Reading To Write

Chasing Palms

I sometimes combat writer’s block by pulling one of my favorite novels off the shelf, opening to a random page, and reading from there. This usually distracts me in a good way, and other times, this reminds me of the impossible task at hand. Recently, I opened up my last novel, Chasing Palms, and read through Chapter 11. I was surprised at the scene and some of the descriptions and dialogue between characters. Some of the sentences felt as though I was reading them for the first time. I even forgot writing some of it. But after reading through, it reminded me of what was possible. That characters at times, shape themselves. That believing in your writing process was always the best path, even if the result never made the final draft.

(Chapter 11 Excerpt)

The afternoon sun parted gray nimbus clouds away from their hover over Pedro Island. I watched the royal blue wedge of October sky above outreaching pines as Kevin passed the island lighthouse. He insisted we get supplies from Tarpon Marina before we boarded Captain Dan’s seaplane tonight.

“When’s Chase supposed to call?” Kevin asked. “Why hasn’t he called us?”

“No idea. I trust he’ll be here tonight.”

“This isn’t something you just show up for last minute. Chase is going to get us killed.”

Kevin hit the tan steering wheel with an open hand and shook his head in frustration. He lit a cigarette, and the smoke calmed him. His casual driving pose appeared as the seat reclined. We sped down a narrow side street along a perfectly cut and sloping golf course fairway as the finality of what I agreed to do settled inside my conscience. My mind trumped fear and worst-case scenario with urgency and reckless abandon. I had the most to lose. Hailey was clueless and still wondering when my flight would land in Mexico. She was there, and would be there waiting, a perfect prize in the end. But there was no good outcome for Kevin or Chase. This was revenge for them. Life would continue regardless for both. Kevin is the real reason for risking everything. Finding my childhood hero again, the way he was, bigger than life with a fishing rod and bucket on a pier at dusk watching Gasparilla Sound. I can still picture him standing on the bow of our fifteen-foot flats boat with a cast-net over his shoulder, watching the water. He was a seven-year-old giant in my four-year-old eyes. He finally slowed the truck and turned into the back entrance of Tarpon Marina and parked the truck in a vacant employee parking lot. I scanned the empty marina and listened to the rumble of incoming rain.

“I’m going down to see Vince,” Kevin said. “You can wait in dry storage if you want. I cannot say how Tatum will react to yesterday.”

“Meet back here in what, fifteen minutes?”

“Make it twenty.”

He gave me a raised eyebrow look and we were quiet while heavy raindrops began to splatter across the windshield. He reached for the pack of cigarettes and hurried out across the parking lot toward the forklift that sat in its usual place against rusted cleats. Vince, the harbormaster, was nowhere in sight. I watched Kevin turn the corner and remembered last hurricane season and the chaos it caused the island. Damaged sailboats and yachts were everywhere for weeks after the storm.

* * *

The evening rainstorm passed. Captain Dan walked along one of the floats on his white and navy-blue Cessna 185 floatplane. Twilight filled the marina behind him. He bit down on the usual Churchill length cigar inside a wide jaw and gray beard and held the nozzle end of a fifty-foot fuel hose. There was a sudden pause in his action as he scanned the surrounding marina. I turned away to watch the road beyond where the truck was parked behind the dry storage, still no sign of Chase Anderson.

“When’s this cop fellow supposed to be here, Butch?”

“No idea. He’s driving up from Miami.”

Kevin was still inside the marina office. His fifteen minutes always meant an hour, especially before any kind of travel. He was always the most prepared because a guide’s preparation is always their client’s expectation.

“If Vince asks, let me explain things. Just nod and keep working,” Captain Dan said fueling the plane now.

“We’ll be fine once he gets here.”

I trusted that Captain Dan was exactly who we needed for this to work. The real concern was how Chase would react to another person getting involved. I decided to take a walk toward the street alone, and sort things out in my mind.

“I’ll be back in a few. Chase should be here soon.”

“No problem,” Captain Dan said smiling.

I walked past the storefront where Kevin stood facing Vince at the sales counter. They must have been discussing something important because the usually animated Vince was slouched over without his usual wide eyes and flailing arms. The Cape Dory Explorer was still on blocks behind the marina. Navy-blue hull and twin CAT 3116 diesel engines resting there, waiting for me on cinder blocks, out of their element in the marina mix of sand and exhaust. I walked all forty feet from stern to bow and followed the contour around her nose. The smooth texture from worn fiberglass gave me a sense of security and I realized that most things in life are unpredictable, moving targets. She reminded me of something real, something I could feel, always here waiting for me to outfit. Hailey Thomas is the only woman to ever give me this same feeling. And I knew the coming days would take everything to fall in a perfect line of chance and luck to overcome Tatum Jones, Miami’s legendary heroin God who destroyed my brother’s reality and devastated a once great baseball player’s life. I stopped thinking and scanned the parking lot. The sun was setting now, and rays of sunlight pushed through tall pines across the quiet street, still no sign of Chase Anderson.

