The Man Who Ivented Florida df-3

by Randy Wayne White

  Marion?

  Londecker heard the crazy old cracker yell the name once, twice, before he picked out the man Gatrell was calling to: big blond-haired man with wire glasses, standing off by himself. Dressed more like a fishing guide than a scientist, but how many people named Marion could there be?

  "I'll adjourn this meeting right now and leave the record as it stands! Order!"

  Holding his anger in check, hoping the television cameras and the reporters recorded how professionally he was behaving despite all the noise. Londecker took a nervous glance toward the van. Margaret Faillo was still inside it, staying cool, but Connie Dirosa was right there beside him, neutral, showing no emotion, watching to see whether he could regain control of the meeting.

  He had to do something, and do it quick.

  That goddamn old man! I'll turn his house into a staff bungalow, and I'll spend the holidays there myself!

  Londecker rapped the table three more times, then stood. "Mr. Gatrell has made a very good point. I'm saying-I agree with him."

  There, that got their attention.

  Londecker waited, then said it again. "I agree! I think we've heard enough from the proponents." He fixed an expression on his face that he imagined to be a kindly smile, allowing the silence around him to build. "We're all hot. Maybe a little irritable. And some of the testimony about why this land should be protected has been repetitive-though very compelling, I think."

  "You can kiss my butt on the county square, Londecker!"

  Tucker Gatrell yelling from his chair.

  Londecker forced himself to laugh along with the others, a dry little chuckle, before he replied, "I'm not sure I'll have the energy, Mr. Gatrell, the way these mosquitoes are draining me."

  Which got an even bigger laugh.

  Londecker caught Connie Dirosa's eyes,- felt new confidence when she nodded her approval.

  That quick, Londecker was back in control. He decided to continue the exchange with the old man,- let people see just how kind and fair he could be. "How about this, Mr. Gatrell? How about we allow one more speaker. With a time limit-say ten minutes, tops. Then we take a short break, and the rest of the afternoon is yours. All the time you want."

  Couldn't help but take pleasure in the way the old man fidgeted in his seat.

  I've got you now, you bastard.

  In front of Connie was a blank notepad. Londecker picked it up and pretended to read it. "Is there a Marion Ford here? A Dr. Marion Ford?"

  Which won him another nod of approval from the chunky little Cuban. She mouthed the word smart as she patted his leg under the table-well, he'd give her a chance to do that and more after the hearing.

  Still pretending to read, Londecker said, "I have a note here that says Dr. Ford would like to speak. Dr. Ford? Ah!" He waited until the big man made his way through the crowd before adding, "I don't think we've ever met before, have we?"

  The man had a soft baritone voice, not shy, but talked in a way that forced people to listen. "I'm certain we haven't."

  "Are you with one of the groups here? Political-action groups such as the Save Our Everglades-" "No. I'm here independently."

  "Would you mind reading your credentials into the record?" Then Londecker sat back to listen, wondering mildly why any American would take a masters at the University of San Marcos in Lima and a doctorate at the University of Durban in South Africa. Mostly, though, Londecker tried to ferret out the connection between Gatrell and a marine biologist- Marion! Now you see what I'm up against! -and hit upon a scenario. Gatrell had sold property to a land trust, and the land trust had probably hired its own environmental census team; would probably try to work out its own deal with the state. Donate X number of acres of property to the park in return for permits to build on abutting property. Property on a park boundary would double, maybe quadruple in value. That was it! It wouldn't be the first time a developer helped the state ramrod through a park project. Gatrell was being duped!

  Londecker said, "You have ten minutes, Dr. Ford." Then, as the man began to speak, Londecker jotted a note to Connie Dirosa: "I don't want Margaret to miss this!"

  "My name is Marion Ford, and I'd like to read into the record a report from Tampa Environmental Laboratories Incorporated…"

  NINETEEN

  Connie Dirosa gave it some time. Sat there patiently while Alex Londecker, the sneaky little brownnoser, nudged her, tapping repeatedly at the note he had scribbled. Folded her hands calmly on the table and listened to the man, Dr. Ford, speak in a scholarly monotone: "… water samples were taken from property owned, or formerly owned, by Mr. Tucker Gatrell-the legal description's in the report, which I'll leave with the panel."

