Caribbean's Keeper (11 page)

In the lot were a few abandoned and dilapidated overturned boat hulls. The helicopter wouldn’t be able to see him under the hulls, even if it had infrared cameras. At the same time, the cops would probably bring dogs to sniff Cole’s trail. With that in mind, he jogged towards the water and ran in up to his knees, then turned west and waded back around the mangroves to where one of the hulls was overturned about 50 yards away. His feet were cold and made it all the more difficult to walk over the uneven rocky bottom, but he was able to grab the phone in one hand and flop the rest of his body in the water to wash his scent as best he could. He rolled a few times then waded directly towards the hull, shivering as he walked.

Cole was careful to take as few steps as possible as he crawled up to and under the boat. With the glow of the phone, he looked around his cramped hideout then curled up under the bow and waited. Cole was soaked. Shivering in the chilly pre-dawn air, he was frustrated, but knew he’d have to sit tight for a while. This was not where Cole hoped to be, and as the sky grew lighter to the east, he heard the helicopter pass overhead several times—a constant reminder of his current predicament.

Less than 15 minutes from when he’d beached, police sirens sounded in the distance. Cole figured the cops were on the main road when the sirens cut out and he heard a car door slam shut. The helicopter passed overhead again, but he never saw the bright spotlight near his hideout and it seemed that the helicopter kept its speed up. His stomach was in his throat as 30 minutes passed by before daylight took hold and warmed him up enough to stop shivering. With a bit more light, he looked at his surroundings, finding he was was sitting amid small rocks with some old fishing net down by his feet. Grabbing it, he made it into a bed of sorts to ease the pain of sitting on jagged rocks for the past hour. He began to relax and soon nodded off.

g

Cole woke to the cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He was groggy and slow to answer.

Mickey was yelling at him, “What the fuck man. Where you at?”

“I’m under a boat, Mickey.” Cole saw the clock on the phone telling him it was past ten in the morning. He’d been asleep for almost four hours.

“What the fuck you mean, you under a boat?” Mickey seemed confused.

“I’m under a fucking boat, Mickey. I don’t know what boat. I don’t know where. Thanks for asking, though.”

Mickey relaxed his voice a bit, “Well, I’m out here looking for you. I’m on a jet ski.”

Mickey’s pronunciation of
jet
substituted a
yet
for
jet
and Cole again laughed quietly and shook his head. The humor of it helped ease his mind. He wanted to say, “So jew are on a yet ski?” but knew Mickey wouldn’t get the joke, especially at this particular point in time.

Mickey continued, “They were all over Sugarloaf Key this morning. The news said the police picked up the twelve already. Where you at on the key?”

Cole connected the dots in his head. Sugarloaf Key made sense. He’d turned east during the chase and Sugarloaf wasn’t too far. He scolded himself for not thinking about it during the chase—if he’d been any further to the west, he might have ended up on the Navy base and his chances of hiding out would have been slim to none. It was dumb luck that he ended up on a sparsely populated key. Better lucky than good—but he’d have to do better next time.

He answered Mickey, “I’m on the north bank of the Key. Hang on.”

Cole thumbed through the phone until he found a GPS menu that gave him the coordinates and he read them off to Mickey.

Mickey took the coordinates and told Cole again to sit tight—he was on his way.

Cole relaxed a bit. The pressure was off, and he’d kept his cool through the toughest parts and was now on the home stretch. His mouth was dry to the point that he had a hard time swallowing and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His clothes had fared no better than his body, having been soaked for almost 12 hours. The salt that had dried on his skin itched to no end, and as Cole shrugged it off and waited, he thought about drinking a beer and taking a hot shower.

He was a long way off from where he’d been a few months ago. As he sat, soaking wet under an abandoned skiff waiting for Mickey, Cole did a bit of self-reflection. Smugglers had run all manner of contraband through these waters for centuries. Cole’s career had started off on one side of the law and he’d found that life dull. Moreover, he’d been told over and over again that he was not good at it. The Coast Guard small boat from the night before summed it up well. They were duty-bound to respond but had played it safe when it came down to it. There were operating procedures the crew had followed and that particular coxswain wasn’t willing to venture outside of those parameters to make the intercept. The U.S. Customs boat was similar. While the coxswain had shown some damn good seamanship in timing his intercept, he’d bailed when Cole approached the reef line.

