Chapter One
The man haunts Vincent’s dreams. The macabre scene unfolds in slow motion. There is a knock at the door. Vincent answers, thinking it is Ian, but it’s a strange man holding a gun. Vincent tries to close the door, but the man kicks it open. Vincent lunges forward and knocks the gun out of the intruder’s hand. The gun clatters to the ground. Vincent leaps and tries to grab it when a loud crack rips through the room. Vincent and the man are on their knees, the man grabs Vincent’s collar, looks him in the eyes and drops lifelessly to the ground. Vincent cries out, waking himself from the vicious nightmare. Sweat drips down his face. He swings his legs over the side of the metal cot and runs his hands through his raven black locks of loose curls. His emerald green eyes dart across the room looking for something familiar. Slowly, his memory returns. He is in Miami, on the run from the law.
Wide awake, Vincent stands in the middle of the sparse room and walks over to the greasy, film-covered window. The heat is stifling and a thin layer of sweat covers his naked torso. He unlocks the flimsy latch and tries to open the window to let some fresh air in the fetid smelling space. The window doesn’t budge. Vincent knocks the sides of the window sash with his fist. He hears a muffled pop as years of caked-on paint break free as he tries to lift the window once again. Vincent’s muscular arms ripple as he exerts force to lift the sash, a ragged scar encircling his left shoulder. Finally winning the battle, Vincent lifts the window far enough to stick his head outside, and deeply inhales the sweet salty air. In the distance, the burnt orange sun begins its skyward ascent, its brilliant light twinkling like diamonds on the ocean’s surface. A light breeze finds its way into the room, helping clear Vincent’s head. As it clears, Vincent remembers his hasty departure and his journey to this sweltering city.
He vaguely remembers running to Union Station after the shooting and buying a ticket on the next train out of town. That train was destined for Miami, and when the conductor called “all aboard,” Vincent scurried on the train, located his sleeping birth and ducked inside. He quickly pulled the curtain closed and remained there until the train crossed out of Illinois. Vincent emerged from his berth and made his way to the dining car. He thrust his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills and a handful of coins, amounting to $7.63.
“This is going to be a problem,” Vincent muttered to himself as he dropped the meager sum back into his pocket. The train rambled down the tracks as Vincent made his way toward the dining car. He glanced around the crowded car and spotted an open table in a quiet corner. He plopped down. A dining car attendant approached and placed a water glass and utensils wrapped in a white linen napkin on the table in front of him. The attendant handed him a leather book containing the menu. Vincent glanced at his options and would have enjoyed the prime rib, but only had $7.63, so settled for a cold cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee. The attendant took Vincent’s menu and left the table. Vincent remembers gazing at the passing landscape as the train made its way through farm country. It was July and the corn was knee high to an elephant’s eye. In the distance, white cottony clouds billowed into shapes ranging from witches on broomsticks to dogs. Vincent was watching a cloud transform into a four-leaf clover when a man’s voice broke him out of his reverie.
“Excuse me. Is anyone sitting there?” he remembered the man asking, pointing to the empty seat in front of him.
Vincent glanced around the car, didn’t see any open seats and gestured with his outstretched hand for the man to join him.
“Thank you, I appreciate it. I am damn near starved to death and couldn’t stand the thought of not bein’ able to eat. Name’s John, John Watson. And you are?”
Vincent didn’t know whether he could trust this guy, but he didn’t want to arouse any suspicion. “Ah, I’m nobody really, just a guy sittin’ here wondering how long it takes to slap a piece of cheese in between two slices of bread.”
As if by will of thought the attendant ducked into the dining car, carrying Vincent’s sandwich and coffee. John looked at the meager meal and asked, “Is that all you’re gonna’ eat?”
Looking down at his plate, Vincent’s cheeks erupted in patches of red. Embarrassed, he replied, “No, I’m good.”
Vincent remembers John flamboyantly waiving his arm in the air and proclaiming, “Bring me two of your juiciest pieces of prime rib with a baked potato slathered in butter and dripping with sour cream. No vegetables! We are meat and potato men.”
Vincent remembers saying, “Boy, you really must be hungry.”
John chuckled, “No son, I ordered one for you, and one for me.”
Vincent looked up at John with his mouth wide open.
“You better close your mouth son, unless you want to catch a fly.”
Vincent shook his head and stammered, “It’s just, well, I don’t have enough money to pay for that.”
“No worries boy, consider it my treat.”
“No, I can’t accept.”
“All right then, if it isn’t a hand out your lookin’ for, why don’t you come to work for me and we can consider it an advance on your pay.”
