Geezer Paradise (17 page)

             
"We would," I said.  "But we're in an awful hurry.  Our plane leaves in forty minutes.  Thanks for your help."  I left, closing the door behind me.  I didn't want those snakes to escape. 

             
"I'm gonn'a call the cops," the old man yelled at us through the filthy window.  We hurried down the road and disappeared into the Florida night. 

             
After a while we slowed to a walk.  Whenever a car was coming we would jump into the bushes and hide.

             
"Mary's on her way," Willey said.  "I asked her if she had some extra blankets.  I told her how we had to leave everything behind."

             
A police car came racing toward us with its lights flashing.  We jumped into the bushes until it passed.  We knew the police were looking for us.  We walked on for another twenty minutes, then another car came toward us.  We were headed for the bushes when Willey yelled, "That's Mary," and started waving his arms.  Mary came to a stop in front of us. 

             
"Hurry," I said to Willey and grabbed Oscar's hand.  "That police car will be back any minute looking for us."  We piled into Mary's car and slammed the doors.  "Go, Mary," I said.  "The police are looking for us."  Mary hit the gas. 

             
"I see you guys are having a lot of fun," Mary said. 

             
"I wouldn't call it fun," I said.  "It's more like a nightmare."

             
"Where did you get the monkey?" 

             
"He belonged to my cousin Opal," Willey said.  "His name is Oscar." 

             
"High, Oscar.  Does your mother know you're hanging out with a bad crowd?"  Oscar smiled at the sound of his name. 

             
"Here comes the cruiser again," Willey said.  Willey and I scrunched down low.  I pulled Oscar down, too.  The cruiser whipped past us with all its lights flashing, like he was chasing Bonnie and Clyde.  After it passed we sat back up. 

             
"Thanks for coming to get us, Mary," I said.  "We really appreciate it."  There were blankets in the back seat.  "And thanks for the blankets." 

             
"It's the least I can do.  What have you guys found out?"

             
Willey told her about Eduardo and the woman in the nursing home, and her notebook.  How we took pictures of Buckland taking a bribe from Flaherty's lawyer, and how we barely escaped with our lives.  How they found us in the swamp because of Willey's cell phone--and how we had to leave the Wrangler behind in the swamp.

             
"Wow," Mary said.  "You guys have been living dangerous.  You'd better be careful.  What are you going to do now?"

             
Willey said, "You know that tree house on the farm next to the park?"

             
"You mean Thomas' farm?  You have to be kidding," Mary said.  "That's too close to home.  They'll be looking for you there."

             
"Not if we come and go at night," Willey said.  "Thomas will never know we're there, and we can keep an eye on the park."

             
"Suit yourself but I'd stay far away from the park if I were you.  In the meantime I'm going to leave my cell phone with you two."  Then Mary asked, "Any chance of getting your Wrangler back, Barney?"

             
"Maybe after a while we can go back at night and take a look at it," I said.  "But we think they put a bomb under it."

             
"Damn," Mary said.  "Those bastards are nasty." 

             
We came to a gas station that was crowded with cars.  "I have to get some gas," Mary said as she pulled in.  We cruised through the chaos of cars that were circling in different directions looking for an open pump.  There was some yelling and horn honking going on.  The people in the cars looked desperate.  Mary pulled into line at a pump.  There were three cars ahead of us but we were still in the shortest line. 

             
"How come it's so crowded?" I asked.

             
"The price," Mary said.  "It's three cents cheaper a gallon here."  The price of gas had been rising by the day.  The politicians were on TV daily, wringing their hands as if they just found out that we depended on our enemies for our energy.  Politicians are the type that will steal your wallet and then help you look for it. 

             
Mary said, "When we get to the pump, you guys stay in the car.  I'll pump the gas.  No sense taking any chances."  I looked at the scene around us.  It reminded me of a news clip I'd seen of starving people in a third world country.  When the U.N. helicopter came in carrying a pallet of food, the crowd of people rushed under it.  Just then the chopper let the pallet down, squashing about a half-dozen of them. 

             
When Mary got back into the car Willey asked her if she would take us to a shopping center so we could buy some of the things we had to leave behind in the swamp.  We spent almost an hour picking up food and water. Once again we were homeless.  I thought about the homeless woman in Clearwater Beach.  I should have given her ten dollars instead of five.

Chapter Eleven

IT WA
S DARK when we got Thomas' farm.  "By the way," Mary said.  "There's a storm coming in from the Gulf.  They're saying it could turn into a hurricane.  You guys won't be able to stay in the tree house if it gets bad.  I go to a shelter when that happens.  I don't know about the monkey, though.  They might have rules about letting monkeys in."

             
I had seen a few of the hurricanes they get down here.  I couldn't imagine riding one of them out in a tree house.

             
Willey said, I don't go to any shelters.  Never have, never will."

             
"Suit yourself you stubborn old goat," Mary said.  "But remember, we're right on the coast here.  Those hurricanes are at their strongest when they're fresh off the ocean." 

             
"Never mind the hurricanes," Willey said.  "Have you had any luck finding a lawyer who'll go to court for us?" 

             
Mary shook her head.  "No, when I called around all I got was a cold shoulder.  I guess lawyers don't like working for free."

             
Willey said, "Pull over here."  We were at the tree house.  Mary pulled to the side of the road and we all got out of the car.  Between the three of us we were able to carry everything in one trip.  The brush was as thick as Willey said it was.  Soon we were standing at the base of a gnarled old tree.  The trunk was about three feet in diameter.  Pieces of two-by-fours were bolted to the tree trunk to form a ladder.  We put our loads down and looked up at a large, black, rectangle overhead.