  Tried not to smile when Londecker, in his pompous, official way, interrupted. "These water samples-the water tested, I mean. Are you indicating that it is the same water Mr. Gatrell is selling as a sort of magic elixir?" Only to have the old man's attorney leap to his feet, calling, "I object to that, Mr. Londecker. The phrase 'magic elixir' is not only prejudicial; it is wildly inaccurate."

  Heard Londecker backpedal: "I would remind Judge Flowers that this is a public hearing, not a court hearing. But because the state wants to be absolutely fair, I'll ask Mrs. Ibach to strike my remark from the record."

  The man, Dr. Ford, stood quietly until the two were finished before continuing. "Even so, it's the same water. Samples were taken from the artesian well, and also from a sump-pump site near the barn"-Ford pointed, and people craned their necks to see, still listening to him-"in a procedure that is noted in the report, which, as I said, I will leave with you."

  "Tampa Labs is state-accredited," Londecker said helpfully. "We've used them ourselves. I certainly don't question their procedures."

  Dirosa decided to wait and make sure that the man was actually going to read from the report.

  "The analyses indicate that the water is normal in terms of mineral content-that is, normal in terms of water found in the Floridan aquifer. It is significantly supersaturated with calcite, dolomite, and contains, as well, other chemicals, such as potassium and magnesium, all of which are necessary to normal human biological functioning. In fact, as electrolytes used by the brain, such trace minerals are essential."

  Londecker said, "Huh-?" as Gatrell also stood and yelled, "See how healthy it is? And only ten bucks a bottle!"

  Dirosa wondered, What's this guy trying to pull?

  But then Ford said, "Of particular interest, though, are the results of EPA test two fifty-four, EPA test two fifty-five and EPA test six twenty-four. Tests for specific contaminants," and Dirosa began to relax again.

  "The results show that the water sampled drastically and dangerously exceeds state and federal standards of five parts per billion when tested for benzene, toluene, dieldrin. A variety of pesticides, herbicides, and petroleum contaminants exceeded twenty parts per billion…"

  As the man actually began to read the test results, Connie Dirosa gave Londecker a sharp nudge of her own, then left the table. She walked slowly, taking her time, heading toward the state van.

  Margaret Faillo was inside, using her briefcase as a table, doing office work, when Dirosa tapped on the window. Fallio folded her bifocals, stepped out, and closed the door behind her so the other secretary, Mrs. Cullum, could not hear.

  Dirosa said, "Just what we were hoping for."

  Even when she was pleased, Faillo had a tough, abrupt quality. "Londecker found somebody to read the tests?"

  "It's going on right now. The guy who paid for them. But I can't figure out his angle."

  As Faillo got her briefcase out of the van, she said, "Does it matter?"

  Margaret Faillo was thinking, A long way to come just for this, but it's worth it.

  All Connie's idea, too. The girl was quick on her feet-she'd make a great department head.

  Back at the table, Faillo stared blankly at Londecker's ingratiating "I've got something to tell you" grin and took the seat beside him, wanting to hear a little herself before
she finally pulled the plug.

  Listened to the speaker conclude the reading of what she already knew was a long list of toxins-Connie had showed the report to her before giving it to Londecker-then listened as Dr. Ford suggested, quite reasonably, that the contaminants may have been introduced into the Mango water system as a result of dredging for Cypress Gate Estates, plus the fertilization-extermination cycles of the region's scores of golf courses and tens of thousands of lawns.

  "An additional source," the man said, "may be posions used in the state's own melaleuca extermination program. As you may know, the state imported the melaleuca tree back in-"

  Faillo didn't like the direction of that, so she cut him off. "Excuse me, I was unable to hear the beginning of your statement."

  Beside her, Londecker could hardly contain himself. "The water Mr. Gatrell is selling? Dr. Ford just read a report from a state-accredited lab certifying that the water is contaminated. Dangerously high levels of-"

  "You let him read that into the record?"