Vincent couldn’t believe his ears. Finding work during the depression was hard enough for an able-bodied man, much less a man on the run from the law.
“What kind of job did you have in mind?”
John leaned in and placed his thick, burly arms on the salmon colored tablecloth, he suspiciously glanced around to make sure no one was listening, which Vincent thought was kind of strange.
“I work for my brother. He owns a sugar cane plantation on a 40-acre island in the heart of the Everglades, named Watson’s Island.”
John went on to explain, “Watson’s Island sits in the Everglades among the 10,000 Islands at the junction of the Chatham and Lopez Rivers.”
Apparently, the only way to reach this remote destination is by water. Vincent finds it hard to imagine anyone carving out an existence in the middle of the Everglades, but according to John, the early settlers that built homes there were a rugged bunch of outlaws, including his brother Edgar Watson.
John recounts his brother’s tale as he and Vincent savor the most succulent piece of prime rib ever to grace their lips. John and his brother Ed were born in South Carolina. According to John, Ed was slippery and fast as a youngster and was the perfect choice when it came to scavenging food for the family during the Civil War.
John continues, “You see, Ed and I didn’t get much of an education growin’ up, and after the war there weren’t no work. My pa came home a broken man and drowned his sorrows in the bottle of a Kentucky whiskey.” I was older than Ed, and when I heard of some work out west, I picked up and left. Ed stayed and worked for a dirt farmer who beat him, just like our old man used to, so as soon as he was old enough he left South Carolina and headed for the Indian Territory in the west. He was planning on meeting up with me in San Francisco, but on his way, he ran into Belle Starr, and after a sordid love affair, Ed shot and killed her. He fled the west and found himself in Arkansas where he was imprisoned for stealin’ a horse, but like I said, my brother was slippery and fast, and broke out of jail and sought refuge from the law among the 10,000 Islands.”
Vincent is mesmerized by what he has just heard. John takes a sip of water and plucks a tooth-pick from his pocket. He begins removing the small bits of animal flesh from between his teeth before continuing the tantalizing account.
“Soon after his arrival in the Everglades, Ed began farming sugar cane on a forty-acre island that he cleared by hand. He soon had a thriving business producing and selling “Island Pride” cane syrup. Once he had a good business going I joined him. I am now the farm manager and I hire the farm hands that work the sugar cane fields.”
Vincent’s eyes blaze with excitement, “I used to help work my family’s farms, so I know about working in the field, and I am sure I will be a fast study when it comes to harvesting sugar cane.”
John’s eyebrows arch when Vincent mentions his family. “Tell me son, you have a big family?”
“Yeah, I have three brothers and two sisters.”
A look of deep sadness washes over Vincent’s face as a tear forms in the corner of his eye. Hoping John hasn’t noticed, Vincent dabs the corner of his eye with his napkin and says, “I mean two brothers, I only have two brothers. My baby brother died a few months back. That was when I drowned my sorrows and did some stupid shit. That is why I had to get out of Chicago.”
John asks, “Won’t your family be wonderin’ where you are?”
Vincent smirks and says, “No, after my brother died we all kind of drifted apart and I haven’t heard from any of my siblings in months.”
“But won’t they look for you eventually?”
Vincent looks at John thoughtfully and replies, “Yea, probably, if I don’t let someone know what I was up to, my sister Lucretia would undoubtedly send out a search posse. Why?”
“I just want to make sure you have the opportunity to let your family know you are well before heading off to the island. That way they won’t worry if they don’t hear from you for a while.”
Vincent asks, “What do you mean?”
John leans his full breadth back in the wooden, ladder back chair. It creaks and strains under protest. John inhales and explains, “Once you get to the island you won’t be able to call anyone. The only phone is on Chokoloskee Island, which is half-a-days boat ride away, and I am usually the one that goes to Chokoloskee Island for supplies. So, there is really no need or way for you to get off the island as often as you may like, and it could be months before you have an opportunity to make a call.”
Something about what John has just said doesn’t ring true to Vincent, but he lets it pass and asks, “So what do you figure my starting pay might be?”
“I will pay you five dollars a day, give you a place to sleep and 3 squares a day.”
Vincent isn’t really in a position to negotiate seeing as how he may be in trouble with the law, so he extends his hand and the two men shake on the deal.
John laughs heartily and slaps Vincent on the shoulder. Vincent winces a little. John says, “Okay son, as soon as we arrive at the station in Miami, you find me, and I’ll take you to a hotel near the station. It ain’t nothin’ fancy, but you can at least clean up and grab some shut-eye before we head to the island.”