Bonefish Blues (17 page)

Pagliano stayed put until Cody relaxed and went back toward Nicole. He needed to remain as unthreatening as possible. Matt and Nicole went below, and soon appeared to be asleep on one of the bunks. Braken slouched in the chair at the helm, also asleep. Cody was fidgety. He started fishing, then went back and forth to check on Matt and Nicole, then back to check the lines. 

Pagliano started to nod off himself, the afternoon heat and lack of water making him sleepy. As long as Cody was wearing a path over the deck, he had no chance to escape.
Might as well save energy,
he thought. Getting as comfortable as possible, he started to doze.

***

The deputy behind the wheel steered clear of the sandbar, careful to give the twenty-seven-foot Contender the draft it required. The specs called it nineteen inches of clearance, but that was empty and without the propellers. Three feet was the skinniest water he was going to take the boat in, and that forced him well clear of the flat where they suspected the Grady-White was anchored. 

“Can’t you get any closer?” the sheriff asked. 

He looked over at her. Jules was a fixture in Marathon, and had been sheriff since returning from Iraq in the mid 90’s. Well respected, she had one fatal flaw in his eyes: She was a golfer, not a boater. “Need to stay in three-plus feet of water. Tide’s out now too. Maybe at high tide we could get close.” He looked at his watch. “But that’s not until midnight. Sun will be setting soon. He’ll probably make his move then.”

“Let’s just maintain recon for now. The woman called again and said they had them in sight on the other side of the mangroves. They’ll call us if they move. Stay out of sight, and watch him through the binoculars.”

The deputy released the windlass, waited until the anchor line slacked, and started backing up. Once enough scope was out, he locked the line and stopped the boat, the anchor grabbed the sandy bottom.

He surveyed the flat with his binoculars. “Can’t see much with these. They’re too far away. Looks like maybe three of them, but I can’t make out any faces.” 

Jules set the rifle to her shoulder and looked through the scope. “Got three. Braken’s at the wheel. Looks like his son is there, and I can just make out another body on the deck. No sign of his daughter or the boy.”

“Too bad you can’t just pick them off, one at a time and end this,” he said.

“Yeah, a few less Brakens around, you might not have a job,” she joked.

Chapter 22

Cody waited until the lower edge of the sun hit the horizon to pull the anchor. Nicole and Matt were still asleep in the cabin. He had woken Braken, given him direction how to steer, and was at the bow, ready to grab the anchor line as soon as the boat moved forward enough to allow some slack line. Pagliano’s head rose from the deck as soon as the motor fired.

“Forward a hair. Not too much or we’ll ground,” Cody called out from the bow, carefully watching the water below the boat. The tide was close to its lowest point and while that had kept the sheriff away, it was going to make things more difficult to get out. There was only one small channel that would accommodate the draft of his boat now. 

The anchor came in easily, and he called to Braken to reverse and then idle. Once the anchor was secure, he went to the helm and took over. It took several maneuvers to turn the one hundred eighty degrees needed to hit the narrow channel and escape the flat. With only one outboard he had to perform a tight three point turn, like a car in a narrow street. He started to search for the darker areas, marking the deeper cut. The boat idled toward the mark and he exhaled now that the boat was ensconced in deep blue water, he pushed down on the throttle and opened up the two hundred twenty-five-hp engine. Nicole and Matt came up from the cabin, rubbing sleep from their eyes. He glanced over at them and saw that both looked better for the rest. 

“Where are we going, Cody? The marina is over there.” Her voice was raspy as she pointed at the horizon. These were the first words she had spoken since he had burst out of the cabin and subdued Pagliano.

“Going to Flamingo Key, babe,” he said. “Gonna finish this mess off for good. Our boy here,” he looked at Pagliano tied up and huddled on the deck, “He has a bunch of home made explosives. Best thing for this family is to make the whole damn thing go away - him included.”

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? We can just go in and turn him into the sheriff.” She sneered at Pagliano.

“No, we’re doing this my way. Too much risk that he makes a phone call from jail and sends his buddies after us.”

She looked wary, but was swayed by his reasoning. “That’s fine. He’s a freakin’ beast anyway.” Her head swung to the right, “Who’s boat is that?”

Cody followed her gaze and surveyed the horizon. The Key was less than a quarter mile away, a small flats boat idling toward the eastern point. “Son of a bitch,” he smacked the wheel. “Can’t catch a break. That’s Will.” He slowed the boat and went toward the other side of the island. “We can try and wait him out. He’s probably scared of the dark.” 

***

Will saw them pull anchor and head towards them. He immediately pulled the pole that he had used to anchor them in the shallow water from the sandy bottom and set it on the deck. “We gotta move quick. They’re coming right at us.” The boat turned and was on plane and running full out in seconds. He continued north towards deeper water. “Can you call the sheriff,” he ducked to avoid the spray from a wave they had just plowed through, “tell them I think they’re heading back to Flamingo Key,” He had to yell to be heard. On top of the engine noise the wind and seas had both picked up. 

“But we’re going the wrong way.”

“He’s got to come out this way now. It’s the bottom of the tide,” he ducked again taking her with him to avoid the sheet of water coming over the bow. Despite their best efforts they were both wet now from the spray kicked up by the hull as it plowed into the white-capped waves. They turned back towards land following at a distance as the Grady-White emerged from the mangroves and turned. They were far enough back that only the boat’s antennas were visible above the building waves. Will was confident the lower profile of his boat kept them safe from detection. Once the Key came into view he closed enough to see the Grady White turn towards the beach. 

