The Man Who Ivented Florida (10 page)

Joseph knew. Tucker had once tried to get him to buy half of it.

"I was what us businessmen call land-poor. Wasn't making much money on cattle, but the damn commissioners kept raising my taxes 'cause it was waterfront. See"—he stopped to look around at Joseph, emphasizing the point—"that's the way they run all us old fishermen out. Rich people want to live by the water, so they tax waterfront property like it's all owned by rich people. If I was to tell you what I was paying every month in taxes—" Tucker started walking again. "So I had to sell off a big chunk of it just to pay the bills."

"You sell it to the government?"

"Hell no, you think I'm nuts?" Tucker spit. "Sold it to a big company. To a land trust, it's called. Sold a hundred acres and kept twenty-five. My place, the shacks, and the docks."

"Never pictured you selling your land."

"Yeah, but things was tight. Plus, the state was going to take it, anyway. That's what I figured. Them bastards. But I've been fighting 'em. Showin' them they're not messing with some kid. Lemar Flowers, he's been helping me right along. You remember—"

"The judge? Judge Flowers, sure I remember him. He's tricky."

Tucker smiled. "That's the man. Only he ain't a judge no more, just a lawyer. He got into some kinda scrape with a neighbor. The neighbor tried to nudge the boundary lines over by building a toolshed that crossed the line. And old Lemar—I can picture him doing this. Old Lemar, he climbs up on a bulldozer and just runs the toolshed down. Flattens it. He had to stop being a judge after that, that and the way he loves his liquids. But I knew the moment I heard that story, Lemar was just the lawyer for me. The one who could help me fight these state buzzards, keep them outta Mango."

Joseph said, "Mean, keep them from taking your twenty-five acres."

"My twenty-five? Hell, no. Keep them from taking any of it."

"But the rest of it ain't your land no more, so I don't see how it matters who owns it."

Tucker cleared his throat—the sound of a patient man. "See, that's the difference 'tween you and me, Joe. You don't use your brain."

"Yeah," Joseph cut in, "and you're like one of them lizards you grab but the tail comes off in your hand. Being different from you is what I like."

"I'm just saying you don't have my knack for seeing how things work. Don't mean nothing bad by it. But use your head. The state comes in here and makes a park, why, hell, it'd be like livin' in a prison. Them people in uniforms walking around, giving everybody orders. Paintin' everything gray or green. Gad! Galls me just thinking about it. My land! And they're just so dang sneaky about things. The ones in the uniforms, they act high and mighty enough. But them state guys who wear the suits, they're the worst. They come down here trying to shake my hand, smiling at me in that snooty kinda way. You know, like a school principal kinda smile? Like they got all the power in the world. They can squash me like a bug if they want, but they want to be professional doin' it. Bastards ain't never had to make a payroll in their life, ain't never had to bust their balls to pay for a prime chunk of land, but they can stroll around here like they own the place, tell me what I've been doing wrong."

Joseph tried once more. "But if you sold it. If it ain't your land—"

Tucker made an odd noise, a little chortling sound. "That there's where it gets complicated. Yes indeed! Just trust me, Joe. I ain't a man to be taken lightly. You know that."

Joseph nodded. Tuck could have been lying all night, but that much was true. He was not a man to be taken lightly.

Tucker said, "Me and Lemar Flowers, we got it all worked out. Well. . . parts of it. Me, I'm working out the rest. You know how them state people, they're so sneaky? They come down here trying to push the whole thing down my throat. Tryin' to do it real fast, just wham-bam, thank you, ma'am. Wantin' to do their tests and surveys for all their fancy permits? Well, Lemar, he sets them down and makes 'em agree to hold a meeting. A public hearing, you know, right here at my place before their board or commission or whatever the hell it is condemns my land. Hell, you shoulda heard them scream about that. Those hearings, they always hold up to Tallahassee. But Lemar fixes it so they can't come on my land to do their tests unless they agreed. November ninth, that's the day. A Monday. Plenty of time." Tucker made the chortling sound again. "All I had to do was slow them down a little."