“You’re so predictable, Butch,” Kevin said.

“Just make Vince an offer and get it over with.”

I shrugged and stepped away from her as if he caught me doing something illegal. Kevin stood smoking one of Captain Dan’s Churchill cigars, hands in the front pocket of fishing overalls. The slightest smile showed behind his unkempt beard. Regardless of how he must have been feeling, he always kept it close to the vest. Kevin was stoic even now, with everything that had happened. An engine accelerated on the distant road. A black truck sped into the front parking lot and came to a screeching stop behind our truck. Chase jumped out and ran toward us. He was empty handed and sweating profusely.

“Where … where’s the plane?” Chase asked and took in a deep breath as he waited for the rest to come out. “We need a pilot, right?” Chase acted nervous and constantly looked back at the road as if expecting someone. His nervousness was uncharacteristic. I made eye contact with Kevin, who looked concerned.

“Are you being followed?” Kevin asked.

“Followed? Who’s following me … I mean us. Been driving straight from Miami.” Kevin pulled a cigarette from his pocket and handed it to Chase, then held up his lighter. I watched the road with anticipation.

“This is deeper than I thought,” Chase said.

“Chief Diggs is on to us, Butch. I think I was being followed.”

“Wait a minute,” Kevin said.

“Who’s following you?”

“No time right now. Where’s the plane?” Chase brushed by us toward the marina.

“They’ll be here soon. I know it.”

“Fine. It’s back over that way,” I said matching his urgency.

“But Captain Dan might take a minute or so to finish his preflight.” Chase stopped on a dime and turned to face me. His red eyes were wide with anticipation. The quiet marina moved at a temperate pace behind him. I knew involving Captain Dan was a mistake. Kevin gave me a look that reinforced that feeling.

“Captain Dan?”

“He’s like a second father to us,” I said.

“Only person I could trust for something like this. He’ll get us to New Orleans without a hitch.” Chase looked at Kevin, then back at me. The rush of adrenaline hit pause in a moment of shock. I could almost script the next words out of his crooked mouth. Just as the newly lit cigarette began to move in the corner of his mouth, screeching tires sounded from the parking lot.

“These guys won’t ask questions,” Chase said and pulled a gun from his pants pocket and pulled back the hammer. I sprinted by him toward the seaplane. Captain Dan noticed me sprinting and jumped inside the cockpit. He left the door open for us. I made it inside the Cessna just as the first gunshots were fired. I hurried in the back seat and watched Kevin running toward us with Chase crouched behind a wooden piling firing round after round at someone standing near the Dory Explorer behind the marina office. Captain Dan frantically flipped switches as Kevin jumped inside. Chase hurried inside, clutching his gun with both hands.

“Get this bird off the water!” Chase yelled as he reloaded a clip. “Three of them, one has a shotgun. The other two have handguns, I think.”

“All right,” Captain Dan said and taxied the seaplane away from the fueling tanks. “God, I hope they don’t hit the propeller.”

Gunfire erupted from the dock behind us. Captain Dan accelerated the seaplane and swung the tail end side to side creating a heavy wake through the marina. Chase kept firing at them. I stayed down and watched the dark waterline through the front window. The seaplane fought against the ebb tide current for a time then started to ascend over the water.

“What happens if they hit the fuel in the wing?” I asked.

“We’ll have to chance it,” Captain Dan said.

My comfort level returned with the sight of him easing back the controls to change our heading to northwest. The humming sounds combined from the engine and propeller had a soothing effect as I turned to watch the marina shrink and the men fade into darkness. Chase continued to clutch his gun with both hands even though the gunfight was over. He leaned forward in his seat with tense shoulders. When only dark blue waters filled our horizon, Chase finally seemed to let go and sit back in his seat with the gun resting in his lap. Kevin sat still beside me in the cramped space with arms crossed around his stomach. Both eyes were closed but he was not sleeping.

Soft control lights reminded me of the porch lights Hailey loved to look at on our back lanai. I enjoyed the thought of her warmth and instantly missed her smiling face. Now was the time to relax and close my eyes. So, I focused on the crescent moon that hung like an ornament over the Gulf of Mexico and knew our cover had been blown at Tarpon Marina. Authorities would probably be waiting for us in New Orleans. I felt guilty for getting Captain Dan involved and wondered what he was thinking. But I knew from experience that he always thought out every possible scenario. He had been preparing for worse case scenarios his entire professional life. We would either find Tatum Jones or he would find us. It was simple to think of in those terms. So, I did, and a calm silence fell over me. The grime and solace of Bourbon Street was a vision that followed Hailey Thomas and the glow of our quiet lanai.