“C’mon, Tucker. Let’s see if the rumors are true.”
Lacey led the way toward the marina office near the start of Rutherford Pier. At the end of the eleven-hundred-foot fishing pier, several anglers were trying their luck. Lacey thought about her dad and Jimmy. One of their daily duties on Driftwood Key was to feed the inn’s guests, as well as themselves. She imagined fishing took on a whole new level of importance, as it probably did for these people on the pier.
“Hey, Mom. Look over there. It’s the, um, third pier out. There’s a man talking with a group of people.”
They picked up the pace and rushed along the waterfront until soon they were jogging toward Pier 4. The chain-link gate to the last pier of the marina had been held open by a bait bucket with several dead fish inside. The smell forced Tucker to cover his nose. Lacey, however, found it somewhat familiar and comforting.
They turned down the pier, where they were met by an older man walking briskly toward them. Lacey tried to appear cordial, making her best effort to hide her apprehensiveness.
“Excuse me,” she began. “We were told there might be charters heading toward Florida. Is that true?” She looked past the crusty old fisherman as she spoke.
“Depends,” said the old man.
“On what?” asked Tucker, slightly annoyed that the man was playing games with them. He was concerned about leaving the truck unattended and continuously glanced in the direction of the parking lot as they spoke.
“My boy and me are running some folks to Florida. There’s room for two more. The last two seats are pricey.”
“We don’t have any—” Tucker began before Lacey interrupted him.
“How pricey? We have things to trade.”
The man took a deep breath and sighed. “Lady, tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll let you know when it’s enough.”
“We have gasoline.”
“Good start. How much?”
“Maybe thirty gallons, give or take. Plus what’s in the truck.”
“Can’t siphon from these new vehicles,” he muttered. He began to walk away from the negotiations.
“It’s an older truck. Ford Bronco.”
The boat captain’s interest was suddenly piqued. “What year?”
“Mom, let’s go,” said Tucker, reaching for Lacey’s hand. He could tell where the conversation was headed.
“Sixty-seven. Pristine condition. Drove it here from California.”
“Deal. Truck and fuel for two seats.”
“No way! Mom, we can’t do this. That’s Dad’s truck.”
The captain laughed. “I’m sure he’ll understand. You wanna get—”
“Shut up, asshole!” Tucker was incensed. He walked up to the captain with his fists balled up, ready to fight. “He just died!”
Lacey forcefully grabbed her son by the arm and pulled him back toward her. “Tucker, stop it. He didn’t know.”
“Hey, listen. I’m sorry. I just have to get a fair deal and—”
“How is taking our truck for a couple of seats on a fishing boat a fair deal?” Tucker demanded.
“It is what it is, kid. Do you two wanna go to Florida or not?”
“Mom, let’s go. Okay?” Tucker was morose and sincerely wanted to take his chances on the road rather than give up his dad’s truck.
Lacey touched her son’s face and smiled. “It’s okay, son. Dad would want us to be safe.” She turned to the captain.
“Truck and fuel for two seats. And you have to take us to the Keys.”
“No way! That requires an extra fuel stop.”
Lacey held her hands up, urging him to reconsider. “Before you answer, see what we’ve got to trade. The other thing, our gear comes with us. It’s all we own.”
“Show me,” he said with a gruff.
The man whistled for his son to join them, and ten minutes later, the deal was struck. Tucker and Lacey carried their belongings toward the end of the pier with the assistance of the boat captain. As they got closer, music could be heard wafting from the old trawler as if they were preparing for a booze cruise.
Half a dozen people milled about on the dock, sizing up Lacey and Tucker as they approached. Between the duffel bags, ammo cans, and their weapons, they made quite an impression on the group. Most of them stood at the edge of the dock as far away from Lacey and Tucker as they could get.
Their fellow passengers came from all walks of life, refugees returning home or seeking a warmer climate. After the passengers realized mother and son weren’t a threat, they exchanged pleasantries to break the ice. The newcomers were assisted on board by a man and his wife who had taken up seats on the stern’s bench seating alongside their young daughter.
The forty-five-foot fiberglass fishing boat had been used by the captain and his son for years along the coastal waters. Their commercial fishing operation targeted cobia and amberjack for sale to fisheries that package seafood for grocery stores.
The captain instructed them on where to stow their gear, and he showed them the sleeping quarters with bunks for eight people. As they shoved their duffels, weapons, and ammo cans under two of the bunks, Lacey mentally performed a quick head count. There would be ten adults, three children, and the two boat owners on board, requiring them to sleep in shifts. Not that it mattered. Traveling by water would relieve the stresses and danger of the final leg of their journey. Giving up Owen’s truck in exchange for their safety was sad, but necessary.
Without warning, the captain started the 855 Cummins diesel engine. The Big Cam, as it was known, produced six hundred horsepower, allowing the vessel to cruise at fourteen knots, or about sixteen miles per hour.
“Looks like we’re about to get under way,” said Lacey with a hint of excitement. So many memories flooded through her mind of growing up. As a child, she’d loved going fishing with Hank and her uncle Mike. She had been thrilled when he told her, at age twelve, it was time she learned to drive his Hatteras. Lacey had absorbed every detail of traveling on the ocean from her dad. It had been years since she’d taken a boat out on the water. Although this vessel stank of fish and diesel, it was comfortingly familiar.
Tucker, however, was still dejected over the decision to give up Black & Blue. “It sounds like it.” His voice trailed off.
Lacey noticed her son was unable to make eye contact with her. “Honey, all of this sucks. All of it. Let’s get to Driftwood Key and regroup. Okay?”
Tucker reluctantly nodded. Lacey felt horrible for her son, who was forced to become a man. She didn’t want to give up one of the last tangible memories of Owen that they possessed. However, she felt in her gut it was the right thing to do.
And then, as if to reinforce her decision, shouts were heard over the steady rumble of the diesel engine. Tucker scrambled out of the sleeping quarters first, followed close behind by Lacey. They emerged onto the aft deck, where they froze.
The family of three was huddled at the back of the boat, looking toward the pier. A large man led a trio walking briskly toward the boat. His deep voice bellowed, clearly and succinctly heard over the low rumble of Big Cam.
“Get off the boat! Now!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Tuesday, November 5
Driftwood Key
The knife plunged into Mike’s chest. It pierced the skin just below his left nipple and sank to a point where it almost pierced his diaphragm near his lungs. The force of impact immediately knocked the air out of him as he spun to the ground. With the knife sticking out of Mike’s chest, Patrick pounced at the opportunity to finish him off.