Tucker kept on talking, but he was getting repetitive, so Joseph tuned him out. Tuck was saying a lot, but he wasn't saying everything—he never did—but the whole story would gradually reveal itself, and Tuck's schemes were often interesting. They almost never worked, but they were interesting. Tucker was manipulating him, but Joseph didn't mind. It was like buying a ticket to get into a movie theater. Being manipulated was the price.

Joseph said, "Yeah, yeah, uh-huh," walking along, enjoying the freedom of being out in darkness. It had been a long time since he'd been in a mangrove swamp, and he liked it; liked the way the muck sucked at his boots, sending up a sulphur bloom with every footstep. A bruised kind of smell, like walking on something alive. Then they came onto higher ground and a little clearing— not a clearing, actually, but a hollow walled by trees and roofed with limbs. In the center was an abrupt hill of sand and shell.

Joseph could hear the shells crunching as he followed Tuck up the incline.

"Indian mound," Joseph said.

"Yep," Tucker said softly. "Little one." He turned the lantern's knob, and the light faded with a gaseous hiss. "Didn't even know it was here. Roscoe found it, not me."

Joseph stood, feeling easy. He'd been on many Indian mounds— his people, the Calusa, had built them all along the west coast of Florida. Built them out of shells of all sizes; left pottery shards a thousand years old or more, but little else. Because the mounds were the only high ground around, early settlers had homesteaded them, farmed them, raised their children on them, moving inland only when cars replaced boats as the common means of conveyance. Joseph had spent most of his childhood on one mound or another, but he'd never seen one like this. At the top of the mound was a little circular spring. The spring was lined with rock. Some of the rock had fallen in, and water bubbled out of the rocks. Tucker had turned out the lantern for a reason: The water sparkled with turquoise light, like little fireflies being swirled in the current.

Impressed, Joseph said, "Sure looks like it's got vitamins in it."

"You bet it does."

"Almost looks . . . alive. Like salt water on a dark night when you stir it around. And I thought you was lying."

"Lying, hah! Not me, Joe." Tuck stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the water, before he said, "Lot of these islands got artesian springs, but I ain't never seen none like this. Has to be some kinda natural piping to get the water up this high. Probably just like your grandpa described it, huh?"

"Nope. He always said it was a river. The legend, you mean? That was supposed to be a river. This ain't no river."

"No, but she perks right along."

"Besides, they already dug out all the rivers. Straightened 'em for boats. If it was real, that river, she's gone now."

"God amighty, it sound's like you're complaining. This'll just have to do."

Joseph got down on his stomach. He dipped his hands in the water and watched it drip from his fingers. He wiped the water over his face, then drank from the spring. He looked up at Tucker.

"This close to the bay, you'd think it'd taste salty. But it don't. It tastes ... it tastes like . . ."

Tucker said, "I know. A little salty, but more like sulphur. But that ain't no big problem. Maybe we can work out some kinda filter system. Or put cherry flavor in it. People like a good cherry drink."

Joseph said, "Naw, I didn't mean—" He was staring into the spring, but then he looked up at Tucker. "Filter? Filter this water? You crazy? Wait a minute—" He stood, wiping his hands, face-to-face with Tuck. "I'll be damned. You don't even believe it yourself, do you?"

"Believe what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Believe about this water, what it does—"

"Now that's a helluva thing to say, Joe! I'm only the man who discovered it. Well, Roscoe."

"That's the way you always do it, actin' so innocent."

"How the hell you want me to act when I am? I'm tryin' to tell you about what happened. The old bastard kept disappearing, and it took me about a week to track him here. Once I saw Roscoe's personal gear'd growed back, it didn't take me long to put two and two together." Tucker jutted his jaw out. "And tell me this— what's the first thing I did? Go ahead and become a millionaire? Nope. I went and rescued my old buddy from the rest home. Now this is the thanks I get. Calling me a liar."

