Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  The lack of activity around the ships is a marked contrast to what it will look like later on when it gets dark. Then there’ll be at least a couple of small contact boats pulled up alongside each ship. Liquor being tossed into waiting hands, money being tossed back. Pirates will be circling, looking for slow boats and easy pickings. Undoubtedly, there will also be a few Coast Guard patrol boats as well, on the lookout for smugglers and pirates. It’s a numbers game and the lawbreakers far outweigh the law.

  “It’s sure not like the old days, eh Zeke?”

  “For sure. Then, Rum Row was only three miles out. An hour is an easy jaunt for many boats. Heck, you could see what they were up to when you were standing on shore.”

  “Pickings were good in them days. Fewer hassles from the Coast Guard,” Zeke says, nodding at the vessel just on the American side of the limit. “Darn gov’ment moving the line. Twelve miles is too far. We gotta spend too much time going out and coming back. Makes it too easy now to get caught. By pirates and the damn Coast Guard.”

  Otis swings the boat around to put some distance between them and the patrol boat. He laughs, shaking his head. “Come on, Zeke. We’re the pirates now.”

  “Yeah, them contact boats are easy pickings. Not like they can complain to the deputy sheriff or nuthin.”

  Otis turns, batting his eyelashes and speaking in a falsetto voice. “Oh, Deputy Purvis, pirates stole our illegal liquor. And took all the money we was bringing out to the black ships to buy more.”

  Zeke, face into the wind, grins. The open water, space, freedom. “Speaking of which, we got any beer on board? It’s getting hot back here.” Zeke stretches out, arms resting on the gunnels of the Rex.

  “Not unless you brought some.”

  “Hey, look,” Zeke says, nodding to three boats that are rushing toward the black ships. “Somebody’s heading out. Looks like I’m not the only one that’s thirsty.”

  “They’re crazy. The Coast Guard will see them for sure.”

  Zeke keeps track of the boats. “Probably why they’re in convoy. The cargo on the faster boats and a decoy boat in back.”

  “I hate when the Boss puts us in the decoy boat.”

  “You can’t blame him, Otis. After what happened to Buford’s brother.”

  “That weren’t my fault, and you know it, Zeke.”

  “The whole point of being a decoy boat is to go slow and lead the Coast Guard away from the boats with the liquor. Maybe even get caught if you have to. You weren’t acting like no decoy that night.”

  “We had a good lead. And I sure as hell ain’t no sacrificial lamb. How was I supposed to know the Coast Guard had one of Nuta’s airplane engines? They never would have caught us otherwise.”

  “But they did. And Buford’s brother caught a bullet. He’s never gonna get over it and we’re never getting out of running decoy, thanks to you.”

  “And the hell with you, too,” Otis snarls.

  Zeke turns to look out over the stern of the boat and the wake they’re leaving behind, leaving Otis to stew.

  “What about the offer from Uncle Bill?” Otis says over his shoulder, his hands on the wheel.

  “Moving to Tampa and helping him with the smuggling?”

  “We’re good at it. And for sure we know how to avoid pirates. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Otis. Moving clear across the state. We don’t know that coastline or nuthin about the Gulf.”

  “I hear the Coast Guard base there is crooked as all get out. Should be easy to buy some look-away time,” Otis says.

  “You might have something. I think we should think about it. That situation with Buford’s brother has caused trouble with the Wharf Rats. The Boss gives us the scut jobs.”

  Otis shouts over the engine’s roar. “And he’s getting ticked things aren’t happening with Miz Edith. She’s still dug in at Gator Joe’s.”

  “He’s not blaming us, is he?” Zeke scowls. “She’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever seen. There’s no way she’s going to pack up and leave town.”

  “I’m just saying we should think about what Uncle Bill’s offering. It might be time for us to move on and start fresh somewhere else. Unless you’re getting sweet on Miz Edith?”

  “Drop it, Otis. She’s riding me as hard as she rides you.”

  “Yeah, she’s a cranky thing, ain’t she?”

  “A widow woman out here, alone. I thought it would be a piece of cake.”

