The Heat Islands: A Doc Ford Novel (8 page)

Tomlinson considered that for a moment. "But something causes the bloom."

"Yeah. Of course."

"It's just that no one knows what."

"Right."

Tomlinson said. "The
X
factor, man. The catalyst that keys the destructive force. I rest my case."

Ford said, "Oh, boy," moving to the window, listening. Then he said, "There's a boat coming in. Running across the flats without lights. Somebody who knows the water."

"Probably a mullet fisherman."

Beyond the window, the bay was swollen white, smooth, and Ford could see the scarecrow shapes of the channel markers and the charcoal sketch of mangrove islands. The boat was a small black void, moving fast, casting a wake like silver sparks in the moonlight.

Ford said, "No. Not a mullet boat."

"What is it, after midnight? Somebody out fishing late, or just coming in from dinner at Cabbage Key. Got caught in the Heineken trap at the bar."

Ford turned and said, "Let's walk over to the docks."

"Sure. You want a beer for the road?"

"Grab three. I think that's Jeth's boat."

Stepping out into the summer night was like stepping into warm water, but with sounds and odors. Fragrance of night flowers.
Thunk-whap
of jumping mullet. Sulfuric gas oozing from the mangrove muck like a long, hot breath; the moon sinking in the west and so bright the two men threw shadows as they stepped off the boardwalk onto the path that led to the marina parking lot.

"Somebody's been here smoking cigarettes, man. Smell it? Still strong."

"Where was that car parked?"

"Just over there. Probably those kids. They must have just left, but I didn't hear the engine start."

"I did. You were talking."

"Kids out here parking and smoking. Probably doing heavy petting while we're in there talking about the end of the world. I like that."

Ford said, "Me, too."

"I don't think I even know anybody who smokes anymore, do you?"

"A couple of the guides, no one else."

"High school. I didn't do anything. Young Democrats and baseball, that's all. College, though, man. Like someone plucked my brain out and said. 'Hoo, this thing could use a little
color.'
"

Looking, Ford said, "Yeah, that's Jeth's boat. I can see the lines." They ducked under mangrove limbs, then zigzagged between boats on trailers that showed in the marina's high, bright mercury lights. When they got to the docks, Ford stopped at the bait tanks, suddenly feeling as if he might be intruding.

"Let's just stand here and see if Jeth wants to talk."

"Gotcha; know exactly what you mean. Guy's been gone two days, maybe the reason's personal. And it's not like we're the only ones up."

From the rows of darkened boats came the low whisper of night voices ... muted laughter ... live-aboards awake in the moonlight. Ford watched Jeth Nicholes idle his old blue Suncoast skiff through the entrance of the marina basin, then dock it smartly with a brief sternward burst of throttle, reaching out to take the dock lines. He looked toward the bait tanks, looked again, then called softly. "That you. Doc?"

"Hey. Jeth."

Tomlinson said, "We got a little welcome-home present for you. Got a dear little beer for you." Waving the bottle at him. "Where the hell you
been,
man?"

Ford cringed.

"What?" Jeth was pulling the scupper plugs, tilting his engine, not paying a lot of attention.

"Something cold. Drink it right down."

Not even listening, he said, "I know you're different and all, Tomlinson, but don't be calling me dear." Nicholes took the key from the ignition and looked up. "I don't go for that stuff."

"We've got a
beer
for you."

Jeth said. "O-o-o-h. that's better. Ran out of ice on the way back this morning, then ran out of warm ones 'bout noon." He was talking as he climbed stiffly out of his boat, clomping toward them, waving shyly, big thigh muscles knotting with each step beneath his shorts: man in his late twenties with straight black hair, all shoulders and narrow hips, and the kind of loyal face found on linebackers in high school yearbooks.

He took the bottle and tossed the cap into the water, saying, "We meet again," as he drank off half the beer, wobbling as he tilted his head back, and Ford wondered if he was already drunk.

"Must have been kind of a long trip, huh?"

Jeth said. "What makes you think that. Doc?"

"You said you ran out of ice this morning, so you had to be someplace you couldn't buy it. Way offshore, or way south. Ten Thousand Islands, maybe? You grew up in Everglades City, so I thought maybe you made a trip home."

