“No, we do,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“We, as in the three of us,” I said.
Before Linda could figure out what her next question should be, Tom’s hand on the button opened the garage door, revealing our scooters. Before Linda could verbally react, I assured her that I would explain everything.
Once inside, Tom resumed his sales person character, describing to Linda all the merits of the house. Half an hour later, with the tour over, I sat Linda down and slowly described, in unquestionable detail, everything I had been through since I left our friends in Naples.
Her reaction was a bit less dramatic than I had anticipated. I expected worry and concern about the fact that I had almost been killed. Perhaps even anger that I had once again allowed someone to talk me into some shady misadventure. Instead she, like Tom, thought my ship had come in – that I had hit that big jackpot in the sky. Shit! I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t anybody care that I almost died? So much for sentimentalism.
As the two of them went through the house, my thoughts were back on Bruce. I then decided to call his house again and explain the situation, with the exception of the money, and ask about Bruce. I reasoned that by way of a phone call I could remain anonymous.
That night I wanted to take us all out to dinner but after Linda saw all the food we had in the kitchen from our shopping spree she insisted that she was going to prepare a meal. She called a friend of hers that she told Tom he would like and that evening the four of us had a better house warming than the night before.
It was raining the next morning and I had to get up early to drive Linda home to get her car so that she could go to work. We arranged to meet the next day which was Saturday and get her belongings moved north to the new house. Tom’s newly acquired girlfriend drove him down to West Palm Beach later in the day and, as planned, we met up at Pat’s garage.
Pat was a mutual friend of ours and the best mechanic we knew. Tom and I handled the majority of mechanical work ever needed on our motorcycles, but Pat had forgotten more than Tom and I, collectively, would probably ever know about mechanics.
If Pat couldn’t find the part he needed, he would machine it. He was one of those guys who never had enough time to do everything he was involved in. Restoring old cars and motorcycles was what he did for a living and his garage housed a collection of projects in various stage of completion. As I walked into the garage I found Pat and Tom in the process of hoisting a motor back into a 1958 corvette that Pat had completely restored from the frame up.
“Nice car,” I said. “For sale?”
“Twenty grand,” he replied.
“I’ll pass,” I said. As tempting as it was, I knew that I had to control the urge.
“You ready?” I asked Tom.
“Yeah, give me five minutes.”
Before leaving, I asked Pat if he could find the time to rebuild the motor on my cycle.
“Sure, bring it in,” he said. “But why not do it yourself?”
“Cause you’re the best,” I replied in a way that prompted him to tell us to get out of there.
“I’ll drop it off next week,” I yelled back as we were half way out the door.
“Where we headed?” asked Tom.
“I’ve decided to call Bruce’s house again,” I told Tom. “If that was his father on the phone the other day, I figure I’ll tell him what I know and see what he says.”
“Not about the money though, right?” Tom asked.
“Right, not about the money,” I assured Tom.
“Hello,” said the man’s voice.
“Yes, sir, I called the other day looking for Bruce.”
“Who is this?”
“Well, sir, as I said, I’m a friend of his.”
“Bruce isn’t here at the moment, in fact we haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks.”
“Well, does he live there?” I asked.
“Yes, but as I’ve said, he hasn’t been home for a while.”
“In that case sir, I’d like to explain my connection with your son.”
As I laid out the whole story over the phone to the man who said he was Bruce’s father, he didn’t interrupt me one time to question his son’s involvement with the illegal activities I was telling him about. When I was done he said that my story might confirm what the U.S. Coast Guard had told him which was that Bruce’s boat had been found in about thirty feet of water just off the coast of one of the islands in the Bahamas. He went on to say that there was evidence that the boat had been fired upon because the hull was riddled with bullet holes. Nothing had been found to indicate whether Bruce had been killed.
His father then asked if I would meet with him. When I asked what for, he went on to say that he was getting no cooperation from either the Coast Guard or the officials in the Bahamas. It seemed that both governments had ruled it a drug related incident and had more pressing things to do than worry about the lives of people that they were trying to eradicate.
I told him that I would call him back in five minutes and hung up the phone. Five minutes later, after talking it over with Tom, I told Bruce’s father that I would meet with him. I gave him an address and said I’d be there in an hour.
“Let’s go,” I said.
In between the phone conversations Tom and I decided that we would make tracks over the bridge and follow Bruce’s father to the address I had given him. We figured that way we would know if he was coming alone. When we got close to the house we could see his father pulling out of the driveway.
We followed at a distance until we arrived at the address I had given. It was a bar and I had told him we would meet him inside. As he walked through the door of the bar I headed for the phone booth across the street. I called the bar and asked to speak with him. He answered wanting to know if there was a problem.
“No problem,” I said. “I’m just being careful, that’s all.” I then gave him the name of a marina and said I’d be there.
