Temples, Tempests & Blood

by Andrew Allan

  DG shook his head. Then, he smirked.

  “Here’s what’s funny, Walt. You and me, we never shoulda been friends. We come from different worlds, see the whole thing opposite. And yet, for whatever reason we click. We click good. You make me laugh.”

  Where was this going?

  “I don’t know what it is, but I like you. And, I don’t like all that many people,” he said.

  “Your point?” I said.

  “That’s what I mean. You’re a character. Ain’t no other one like you.”

  “And, that’s why you won’t kill me?”

  “It’s why I’m gonna let you see Ilsa.”

  I leapt.

  “For just a moment.”

  “She’s here?”

  “No.”

  I deflated. “Where?”

  “I’ll show you. But.…” He poked a finger into my chest. “The deal stands. You don’t bring the heat around, you don’t ask for help. I know seeing her is gonna put wind in your sails. But, this is your last chance. You gotta get it done.”

  “I just wanted her to know I didn’t do all those things they’re saying in the papers,” I said.

  “What are you, seventy? No one reads the papers anymore.”

  He got me. I smiled.

  He held out his arms. We hugged tight.

  He said, “I love you brother. But, it’s a tough love. Get your head together and make it happen. Otherwise, I will kill you. For everyone’s sake.”

  I wanted to beat him. But, he couldn’t fully grasp what was going on, what I had seen. I also didn’t want to burden him with it.

  “Not if I kill you first.” I pushed off him. “Take me to my wife, asshole. And, if she has what I sent her, this may be the closest we’ve ever been to stopping the Kith.”

  42

  WE LEFT THE cabin, walked a different trail to a small dock set at the end of a channel dug into the island. From where I stood on the dock, I couldn’t see a clear path out to the river. Overgrown mangroves blocked the view. I suspected that was the very reason DG selected this location.

  DG unwrapped a rope from a pylon and tossed it into the small johnboat it had been securing. The boat was great for this river. At least on days when there wasn’t a major storm.

  “We gonna make it in this thing?” I said.

  DG gave me a look and then unwrapped the other rope. “Water won’t melt you.”

  It hadn’t yet. And, what did I care? Soaking wet or fried to a crisp, it didn’t matter as long as I reached Ilsa.

  DG climbed in and held the dock to keep the boat from drifting.

  I hopped in and took a seat. It was already wet.

  “Push off.”

  The boat drifted away from the dock, almost into the bank of mangroves. I pushed off the branches. I spotted a quartet of soggy herons riding out the storm.

  DG started the motor. It ran clean. He faced forward, one hand behind him on the motor handle, steering the channel like a pro.

  Rain hit our faces.

  DG usually had a darkness to him, I guessed from cycle grease or anger or simply being a closed off, private person, which he was. But for the first time, the steady stream of rainwater had washed away his defenses to reveal a glimpse of a younger DG. I could see past the years of aging and adventure to witness the young man at his core who had taken life by the throat. Brash, brave, boisterous…I was witnessing the spark that kept DG alive.

  Why had it been revealed now? I believed that, despite his protests, he loved the chaos. Or, was it relief. Had seeing me again, perhaps contrary to his exasperations, actually brought this cantankerous redneck joy? DG wasn’t one to share his most intimate feelings with you unless of course those intimate feelings were fury and disdain. The rain may have exposed him, as it can in Florida. And, that knowledge, this glimpse inside, was priceless. It could help me to call his bluff.

  The boat didn’t so much cut through the water as it bounced atop it. Waves pushed it up and let it drop with a splash. Wind blew the rain sideways. The outer bands of the storm were here. But, where would the center strike?

  “Up there.” DG pointed to another island ahead. It looked similar to the one we’d just left, a natural formation overgrown with time. How the hell did DG own, or control, these two islands? He had places everywhere.

  Despite having a motor, wind and current did their best to steer the johnboat off course from the narrow channel DG had been aiming for.

  I got nervous. Wasn’t expecting it. But, as we floated closer to our dock, which was just a dirt bank on the water this time, the prospect of seeing Ilsa had me at odds. Why?

  This was my wife. We’d spent so many wonderful moments together. But, we hadn’t spoken to resolve our tension. And, I could certainly argue that our last conversation was nothing but a betrayal. She didn’t want to see me then. She didn’t want to help me fight. But, I couldn’t take it like that. I understood how she felt.

  None of it mattered. I just wanted to see her. We’d work out any issues.

  The boat hit the shore. DG revved the motor to push it up further up the sand. He climbed out, then I did, and we both dragged it up the muddy bank until it was more out of the water than in.

  “Come on,” said DG.

  He led me along a snaking trail under the cover of an assortment of pine, palm, and oak trees. Everything was wet and dripping. Wind whistled between the branches.

  DG stopped.

  I watched.

  He studied the ground until he found what he was looking for. Another trip wire.

  “Step over.” He pointed to the wire.

  I needed a minute to see it and then I did what he asked.

  “Place is surrounded with those,” he said.

  “How did you come to own this island,” I said.

  He winked. Typical, DG. He has a way of making things happen in his favor.

