Chapter 6
E verything wasn’t fine.
For the next week, cartel violence dominated national news. Miami was turning into Medellín and the police had no control. The President stepped in and before long South Florida was swarming with Feds.
In our Keys bubble, we tend to ignore what’s happening on the mainland, pretend like it isn’t in our backyard, like it can’t affect us.
George was no different. He continued to maintain his position that the Feds cracking down on cocaine took the heat off of marijuana.
And it seemed he might be right. None of the crackdowns imposed in Miami had affected our operation much.
With multiple lookouts and alternate drop points, it seemed bulletproof.
Our weekly drops went off without a hitch, while just sixty miles up the road the DEA declared all out war on the cartel.
George toned down his presence out on the sandbar and around town, and kept to his bunker of a house for the most part, but it was still business as usual for the drops. We all felt invincible.
My charter business was picking up. My savings were growing. And Ellie was my girl.
Ellie had gotten over the shooting much faster than I expected.
Of course, she hadn’t seen the carnage, and she wasn’t working in the drug smuggling business.
When her aunt Val brought it up over dinner one night a couple of week after the incident, Ellie didn’t seem the least bit shaken by the memory.
My heart was relieved that she wasn’t terrified.
Nightmares of the scene still kept me up at night.
Ellie and I kept squeezing in time together, several days a week, even if only for short moments.
Her kisses always left me wanting more, and my dreams about her had gotten downright dirty.
But her company was what I craved the most. I was in no hurry for anything more, and actually felt grateful we hadn’t gotten physical too soon. Instead, we’d become best friends.
We’d gotten so comfortable with one another that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Ellie showed up unannounced late one night, on her way home from a closing shift at the restaurant.
I was about to take off in the Whaler to stand lookout for a drop when Ellie appeared on the dock, eyeing the Gale motor already running. “Where are you going at this hour?”
My mind conjured the first lie I could think. “I need to get bait for tomorrow.”
She narrowed her eyes, hands planted on her hips. “What kind of bait are you catching at midnight? ”
“You’d be surprised,” I answered. “Ballyhoo wake up before the sun.”
Ellie tilted her head with a look of disbelief, but then she sighed. “That’s a shame. I don’t have class until ten tomorrow. I was hoping we could hang out.”
My heart sank. Of all the nights. And I was already a few minutes behind schedule. “I’d love to,” I said, hustling to the shed to grab a cast net to make my story believable. “But I’ve got to get bait for my charter tomorrow.”
Ellie batted her eyes. “I might be persuaded to stay out late and go with you.”
Even if it wasn’t a real possibility since it was a lie, having to turn down a moonlit night bait fishing with Ellie pained me like a sucker-punch to the gut. I didn’t have to pretend to be disappointed.
“That would probably end very late and not be good for either of us,” I said, running my hand down her arm. “How about I come by after I finish tomorrow?”
She looked over the boat, eyes settling on the lone net I’d grabbed as an afterthought. “You’re probably right. Wouldn't want to be up all night.” She twisted her long blonde ponytail around her finger. “Be careful out there. I worry about you alone in the dark.”
Showing me she cared made me feel closer to winning her heart, which made it sting that much more that I had to turn her away.
“I’m always careful,” I said, planting a peck on her lips .
She held my elbows, slowing looking over the boat again, and then back to me, skeptical to say the least. “You better be.”
The doubt in her eyes cut me to my core. I hated having to lie to her, but I couldn’t exactly tell the truth either. If she knew what I was up to with George, she’d leave me for sure. Lying was the only way I still had a chance.
Ellie forgave me for not including her in the late night fishing trip. After a couple of ice cream dates and moonlight strolls, she let me back in. I was determined not to fuck it up.
One Friday in mid-March, Waylan showed up at my house while I was cleaning the boat after a charter. He stepped out of his Bronco and rushed over with wild eyes.
