The Alligator Man (25 page)

B
obby Joe Sellers did not intimidate anyone by his appearance. In his late forties, he was a little wisp of a man standing less than five foot seven and weighing about one hundred thirty-five pounds with long stringy hair and a beard. But he was surprisingly strong for his size. In prison they had called him “Loco” because he was just plain crazy. Nobody would go near him.

Bobby Joe got out of prison in 2003 with only two things on his mind: He wanted to get the son of a bitch who put him in there and he wanted his money. He’d accomplished his first goal but he hadn’t gotten the money yet. After two years he was still waiting. Bernie was giving him money in dribs and drabs to live on but that was it. He told Bobby Joe that he had to wait until Randy got out of prison—some kind of a joint account or something—and now Bernie said this little peckerhead lawyer was trying to screw up everything. If they had to testify in this trial, they could lose it all.

The case was front-page news in the major papers on Saturday. The press and the news media focused on the two FBI agents who had testified the previous day and that Roy Johnson was a criminal suspect way back in 1982 and Dynatron may have been financed by drug money.

Kevin worked all day on Saturday at the hotel. He’d had his process servers hand deliver letters to Bernie, Bobby Joe Sellers, and Randy Winters that morning, telling them to be in court promptly at nine o’clock on Monday or face contempt of court charges. He hoped Bernie would make sure the other two showed up. He headed out for Gladestown a little before seven in the evening so he could catch Rosie around closing, when the place was empty, and they could sit alone and chat—over some gator fritters, of course.

Rosie was excited to see him.

“Counselor, I hear you’re giving them all they can handle and then some. Come on in and sit down here, and I’ll fix you some gator fritters. We need to keep you healthy so Mr. Fuller can go home to his children and not to prison.”

“Is that just your sentiment, Rosie?”

“That’s the way everybody feels. This place has been packed all week—people coming from all over. And they all want to see Mr. Fuller go home to his children.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.”

The sky had started to darken on the drive over and Kevin had heard the distant rumblings of thunder. A storm was brewing, although he had no idea where it was headed. Storms moved fast in Florida. As he sat with Rosie, the storm hit Gladestown full force—pouring rain, thunder, and lightning. The lights went out almost immediately.

Rosie was perfectly calm. She had candles going in a heartbeat.

“It’s times like this that I wish my husband was still around,” she told him. “We loved to cuddle in storms.”

Kevin was too focused to even picture Rosie and her husband cuddling.

Just then Rosie’s cell phone rang. It was Carlisle.

“Who are you there with?” he asked.

“Kevin, the lawyer.”

“Are the lights out?”

“Yeah. I think they’re out all over town. Are they out at your house?”

Carlisle didn’t answer the question. “Rosie, go lock the front door.”

“It’s already locked. I locked it when the counselor came in. I didn’t want anybody disturbing our conversation. Why did you want me to lock it?”

“I was coming in on the boat. I heard Winters over the radio say something about ‘the lawyer’ being at your place. I think they might try to kill him.”

“Come on, Carlisle, you’ve been watching too many movies.”

“Maybe. Is the back door locked?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. I’m going to be at the back door in a couple of minutes. I’ll knock twice. I want you both to be ready to leave. Do you have candles lit?”

“You know I do.” Carlisle and Rosie had been through a few storms together.

“Leave them lit and head for the back door.”

There was something about the calm and seriousness in Carlisle’s voice that made Rosie stop arguing with him. She hung up the phone.

“Counselor, I want you to follow me into the kitchen,” she said.

“Why?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t ask questions, just follow me.”

By the time they reached the back door in the kitchen, they heard the two knocks. Rosie opened the door. Carlisle was standing there. His car was in the background with the lights out and the motor running. “Both of you get in the backseat,” he commanded.

“What’s going on?” Kevin asked.

“Get in the car,” Carlisle told him. “I’ll tell you when we’re moving.”

“I’ve got my own car right here,” Rosie said.

“Don’t argue with me, Rosie,” Carlisle told her. It was the way he said it once again that made Rosie walk toward the car without protest.

When they were in the car, Carlisle backed away from the restaurant with the lights still out. He headed down a road behind the restaurant; it could not be seen from the front. After a few minutes, he finally spoke.

“At some point they’ll figure you’re not coming out,” he said.

“Who are they?” Kevin asked.