  “What, with your charm and good looks, Zeke?” Otis grins. “You’re not throwing in the towel already are ya?”

  Zeke curses. The Rex continues to move through the water, which is getting increasingly choppy. “Wind’s up. Seas are getting dirty.”

  “Let’s head in before it gets worse.”

  Chapter 33

  A heron, slowly making its way along the banks of the small creek next to Gator Joe’s, pauses. It tilts its majestic, crowned head toward the curious sight of a small boy, sitting on the kitchen porch step, chin buried in his hands, crying—a bright silver fish darts in front, the heron lunges, snaps, and swallows.

  Leroy is oblivious to anything but his own heartache. It’s Saturday. Cassie always puts the cards away, and they push the dugout into the water and paddle. He sees it all in his mind’s eye. Not really a river, the water spreads in all directions. Sometimes he brings his slingshot, but most often they glide along—strands of Spanish moss dripping down, wide swaths of grasses swaying on patches of spongy ground, low palms with fronds growing straight out of the water, mangrove roots like bare-legged ladies wading through the green water with their skirts hiked.

  When they’re out in the dugout, the air is like breathing through a wet blanket, and swarms of mosquitoes bite, even with a heavy application of Cassie’s special salve. Dappled sunlight makes its way through the canopy, pulling out every shade of green: from a green so deep its almost black, to the soft moss and fern greens, to the pales yellow-green stripes of a flowering plant. The vivid colors of the flower almost painful on the eyes

  They glide silently through the swamps and marshes. The frogs and toads croaking and ribbiting, insects buzzing and whirring. And then there are all the expressions an alligator makes: a threatening hiss, a tail slashing and smashing, hatching calls, contact calls, and courtship bellows. The birds—oh, the birds: squawks and screeches, trills and cheeps. The daytime sounds of wood storks, roseate spoonbills, snowy egrets, great egrets, and great blue herons so different than the nighttime calls he’d hear as he lay in his cot.

  Leroy’s heart swells with the memory of it until it threatens to burst. Wave after wave of homesickness washes over him, drowning him in misery.

  And Cassie. Oh, how he misses her. The hum she makes when she’s looking at the cards, the way she smacks her lips just before she has her first bite of supper, her eyebrows that slide all around her forehead depending on whether she’s happy, or worried, or sad. Does she miss him, too?

  He scrubs angrily at a leaked tear. The screen door creeks and Edith sits beside him. He’s not been aware of her standing behind the screen, watching his shoulders shake as he sunk lower into the step and deeper into memory.

  “Hey, kiddo. Whatchya doing?”

  “Nuthin. Just sitting.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Nope,” he whispers, scooching over to make some room.

  After a quiet spell, Leroy whispers again. “I wonder what Cassie’s doing right now.”

  “What does she usually do?”

  “She reads tarot cards. Looks after me and the camp. Stuff.”

  “Ah, stuff.” Edith waits for a bit to see if there’s more, but he only takes a deep breath to fuel his next sigh.

  “When I left my home in Philly, the thing I missed most was going for lunch with my friend Maggie. Sometimes we’d get to see each other a couple of times a week, and sometimes weeks would go by before we got together again. But I can remember the restaurants, the smells, the way she’d look at her
menu, adding up all the prices, and then she’d frown. Just a tiny frown. It would flicker and then be gone.”

  “Why would she frown? Didn’t she like the food?”

  “Going for lunch was a big expense for her, and it bothered me that it bothered her. But she was stubborn and would only let me treat sometimes. We’d talk about serious stuff, about silly stuff, about things that made us cry, and things that made us happy. I really, really miss her.”

  “Because she was your best friend?”

  “I guess because she’s still my best friend. It’s the sharing I miss most. She never judged me or what I had to say. She just listened.”

  “Cassie’s like that. Sometimes I think that, inside, she’s a great big hollow well. I can pour and pour stuff into her and she never fills up. And when it’s really really really quiet I’ll say something, and when she hears it, it’s like a penny dropping down the well. I can hear a tiny kerplunk when it hits the bottom.”