  We walked until a small, wood shack came into view. This one appeared more substantial—shingles on the roof, windows, actual doorknob hardware, even a small garden outside. It looked livable. I was happy he had put Ilsa here.

  DG walked up to the door and gave me a hand signal to hold back. I did. He knocked. The door opened. He said something to someone.

  Ilsa’s face appeared in the doorway.

  I ran to the door.

  DG stepped aside.

  Ilsa looked at me, tentative, worried.

  She opened her arms.

  “You didn’t say I was gonna be forced to watch this bullshit,” said DG.

  43

  WE HUGGED TIGHT. Her warmth, her smell, her pheromones drove me wild, humbled me, and soothed my entire being.

  My wet clothes wet hers. She didn’t care. She looked into my eyes and smiled.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I said.

  “Thank god you’re alive,” she said.

  We stared, taking each other in, arms wrapped tight.

  “Well, if it ain’t the Saturday Night Matinee,” said DG. “At least close the door so we can stay dry inside.”

  We broke our rapture. She shut the door.

  Ilsa said, “Get out of those clothes and wrap up in this.” She pulled a blanket off a shelf.

  I stripped off my shirt and pants, hesitated at the underwear. DG shook his head. I dropped my underwear.

  Ilsa wrapped the blanket around me. She pressed its crocheted wool against my skin, making sure I was warm. She led me over to the couch, which was just one of the fine amenities inside the cabin. There was a wood-burning stove, table and chairs, bunk beds, cabinets with food, candle lamps. You could live here.

  “You’ve been here the whole time?” I said.

  “It’s cozy enough,” she said. “Are you hungry? What do you need?” She looked me over like a mother would a sick child.

  DG said he’d make coffee, wandered into the kitchen, and set a pot of water atop the wood burning stove.

  “Are we gonna be safe in the storm?” I said.

  “Should be fine.
Rode out many nights here,” said DG.

  “Sit,” said Ilsa. She pulled me down to the couch, wrapped her arm through mine, and nestled in close. “How much no good have you been up to?”

  “Sure you want to know?”

  “Yes. I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.” I almost lamented her forcing me into exile, but that could wait. Instead, I said, “It has been a hell of a…” A montage of bloodshed flashed in my mind. “It’s been hell.”

  “Have you stopped them? For good?”

  “Not yet.”

  Her expression darkened. Had she been misled about the nature of my visit? Was she going to kick me out?

  “I’m closer. A lot closer.”

  Ilsa de-nestled and sat back on the couch.

  DG folded his arms and leaned against the stove.

  “Do you have your phone on you?” I said. “I sent you a text. A picture. It’s important.”

  She looked past me to DG, then got up and walked over to a bookshelf. She opened a flip phone. I knew her phone and that wasn’t it.

  “I didn’t receive a text,” she said.

  “I didn’t send it to that phone,” I said.

  DG said, “When we split town, I gave her a burner. Didn’t want any interested parties to trace her phone.”

  “You think they can do that?” she said.

  DG nodded. “I know they can. I’ve done it.”

  Dread rose. “Do you still have her phone?”

  “Why, what did you send her?” said DG.

  “Do you have the phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need it.”

  “Why would I bring it to the place I was hiding her if I didn’t want anyone to find her?”

  The goodwill had dissipated. We were back to bickering. Maybe that was inevitable. But, what I didn’t need right now was DG being evasive and sarcastic with the answers.

  “DG, please. I sent a picture of some blueprints. I absolutely need to get that picture as quickly as possible,” I said.

  “Her phone’s not here. Not even close,” he said. “But, I can get it for you.”

  “Where is it?”

  DG shifted his weight. Anxious, like maybe he was the one about to get into some trouble.

  “DG?” said Ilsa.

  “It’s at the bottom of the Rainbow River. In a waterproof lock box.”

  Where in a what?

  “All we gotta do’s fish it out.”

  “But, that’s on the other side of the state,” I said.

  “Just a couple hour’s drive.”

  I dropped my head.

  “Why are these blueprints so important?” Ilsa said.

  “The Kith are planning to build their own, for lack of a better word, resort.”

  A perplexed reaction.

  “You mean, like Sandals,” said DG.

  “Yes, but for rich perverted freaks who like to kill.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they want their own place where they can do the freaking and killing without any consequences.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I spoke to Razook. He’s the one who tried to kill me after I was arrested.”

  “Wait, what?” said Ilsa.

  “The hell did that asshole want?” said DG. He knew enough to know names and players.

  “He talked up a deal. I disappear for a bit while they build this resort, get things going so they can’t be turned back. Once that’s done, they’d quash the arrest for the murder in West Palm.”

  “Not a bad deal,” said DG.

  “What did you do?” said Ilsa.

  “I turned it down,” I said.

  “And, then they set you up again,” said DG. “Right?”

  I nodded.

  DG turned to her. “Walt’s wanted for killing the governor. It’s all over the news. Big manhunt trying to track him down.”