“Right now, just Bobby Joe Sellers is sitting in his car across the street from Rosie’s. I suspect he’s waiting for Winters to show up.” Carlisle told Kevin about the radio transmission.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re out to kill me,” Kevin said.

“No, it doesn’t. Sellers is just sitting across the street from Rosie’s in a thunderstorm with his lights out and the car off for no reason. Maybe he likes the sound of the rain.”

“How do you know it’s Sellers?”

“Because I looked in the car window.”

“Without him seeing you?”

Rosie cut in at that point. “Carlisle could be standing behind you and you’d never see him or hear him if he didn’t want you to.”

“So what do we do now?” Kevin asked.

“We’re going to my house,” Carlisle replied.

“Not me,” Rosie said. “I’m going home.”

“When they finally realize you two are not coming out, Rosie, where do you think they’re gonna go?”

Rosie didn’t answer because she knew the answer.

“Well, if I’m not home, don’t you think they’re eventually going to go to your house?”

“Maybe. But they’re not going to like the reception they receive.”

Carlisle’s mother, Mary, already had the beds made up when they arrived at her home. Carlisle would not allow any lights on so there was nothing to do but go to bed. Rosie got the guest room while Kevin got Carlisle’s room. It was a large room, and against one wall, Carlisle had his fishing rods, a gun rack, and a crossbow with arrows. Kevin studied the crossbow for a minute. It was dark and he couldn’t see much. He knew crossbow hunting was a sport for exceptional hunters. He’d had a friend in law school who did it, but he’d never actually seen a crossbow before, although he remembered reading about it in the history of the Middle Ages.

After his survey of the room, Kevin looked for Carlisle from the bedroom door to say good night. He saw him sitting atop a picnic table on the back porch, surveying the landscape with his night vision goggles on, a pistol on the table and a rifle lying across his lap. He looked a lot different than the man who first took him out on the airboat, but Kevin was confident that he was no less efficient. He closed the door and went to bed.

When Randy called saying Bernie wanted the lawyer dead, Bobby Joe was ecstatic.

He parked across the street from Rosie’s in the shadows. It was a full-blown thunderstorm. Nobody would see him there. He waited for over an hour for Randy to arrive.

“What’s going on?” Randy asked when he jumped in the passenger seat. He’d gotten soaked going from his pickup, which was parked right behind Bobby Joe’s car, to the passenger seat. “Man, it’s bad out there,” he said not waiting for Bobby Joe to answer his first question.

“Nothin’s happening here,” Bobby Joe told him. “I haven’t seen anybody move in an hour.”

Randy was the big, burly member of the group but at his core Randy was not a violent man. He was a fisherman who loved the water and happened to become a drug smuggler. He’d initially teamed up with Bobby Joe in that endeavor and now he was lashed to him again, because after twenty years in prison, the only hope he had of a decent life was the money. He would do anything for the money.

Bernie had told both of them they would get their money when the trial was over. Now they were subpoenaed and the possibility of losing everything weighed heavily on the two of them, maybe more on Bobby Joe because he was more emotional.

“This is the perfect time to kill this son of a bitch,” Bobby Joe said. “Hell, you couldn’t hear a shot two feet away. I’m gonna go check on them.”

He was out of the car in a flash. Randy watched him sneak up to the front door of the restaurant, oblivious to the rain, the wind, and the lightning.
Crazy bastard,
Randy thought to himself.
What did they call him in prison, “Loco”? Perfect name.

Bobby Joe was back minutes later. “They’re gone,” he said. “The lawyer’s car is still out front.”

“They probably saw you and slipped out the back door,” Randy said.

“Yeah, I thought about that. I went around back. Rosie’s car is still there.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Randy asked nobody in particular.

They drove to Rosie’s house, but there were no cars in the driveway and all the lights were out.

“It’s gotta be Carlisle,” Randy said. “He knows the two of them. He probably heard my message and went to Rosie’s.”

“We oughta kill him along with the lawyer. He’s crazy anyway. Everybody knows the story of him and that bird. We ought to kill him just for that reason alone.”

“You’re paranoid, Bobby Joe.”

They drove to within two blocks of Carlisle’s house. Bobby Joe hit the lights and jumped out of the car. Randy followed him.

They approached the back of the house from the waterside. As they got nearer somebody turned a light on inside, and for a brief moment they could see Carlisle sitting on the back porch with his night vision goggles and his rifle. Randy signaled that they needed to go back to the car.

