Chapter 2

 

The flight back to the States was much quicker than the boat trip to the islands. This left little time to reflect on the series of events that had transpired since the early morning hours when we first headed out of the inlet and toward the open sea. I could still remember how it felt to see the lights from the mainland grow ever so faint as we put distance between us and the shoreline and the discomfort I felt venturing into the unknown.

It was difficult to concentrate on much else but as we landed in Ft. Lauderdale my thoughts quickly shifted to my scooter that I had left along the side of Alligator Alley. Just before we left the marina that night I had put my backpack, along with the keys to my bike, in the trunk of Bruce’s car. What I wanted to do was to get back to the marina and remove any traces of my involvement with these people.

Clearing customs was a hassle as I had only my driver’s license for identification. After convincing the customs people that I had my other papers stolen from a rental car in Nassau, I was cleared back into the USA. Before getting through, the customs officials all but stripped me of the clothes I was wearing. It seemed that I was just one of those suspicious looking individuals.

This was nothing new to me as I was always being approached at concerts and other social gatherings by people inquiring about the buying or selling of drugs. So the inconveniently secluded third degree at the airport came as no surprise.

Once at the marina I found the car right where we had left it. For some reason I expected it not to be there. There were a half dozen or so cars parked in the same area of the lot and I wasn’t sure just how I was going to open the trunk. There was incriminating evidence in that trunk and in no way did I want my ass connected to these guys. Being chased down and fired upon out in the open ocean was a bit heavier than what I was used to.

As I expected, the doors were locked. I knew people didn’t pay big bucks for such a car that would have inferior locks - so easy access was out of the question. The night we had left, there was no one else around so I reasoned that if I waited until dark there would be less risk of drawing attention to myself.

I thought it best to keep the happenings of the past few days to myself but figured I couldn’t keep the excitement from Tom who was, and had always been, my best friend. I wanted to hook up with Linda but knew that once we got together it would be too easy to put off what I had to do for the pleasures she could afford me.

I had met her two and a half years earlier and she was the closest thing I had to a steady relationship. Still she was forever trying to change a few of my habits and I knew she wouldn’t have approved of my latest venture.

A call to the cab company and my message was patched through to Tom. He was the only person I still knew that I had gone to grade school with. It wasn’t until high school that we started hanging around with each other. We both played guitar and throughout the high school years played in various bands together. More than the music though, was our mutual interest in motorcycles and the open road.

As different as we were, there was a good balance to our partnership. We had ridden our cycles and partied together for years and were always getting each other’s ass out of a jam. He, if anyone, could appreciate the events that had recently transpired in my life. Tom also had a cab and right now I needed some form of transportation.

My hunger was becoming overwhelming and I decided that now, being a slightly richer man, I would treat myself to a long overdue meal. I opted for a waterfront restaurant and headed straight for the bar. Three or four vodka and cranberry drinks later I heard the familiar tone of Tom’s voice. He was at the other end of the room putting his best persuasive moves on the cocktail waitress.

“Hey, man,” I said as I walked over giving the waitress the opportunity to evade Tom’s advances.

“What’s up?” he said.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” I said.

Tom knew me well enough to know that anything was possible and that I never lied. Truth and honor were important factors in our friendship. Despite all this, I could see slight traces of doubt in his eyes as I laid out the happenings of the past few days. This was understandable. I was still in a state of disbelief myself. That’s when I once again remembered the two thousand dollars in my pocket.

This evidence proved to be more convincing as Tom had not known me to be able to produce such an amount of money too often. Laying a hundred dollars down on the bar, we both proceeded putting on a buzz.

The next thing I knew it was dark outside and once again my thoughts were on my belongings that were still in the trunk of Bruce’s Mercedes. With a little coaxing on each other’s part we were in Tom’s cab and headed straight for the marina.

This time the lot was empty with the exception of the blue Benz. With the aid of a pry bar that Tom carried around for unruly fares, the trunk popped right open. Still in the trunk were some personal belongings of both Kevin and Bruce and my pack was lying exactly where I had left it.

Before closing the trunk, I sifted through the miscellaneous stuff that was in the trunk. Underneath a duffle bag that was left behind I found a suitcase. Grabbing at the handle it felt as though it was full. I suspected it might contain ammunition but thought it might contain some identity as to who these guys were - gut feeling and some persuasive encouragement from Tom and the trunk was closed. My backpack in one hand and the suitcase in the other, I reached down, picked up the pry bar and never looked back.