“Can you see anything?” he asked Sheryl as he leaned around the windscreen now obscured with salt.

She climbed onto the poling platform and knelt, keeping one hand on its edge for balance, “Not sure. The boat’s anchored off the mangroves and it looks like someone was unloading something.” 

“Let’s take a peek. I can go around the other end. We’ll be coming upwind so they won’t hear the engine.” 

The shoreline came into view an inch at a time as he slowly moved around the point. He backed off just as the boat came into view, turned the wheel toward shore, and moved forward again. From this angle, they could see the boat, but were hidden by the mangroves. They both moved toward the starboard side of the boat and watched.

Relief washed over him as he saw Matt and Nicole were still alive. Braken and Matt were on the beach, a cluster of five-gallon buckets at their feet. Cody was unloading another from the boat. 

“What do you think?” she asked.

“They all look okay. One happy family,” Will replied. They watched as the last bucket joined the others on the beach, and Braken went back with Cody to the boat and talked to Nicole. She climbed over the transom and into the water, and the four of them went back to the beach and joined Matt. The men picking up a bucket in each hand, while Matt and Nicole grabbed the tiki torches and jugs. They moved single file toward the center of the island. 

“We’ve got to stop them,” Will said. “There’s no telling what’s in those buckets, but it can’t be good. With that pipe still not sealed, they could kill off everything within miles of here.”

***

“There he goes.” Jules ran toward the bow and started to pull on the anchor line.

“Easy, chief, stand back.” The deputy hit the switch, activating the windlass, and the anchor pulled easily from the soft bottom, the line coiling around the automatic winch and dropping into the compartment. 

She gave him a
whatever
look and moved next to the leaning post. Seconds later, she grabbed the stainless steel piping of the superstructure as the boat took off. “Don’t get up on him too fast,” she yelled into the deputy’s ear. “The woman said they were heading back to Flamingo Key. We have to be patient and not spook him. I’m calling in some backup.”

The boat slowed as the island came into view. “Looks like he went around the backside,” the deputy yelled.

“There’s another boat over there. Must be that woman and her boyfriend.” She pointed toward the point. “Not sure what he’s up to but it looks like they are following him. Let’s sit here for a few and see how this unfolds.” She got on her radio and called for the two other sheriff’s boats to come into position; one a half mile behind, the other a half mile on the other side of the Key. That way they would have eyes everywhere. Then she called the woman on her cell phone but there was no answer. Catching them on land was more appealing to her than trying to stop and board them at sea. She had thought about putting the helicopter up, but aside from the expense, it might spook their prey. She wanted to catch them in the act of whatever they had planned.

Chapter 23 

Pagliano rolled to his knees as soon as they were out of sight, the movement rehearsed in his head for the last hour. The spinning rod loaded with braided line was within a few inches of his hands. Slowly, he moved toward it and peeled off several feet of line. It was slow work, with both his hands and feet bound, but when he was finished he had a two-foot strand of fishing line with loops tied in each end. One end in his mouth and the other over his feet, he started rocking back and forth, alternating between his head and feet. The sawing motion started to cut through the nylon tie. Drops of blood dripped from his jaw as the abrasive line cut into his flesh but he continued to saw back and forth. Finally, the tie popped, releasing his hand. He looked around for an easier method to cut the tie on his feet, and found a knife lying nearby. Free, Pagliano rubbed his hands, trying to get some circulation back as he peered over the gunwale. 

He rolled over the side, knife in hand, and waded through the calf-deep water to the shore. It didn’t take any tracking skills to follow the footprints in the sand. His scar throbbed as his anger built. No one, especially not a punk like Cody Braken was going to treat Joey Pagliano like that. And the way the girl had sneered at him. They were all going in the tank −the whole damned family. Carefully, he moved the mangrove branches out of his way, staying low and moving slowly. The clearing came into view and he squatted low behind a dense clump of mangroves. The tangled web of branches made an excellent screen as he watched, though the mosquitos found him quickly. Within seconds there was a swarm around him. It took every ounce of patience not to swat at them. He listened to the conversation of the four Brakens surrounding the tank.

“Do you even know what’s in those buckets?” Nicole confronted Cody.

“I’m gonna trust that our friend Joey knows how to get rid of evidence.” He opened a lid. “Smells like fertilizer. I bet he’s got a bomb brewing in here.”

“Great, Cody. Now that we got away from him, you’re going to blow us all up,” she said. Thunder boomed in the background causing her to look at the darkening sky.

“Shut up, Nicole. Dad, Matt help me dump these in the hole.” The only way to clear his family was to destroy the tank with Joey Pagliano in it. He went toward the lid. “Used to be a crowbar around here somewhere.” He started searching around the tanks, kicking at fallen brush. 

Joey sat and watched as Cody found the crowbar and, with the help of Braken and Matt, pried the lid off the tank. He almost laughed out loud as Braken and Matt gagged from the smell. Nicole was spared, as she stood off to the side, upwind of the tank.
Might as well let them do all my work for me,
he thought, as they dumped bucket after bucket into the hole. Cody picked up a tiki torch and dug in his pocket for something to light the fuse with. He came up empty and looked at Braken, who handed him an old zippo. The fuse ignited and Cody tossed the entire lamp in the tank. Nothing happened. Pagliano watched as he picked up a container of acetone and held it up as if to read the label.