  Edith puts her arm around Leroy. “You and your aunt must be close, just the two of you out there in the Everglades.” For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she sent a great kid like you away, but she sure must have had a darned good reason.

  “I wish sometimes I had a ma and a pa. And my ma would be a lot like you, Miz Edith,” Leroy says, looking at her shyly.

  Edith gulps and pulls her arm away.

  Oblivious, Leroy is smiling, lost in fantasy. “Sometimes I’d read a story about brothers and sisters and wish I had some of those, too. It’s tough being an only kid, like when I’m mad at something that Cassie wants me to do. I got nobody to yell at except the trees. And when I want to run and jump and pretend I’m a bird, I got nobody to play with. Sometimes I go off into the swamp just to make noise and be silly. You ever do that, Miz Edith?”

  “Not for a long time, Leroy.”

  “You’re all on your lonesome, too. Do you miss your husband? Is it hard on your own?”

  “Sometimes I do. Mickey was a different kind of fella. He gave me lots of space to breathe, and I needed that. I needed it like a flower needs sun and water. In the end, it wasn’t so good, but I don’t think about that. Instead, I think about what it was like in the early days. That’s what I like about Gator’s. It reminds me of those times.”

  “And you got no kids, right?”

  “That’s right. No babies to hold. No little bodies to snuggle.”

  “You need a kid, and I need a ma, how about that?” He slides closer until he is leaning against her.

  Edith moves away, a quarter inch canyon between she and Leroy. “Leroy.” She pauses. “I can’t be your mother, Leroy. That’s your Aunt Cassie’s job.”

  “She’s not really my ma.”

  “Pretty close, I think. Closer than me, that’s for sure. I’d be a lousy mother.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d be great. You’re strong and fearless. And you laugh with your whole belly. And you smell good. And you called me honey the night the men broke into Gator’s.”

  “But that’s not what mothers do, Leroy. Cassie’s what a mother is. A mother remembers what you smelled like when you were a baby, what your skinned knee tasted like when she kissed it better, what you sound like when you’re hiding under the covers during a thunderstorm. She’s fed you, burped you, and seen your bare bottom. I bet that Cassie did all those things, didn’t she?”

  Leroy nods and pulls a sigh from his toes. Edith does the same and squeezes him.

  “Look, kiddo. I can’t be your mother any more than you can be my boy. I’ve never had one of those and doubt I’d have the patience for it. But how about we be best friends? We can be silly together, and goofy. And you can tell me stuff, and I’ll tell you stuff. And when things go right, we can share it, and when things go wrong, we’ll have each other’s backs.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  Edith holds out her hand and spits into it.

  “Gross. What was that for?” he asks, leaning over for a closer look.

  “It’s what best friends do. I learned this from Maggie’s son when he was your age. You spit into your hand and then we shake.”

  Leroy spits, and laughs at the slippery, slurpy feel as they shake. “That’s really gross,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants.

  Edith stands and pulls him up. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.”

  Edith disappears to change. Leroy grabs a towel and heads down to the dock.

  “I don’t care what you say, I’m still going to call you Ma.”

  * * * *

  Out at the camp, Cassie feels a tug that has nothing to do with cards. “Leroy? Is that you? You okay, Koone?”

  Cassie runs her hands up and down her arms, pushing down the goosebumps. “I knew there’d be days like this. I miss you, too. Maybe I need to talk to Miz Edith. Woman to woman. Find out how things are going. It’d be nice to do it over a good cup of coffee.”

  Chapter 34

  I t’s been a so-so night at Gator’s. Busier than some nights but, after a month of being open, still nowhere near as busy as Edith wants; thirsty customers lined-up out the door and halfway to Coconut Grove. Everyone tells her it takes time, but it’s been a month already; the place should be hopping.

  Having stacked the chairs and swept the floor at closing, she and Leroy are sitting on the edge of the veranda, enjoying a cold drink.

  “Word’s out that we’re always short of booze. Poor Harley still hasn’t had a glass of rum since I opened.”

  “He can’t be that upset by it. He keeps coming back,” Leroy answers.