             
"Who's going first?" I asked Willey, hoping he would volunteer.

             
Willey put his foot on the lowest rung of the ladder.  "When I get up there, carry up what you can and hand it to me," he said.  "You'll have to make a few trips."  We watched Willey climb the ladder and disappear into the darkness.  Then his head reappeared.  I started up with the supplies.  I had to make four trips to get it all up.  Then Willey and I climbed back down. 

             
Mary handed Willey her cell phone.  "Don't lose it," she said.  She disconnected the charger from the cigarette lighter.  "And here's the charger.  When I get another cell phone I'll call you to tell you what my new number is.  Do you guys want my gun?"

             
"I have a gun," I said.  "You keep yours for protection.  None of us are safe from these murderers."

             
"Amen to that," Mary said.

             
"Thanks for the lift, Mary," Willey said.

             
"And thanks for the blankets," I added.

             
She hugged each of us and said, "You two be real careful and don't take any chances.  You understand?"  It was the first time I realized she was really worried about us.

             
"Don't worry," I said.  "We'll be careful."  Mary simply waved goodbye and headed back to the street. 

             
Willey, Oscar, and I climbed up to the tree house.  There was enough light coming from the street light to be able to see.  The tree house was about eight by ten feet with a cut-out for a window on two sides.  There was a constant breeze up there, coming in one window and out the other.  It was just enough to ward off the mosquitoes.  Willey turned on a pen light.  There were the required beer cans, we threw them out the windows.  Then we folded the blankets in half and spread them on the floor.  They weren't as comfortable as the sleeping bags, but they would have to do.  I was feeling somewhere between a Gypsy and a homeless person.  I sat down heavily and sighed.

             
"What's wrong?" Willey asked.

             
"I'm tired." I groused.

             
"What are you tired from?"

             
"Are you kidding?  I'm tired from having no place to live.  I'm tired of being shot at."

             
"I'm not tired," Willey said.

             
"Of course you're not tired, you have monkey glands."

             
I looked over at Oscar.  "No offense, Oscar." I said.  Oscar didn't look offended. 

             
Oscar seemed to like the place, maybe because it was high up in the tree tops.  He kept looking out the windows.  I worried if he did that in the daytime someone might see him.  I'd keep an eye on him in the morning.  After a while we settled down, and one by one we drifted off to sleep.

             
In the morning Willey and I were looking up at what I would call a watery sunshine coming through the clouds.  The sky had an eerie greenish glow to it.  I put it down to the coming storm.  I wished we had a transistor radio so we could keep track of it.  The last thing I wanted was to be caught up in a tree house during a hurricane.  We shared some crackers and pretzels for breakfast.  After we ate I said, "Willey, call Eduardo and tell him where we are.  And be sure to give him our new cell phone number.  And tell him where we left the Wrangler.  See if he can rescue it for us." 

             
"You sure have a lot of instructions," Willey said, as he pulled Mary's phone out of his pocket.  When Eduardo answered Willey told him we were living in a tree house.  He gave Eduardo instructions to the tree house and gave him our new phone number.  Then he told him where we hid the Wrangler and asked him if he could get it back to us.  And, oh yes, look underneath it for a bomb.  Then Eduardo must have asked Willey why we were living in a tree house, and why my Wrangler was left behind in a swamp and might have a bomb under it, and why we had new phone number, because Willey said, "Ah . . . well, we were staying in a swamp because . . ." and then Willey proceeded to tell Eduardo the whole sordid story.  I had forgotten that we didn't want Eduardo to find out how badly we had screwed up at Ransoms. 

             
"Imagine that," Willey finished by saying.  "Those bastards tracked us down through my cell phone.  Had to ditch it in the swamp." 

             
When Willey closed the cell phone he said, "Well Sherlock, you let me walk right into that one."

             
"I wasn't thinking," I said.  "Besides, we have to get Eduardo's help if we're going to survive this.  We had to tell him sooner or later."

             
"Eduardo sounds like he's very worried about us, "Willey said.  "He said if they traced our phones they're professionals.  He said he'd pick us up in the Wrangler as soon as he can get here."  I was upset to hear we were being tracked by pros.  But the thought of getting some breakfast and coffee when Eduardo arrived cheered me up a little.  I reached under the side of my blanket, pulled out my gun, and shoved it into the pocket of my cargo shorts.  The gun made me feel safer.

****

             
Harley Kimball stood outside his grass shack in the Green Swamp.  The morning sky was a bilious green.  Harley knew that meant only one thing--a hurricane was on the way.  There was nothing he could do to protect his little shack.  It had been blown down by previous hurricanes and Harley had simply rebuilt it.  He would rebuild again after this hurricane had passed.

             
Harley wondered what had become of the two men with the monkey.  They hadn't been around for a while, but their little Wrangler was still there in the swamp.  Harley walked to the chickee and went inside.  All of their things were still there.  While Harley was standing there scratching his chin, a State Police car rolled past on the bicycle path, followed by  a bomb disposal truck and a tow truck.  This was more excitement than Harley had seen in years.  Harley left the chickee and went around to where the Wrangler was parked in the brush.  He stayed out of site.  He was well aware that his shack, with its lack of toilet facilities, would capture the attention of the authorities if he were questioned about the owner of the Wrangler--and asked to give his address.