Tom was going to catch hell for keeping the cab unemployed but because he knew the dispatcher not much more than a reprimand would come of it. Back at his apartment all attempts failed to carefully open the suitcase. Once again, though, the same pry bar opened the case with the ease of a key.

Mere words couldn’t express the looks on our faces as I opened the lid of the suitcase. There was good reason for it to have weighed as much as it did. There before our eyes was a suitcase stuffed full with bundles of money. Suddenly, I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. All at once life for me was beginning to get very complicated.

While I was being infused with all sorts of tension, Tom was exhibiting mass quantities of verbal euphoria. The way he saw it was that my ship had come in, that I had hit that great jackpot in the sky. My conscience was telling me that this wasn’t right. The money didn’t belong to me. I was satisfied with being two thousand dollars ahead and alive.

It was difficult to determine just how much money was actually there but a fifth of whisky and a few hours confirmed my belief that it was in fact a lot of money - three hundred and eighteen thousand dollars to be near enough to exact. Paranoia was setting in and in spite of the amount of liquor in my system, it took a long time for me to fall asleep. Even with the feeling of guilt, I did manage to envision how this sudden chance at wealth could affect my life. It was with these thoughts that I lapsed into sleep.

I woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. I wasn’t sure how long it had been ringing but halfway out of bed it stopped. A quick look at my watch confirmed my belief that it was late. It was afternoon and there was much to be done.

Over a few cups of strong coffee I decided that I couldn’t just leave the money lying around here. I thought the best course of action would be to put the money in divided amounts in several safe deposit boxes around town. I wasn’t going to determine its future at this point but reasoned that it would be safe and out of my hands. I did know a little more than I did the day before about Bruce. In with the money were papers that indicated Bruce’s last name.

After a few phone calls, I traced down my friend Pat and made arrangements to meet up with him later in the day to go get my motorcycle. Then Tom and I started recounting the money.

It seemed that the night before while in the midst of all our glory we had made a mistake in our figures. This time in a clear state of mind we counted another thirty two thousand dollars for a grand total of three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We divided the money into four piles of eighty five thousand each which left ten thousand dollars remaining.

During the process of our second count I had justified in my mind the withdrawal of the ten thousand for my part in Bruce’s ill-fated plan which had nearly cost me my life. I would then return the remaining amount if and when I could prove that Bruce was still alive.

At that point, I believed his chances of evading his assailants that morning to be slim. As we were being chased they seemed very determined in catching up to him. I was beginning to exhibit signs of wealth that day by hiring Tom’s cab all afternoon to make our rounds to the bank. After all, I was protecting someone’s interest and felt that any expenses accrued were easily justified.

After the last bit of money was deposited safely within the confines of the bank a great deal of my anxiety was gone. Now I could focus my attention on some other things that needed doing. First was to meet up with Pat and head west.

I knew all along that only a condenser and a set of points would be needed to bring the old Harley back to life, but Pat had a truck just in case. Alligator Alley looked different during the day and I was hoping I could remember just where I had left the bike.

After being picked up that night by Bruce and Kevin, I fell asleep and wasn’t exactly sure how far west I had been. About an hour further down the road I saw a sign that I remembered seeing shortly before my ignition system started crapping out. Pat swung the old Ford around and a mile or so back down the road I saw the limb of a tree that had been broken off. It was one that I had used to cover up the bike.

Ten minutes later I had the wind in my face and was enjoying the familiar high that my bike afforded me while riding. On the ride back to West Palm Beach I made a mental promise to no longer put off the rebuild on the Harley motor. Shit, I was practically rich. Tom’s scooter had been laid up due to unaffordable transmission repairs and now this, too, was only a matter of the time it would take to get the parts and put it back together.

Then there was Linda. She was long overdue the things I had promised her. She would have preferred me just being around more. During that ride back east, as the night settled in, I was appreciating a lot of things in my life.

As I glided the bike around the corner and up the driveway I could see her through the living room window as she headed toward the door. God, it felt good to see her. It had been about three weeks now since she had left Naples after a party some friends of ours had.

She worked a nine to five and had already used up too much of her sick time to extend her visit that week on Florida’s west coast. When she left Naples, I promised her that I would be back in just a few days.

“Where have you been?” she said as I leaned the bike over on its kickstand.

“Well, there was this problem, you see.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I can just imagine.”

“No, really,” I said, “The bike broke down.”

I started to further explain but she cut me off with a hug and kiss that made me remember why I was forever returning to this driveway. There would be time for explaining later. Right now she was happy just to see me and the feelings were mutual.

I had wondered many times why she even put up with my antics. There were plenty of other guys always asking her out. She was intelligent, took care of herself and was real easy to look at.