“Hey, Waylan. Everything alright?” It was a redundant question since there was clearly something wrong.
“Haven’t you heard?” He said, exasperated. “The border patrol set up a blockade in front of the Last Chance Saloon at the top of the Stretch. The road’s closed in both directions, and they’re searching every car.”
“Border patrol?” I asked, confused. “There’s no border there. What the hell are they doing that for?”
“The Feds just got serious about their War on Drugs, but it feels like a War on the Keys,” he said, chest heaving. “Traffic is backed up for thirty miles.”
“Damn,” I said, feeling dejected. “What do you think that means for us? ”
Waylan looked white as a ghost. “Well it sure as hell can’t be good.”
He was right. The Keys were shut down. Right in the middle of spring break high season.
Word spread fast. The national news featured interviews with angry visitors trapped in the Keys, unable to get out, and others trapped in their cars trying to get in. Tourism came to a screeching halt, and fishing along with it.
Local morale plummeted as the crisis dragged on for days. Over supper one night, probably a week into the blockade, Ellie declared that she was getting the hell out of the Keys for her spring break the following week.
“I don’t care if it takes a whole day to drive it, I’m going to Naples. I don’t have class. The restaurant is dead. And everyone’s acting like it’s the end of the world here.” Her blue eyes were wide, her voice anxious.
I understood where she was coming from, but I didn’t want her to go, and I was still in no position to leave.
George had finally started to get skittish and spaced out the runs to reduce exposure.
But we had a drop scheduled for next Wednesday.
So I tried to soothe her with the same words they’d used on me.
“It’ll settle down. We just have to be patient. ”
“Patient for what? Until they win the War on Drugs?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest while she huffed. “Pff. Or ’til pigs fly? That might come quicker.”
I had to laugh, partially because she looked cute when she was worked up, but mostly because she was right.
“C’mon Ellie. It’s not so bad. We can enjoy your week off here at home, without the tourists to muck it up. ”
She wasn’t hearing any of it, though. “With no tourists, we’re both effectively out of work . Let’s get out of here and have some fun. My grandmother has a spare room we can stay in.”
Sharing a room with Ellie for a week was the opportunity of a lifetime.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the regret that made me nauseous.
“The thing is, Mateo’s family booked a charter for next week over a month ago.
They’re all locals, so it’s still on. And they say they may want to book another day or two.
I can’t pass that up when times are so tough. ”
“I wouldn't want you to miss out.” She folded her napkin carefully, like the effort might keep her calm. But there was a bitterness in her tone. “You do what you have to do, Spencer. I’m getting out of here.”
And she did. Come Sunday, she was off.
Tuesday night I met Waylan for a beer. He had two cold bottles of Bud waiting at the bar when I slid onto the stool beside him.
“Howdy.” I did the tomahawk chop, mimicking the FSU Seminoles’ fight gesture. “Y’all gonna brave the trip to Tallahassee next weekend?” He was supposed to take a campus tour Saturday.
“Hell no, not with the traffic. But this shit is so bad for business, my dad is talking about sending me up there when it settles down, so I can work with my uncle. Which means I’d have to start classes in the summer,” he said, shaking his head with a face full of dread.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled.
I’d wondered if his dad suspected what he was into with George when he told Waylan he was sending him to FSU in the fall.
Waylan was a hard worker in his family’s hardware store, and he’d have been content to stay and study close to home.
But his dad couldn’t wait to get him out of the Keys.
I got that he wanted a better life for him, but I’d already wondered if he was trying to protect him from the dirty deals he was part of.
And now his dad was pressuring him to go early…
“You think he knows something?” I asked in a low voice.
“I think we shouldn’t talk about it.” Waylan glanced over his shoulder for the third time in the past two minutes.
I wondered if everyone knew something I didn't know. “Well, I haven’t seen Mateo. Have you? Is he coming tonight?”
“He’s coming. But we should keep quiet. We don’t know who’s listening now.”