  Faillo could see Londecker puzzling over the tone in her voice. "Well, of course. I felt Mr. Gatrell was seeking an advantage, trying to inflate the price of his land-"

  Even when Lemar Flowers yelled, "That's supposition and hearsay!" Faillo kept her eyes locked on Londecker. She said, "Do you realize what you've done?"

  The man standing before the table was still speaking: "In view of these test results, I would like-as a concerned citizen-to make certain that your department already has funds set aside to restore the water to its original uncontaminated state… as it must do, by law, when condemning or annexing private property."

  Londecker said, "What!"

  Behind Ford, Gatrell was on his feet, poking at his attorney, yelling, "I told you he was almost smart as me! Didn't I tell you? Hot damn, Duke, kick him right in the ass!"

  Faillo stood and said loudly, "I'd like to call a five-minute recess while I discuss a few things with Mr. Londecker."

  ***

  Alex Londecker felt a little dizzy listening to Faillo. So dry, he couldn't make spit form in his mouth. He told her, "I know what the law is. We've done projects before where we had to clean up water."

  "Ah! So you've already budgeted for it?"

  "No, I'm just saying-"

  "You're talking a hundred thousand dollars. Maybe a quarter million. For a project this small? Do you want to try to justify that before the legislature? I don't think they'll want to listen to you, Alex. Not after they watch tonight's news."

  "But we could just plug the spring. Cement it in-"

  "Like that little Dade County project? Or Warm Mineral Springs? We had the money allocated in advance. Plus, we did it quietly. Here, we'd get national headlines: 'Fountain of Youth Asphalted!' Jesus Christ, Alex!"

  He had never heard Faillo swear before. "The way you say it… you're making it sound like-"

  "Oh, quit stammering. You went into this thing blind. You didn't have your environmental census finished-"

  "The crew disappeared!"

  "Then you should have postponed the meeting! Then to allow that report to be read publicly, my God. Who do you think issued the permits for Cypress Gate Estates? The state! You didn't see the television cameras?"

  "Now wait a minute! Using the water analysis was Connie's idea-"

  Dirosa hadn't said a word until then; just stood their smirking. But now she jumped right in. "Hold it, Londecker. This is your project. You get all the credit. Remember?"

  "I don't think I received a single memo advising me of Connie's participation, Alex." Faillo at him again.

  "But she did!"

  In a deadly cold voice, Faillo said, "Maybe if you had spent more time keeping me informed, and less time writing letters to my friends at Equality and Compliance, you wouldn't be in the mess your in."

  Oh, God. That explained it.

  In a small voice, Londecker said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Faillo. I mean it. I wasn't thinking at the time."

  "You're going to be sorrier, Alex. You know what that old man did to you? Gatrell? He got you looking so hard in one direction that you never realized he was coming from the other. He blind-sided you, Alex. He pulled a switch-a switch, you dumb ass. And you fell for it. With this on your record, I don't think I'll have any problem from Equality and Compliance in Hiring. Or the personnel department, for that matter." Faillo closed her briefcase firmly, a knuckle-cracking sound. "I'll make it official when we get back to Tallahasse, Mr. Londecker, but be advised that you have two weeks' notice. You're terminated. Now"-she straightened her jacket and brushed her black hair back-"I have to go make a statement to those people. Tell them the state is withdrawing from the project." She smiled at Connie Dirosa just a little before adding, "For a year or two, anyway."

  TWENTY

  William Bambridge said to Chuck Fleet, "Why are all those people standing on shore? You think they're expecting us?"

  Fleet sat on a plank at the stern of the old man's sloop-rigged pulling boat, one hand on the tiller, the other on the daggerboard, hoping he could steer this final reach into Mango without running aground yet again, ripping the daggerboard out of its lashing. "Is the Captain awake? He had that delivery to make. Maybe he told the whole town."

  From the windy bay, the village of Mango was a pale break in the darker rim of mangrove islands: coconut palms, a few houses, a brown rind of beach. People lined the water, milling on what must have been a road. There were tables and chairs set up, and lots of cars. Like some kind of meeting.

