Chapter Fourteen

The Monroe County Library on Fleming Street opened at ten in the morning. I was there at 9:45, along with comatose parents dropping off a line of not-so-comatose kids. I had walked into video game weekend where every kid within city limits was willing and able to show off their digital dexterity. I remembered when it was a big deal when libraries started loaning out DVD movies.

My brother and I watched every film the Detroit Public Library had when we were kids. I've seen The Third Man twenty-seven times. Nowadays, with kids having everything at their fingertips, even video games, I was surprised and pissed they decided to have their million-minion march on this morning at this library. Thankfully, the library had a significant collection of back issues of the Key West Citizen to make my visit worthwhile. Unfortunately, the back issues weren't on microfilm, and I had to flip through a mountain of tabloids and journals to get what I needed.

Everything about the Wisteria Island conflict started last winter when SeaLand Properties announced plans to develop the land. The owner, Peter Jankowski, wanted to build luxury condominiums on the island. Key West officials were on board, and everything had looked copacetic. I could tell this by the big grins on the four faces in the newspaper’s photograph. Two of the men were city officials and one was a county official. The fourth man was Peter Jankowski. They were standing around a model of a fully developed Wisteria Island, like vultures hungry for rotten meat. I studied Jankowski’s picture. He was shorter than the other three men, barrel-chested, probably in shape at one time. His face was red and swollen like a drunkard. That last assumption was a jab on my part. I'm allowed one.

In any case, I could now pick him out of a crowd with little problem. Unless, of course, everyone around him was six feet tall. Anyway, the article made it sound like a new Gilded Age was coming to the Florida Keys.

But then local charter captain Dan Yarnall started asking questions. He wrote an op-ed piece in the Citizen claiming the city did not have the right to sell the island. Said it was federal property. The paper published a rebuttal from Peter Jankowski a few weeks later declaring on behalf of the city that Wisteria Island was man-made and, therefore, did not fall under federal domain. They went back and forth in a few more editions, duking it out in the op-ed section. I’d had no idea Dan had been such a prolific writer.

Then in the spring, a front-page article declared the federal government had laid claim to the island as property of the United States Navy and was now under the Department of Interior. Sounded like someone called in a favor.

The paper quoted Dan as saying it was a good day for the residents of Christmas Tree Island, for the people Key West had forgotten. That was a fine example of Dan making friends with his neighbors. However, Peter Jankowski refused to go down without a fight.

In July, SeaLand Properties announced a deal with the feds to purchase Wisteria Island. Dan’s favors could only go so far. Money has a way of doing that. Dan organized a protest with a small army of degenerates. A front-page photo showed Dan with a raised fist, shouting, surrounded by people normally ignored on street corners. The city disregarded the protest and made Dan a villain. The feds decided to move forward with the sale.

Then in August, on behalf of the residents of Wisteria Island, Dan Yarnall filed a suit in federal court to stop the sale. The next article that mentioned anything about my friend, Peter Jankowski, or the island was this morning's paper about Dan’s murder. Rarely do we create our own destiny, if ever. We merely participate in its fulfillment through coincidence.

I liked Peter Jankowski as a bad guy. He hit all the right notes. But I knew I didn’t have enough. It was all good information—you could never have too much—but it was surface info and I needed to do a deep dive somehow. I needed a firsthand perspective, and since I couldn’t just walk into Jankowski’s office over at SeaLand Properties, I’d have to settle for the other side of the fight between Dan and him. I’d have to go to Wisteria Island. Luckily, I had a boat.

I left the stack of newspapers on the table and hit the street. I hailed a cab and headed back to the marina. Javier was at the main dock with a clipboard in his hand watching a customer put a boat in the water. He looked better than he did earlier in the morning, but I could still tell he was struggling.

“How’s the head?” I asked.

He looked up from his clipboard and smirked.

“I’ve had better days. The wife wasn’t too happy, either. She doesn’t like you.”

“Most wives don’t.”

He shook his head at me as the boat released into the water.

“Looks good,” Javier said to the customer. He gave him the thumbs-up and headed back toward the office. I walked with him.

“Hey, what can you tell me about Peter Jankowski?”

“Real estate developer. Built most of the shit lining the water around here. Got a big house on the south side. Drives a fancy car. Why?”

“Christmas Tree Island.”

Javier scoffed and shook his head.

“Yeah, the papers made a big deal about that, because Chief made a big deal about it. No one else gave a shit, really.”

“So, why did Dan?”

“Homeless squat on the island. A lot of veterans. He liked the underdog.”

“How do I get there?”

“Northwest.” He pointed to the open water. “Can’t miss it. But if you ask me, it’s a waste of time. He was working for Jankowski.”

“Who? Dan?”

“Yeah. Ran charters. Steady for the last month, at least. But he ran quite a few for him in the past, too. Jankowski had him take out bankers and buyers and whatnot.”

“Paper said Dan was suing him.”

“Dropped the suit. Man’s got to make a living. And you said so yourself, he needed the money. Like I said, no one gave a shit about Christmas Tree Island.”

Javier slapped me on the chest with the clipboard and headed to the office. I stood there like an idiot. Jankowski was most likely a rabbit hole now if Dan had worked for him. If Christmas Tree Island was a small misunderstanding, then I would spin my wheels for nothing. But it was all I had and was better than not having anything.