Read Fallen Angel: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 9) Online
Authors: Wayne Stinnett
Fallen Angel: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 9) (30 page)
We had less than two days to get home before the big party Rusty was going to throw to celebrate Independence Day. So we left at full throttle and steered a rhumb line for Marathon, never letting up straight through a second night. The
Revenge
performed flawlessly as always.
Along the way, while I had watch on the bridge, Chyrel had come up to join me. She’d nodded and sat down beside me in the second seat. She fidgeted with the sonar and radar controls, zoomed the chart plotter way out and back in again.
Knowing that she’d had something on her mind, I’d just let her have her time. Finally, she’d said, “I knew you guys would come, Jesse. I was never worried. But, dammit, you sure took your sweet time about getting there.”
“You gonna be okay?” I’d asked her.
“Finer than frog’s hair sifted twice,” she’d replied, grinning.
Tony came up to the bridge late the next morning. We were only fifty miles from the entrance to Rusty’s canal. He called his girlfriend and told her that he’d be at the
Rusty Anchor
and she should meet him there after she finished work.
After a moment he said, “No, everything went fine. It’s good to be home, though. I’ll tell you everything when you get there.”
I didn’t intend to listen in to the one-sided conversation, but the bridge was the only place he could get a cell signal this far from shore. Finally, he ended the call and turned to me.
“I’m gonna tell her everything,” Tony said. “The director and Deuce gave me the okay. And I also decided to stick it out with the Navy for another hitch. Hell, I might make master chief yet.”
“Good to hear,” I said. “No doubt you will. And I’m sure she’ll understand.”
An hour later, with the others coming up to the bridge, I brought the throttles back and we slowly idled up the canal. It seemed like a month ago that we’d left home, but it had only been six days.
Rusty came out to the dock as I spun the
Revenge
around in the turning basin. “Where the hell you been?” he yelled up as Tony tossed him a line.
“Just a little fishing trip,” I replied as the crew tied us off.
“Holy hell,” Rusty said, seeing Andrew. “Did you get the tag number of the truck that hit you?”
We stepped over to the dock, all of us exhausted. “We’ll tell you all about it over a couple of beers,” I told my old friend.
Finn jumped over the gunwale and went straight to the first tree, hiking his leg. Then he ran around the yard sniffing at everything before finally returning to the dock.
“Where’d you get the pup?” Rusty asked as we walked toward the bar.
“A friend of Celia Minnich needed a new home for him,” I explained. “We picked him up in Beaufort.”
“South Cackalacky? Damn, bro, you been all over the place.”
Rusty brought out the good stuff and joined us at a table in the corner. Before we raised the first glass to a successful mission, Deuce and Julie came through the door.
Rusty rose quickly, much faster than the man’s size would dictate. He made it to the door before the couple had taken two steps, taking his daughter up in his arms for a big hug. Then he did the same with Deuce. Rusty’s a hugger.
Once everyone was seated, Rusty raised his glass of rum. “To reunions,” he said.
We all clinked our glasses and tossed down the rum, even Chyrel. “So that’s what you guys call the jazz?” she asked.
“Might be what those old guys call it,” Tony said, nodding toward me, Rusty and Andrew. “We just call it a rush.”
“Well, whatever you call it, knowing that you guys would be hell-bent for leather coming for us, it was pretty exhilarating.”
We were well into our second bottle of rum and the empty beer cans on the next table were getting high, when the door to the bar opened. I turned and saw a tall black woman silhouetted in the fading light. Tony got up and went to her, taking her hand and leading her to the table. He hadn’t been kidding about how beautiful she was. High cheekbones and a flawless cinnamon complexion, she was the same height as Tony, maybe even a bit taller in the heels she wore.
“Everyone, I want you to meet the woman I love, Tasha. Babe, these are my friends, coworkers, and family.”
Tasha didn’t seem to understand the family part at first, as she and Tony were the only black people in the bar. Tony pointed around the table. “The big guy over there is my brother Rusty,” Tony said. “He owns this place. That’s his daughter and son-in-law, Julie and Deuce. He’s my boss. Over there are my three other brothers, Art, Jesse, and Andrew. You met Art.” Leading her around the table to where Rusty had pulled up another chair, he stopped behind Chyrel. “And this is my little sister, Chyrel,” he said, then held Tasha’s chair while she sat down.
Tasha looked around at each of us. “I’m a bit confused,” she said. “Family?”
Tony went on to explain exactly who we were and what we did, leaving nothing out. She listened intently as he explained where we’d just returned from and what had happened.
Tasha looked at Chyrel when Tony finished. “Oh my God, you must have been scared to death.”
“No,” Chyrel said. “Not even a little bit.” Then she smiled at Tony, realizing that she was finally accepted as a part of the field team. “I knew my brothers would come for me.”
The End
W
riting this story was a whole lot of fun. All the other stories were set in places where, though I have visited or lived there, with the exception of the Florida Keys, my time there was a long time ago. In December, my family and I relocated to Beaufort, South Carolina, to be nearer our kids and grandkids, and it didn’t take me long to decide this would be a great setting for a story.
Beaufort is an area rich in history and loaded with character. Then there’s the water. Having grown up in Florida, I’d missed the water, even more than I realized. Being here and getting out on the water once more has reenergized my soul.