"Yeah, down to the islands, but I didn't stop in Everglades. Kept going south. Get down around Cape Sable, not many marinas where you can stop and buy ice. That's smart. Doc."

Cape Sable was the southwesternmost point of mainland Florida, all raw mangrove islands and wilderness between Flamingo and Marco Island, a stretch of more than a hundred miles of undeveloped shoreline—undeveloped only because it was part of the National Park System.

Ford said. "I'd call Cape Sable a long trip. And in an open boat."

Jeth said, "Yeah, well ..."

Ford stood waiting for him to continue, not wanting to press the issue, but Jeth remained silent, oddly vacant and a little dreamy, too, leaning his weight on the bait tank as he finished his beer. The way he was behaving made Ford uneasy.

Finally, Ford said, "You see any tarpon down that way?"

Jeth said. "A few."

Ford waited again before he said, "Any big schools moving north? That's what a lot of people say, you know: tarpon come up from the Keys to Sanibel and Homo-sassa."

"One big school down off Lost Man's River, but I don't believe that, anyway. People like to talk. They gotta have a reason for everything."

"And the fish didn't seem to be moving north?"

"Naw, not so's I could tell." Jeth dropped his bottle into the trash bin and said, "Well, nice talking to you fellas," moving off, looking up at the dark windows of his apartment built over the marina. "I better get up there and get some food out for Crunch & Des."

Crunch & Des was Nicholes's large black cat, named for two famous fishing guides.

He said, "I don't feed him for a couple days, he gets mad and pisses on my pillow."

Ford said quickly, "You hear Tomlinson had a date last night?" trying to keep the conversation going.

Jeth stopped, mildly interested for the first time. "No kiddin'," he said. "She pretty?"

Tomlinson said, "Gorgeous, man. Black hair down to her waist, plus she is truly a spiritual human being. Good dancer, too."

Jeth was turning away again as he said, "That's good, Tomlinson. Never date an ugly woman, 'cause you never know when you're going to fall in love," but then he stopped suddenly. "Hey, you guys know what I saw down there? Down there off Shark River?"

"What's that?"

"I saw the green flash, man. Right at sunset, out there all alone in my boat. I did; I really did see it."

Tomlinson said, "Wow," impressed.

Jeth said, "People'd told me about the green flash, but I'd never seen it. And with all the days I've spent on the water, I just figured, hell, it's just a bunch of bullshit. But I really saw it. Watched the sun go right down behind the Gulf, and the moment it disappears, all red and orange—
poof—
a bright green flash. Like a green flashbulb had gone off. I mean it was bright! Always thought the islands'd be the perfect place to see it. Sky's so clear, and there it was." Jeth was smiling, not looking at them.

Ford said, "That's why you ran clear to Cape Sable? MacKinley said you canceled your all-day tournament trip."

Jeth shrugged. "Naw, I went because I wanted to. Just had to get away, that's all. Had to get someplace where I couldn't see buildings. Threw some extra fuel cans in the boat and just took off. Ran most the night Friday. Ran out of a big thunder squall off Fort Myers Beach. Other than that, it was nice out there with all those stars. But Christ, has this coast been built up. One condo after another; didn't even realize how much it'd changed."

Tomlinson said, "Put your life in four-wheel drive, man. That's the way to do it. Climb out of the rut."

Speaking directly to Tomlinson now, Jeth said, "You know, when I saw that green flash, it was like a sign. It really was. You'd understand that. That's just the way I felt, not seeing it my entire life, then finally seeing it. Like it meant something. A great big flash outta nowhere."

Tomlinson was nodding his head. "Absolutely, man. No doubt. Signs try to speak to us every day, it's just that almost no one listens. The Indians knew it."

Ford said, "I was out yesterday morning, and Nels and some of the other guides found a body. It was Marvin Rios, dead. They found him up at the Mud Hole by Hardworking Bayou."

Jeth was nodding. "Heard it on my AM radio on the way back. Rios was a prick, only the radio didn't say that. Radio just said he had a broken neck, maybe murdered." Ford said, "Murdered?" He hadn't listened to the news all day, and it was the first he'd heard it.

"Yeah, the radio said maybe he was beaten to death." Tomlinson said, "Like about two weeks ago, this owl lands on top of my mast, going
hoo. hoo. hoo
.' Next morning. I'm stepping over these owl pellets all over my deck and I stub the shit out of my toe. Just as I'm bending down to hop around, the boom swings over my head, coulda knocked me right over."