“That’s it for the night,” he told Bobby Joe when they got there. “We’re going home.”

“What are you talking about? There’s two of us and only one of him.”

“That’s Scotch Buchanan’s kid and he’s got night vision goggles. He’d pick us off like ducks in a shooting gallery.”

“We’ll go around front.”

“Sure. And make it easier for him. He can blow us away as we walk in the front door.”

“If we don’t get that lawyer, I ain’t showin’ up in court on Monday. I don’t wanna lose that money, but I don’t wanna go back to prison either.”

“Maybe something else will come up. But we’re through for the night.”

T
hey were all up early the next morning. Rosie insisted on cooking breakfast since Carlisle wouldn’t let her go to work.

“You’re not opening until the sun comes up, Rosie,” he told her.

“But I’ve got regular customers, Carlisle. You know that.”

“You’re just going to have to tell them you were sick or something.”

She settled for making bacon and eggs for the four of them.

Carlisle drove them down to the restaurant at eight.

“I’m trying to figure out why those guys were after you last night,” Carlisle said on the drive over.

“They don’t want to testify,” Kevin replied.

“They must have something real big to hide.”

Kevin was sure they did and whatever it was, it was contained in the files that David Lefter had copied.
Where the hell are those files?
he asked himself.

Everything seemed to be peaceful when they arrived at the restaurant. Kevin’s car was still where he left it. Rosie immediately unlocked the front door and made preparations for opening up. Nobody was waiting outside.

“I bet I lost ten customers already,” she grumbled.

Even Carlisle laughed.

“You got two beds in your hotel room?” he asked Kevin.

“Yeah. Why?” Kevin replied.

“Because you’re going to have a guest tonight.”

“Come on, Carlisle, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will because I’m going to be there.”

“What about Rosie? Who’s going to watch her?”

“She don’t need watching anymore. They were only after her to get to you. You’re the prize, Counselor.”

Carlisle followed Kevin’s car to Verona, and eventually, to his hotel. While Kevin worked, Carlisle slept. He’d been up all night the night before. He awoke around one, and they went out and had lunch.

It was one thirty by the time they arrived at the restaurant, a little diner on a side street a couple of blocks from the hotel. The place was deserted except for the one waitress who covered the counter and the booths. It was a good place to have a private conversation.

“It’s time for us to talk, Carlisle,” Kevin said.

“I was waiting for you to get around to it. What did Billy tell you about that night?”

“He said he was there. He said he was drunk. But he said he didn’t hit anybody on the road, although he couldn’t be absolutely sure.”

“Is that it?”

“Pretty much. He said that night was actually the fourth night he’d gone over there. He was gradually working his courage up to shoot Johnson. He snuck into the backyard every night undetected. He said Roy went out there every night.”

“Do you believe him?” Carlisle asked.

“I do.”

Carlisle was trying to process this new information and weigh it against the evidence that he already knew, but Kevin had something else to tell him.

“I have some news about your father’s death too,” Kevin began.

Carlisle looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“I think your father was murdered by Bobby Joe Sellers.”

“What?”

“Your father was the confidential informant who busted the marijuana ring back in 1982. The State has confirmed that to me. Bobby Joe got out of prison on April fifth of 2003. That’s too close in time to your father’s death to be coincidental. He must have snuck up on your dad.”

“No. They knew each other,” Carlisle said. “My dad would have invited him aboard the boat. Bobby Joe probably waited until he had the jump on him and hit him over the head with something. Then he must have just shoved him overboard.”

Carlisle was clearly agitated by this revelation. He kept running his hands through his hair over and over while staring at the wall. “I was within five feet of him the other night,” he finally said to the wall.

“Carlisle, the State is going to get him. I wouldn’t be surprised if they detain him for questioning when he shows up for court on Monday.”

“If he shows up.”

“They’ll get him eventually. He’s not worth throwing your life away for.”

“Maybe.” Carlisle was still staring at the wall.

They didn’t talk about it anymore after that, although Carlisle stayed with him the rest of the day and that night. It was like his whole being had drifted off to another place.

The Alligator Man murder had been a topic of discussion on the Sunday morning talk shows with some of the pundits making predictions on the outcome of the trial. They were unanimous in their belief that William Fuller would be convicted, although nobody thought he would get the death penalty.