So, I decided to bring Jesse and his crew to this area. It’s not a place that would be unfamiliar to him. Just across the bridge is Parris Island, where young men are forged into Marines and where Jesse went to boot camp and was later a drill instructor. Also nearby is Marine Corps Air Station Beaufort, the home of Marine Air Group 31. Every day, I hear the sounds of F-35 Lightnings, training overhead. Some might complain about the sound of high-speed fighter jets flying low and fast over their homes. At the moment of this writing, I can hear a pair of them approaching. When they go over, conversation has to stop for a moment. To me and others who understand their role, this is the sound of freedom. Nothing to complain about from me. The sound brings peace to my mind, knowing that there just isn’t much that can hurt me here.
If you’ve read even one of my stories, you know I like to talk about the water and where Jesse goes aboard
Gaspar’s Revenge
and his other boats. I strive to keep details correct and many times have to resort to the Internet to research locations that have faded from my memory. At one point, while trying to figure out a pivotal action scene, I again pulled up Google Maps to get a better look at where the scene would take place. Then I smacked myself in the forehead, got in my pickup and drove across the Richard V. Woods Memorial Bridge to the Henry C. Chambers Waterfront Park and Downtown Marina, where the action was to take place. I strolled through the park, taking pictures and working things out in my head. Then I went to the marina’s ship’s store and met the Dockmaster.
Michael Bradley has been one of the Dockmasters at Downtown Marina for ten years. The setting for this story is eight years ago, so I asked Michael if I could use him in the book. He agreed and took me out to the private dock area, where we talked about the workings of the marina, some of the characters that had come through there and the history of the area.
Four other local characters or places in this story are real. While writing the outline and the early stages of the story, I bought a used 17-1/2-foot Grady-White center-console from Butler Marine on Lady’s Island. Can a boat be a character? I’ve always wanted a Grady and this one is perfect for this area. So, I bought it. The salesperson was a young lady named Lindsay Spencer. Lindsay grew up here and is intimately familiar with the waterways and boating. While sitting in her office discussing the deal, I noticed a framed picture on her desk. It was a yellow lab puppy, about six months old. He was in the water, a natural place for labs, with his front feet up on a dock. In his mouth was a clam. We stopped talking about boats and money and started talking about her dog, Finn. I asked if I could use Finn in this story and she agreed. The whole boat-buying experience was so pleasant that a week later I called and asked if I could use her and Butler Marine as well. The Grady now sits in my driveway, the name on the bow flares in big bold letters,
Pescador
. In this story, it’s on a trailer being towed back to the Keys by Jimmy in the
Beast
. Yeah, like Jesse needs another boat.
As always, I need to thank my wife, Greta, and our whole family. Without their support, none of this would have happened. Anytime I have a problem with the plot or where the story is headed, I sit down with her and our youngest daughter to hash it out. To us, Jesse and his friends are very real people and we talk about them like they were neighbors.
The basic outline for the plot of this story comes from a book by my friend and fellow writer, Armand Rosamilia. After reading one of his stories, I contacted him to ask if I could use his idea and he graciously agreed. In Armand’s book the main character is a hit man who specializes in murdering children at the behest of their parents. But that’s just his cover. He actually removes the child and places them with foster parents and makes it appear as if the murder happened. While I’m not sure if there are a lot of instances of this, the idea of a parent hiring someone to murder their own child, while revolting on many levels, did intrigue me.
Thanks also to my beta reading team. As soon as I type those two words at the end of the story, “The End,” I send it to these wonderful individuals. Many have experience in many facets of what takes place in the stories. Some are pilots, air traffic controllers, charter boat captains, doctors and nurses, resort owners, and Marine snipers. Most are regular people, with knowledge of boating in the areas where the stories take place. They look for mistakes outside of typos, grammar, and punctuation. They find the mistakes that editors wouldn’t have knowledge of. A special thanks to these individuals. David Parsons, Jeanne Gelbert, Katy McKnight, Dana Vihlen, Ted Nulty, Charles Hofbauer, Mike Ramsey, Alan Fader, Debbie Kocol, and Thomas Crisp. Without their knowledge and expertise this story wouldn’t be half as good.
My editors at Clio Editing Service are the best in the business. A special thanks to Eliza Dee of Clio Editing for all her input. Also, to Donna Rich who always has final eyes on the finished manuscript before it is published. While I’m a fair storyteller, it’s though the efforts of these two individuals that I look like a writer.
Tim Ebaugh does the cover work on all my books and was the photographer on several. Through his computer wizardry, he can turn midday into sunset and add color where there isn’t very much. I took the actual cover photograph for this book myself. Tim made it a lot better. Thanks, Tim.
Lastly, I want to thank Colleen Sheehan of WDR Book Designs. She puts the finishing touches on all my books, through her artistic formatting and interior design.
Lastly, I want to thank a bunch of people who provide a lot of input, ideas, and support about every facet of writing and publishing. We’re a top-secret ninja-squirrel kind of group. We sometimes call ourselves Write Club, and we all know the first rule of Write Club. Thanks, AC.
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www.waynestinnett.com
The Charity Styles Caribbean Thriller Series
Ruthless Charity (Summer, 2016)
Heartless Charity (Winter, 2017)
The Jesse McDermitt Caribbean Adventure Series
Fallen Angel