  Bambridge had torn his shirt into rags-there wasn't much left of it, anyway-and now he reached outboard to soak a piece, then used it as a compress. Henry Short lay with his head in Bambridge's lap, eyes closed, brown skin looking gray in the sunlight, a deep gash on his forehead, more cuts on his hands, his arms, and a bad one in his side. For the last four hours, he had been bleeding through his rag bandages; now the water in the lapstrake bilge was iron red.

  "Captain? Can you hear me, Captain? We're almost there! Hang on for a few more minutes. We'll get help."

  The old man moaned softly, his breathing quick and shallow. The first part of the trip, Henry Short had been able to rally enough energy to rise up and point out the route to Fleet; describe to him the cuts he had to make, the oyster bars and sandbars to avoid. But in the last hour, he had lapsed into a kind of concentrated silence, as if he needed to focus all his energy on just staying alive.

  To Fleet, Bambridge mouthed the words I think he's dying.

  A voice from the bilge: "Good. I hope he does die. It'll be easier for all of us. Like when a burglar breaks into your house, you're better off killing him."

  Charles Herbott talking. He lay with his belly flat against the ribs of the boat, hands and feet wrapped with rope, then pulled tightly together, so he resembled a man less than he did cargo, all soiled and blood-streaked, packed for lifting. "You guys need to come around to my way of thinking. It's not too late."

  "Damn you, I told you to SHUT UP!" Bambridge looked down into Herbott's dark, feral eyes. Forcing back the urge to kick the man in the face was like fighting the need to vomit. "Not another word!"

  Fleet said, "Easy, Bill, easy. Just ignore him." After the insanity of the morning, then having to fight fifteen miles of shoal water, Fleet was so emotionally drained that he had lapsed into a shell of stoicism. Endurance mode, that's the way he thought of it.

  A hundred yards at a time. We'll make it. A hundred yards at a time…

  "But he'll scare the Captain, talking like that. We should have gagged him, too."

  "Forget about him. We're almost there. Only about seven or eight hundred more yards."

  Bambridge touched the old man's head tenderly-his hair had the texture of rough cotton. He said, "Hear that, Captain? Mango's just ahead. Smells a little like a horse farm. Or cattle? And someone's cooking food, too. But I bet they don't cook as well as I do, huh?" Bambridge sniffed and turned his head away, trying not to cry. For the last several hours, he'd wanted to. Just wan
ted to break down and let it all out. But he hadn't. It might upset the Captain, plus he didn't want to give Herbott the satisfaction.

  Earlier that morning, Herbott had said to Henry Short, "Old man, why don't we let bygones be bygones. I don't want to ride back to civilization with my hands tied, and you three need help loading jugs and getting our boats rigged right so we can tow 'em."

  Not jugs of cane syrup as Bambridge had expected, but jugs of water from the spring back in near the shack at the base of the Indian mound. In explanation, all the Captain had told him was, "There's an ol' boy in Mango, he got a taste for this water 'bout six months ago. Nothin' you need to be nosy about." Bambridge had been so busy puzzling over that, plus trying to get his notes together, that he hadn't paid much attention to Herbott. Took just enough time to whisper to Short, "Don't trust Herbott, Captain," then went ahead with his work.

  About two minutes later, he'd heard a guttural shriek; a finger-nails-on-chalkboard sound that stunned him so completely that he was already running toward the source before he realized what he was doing.

  They had been in the mangroves, near the tunnel that hid the boats. Herbott was bent over the Captain, hacking at him with a machete.

  The roots and trees were so thick that the knife had hit mostly limbs, but each time it struck flesh, Bambridge knew, because it made a distinctive sound-a butcher shop sound, like a cleaver piecing chicken.

  "Charles, stop it! You're killing him!"

  Shouting as he ran, Bambridge had kept on running until he tackled Herbott from behind, then Fleet was mixed up in it, trying to wrestle the machete out of Herbott's hand.

  "Goddamn it, Charles-you're insane."

  Bambridge had kept punching and scratching and screaming at the man until he'd heard Herbott yell, "Okay! Enough," all three of them wheezing, spent and winded in the muck.