Shit! I thought to myself as I hung up the phone. This works every time on TV. At the marina we watched Bruce’s father walk down the pier. Five minutes later I said, “OK, let’s go.”
As we approached, the man was eyeing us both with a good deal of apprehension. As we got closer, I introduced myself and explained the reason for Tom being there. I then suggested that we go inside the restaurant and sit down. We walked in and sat down in a booth that would allow some privacy.
My first question was why my story about Bruce’s involvement with the illegal activities didn’t come as a surprise to him. He told us that he had known of this for some time and was trying to persuade his son away from such activities, but with no success. He explained that it was much more than the money that compelled his son in these endeavors.
“Our family has had wealth for generations,” he informed us. “More than the money, it was the sense of adventure that lured Bruce into this,” he told us.
From the years of vacationing in the islands, Bruce befriended people who had the drugs and here he knew people willing to pay a lot of money for them. In the past year though, things had escalated to a dangerous level. His father went on to say that he was desperate and not sure what course of action to take.
“Well, sir,” I said, “you could go to the islands and inquire about your son.”
“Look at me?” he said. “Do you think that I would get anywhere with the people that might know something?”
He had a point there.
“How about you boys? Would you be interested?” he asked.
I looked at Tom. The question had set us both back.
“Well, I don’t really think that we could be of much help,” I said. “What you need is someone that’s a professional.”
“Yes, but you were there and have somewhat of an understanding of what happened,” he said.
We just sat there hoping that our silence would indicate our lack of interest in his proposition.
“Look,” he said. “I ca
n make this well worth your while.”
Yeah, right, I thought. I’m sitting on three hundred some thousand dollars and you’re gonna make it worth my while.
“Would a million dollars be worth your time?” he asked.
“A million dollars?” Tom and I asked in perfect unison.
Bruce’s father offered us a million dollars if we found his son.
“But suppose your son’s dead?” I asked.
“If that’s the case, then I’ll pay the same amount for the conviction of those responsible.”
“How can we be sure you’d pay us?” Tom asked.
“I’m desperate,” he replied. “I’ve got more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. I’ve only got one son.”
“Well sir, we’ll consider your offer and I’ll let you know real soon.”
As the three of us walked back down the pier toward the parking lot I noticed several boats that were similar to the one Bruce had. Without thinking, I turned to Bruce’s father and exclaimed that we would need a boat.
“That’s no problem,” he assured us.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said.
Chapter 4
That weekend we once again rented a truck so we could move Linda’s belongings north to the new house. It was hard to believe just how much stuff she had collected through the years and the fact that it had all fit into that tiny little house.
For the most part that weekend I was preoccupied with thoughts of our conversation with Bruce’s father. He seemed very determined in making it worth our while to investigate the circumstances of his son’s fate. His offer was surely tempting and seemed genuinely sincere.
I thought that even if he reneged on his offer I could then justify keeping the remaining portion of the money I had found in the trunk. I reasoned that his offer to supply us with a boat was a sure indication of his desperation as well as his trust in us.
Over the weekend I kept all these thoughts to myself and it wasn’t until Monday, with Linda back to work, that I discussed the matter with Tom. He too had been contemplating the worth of the offer ever since we left the marina. Together that morning we weighed the advantages and disadvantages of the proposal.
We had no problem believing that we could handle going to the islands and inquiring about Bruce. Perhaps by some slim chance of fate he had managed to flee his pursuers that day and was hiding out. On the other hand, if he had been murdered we didn’t feel that it was our place to be pursuing his assailants and bringing them to justice. We weren’t the ones to determine who, in this case, was right or wrong. Bruce could have been the one at fault and I was sure that he knew the rules of the game he was playing.
We decided to contact Bruce’s father and explain that we would investigate enough to determine if Bruce was still alive. If we could find enough reason to believe that he had survived we would then search to find him, If, on the other hand, we found strong enough evidence to reason that he had been killed, then our part would end there.
It seemed that we enjoyed living in our new home but we were spending most of our time back in West Palm. That Monday we returned the rental truck after dropping off both motorcycles at Pat’s garage. Linda had the car and would meet us at the garage when she got off work. That day we borrowed Pat’s truck for our running around. Tom and I kept going over all kinds of details about getting involved in such an endeavor but it kept coming back to the fact that it was a lot of money. We decided to call Bruce’s father and propose a deal.
After a series of phone calls we managed to finally track him down at one of his offices. He wanted to meet with us that afternoon and gave us an address in Ft. Lauderdale where he would be. We were a bit late by the time we found the location of the address he had given us. I had expected it would be some restaurant, but instead it was a warehouse out on the west side. As we pulled through the gate I was beginning to see why it was here that he wanted to meet. This warehouse was a storage area for a number of highly exotic speed boats.
We saw Bruce’s father talking with some people near the entrance to a small office at the front of the building. When we pulled up in Pat’s truck he recognized us and motioned us over. He introduced us to Bob and Lee who ran the warehouse operation.