Linda worked as an ecologist for the State and was more concerned about the natural environment we live in than anyone else I knew. Sometimes her over involvement with these efforts would strain our relationship and it was usually these times that I would pack up and be scooting off somewhere.

She was too innocent to be drawn into what was going on right now, so no word was mentioned of my latest adventure. I told her to put on a dress as we were going out to dinner, then out for some late night dancing. Linda loved to dance and any chance to do so pleased her.

In the past I was usually fluctuating between having a few extra bucks to being flat ass broke. Linda, that night I think, assumed that I was riding the “extra bucks” cycle of my life - most likely from some kind of fast deal that wasn’t beyond me. Being with Linda was the closest thing to home for me and that night it felt real good being there.

I woke up the next morning to the phone ringing. It seemed like deja-vu. It was just yesterday that the damn phone woke me out of the same recurring dream - something about me being rich.

“What’s going on?” Tom wanted to know. “Did you have any problems getting the motorcycle?”

“No, man, no problem. What time is it anyway?”

“Quarter of ten,” he said.

“Where you at?” I asked.

“Just around the corner. I just dropped off a fare.”

“Well, shit, man – get your ass over here. Let’s get some breakfast.”

Twenty minutes later over breakfast, Tom and I were like two kids fanaticizing about all kinds of imaginable ways to spend such an excessive amount of money. By the time we were through with breakfast, we had spent it all.

Once again I hired Tom’s cab for the day. Our first stop was the Harley shop for the transmission parts needed to get Tom’s cycle back on the road. Our next stop was the super market where we filled five shopping carts full of stuff we always wanted to buy but could never afford.

It took every bit of space in the cab to get our shopping spree back to Tom’s apartment. There we realized that there wasn’t enough space in the tiny kitchen for all the food we had purchased.

During the course of the afternoon, while putting the bike back together, we reimagined our morning fantasies. One recurring vision was of us renting a house with a garage. Not that there was anything wrong with working on your motorcycle in the living room.

There, one could be near the stereo and in close proximity to the refrigerator for a cold one, but with more than a few people around things got pretty cramped. The little apartment was nice enough but sat in the middle of a dumpy neighborhood. That part of town was a haven for undesirables and was another reason for the bike being in the living room.

Something a little further west would be nice. Then, it was a place on the beach. Perhaps even further north where there wasn’t as much traffic. If we did that, it was a question of Tom’s job at the cab company. It took very few words on my part to talk Tom out of his job.

My new found wealth would be more than enough to go around for a while. Besides, Tom was forever taking leaves of absence anyway. Because he was reliable his boss would keep hiring him back. The height of the season was winding down anyway and so were the fares.

We had always liked the area of the coast about sixty miles north of us. I called a realtor and described what we were looking for. The woman said that she would compile a list and that we could come up in a couple of days to look at the properties. It was Friday so we agreed to meet with her the following Monday.

I still had most of the ten thousand dollars left and figured that even if we only improved our living standards until it ran out it would be nice knowing what it was like. Besides, I wasn’t feeling that optimistic about Bruce’s chances and was beginning to think that in the end the money would be mine.

That weekend with both bikes on the road again we headed south. Tom and a girlfriend along with Linda and myself rode the bikes down through the Keys. We camped out and spent the weekend having a great time. It was reminiscent of the old days when the two of us travelled across the country shortly after my return from Vietnam.

Those years, despite the adventure and good times of being out on the road, were rough ones for me. It took a few years after my return from overseas to straighten out the conflicts I had within. I had lost some real good friends to the ambitions of that war.

Like most times that I’m ever out cruising on my motorcycle I seem to draw attention. I would like to think that people were just admiring a classic “Built in America” scooter, but from experience, I knew better. That weekend was no exception. Despite the two of us having long hair and beards and the fact that we wore leather jackets that held more oil and road dirt than our bikes, we were actually decent good ol’ boys at heart.

On the way back home Sunday night we stopped for some coffee. We talked about this image people had of those who rode big bikes and laughed about the times we would pull up next to a car at a traffic light and the people would lock their doors. Then there was the time a few of us pulled into a rest area along the interstate and some people that were seated at one of the roadside picnic tables got up and headed for their car leaving behind all their food.

Now for me to look at Tom, I could see why some people might react that way. It seemed that he perceived the same about me. That in mind, we wondered about our impression on Mrs. Ashley, the real estate woman we were to meet the following afternoon. Perhaps some new clothes were in order but pulling up on our motorcycles even being dressed in a three piece suit wouldn’t change much.