Their hearts weren’t in it like Cole’s was. As he sat there Cole realized that he’d just put every ounce of energy he had into avoiding capture and had come out on top because of it. Cole knew he’d won because he’d worked harder and taken more risks. There was far more at stake for him than for the boat crews that came after him. He felt a renewed sense of courage, the kind that comes from doing something well entirely on your own. He’d risked everything and basked in the satisfaction of it under the rotted hull of an abandoned boat as he waited. His soaked clothes, the blisters on his feet, and the fatigue that wore heavy on his mind were akin to a badge of honor.

It wasn’t long before he heard the hum of Mickey’s ‘yet ski.’ Peeking under the hull, he saw Mickey idling up towards him and scanning back and forth in the sky for trouble. Cole crawled out and waded to Mickey.

“Let’s go man!” Mickey was still scanning the sky.

Cole joked, “You didn’t bring one for me?”

Mickey was not amused. “Get on the fucking jet ski.”

“Only if I can drive,” Cole quipped.

Mickey was not happy. “Get on the mother-fucking jet ski or I’ll leave your dumbass for the cops.”

Cole climbed on the back and Mickey throttled ahead out towards a creek taking them south to the open flats.

As Mickey punched the throttle, Cole yelled over the engine, “Nice Yet Ski Mickey.”

Mickey yelled back at Cole, “What did you say?”

Cole was laughing as they screamed back west to Key West. “Nothing,” he replied, almost as an afterthought.

The warm sun and breeze against his face were a welcome relief from the hours he’d just spent huddled under the skiff. Life was good once again. His fingers were still a bit numb from the nighttime chill, but the sun warmed the back of his shoulders and Cole smiled.

Mickey dropped him off at a dock inside Garrison Bight, from which Cole walked several blocks back to Kevin’s apartment. As he meshed back into the midday atmosphere of Key West, Cole realized he was free and clear. Hours before he was a wanted man, but now he was just another face on the street in dirty clothes. A police car slowed as he cut down a side street and Cole waved with a smile as it passed. He laughed out loud after the officer drove past him.

Rounding the last corner, he walked up the steps to the apartment. He strolled inside directly to the refrigerator and grabbed a Dos Equis. Popping the cap off, he downed half of it in his first swig before kicking off his sandy shoes and making his way to the shower. Hotter than he normally had it, the shower shook the last bits of cold from his core. He took long, deliberate blinks under the steaming water and felt the crusted salt melt from his body, taking the opportunity to finish his beer with another swig. The salt from his skin burned the corners of his eyes as the hot water trickled down from his matted and sun-bleached hair. He soaped up then stood under the water in silence for another minute or two.

The beer soaked his brain. His teeth felt slightly numb and he paused to fully embrace the loss of balance that ensued. Drying off, he threw on some clean shorts and pulled a button-down cotton shirt around his shoulders, not taking the time to button it up. Armed with another Dos Equis, he stepped out of the air conditioned apartment and took his usual seat on the porch. Cole managed his buzz with the second beer and leaned his head back against the wall and watched the afternoon’s cumulus clouds climb towards the heavens.

Hours went by. Cole thought he had a respectable collection of bottles on the table when Kevin finally made his way back from work. As Kevin came up the steps, they made eye contact and Cole knew his drunken smile probably looked stupid and mischievous at the same time. Kevin was laughing and shaking his head as he disappeared into the apartment. Moments later he came back out with two more beers.

“You’re nuts.” Kevin took a good long sip from his bottle.

Cole took it as a compliment. “Tag along sometime, I’ll show you a thing or two.”

Kevin just smiled and kicked his feet up on the railing. “Mickey says you ran straight over the reef. That’s a fine line between brilliant and desperate.”

Cole thought for a second and steadied his mind. He was serious when he replied to Kevin. “I know, man, but what the fuck were my options? I’m running aground either way at that point.”

Kevin nodded his head in agreement. “How did you know they wouldn’t follow you?”

Cole smiled. “I didn’t. I just assumed they wouldn’t. I fell back on what I know and I’ve seen it too many damn times. We—or they—won’t push things, and my only option was to exploit that.”