As it turned out this exotic boat operation was just one of the many enterprises that Bruce’s father was involved in. Bob told me later that for years Bruce and his father had been selling exotic cars and boats to the affluent of the South Florida area.
Inside the building were more boats in various stages of being taken apart or put together again. After looking at a few of the boats, Bruce’s father asked if any of them would suit our needs. I explained to him that when his son and I were being chased down that morning our pursuers were in a considerably faster boat than us. His father then told me that the boat Bruce had that day was one he himself had kept up in Palm Beach. Bruce was using it because his boat was here having the engines overhauled.
“Which one?” I asked.
“It’s there in the corner.”
Apparently Lee had, just a few days earlier, completed the task of installing the engines as well as the outdrives. The boat was unreal. Supposedly, it was a modified ‘deep-V’ 38 foot Scarab. It was designed for all out racing and had the power to fulfill that ambition. It was equipped with twin high performance 454s that produced almost 500 hundred horsepower a piece.
“Would there be any problem with us using this boat?” I asked.
“No problem whatsoever,” Bruce’s father assured us.
Lee informed us that it would be a few days before the boat could be ready for the water. He still had to paint the boat and finish some other details to assure us of having a fast, yet reliable, boat.
With our choice of boat out of the way, Bruce’s father suggested that we go to lunch where we could further discuss our plans. At the restaurant which overlooked the Intracoastal, we spent a few hours going over various proposed methods that we felt might work best in our attempts at finding the whereabouts of Bruce.
We made a list of things that we would need and Bruce’s father assured us that everything would be on the boat. He also informed us that our expenses would be taken care of along the way.
I couldn’t help but like the man and wondered if Bruce was capable of appreciating all that his father was doing in an attempt to help his son. I told Bruce’s father that we would be in touch within a few days. It was agreed upon that the sooner we left for the islands the better our chances would be of finding information that might lead to knowledge of Bruce.
During our conversation at the restaurant, I explained to Bruce’s father that despite spending a lot of time on the ocean, I was not familiar with navigation. He assured us that before we left that Bob, from the warehouse, would take us out on a trial run and explain the navigation computer system that he would install on the boat along with other detailing that would make our trip safe as well as fast.
As we pulled the old truck back into Pat’s parking lot, I saw the Cadillac and realized that we were late. That was nothing new but it was well past closing time for Pat and I was sure that he was just hanging out now to keep Linda company until we showed up.
Inside the garage Pat was putting on the finishing touches to the Vette.
“Where’s Linda?” I asked.
“Oh, she’ll be right back. She went around the corner for some food.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, man, about keeping you here late.”
“No problem,” Pat assured me. “I wanted to finish this job up anyway. Besides, Linda makes great company. If she ever gives up on you, let me know.”
At that, Tom told Pat that she might real soon, when she finds out what we were up to.
“What’s that?” Pat asked.
“Oh, I’ll explain it to you later,” I said. “Tom and I were just thinking about a little island adventure.”
Just then I heard the door open and quickly suggested that we drop the subject.
“
Where have you two been all day?” Linda asked Tom, knowing well that he would give her a less slighted account of our day’s activities.
“We went down to see a friend of ours in Ft. Lauderdale,” he responded.
“Great, I’m hungry,” I interjected before the conversation went any further. “In fact, let’s all go out for dinner.”
“I gotta pass,” Pat said. “Wife, kids, you know how that goes.”
“Well, take all this food with you and the three of us will get out of here,” said Linda.
Before leaving, I thanked Pat for the use of his truck and told him that I’d call him in a couple of days. We all decided on Mexican food and headed for a popular restaurant that Linda knew of just a few miles away.
“Excuse me,” Linda said as she headed for the ladies room leaving Tom and me alone at the table.
“So what do you think?” I said.
“I say we go for it,” Tom replied.
“Yeah, me too,” I said. “I mean we can step into things gradually once we get to the islands and if we sense that things are getting too heavy, we can just back off. We’ll be in a position to do so because we’ll be the only ones aware of the progress we make. With Bruce’s father here, he’ll have to take our word on what we find out.”
That evening at the restaurant, reflecting on everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks, I hadn’t had enough time to be objective about the new direction my life was taking. I felt compelled to follow through with the flow of it as if it were some predestined fate. Even if that were the case, that night while washing my palate with Mexican beer, I promised myself to take every precaution needed to protect Tom’s and my ass from any unnecessary danger.
The next couple of days were spent putting together what we thought we would need for our venture as well as a lot of thought on how to best explain to Linda that Tom and I were about to leave her there in the new house and spend some time in the Bahamas.
I didn’t want to be completely honest with her about what we were actually up to because I knew that this far exceeded anything that she had accepted me doing before. I didn’t want to jeopardize our relationship either. I truly loved the girl and decided to lie to her if I had to.
Adventures In A Pair-A-Dice Page 4
