Night Vision

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA · Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) · Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England · Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) · Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) · Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India · Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) · Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

 

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Copyright © 2011 by Randy Wayne White

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Published simultaneously in Canada

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

White, Randy Wayne.
Night vision / Randy Wayne White.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-48639-9

1. Ford, Doc (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Marine biologists—Fiction.
3. Florida—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3573.H47473N
813’.54—dc22

 

 

 

Sanibel and Captiva Islands, and Immokalee, Florida, are real places, faithfully described, but used fictitiously in this novel. The same is true of certain businesses, marinas, bars and other places frequented by Doc Ford, Tomlinson and pals.

In all other respects, however, this novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is unintentional and coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

For my adored partner, Wendy Webb, and our eloquent, gifted
Webb family: Sandy and Jim Phillips, Ben, Sarah, Tom, Janet,
Luke, Jack, Mary, Joost, Jesse, Kelly, Ryder, Layla, and
three ascending stars: Hannah, Phoebe and Zoë Webb

I learned long ago, whether writing fiction or nonfiction, an author loses credibility if he’s caught in a factual error. Because of this, I do extensive research before starting a new Doc Ford novel, and
Night Vision
is no different.

However, a scene takes place in this book for which no research data was available. It concerns bottlenose dolphins that are surprised while foraging beneath mangrove trees, on land, on a starry, moonless night. As the author, though, I can vouch for the scene’s accuracy and authenticity because I witnessed a similar event, and the details are as described, although viewed through the eyes of Marion Ford and Tomlinson.

Otherwise, thanks go to experts in various fields. These include Dr. Frank J. Mazzotti, wildlife biologist, and one of the country’s foremost experts on crocodilians. Ryan D. Battis, of Laser Energetics, manufacturers of the Dazer Guardian. Peter Deltoro and Dr. Tim S. Sigman, both of whom provided invaluable help to the author.

Special thanks also go to my partner, Wendy Webb, my guardian, Iris Tanner, my partners and pals, Mark “Dartanian” Marinello, Coach Marty and Brenda Harrity, my surfing buddy Gus Landl, my spiritual advisers Bill and Diana Lee, my battery and travel mate Don Carman, Stu “The Big Lefty” Johnson, lovely Donna and Gary “Twig” Terwilliger, and Dr. Brian Hummel, the author’s intellectual compass and ever-faithful friend.

Once again, the early chapters of this book were written in Cartagena, Colombia, and Havana, Cuba, and I am indebted to friends who helped me secure good places to live and write. My thanks go to Giorgio and Carolina Arajuo for their help in Cartagena. In Cuba, my Freemason brothers Ernesto Batista and Sergio Rodriquez were particularly helpful, as were Roberto and Ela Giraudy, Rául and Myra Corrales and Alex Vicente.

Most of this novel, though, was written at corner tables before and after hours at Doc Ford’s Rum Bar and Grille on Sanibel and San Carlos Islands, where staff were tolerant beyond the call of duty.

Thanks go to Col. Raynauld Bentley, Dan Howes, Brian “Boston Blackie” Cunningham, Mojito Greg Barker, the amazing Liz Harris, Capt. Bryce Randall Harris, dear Milita Kennedy, Kevin Filliowich, Kevin Boyce of Boston infamy, Eric Breland, Big Sam Khussan Ismatullaev, Olga Guryanova, lovely Rachel Songalewski of Michigan, Jean, Evan and Abby Crenshaw, Lindsay Kuleza, Roberto Cruz, Amanda Rodriquez, Juan Gomex, Mary McBeath, tattoo consultant Kim McGonnell, the amazing Cindy Porter, “Hi” Sean Scott, Big Matt Powell, Laurie and Jake Yukobov, Bette Roberts and master chef Chris Zook, a man of complex talents.

At the Rum Bar on San Carlos Island, Fort Myers Beach, thanks go to Wade Craft, James Gray, Kandice Salvador, Herberto Ramos, Brian Obrien, lovelies Latoya Trotta, Alexandria Pereira, Kerra Pike, Christine Engler, Stephanie Goolsby, Danielle Gorman, Corey Allen, Nora Billheimmer, Molly Brewer, Justina Villaplano, Jessica Wozniak, Lauren Brown, Kassee Buonano, Sally Couillard, Justin Dorfman, Chris Goolsby, Patric John, Stephen Johnson, Manuel Lima, Jeffrey Lyons, Matthew and Michael Magner, Catherine Mawyer, Susan Mora, Kylie Pryll, Dustin Rickards, Brooke Ryland, Ellen Sandler, Dean Shoeman, Jessica Shell, Andrea Aguayo and Kevin “Stretch” Tully.

At Timber’s Sanibel Grille, my pals Matt Asen, Mary Jo, Audrey, Becky, Bart and Bobby were, once again, stalwarts.

Finally, I would like to thank my two sons, Capt. Rogan and Lee White, for helping me finish, yet again, another book.

 

—Randy Wayne White
Casa de Chico’s
Sanibel Island, Florida

Everything that has happened, everything that will happen, it all exists in this single moment, endlessly surfacing and submerging; natural order, perfect law. The word “coincidence” is an invention that defines our own confusion better than it describes a unique occurrence.

—S. M. TOMLINSON

 

 

One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.

—JOAN OF ARC, 1412-1431

ON AN EVERGLADES-SCENTED EVENING IN MARCH, AS I DROVE MY
pickup truck west, toward the Gulf of Mexico, my hipster pal, Tomlinson, reached to switch off the radio, saying, “Life is the best thing that can happen to any of us. And it’s also the very worst thing that can happen to any of us. Problem is, our luck begins with mom’s location when the womb turns into a slippery slide. That’s why I self-medicate. It makes the shitty unfairness of it all almost bearable.”

We had just dropped my chatty cousin, Ransom Gatrell, at Regional Southwest, and I was eager for a few minutes without conversation. I nodded toward the radio and told him, “Hey, I was listening to that. We can talk later.”

“The Guatemalan girl deserves your full attention,” Tomlinson reminded me. He leaned back in his seat and stuck his hand out the window, surfing the Florida night. “She’s gifted. And she’s in trouble.”

He wasn’t referring to Ransom, although my powerhouse cousin, and my other neighbors at Dinkin’s Bay Marina, Sanibel Island, Florida, are a gifted, eclectic bunch.

“Your friends are always in trouble,” I said. “Your female friends, anyway. Percentages suggest the problem is
you
, not them.”

“Tula isn’t a female. She’s an adolescent girl,” he replied. “There’s a big difference. Tula’s at that age—a magic age, man—when some girls seem to possess all the wisdom in the world. They’re not screwed up by crazed hormones and menstrual periods. They exist, for the briefest of times, in a rarefied capsule of purity. The window is very, very narrow, of course. It’s afterward that most women go a little nuts. Hell, let’s be honest. All of them.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

Tomlinson pressed, “I’m trying to give you the background so you understand what we’re dealing with. This girl traveled three thousand miles on freight trains, riding in the backs of semis, to get to Florida. Hell, she even hiked across a chunk of Arizona desert. It’s because she hasn’t heard from her mother in almost three months. Her brother, two aunts and an uncle are somewhere in Florida, too, and she hasn’t heard from them, either. Something’s wrong. Tula came here to find out what.”

I said, “An entire family goes off and leaves a girl alone in the mountains of Guatemala? Maybe they’re not worth finding.”