They were both silent for a moment. Cole took the first sip of the beer Kevin had brought for him. He broke the silence and stated matter-of-factly, “I got the job done. That’s all.”

They tapped bottles in a drunkard’s salute to Cole’s efforts and both took another sip.

“Mickey thinks you’re nuts.” Kevin was looking at Cole’s face for a reaction.

“Mickey is also getting his money because of me.”

Kevin nodded in agreement.

No sooner had Cole mentioned Mickey by name when the man himself came walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. Kevin and Cole both waved hello. Mickey walked halfway up the steps and tossed an envelope onto the table.

Cole harkened back to
The
Old Man and the Sea
and quipped, “Tell me about the baseball,” in his best drunk impression of a Cuban accent.

Mickey and Kevin both looked at him like he was out of his mind.

Kevin spoke first, asking, “What the fuck did you just say?” Then he laughed. Mickey followed. “He not only crazy, he nuts.” Mickey shook his head and tried to avoid laughing but couldn’t ignore the absurdity of it all.

Cole was a bit disappointed that neither of them understood the reference. “You both should read more Hemingway.” He sat back and took another sip of his beer.

Mickey shook his head again and walked down the steps. Turning back towards Cole and Kevin, he spoke softly. “You did good amigo. I’ll be in touch.” Mickey disappeared around the corner and was gone.

“So what do you do when they’re on your ass?” Cole asked.

Kevin was quiet for a moment and replied. “No idea. Never happened. But I might have pushed through the channel before turning to shake them.”

Cole was shocked. Kevin had never been chased. He seemed like a veteran, but now Cole, in his first run, had set the bar pretty high for outrunning the law. Cole had a new appreciation for what he’d pulled off.

Kevin, his feet still crossed over the railing and the beer in his hand, opened up.

“I’ve never been chased, at least that I knew of. I haven’t really thought about it much, but I don’t think I’d stop either. I just don’t know that I’d run a boat at full speed across the fucking reef. You could have split her in half.”

Cole took the hypothetical as constructive criticism.

He answered with his best explanation. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it either. But I knew the Coast Guard wouldn’t follow me and I doubted Customs would either. I was just playing the odds since it seemed like the best way to shake them. Maybe it was reckless, but so is what we’re doing out there.”

Kevin nodded in agreement. “Have you eaten anything?”

Cole shook his head no and realized he hadn’t had anything to eat in almost 24 hours.

Kevin suggested they go get some dinner out in town. They both finished their beers and staggered around the apartment for flip flops, keys, wallets, and the like. The sun was falling to the west and the blue sky showed the first signs of morphing colors for the impending sunset. Cole felt better than he had in a long, long time.

They walked the few blocks to El Siboney, and took a corner seat inside. Cole was lit up beyond where he’d been for quite some time. He had four hours of bad sleep in the past 24 and had hardly eaten anything. Kevin did his best to catch up and the two worked their way through several more rounds of Dos Equis.

Ordering grouper, Cole and Kevin both dug into steaming plates of black beans and rice, topped with a blackened filet of fresh fish. Halfway through, Cole came back to his senses enough to think again about the past day. The envelope Mickey had dropped off had enough cash for Cole to live for several months without working again, but Cole knew he’d be better off keeping his day job. There was no telling when Mickey might call again.

Cole cleaned the plate and slowly lost his appetite for more beer. His mouth burned a bit from the blackened grouper and his nose was running. The air conditioning was cranked in the restaurant and Cole felt his fingers getting cold again. His body was fading pretty quickly and he knew it. While a good part of him wanted to set Duval Street on fire, he knew the smarter option was to call it a night. They both settled up and left a generous tip among the scattered array of empty bottles on their table before taking a leisurely walk back to the apartment. Cole barely made it to the couch before he was in a deep sleep.

g

Waking early the next morning, Cole was back to his normal self. He suited up to go for his morning run but his shoes were still soaked. Behind the couch, he fumbled for his old pair and laced them up, taking off running from the porch, down the steps, and onto the street. He was full of life. He ran fast and took deep breaths, making it down to Roosevelt Boulevard before he really opened up along the boardwalk. He felt a bit of the hangover, but it was the mild kind that he could easily run right through. He’d work up a good sweat and by the time he was back at Kevin’s he’d be at 100 percent.