rooms and started making plans where they would put their books, games, puzzles, coloring books, stuffed animals, and other toys.
Sean's room had to be painted a different color. He took exception to the light green paint. He said. "I want dark blue like my old room.” Diane agreed. It did need a little work.
Anna Marie, however, loved her room just the way it was. The pink paint on two walls matched the other two walls of pink designed wallpaper beautifully. They also matched most of little Anna’s dresses. She loved pink. The white trim and intricate ceiling molding gave the room a rich appearance. Anna told her mom, "I love my new room.” Her mom was quick to acknowledge that. She had enough work to do without repainting every room in the house.
The master bedroom was a massive room with two walk-in closets. The bedroom was decorated in light blue with a texture patterned ceiling and beautiful, soft, light blue carpeting. Patrick and Diane's king sized bed and bedroom set would look small in this room. No more knocking knees on the bed's corner posts, Diane thought as she surveyed the room.
The master bath was the size of a small bedroom and had a shower with separate two man whirlpool, garden tub, double sink and a walk-in linen closet. It was impressive and done in a rose color theme.
The final indoor feature was Patrick's favorite; a large office with oak book shelves, oak window trim, and a large oak desk. The family of the elderly couple who had lived there told Patrick and Diane that the movers would have had to dismantle the doorway to get the desk out of the room, so they decided to leave it there as a house-warming present. Pat couldn't believe it since they had already sold them the house at an embarrassingly low price. He’d made a fuss over the desk when they looked at the house, but made no inferences to wanting it. It was quite a surprise to them when it was still in the house after the closing.
The way the sale came about was the former owners had died in close succession to one another. Their children, all of whom lived out of state, wanted a quick sale. They were also a very Christian family and when they met Patrick and Diane, they liked the McKinneys so well, they’d said, "God wanted the McKinneys to have this home.”
So an offer was made and no counter was offered. The McKinneys became the proud owners of a home that would have retailed for nearly $125,000. So when the actual sales price of $85,999 was contracted, the McKinney's net worth took a large jump. Several realtors approached Patrick about buying the home almost immediately after closing, but Pat said no. He was certain that he wanted to live the rest of his life in this home. He also knew Diane would have killed him for even entertaining the thought.
This house was everything that the McKinney's wanted. There were plenty of rooms. There were so many rooms, in fact, that the McKinney's didn't have enough furniture to fill all of them. Diane looked around the house for a moment and thought to herself this is my home.
Patrick was busy looking at the garage. He'd never had a garage before. Down in Georgia all they had was a carport and a small locked storage room. Many houses in Florida had carports but this house was exceptional; 3200 square feet of beauty. He fell in love with it the first time he'd laid eyes on it. The beautiful white brick exterior; luxurious landscaping; circular driveway were all superb.
As he stared at the wall where he planned to hang his tool collection, he began to daydream. Through the imaginary cross-hairs of a powerful rifle, he imagined a perfect view of Danny Vallero's forehead. He held the rifle steady, slowly put pressure on the trigger, then . . .
"Honey, what would you like for dinner?"
Diane startled him and he jumped. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead and it took him a second or two to orient himself.
"Oh, honey, you scared the hell out of me. I was sitting here thinking of a dream that I had back on the sub.” The lie came out smooth as silk and so he continued to tell Diane about the real dream that he did have while sleeping on the USS Alabama. "I was in the escape trunk just after we got under way. The trunk is supposed to be closed but we were having a problem with grounds or something in the trunk. The Captain authorized the hatch to be opened while another electrician and I looked for the problem. While we were up there we heard the ballast tank vent valves open with a loud whoosh which meant the sub was diving with the hatch open. I tried like hell to close that hatch. Then I heard the lower hatch close. I was trapped outside the ship as it began to submerge. I climbed up higher in the trunk to get more leverage on the hatch
, but I still couldn't get the hatch to shut. Seawater was starting to come over the edge of the escape trunk, and I was being forced down into the trunk by the water.”
"Oh my God. What happened next?" Diane was caught up in the story. Patrick could see he'd headed off a bad situation.
"I woke up. The guy in the bunk next to mine woke up and asked me what was going on. I was clutching my bunk light, kicking the ceiling to my bunk, thinking that it was the escape trunk hatch. The guy, Dell Johnson, said I was making a hell of a racket. I skinned my knuckle pretty bad during that dream. It's still scarred, see?” Pat showed her the real scar he'd received during the dream. It wasn't a bad scar, but it did add credence to the true story.
Diane was impressed. She asked, "Do you still have this dream? I mean have you ever had other dreams like this before?"
"Sometimes. Most of my dreams are "X" rated, and you're the star.”
Diane blushed, then added "you're sick" as she put her arms around her husband.
Pat thought to himself, Boy, that was close. I'll have to watch myself. I've got to put this out of my mind.
"Now, Mr. McKinney, what do you want for dinner? Or do I have to send you up to the escape trunk to work?"
"No Ma’am, Captain, Ma’am.” Patrick gave one of his mock snappy salutes. "We should go out to eat. We really don't have anything in the house. Let's go out, then go shopping right afterwards. Have you got a shopping list put together?"
"I've got plenty of lists, buddy, and you’re at the top of most of them.”
They laughed, then hugged, and went arm-in-arm into their fabulous, new home.
Chapter 11
Danny Vallero stared down the barrel of the Browning 357 magnum pointed directly between his dark, brown eyes. He couldn't think of anything except of what the next few seconds, maybe the last of his young life, might bring. He'd never felt fear like this before. He knew what fear was because he’d been in tight spots in his nineteen previous years.
A Lifetime of Vengeance Page 7