"You don't got to lie, Tuck. All I'm saying, why run it through a filter if you believe it's got vitamins in it?"

"What the hell do you care if I'm lying or not? Made you feel better, didn't it?" Tucker still had his chin out, a serious expression on his face. "Now, after all we've been through, you saying you don't trust me?"

"I never did trust you. I'm talking about this little spring."

"Why would I make up a story about it?"

"That's what I'm askin'."

"Joe, if I was gonna make up a story about vitamin water, why'd I need you? Think about it a minute."

"Well... I can't figure you. Never pretended I could."

"There ain't a reason in the world, that's why. You're my oldest and best friend, so I got you in on it. Hated to think about you rustin' away in that damn rest home while I'm down here getting

spunkier every day, just full of the old Nick like when I was young. You saying that jug a water didn't make you feel pretty good?"

"Yeah, but maybe it's just in my mind."

Tucker hooted. "No offense, Joe, but you ain't got the imagination. You think you imagined your back not hurtin', your joints not hurtin'?"

"Well. . . they still hurt, just not so bad."

"Gawldamn it, don't you ever get tired of complainin'?"

"I'm just telling you, that's all."

"Then what about that fight you was in tonight? You imagine that?"

Joseph began to nod his head slowly. "Now that's true. That's true enough." Then he offered, "And I was with a woman only a few days after you brought me the jug."

Tuck studied Joseph a moment. "You was with a woman? You mean you—"

"Yep. Sure did."

"Naw."

"Three times."

"I'll be—" Tucker found his footing and crunched his way up to the spring, then got on his belly. "No way. Not three times?" Joseph was nodding his head as Tuck scooped water into his hands and took a tentative drink, listening as Joseph told him, "Not counting the next morning. Five or six times in all. I kinda lost track."

Tucker made a face at the rotten-egg taste of the water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then put his whole face in the spring. He came up shaking his head. "Whew! I can't get enough of this. Probably a regular soup of all sorts of healthy stuff."

"Yeah," said Joseph, "that's why you can't filter it."

"Huh?" Tuck was standing, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Filter it? Hell no, we can't filter it. I meant
change
the taste of it, that's all. Get it sweetened up a little so people will buy it. Did I say
filter?"
He leaned forward to make his point. "Joe, this little spring is gonna open all kinds of doors for us. You know what they sell now? Little green bottles of water from France. I got a couple at the house. Damn stuff's got
bubbles
in it, and they still get a

buck a bottle. You know how much we can sell this stuff for? About twenty bucks a jar, if it's worked right."

"Sell it in jars," Joseph said. He was shaking his head.

"Right. Which brings us to the heart of that little problem I was telling you about."

Joseph said, "Huh?"

Tucker cleared his throat and said, "Them survey stakes I brought to your attention. There's a small matter of me not owning this property no more."

FIVE

An
investigator from Florida's Department of Criminal Law arrived at Dinkin's Bay Marina on a late Thursday afternoon, just after the fishing guides got in and just before Ford left in his twenty-four-foot trawl boat—the cedar-plank netter he'd bought used in Chokoloskee more than a year ago and had chugged up the inland waterway past Mango and Naples and Fort Myers Beach, so he could drag the shallows off Sanibel, collect specimens for his marine supply business.

The investigator's name was Walker, Agent Angela Walker, out of the St. Pete office, sent down by the governor's office in Tallahassee. She could have signed out one of the department's white four-door Chryslers, but she drove her own new Acura Legend LS instead, plum red, with brown leather interior, slowing at the highest span of the Sanibel Causeway to get a better look at the bay below, the Gulf glittering toward the western horizon, the long green island with its white beach borders, mansion-sized homes showing through the trees, and the black cowling of a lighthouse sticking up above the palms and casuarinas.