  “You know, Leroy, I had thought that the hard part was going to be getting Gator Joe’s fixed up because I didn’t know a lot about building and fixing things. But it’s turning out that was the easy part. I got a great little blind tiger here,” Edith says, patting the wooden boards of the veranda, “but no customers and no booze. Maybe Mae was right, and Miami would have been easier.”

  “Who’s Mae?”

  “My friend in Miami. You must have heard of her. Mae Capone? You know, Al Capone’s wife.”

  Leroy yawns. He’s not much interested in that kind of stuff. She doesn’t have much of a batting average, and he doesn’t really care about news reports. He only pays attention to baseball games and some of them serial dramas like The Shadow. Now, that’s worth listening to.

  “She came with me the day I bought Gator Joe’s. She said I’d do better in a big city. She doesn’t figure me for a small-town gal. What screws us up, Leroy, is the picture in our head of how it’s supposed to be when we compare it to what is.”

  Leroy nods. “My Aunt Cassie says that until you figure out what you’re supposed to learn, life will keep knocking you on the head until you listen up.”

  Edith puts her arm around Leroy. “Come on, kid. I’ll buy you another soda pop.” The pair head back inside. “It sounds like Aunt Cassie is a smart gal. I can’t figure out what it is I’m supposed to be learning though. Patience? Humility? Moderation? I’ve got all that in spades. Hear that, life,” she shouts, shaking her fist in the air. “Lessons learned. I’m the most patient, moderate, humble person I know. You can stop knocking me on the head now.”

  Edith grabs an orangeade for Leroy and pours herself a small glass of the whiskey Zeke had dropped off. She sips it, grimacing. “I can’t figure out why the only booze Zeke and Otis can get from Rum Row is this cheap swill. Reggie knows where the good stuff is, and hotels and clubs in Miami always have top-self liquor. Too bad it’s so complicated working with Reggie and getting the liquor here.”

  “Why?”

  “The whole thing is so haphazard and random. I have to find Reggie or leave a message and hope he gets it. Then I have to transport it twice, which doubles the risk. And it takes longer.” Edith works on her whiskey. “What I wouldn’t give for a good martini.”

  Leroy, nodding, drinks his soda.

  “You know how to make a martini, Leroy?”

  Leroy shrugs, his upper lip topped with a bright orange cres
cent from the soda.

  “You know what a martini is?”

  “Nope”

  “Lordy, what have I got myself into?”

  “A pickle?” he says, grinning.

  “Is that another Aunt Cassie saying?”

  Leroy nods. “I’ve never tasted a pickle. Are they good?”

  Edith rolls her eyes. “You have really missed out a lot living out in the Everglades, Leroy. Pickles are sour, but tasty. They’re crunchy and when you bite a good one, your mouth goes like this.” She makes a screwed-up sour-taste face. Leroy laughs, and then belches. They laugh together.

  “How about the next time we go to town we pick up a jar of pickles?”

  Leroy nods, grinning.

  “Well, enough of the chit chat. I’m off to bed and you should be heading that way, too. Tomorrow, I’m going to do some posters to put at the marina, although we’ve missed the tourist season. It will soon be March. Nobody comes down here after Easter and definitely not in the summer. Maybe I’ll swing by the playhouse.”

  “You’re going to watch something at the theater, Miz Edith?”

  “No, I didn’t mean as a guest. You see, in Philly, Mickey and I would often go out to a club after we’d been somewhere. To keep the party going. I bet the theater-goers around here do the same kind of thing. I may be able to draw some of that crowd. Although Gator’s isn’t exactly a nightclub.”

  “You’ll figure it out. Cassie says that tough times don’t last, tough people do.”

  “Like I said, one smart gal.” She pats the bar, smiling. “Don’t you worry, sweetie, we’re each other’s second chance and I’m not going to give up on either one of us.”

  A breeze picks up, bringing in the salty air.

  Leroy slides out of his chair. “I’m going to go fishing off the dock tomorrow if the weather holds.”

  “Fish for dinner sounds good. I’ll make potato salad.”

  “Do you have an old stocking I can have? I want to make a net and catch some of the little fish near the shore to use for bait.”