  Ilsa seemed lost. It was all beyond comprehension, certainly beyond belief. How could they do it? How could I get myself into that type of position? Were we—she and I—truly over? Because those were the terms she had set. I had to clear up the mess before she’d take me back. And, the mess was exponentially messier than when she set those terms. I could read the debate on her face.

  “I know it sounds impossible. And, I’m not gonna lie, it probably is. But, our only hope, my only hope is to get those blueprints to a detective named Stokely in the Dunnellon Police Department,” I said.

  Ilsa shot up. “Isn’t that the man who arrested you?”

  DG gave me a funny look. “Don’t know how I feel about cops being brought into this.”

  “Last I knew you weren’t in this. You two cut me off and left to run or rot. So, it’s not really up to you who I bring into it.”

  DG raised his chin, keeping his poise. But, he knew I was right in the facts and justified in my anger.

  “After they killed the Governor, I was able to make contact with Stokely. He listened to my story. I was even able to provide a little bit of proof that maybe I wasn’t crazy, wasn’t actually the governor’s killer, and had a more important story to tell.”

  “What was the proof?” said DG.

  “A book. From Razook. It was given to me in the squad car. And found there with the bodies. It proved the cops were working for Razook.”

  Wind snapped off a branch and it thumped onto the roof. The raw force of the storm was getting closer.

  “It was enough to get him to listen. But, it wasn’t enough proof for him to pursue Razook.”

  Ilsa said, “But the blueprints are, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  We fell silent. Everyone weighed the new developments.

  “Let me get this straight,” said DG. “You get the blueprints to this dick. I mean, detective. He sees that the Kith have their mind set on building some sort of resort … how is that different than any other developer?”

  I walked over to the kitchen. Before answering, I helped myself. Ritz crackers and New York Seltzer. Interesting selection for out here on the Isle of Nowhere.

  A few bites and a few sips later, I turned back to them. “Stokely understands the significance of the plans. But, you’re right. It’s not enough on its own,” I said. “But, it is crucially important. Because it’s the Kith’s end game. An endgame that can’t happen unless the new Governor takes certain actions.”

  “What are you talking about, Walt?” said Ilsa. “This makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense when you know what they want and you learn that the only way it can happen is if the governor declares an area a disaster zone. They can’t build until the governor quarantines the area. Once he does, they move in as the official contractors, build up the land, and create their own fortified world, which they control.”

  “So, this blueprint, it’s just setting the foundation for a case,” said DG.

  “Yes.”

  He thought it over. “Pretty smart.”

  “My only option,” I said. “If I can get Stokely looking into that, he’ll look into Razook. He’ll look into the Kith. And, maybe he can stop them.”

  “And, clear everything up for you?” said Ilsa. There was hope in her voice.

  I nodded and sat.

  “What now?” she said.

  “We have to get the blueprint.”

  Silence in the room brought the storm sounds to the forefront. That prompted DG to open the door, look outside, and read the sky.

  I peeked out and saw nothing but grey. It was early afternoon but already looked like night.

  Ilsa rubbed my neck. It felt beyond good.

  DG turned from the door. “Storm’s picked up. I don’t know that we’re going anywhere tonight.

  “We don’t have time to wait,” I said.

  “You need to rest,” said Ilsa.

  “She’s right,” said DG.

  “I understand that. But, if we don’t get those blueprints to Stokely.…”

  “Walt, we can leave the island. B
ut, by the time we get to the river, that storm is gonna be on top of us. Last check it was a Cat 3 and growing.”

  An important thought sparked. I looked to DG. “Where do they project the storm to land?”

  “Last look had it ripping the Keys. But, they don’t know if it’s gonna hook up around Naples, or further up the West Coast.”

  It was good to have a recap what I had learned for them. Gave me a chance to reconsider all of the information, maybe trigger new connections, new revelations.

  “They can’t build unless the Governor declares a state of emergency. Florida doesn’t have earthquakes or fires. Best way to do that is a hurricane. But, because they can’t predict where a hurricane will hit, they have four locations in the running for the resort, in the hopes the hurricane hits one of those places.”

  “What places?”

  “One is down at the ranch, where we were. One is Cape Canaveral…”

  “Are they outta their fucking minds?” DG waved off the ridiculous notion.

  “Yes. Completely.”

  “This is mad,” said Ilsa.

  “Where else?”

  “Keys, both north and south. And, another location. I don’t know where it is.”

  “How’d you find this out?” he said.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “This whole thing’s a long story. And by the looks of it, we’re not leaving anytime soon. So, we might as well talk it out.” He shut the door and the outside world went away.

  “He’s right, Walt. We can’t leave now,” said Ilsa.

  “Fair enough. Before I give you all the details, I will take that rest.”

  And, that’s just what I did.

  44

  IT WAS FULL dark when I woke. The shack’s wood frame creaked in the wind. Glasses rattled. The hurricane caught me sleeping.

  Sitting up involved effort. I was sore and stiff from my neck to my calves. DG was asleep at the kitchen table, his head on his arms. Ilsa was curled up on the couch underneath a crochet blanket. She was illuminated by low light coming through the window. It wasn’t much. Just enough to reveal shapes and curves.