Jeth said, "Trying to warn you."

"Exactly, the owl."

Ford said, "That was on the radio?"

"About Rios? Yeah, about an hour ago; I was just off Naples beach. A Naples country station."

Holding his foot out for inspection, Tomlinson said, "Here, look at my foot. The damn nail's about to come off."

Jeth said, "That owl saved your life."

Tomlinson held his palms upright, a can't-argue-with-the-evidence gesture.

Jeth said, "Those are the kinda signs I never thought about."

Tomlinson said, "It's because we don't pay attention, man. But they're definitely there."

Ford said, "Who do you think would've killed Rios?" Jeth said, "Probably the first sane person to get a good chance," walking away, showing them with his expression that he didn't want to talk anymore. He called to them, "Well, 'night," and unlocked the door to his apartment, where the cat was already meowing at his feet.

On the way back to the stilt house, Ford said to Tomlinson, "He didn't stutter. Not once. Before this weekend, Jeth couldn't put five words together. Now he doesn't stutter.''

Tomlinson was nodding, gliding along beside him. "The man definitely seemed different."

"He even moves differently. I can't put my finger on it." Tomlinson said, "To me. he seems very aware. Very in tune. Plus, he could have been real drunk. Hard to tell with Jeth."

"In tune like a zombie, that's the way he seemed to me. Acting strange. Something happened to him."

"Saw the green flash, man. An awakening. Hey—'' Tomlinson stopped walking for a moment. "What the hell's the green flash, anyway?"

"You've never heard of it?"

"If I did, it's lost now. Maybe I did. I can't be sure. It just sounds so neat.
Green flash.
And the way Jeth described it, like a giant flashbulb. I want to see it, man; I'm gonna start looking."

Ford said, "Don't get your hopes up. It has something to do with the distance sunlight travels at the earth's horizon. The light travels farther, something like that. The distance bends and separates the light, makes the sun seem visible after it has already sunk below the horizon. If conditions are just right, the yellow of the sun mixes with the blue of the sea, and it's like a chemical reaction. Volatile. Like an explosion; a great flash of green. But the atmosphere has to be perfectly clear. I've seen it other places in the world, but only twice in Florida. Once at sunrise, once at sunset, and that was years ago. before all the cars. With the monoxide fumes, you don't see it."

"You're telling me it needs a pure canvas?"

"Well, in a way. yeah."

"O-o-o-oh, this is great. I
have
heard of it. Only I thought I dreamed it. The perfect metaphor. Nature's litmus test—tells you when she's healthy by flashing you the green light. All systems go. Man, my mind; my mind ..."

Ford said, "Could use a good scrubbing."

"No, it's like getting to live everything twice. Sometimes three, four times."

"Uh-huh."

"That's what happened to Jeth. He saw the great sign, the green flash, and it's changed his life."

Ford said, "Well, I don't think he stopped stuttering because he saw a pretty sunset, or because he heard an owl call, or any of that kind of stuff. Something's happened to him, and I just hope to hell it has nothing to do with Rios." Tomlinson started to say something, but then he touched Ford's shoulder. "Hey, is your skiff caught under the dock or something?"

Ford could see the boat in the moonlight, the bow straining upward, the stem sitting way too low; he took off running. The whole back deck was nearly underwater, the engine riding barely above it. He grabbed an empty bucket and began to bail, leaning over from the dock because he knew his weight on the boat would probably be enough to roll it.

Tomlinson said, "You got some kind of pump running in there. Hear it?"

"Probably the bilge pump, but it's not pumping water." Tomlinson was leaning over the boat, fishing his hands into compartments. He said, "You left the bait pump running, Doc. That's what happened. You got the kind of bait pump that brings in raw water from outside?"

"I didn't leave the bait pump running. I've never done that." Ford was still bailing, starting to make a little progress.

"Yep, that's what happened. The overflow scupper got plugged." Tomlinson was holding up a plastic bag—a used ice bag, which he placed on the deck. "Sucked this thing right up it, that's what happened. Here—" He leaned over with his long arm and hit a toggle switch on the boat's console, and the humming of the pump stopped. "Now your boat's not sinking anymore. You've got to be more careful. Doc."