Chapter 28
It wasn’t the shark.
Not nearly big enough. But these fishermen were taking a victory lap, nonetheless.
Paris Delaney and her camera crew were there to soak up the footage.
So was a horde of protesters shouting at the fishermen.
They carried protest signs written in Sharpie, glued to wooden handles. They hurled obscenities.
Nine feet was on the larger end of the spectrum for bull sharks. The largest ever recorded was somewhere around 13. This was less than half the size of the beast that had been gnawing on tourists.
It was no surprise to see Mr. X and Mrs. Y leading the charge.
It was legal to fish bull sharks in Florida as long as they met the size requirements. The fishermen hadn’t done anything wrong. They just didn't have the right fish.
Ariel Riven was present. She didn’t miss the opportunity to step in front of the lens for an interview with Paris.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of. There are hundreds of boats out there right now, fishing sharks out of the water for no good reason.
There's no way that most of these boats could even handle a shark the size that killed the prior victims.”
This was a powder keg waiting to explode. It started with the protesters hurling bottles and cans at the fishermen. Glass shattered against the hull of the fishing trawler.
The fisherman threw stuff back.
Uniformed deputies closed in to break up the crowd, but there was a lot of pushback.
One of the fishermen transferred to the dock and had a few heated words with a protester.
The protestor shoved him.
The fisherman shoved back.
The protestor threw a right hook, which looked like the first punch he’d ever thrown.
A bad move.
The fisherman made short work of the protester. His heavy fist connected with the protester’s jaw and dropped him. The guy was out.
The angry crowd closed in and started beating and kicking the fisherman. Soon, he was down on the ground.
The protestors swarmed.
More fishermen joined in.
JD and I weaved through the crowd with the other deputies and started pulling people apart. It was pure chaos, like a mosh pit at a metal concert. Random punches flew in all directions.
Paris and her crew backed up but managed to keep the camera rolling. This was valuable footage. Prime time entertainment.
More deputies arrived in riot gear with pepper spray, shields, and face masks. The sharp smell of capsaicin filled the air as the red mist brought pain and misery. Even if you didn't get shot in the face with it, the over-spray was enough to sting and water your eyes.
We finally broke up the fray and made arrests, but not before Ariel got a stray punch to the face. The wayward fist missed its intended target and crunched her cheek.
She flopped like a rag doll, out cold.
The guy who hit her took off running.
I rushed to her, knelt down, and did a quick check. A purple knot already swelled her cheek, which was scuffed with a minor abrasion. Her jaw didn't look broken. No trauma to her neck.
I scooped her up and carried her out of harm’s way as the horde stampeded off the dock, trying to escape arrest. Footsteps shuffled. People pushed and shoved. Screams and shrieks filled the air. Ariel’s limp body sagged against my arms, deadweight.
EMTs and paramedics were on the scene to treat the injured.
By the time I got to them, her eyes began to flutter. A little dazed, Ariel glanced around with confused eyes.
The EMTs did a quick eval, shining a light into her eyes, asking her basic questions. “What’s your name?”
“Ariel.”
“What day is it?”
She went blank for a moment. “Today.”
The EMT chuckled. “Where are we?”
“Coconut Key.”
They started her on a little oxygen and gave her an ice pack for her cheek.
"What happened?" she asked in a weak voice.
"You got your bell rung," I said.
The protesters dispersed. Deputies hauled troublemakers to squad cars, cuffed at the wrists.
"Might want to avoid these types of events in the future,” I cautioned. “They can get out of hand quickly.”
"I'm not going to stop speaking up for the things I believe in.”
I smiled. I had to admire her spirit. "I'm Deputy Tyson Wild."
Even with the shiner, she was still cute.
“So, you’re the enemy,” she groaned.
“I’m not the enemy.”
“What are you doing to stop this madness?”
“I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but we just broke up a massive brawl.”
“No. I mean the chaos that’s happening offshore. How many innocent sharks are going to be harvested? They are a valuable part of our ecosystem.”
“I don’t disagree. But that’s an FWC issue. If I catch someone breaking the law, I’ll arrest them. Right now, I’ve got my hands full trying to solve a few murders.”
"Ma’am, we can take you to the hospital for a full evaluation and a CT scan, if you’d like," an EMT said.
"No. That won't be necessary. I'm fine. Thank you."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive.”
"You took a pretty good hit to the head,” the EMT said.
“If you have any dizziness, nausea, vomiting, confusion, or slurred speech, you need to get yourself into the ER right away. It’s nothing to play around with.
Someone needs to stay with you and wake you up every three to four hours tonight.
Do you have someone to monitor you at home? " The EMT looked at me.
"No," Ariel said.
"I'm not trying to be weird, but if you need a place to stay, we've got more than enough room on the boat,” I said. “We can keep an eye on you for the next 24 hours.”
She scoffed. "We just met. I think I'll be fine.”
"Totally up to you.” I dug into my pocket and handed her a card. "Call me if you need anything. I suggest you find a friend you can stay with to keep an eye on you. Like he said, a traumatic brain injury is nothing to fool around with.”
"I got punched. It's not a big deal.”
"Sometimes that's all it takes.”
I stayed with her another few minutes as she regained her wits. I figured she’d be just fine, but she’d probably be sore as hell in the morning.
“Do you need a ride home?“ I asked.
“No. I can manage.”
“You probably shouldn’t drive in this condition.”
“I would advise against operating heavy machinery for the next few days,“ the EMT said.
Ariel didn’t seem thrilled about that.
She finally agreed to call a rideshare, and I helped her into the vehicle when it arrived. I told her once again to call if she needed anything.
JD and I caught up with Paris and had a little chat. I told her, “I need clips of the footage from today. We can use it to identify instigators that weren’t apprehended, and I can use it to identify Mr. X.”
Paris frowned. “You know I don’t compromise sources.”
“You’re not compromising sources. You’re handing over evidence that will lead to the arrest and conviction of violent protesters. I can get a subpoena if you want to play it the hard way.”
A naughty sparkle flickered in her eyes. “Ooh, I like it the hard way! But I’ll play nice and give you the footage.”
“Thank you.”
Once the scene was cleared, JD and I returned to the station to fill out after-action reports.
In the evening, we hit Oyster Avenue and grabbed dinner at Reef.
Not to be confused with Reefers, the upscale establishment served surf ‘n turf in an elegant setting.
But the wait to get a table was insane. Fortunately, the badge got us priority seating.
We filled our bellies, drank fine whiskey, and kicked around theories about the cases.
The island was packed, and all the bars full. It was hot and sweaty, and you had to squeeze your way through the crowd just to get to the bar and fight for attention. I wasn't in the mood.
We kept the evening low-key and headed back to the Avventura at a reasonable hour.
Traffic on the island had gotten bad, and it was only going to get worse as we entered the weekend. A sea of red taillights lined the road as we drove back to the marina. Loud music pumped from speakers. Cars packed with college students getting their party on stretched as far as the eye could see.
There were a good number of parties back at the marina. For a change, we weren’t the loudest residents in the place.
I took Buddy out for a walk, then settled in for the evening.
It was a little after 11:00 PM when I got a call from an unknown number. A soft voice filtered through the speaker in my phone. "Is this Deputy Wild?"