I looked around, suddenly paranoid. There was hardly anyone in the dimly lit bar, but there were a couple of faces I didn’t recognize–odd since there were virtually no tourists in town.
Both were middle-aged men with chiseled chins, fit and muscular, almost with beach bodies—if not for their lack of tans, as if they belonged more in an office than in a beach town.
They sat alone, staring into drinks they’d barely touched.
I cupped my hand over my mouth in case they might read my lips when I whispered. “If you’re right, we should talk. Somewhere else.”
Waylan nodded, picking up his beer and heading for the door.
He sat on the curb beside the old Ford and pulled out a Marlboro. “I don’t know what George is thinking, keeping this up.” He tapped the brown filter on his shiny zippo lighter .
“It’s not just the highway they’re patrolling. I hear helicopters out every night, and channel 16 is full of chatter. They must’ve called in the entire Coast Guard.”Every boat monitored channel 16, the national safety and distress channel on the VHF.
“At least we don’t touch any of it. If they take us in, we’re empty handed.” I was parroting what George had told us—via Mateo—over a month ago.
Waylan passed me the cigarette, sounding tired when he blew out the smoke. “I don’t think either of us wants to take that chance.”
He was right. Maybe if we'd ever seen anybody back out of the business, we'd be more willing to talk to George. But the truth was, we didn't know what would happen if we bailed now. Funny how fear of the unknown was worse than our fear of the Feds. I didn’t know what would happen if we did, but I didn’t want to find out.
The headlights of Mateo’s Camaro blinded us as he whipped into the lot, Led Zeppelin blaring out the open windows. He parked and started to get out of the car but stopped when Waylan held up a hand in warning. “Let’s sit here a minute.”
“You wanna smoke a joint?” Mateo held up a plastic baggie.
“No, numskull. I do not want to do drugs while the island is crawling with DEA. Put it away.” Waylan flipped the passenger seat forward and motioned for me to climb into the back. I folded myself into the tiny space, my knees up near my chin as I leaned between the bucket seats.
I cleared my throat, and tried to sound reasonable. “Is this seriously going to happen tomorrow? Wouldn’t it be better to just wait? ”
“We have waited,” Mateo said, annoyed. “It’s been over two weeks. It’s happening.”
Waylan slid his fingers up the neck of his beer bottle. “What is the new process? Since things are different now?”
“No planes until it blows over. All speed boats now, and they’re stealth. We’ll have two more lookouts tomorrow. It’s under control. Don’t worry.”
Mateo seemed to believe what he was saying. He appeared completely at ease. I didn’t know if he was dumb or brainwashed by his uncle, or both. But he didn’t seem connected to reality. And we didn’t have much choice but to go along.
“Well, I am worried. But I’ll be there,” Waylan said as he climbed out, flip flops slapping the pavement. “I don’t feel much like socializing. I’m gonna head on home.”
I knew Waylan didn’t want to be seen associating with Mateo right now, not with so many new faces around town. He was right. “Me neither,” I agreed. “I better get back.”
Mateo grumbled. “Come on, we’re supposed to play darts.”
I looked in after I climbed out of the car. “Next time.”
I stopped into the Trading Post a couple of miles up the road and went in for a six-pack. When I turned the corner to head to the register, Sammy was walking in.
“Hey, man. How you guys faring in all this craziness?”
I gave him a worried look. “Slow. How you doing?”
“Same. When demand is down, prices are too. But, hey, crazy times. It’s good to take a break every once in a while, lay low and relax. ”
I noted his emphasis on lay low . “Yeah. We’ll get through it.”
“I meant to tell you, I finally got the pearl to my jeweler friend in Key West. She was back home visiting her folks in Jersey for a month. But she’s on it now. Should have it ready in a couple of weeks.”
It’d been over two months since I spotted him a wad of cash, but I knew Sammy was good for it.
“Cool. Just let me know.”