CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Michael rattled the metal bars of his disgusting cage. Nothing but a stained toilet in the corner, and a bare plank to sit or lie upon. His friends were in their own cells, next to his. “Let me make my call.” Hoots of laughter and gibberish that sounded like Mexican came from the room next door.
“I’m not kidding. We’re American, and we are allowed a call. I know my rights,” he shouted, banging on the steel bars. He heard Jay and Devon shout too.
How long they’d been there he had no idea. Could be hours, or a day, maybe more. It felt like eternity.
When they’d woken up, Michael and his friends had washed up on shore, half in the water, half out. Warm waves kept slapping at him, and the sand was rough on his bloodied skin. The boat was wrecked, slammed into a pile of rocks. He’d dragged himself up, then kicked his friends awake and helped them out of the water. Their clothes had been shredded and he guessed when they hit the rocks, the three of them had been tossed about pretty badly. They were all battered and bruised, that’s for sure.
They were just regrouping, trying to piece things together when a bunch of men in uniforms surrounded the three of them. When he got back into the states, he intended to sue the pricks for the rough treatment they’d received. The beefy coarse-faced men had smacked them around, wanting to see their wallets, asking about drugs.
They had neither, and didn’t understand much of what was being said.
Apparently, they’d shipwrecked in Cuba. Shit happens. Luckily, or so he thought, Cubans were friendly to Americans now and they would be safely and quickly escorted back to the Keys once they realized they weren’t drug dealers and this was all a misunderstanding.
Didn’t happen. They’d had no ID. No passports. A stolen boat and no right to be on Cuban soil. They would be deported once they paid a heavy fine. No problem. Except they didn’t have any money, just a few bills inside their pockets, and to make matters worse their phones were confiscated by the policia. They were intrigued by the smart phones, and baring ugly teeth had grinned with delight. Christmas came early for these men.
Michael and his buddies had been dragged yelling and kicking into an old van, and taken into town. He was thrown into his cell so hard he knocked his head on the brick wall. They’d pay for that too.
“We’re golfers. Famous!” Devon shouted. “On TV. We can pay you a lot to get out of here. Let us have the damn phone!”
“Golfers?” The guy who seemed to be in charge said, with a mocking grin. “You hit ball around and into hole. For that they pay you. Huh! I think you sell drugs too. Where are they? Did you toss them out of the boat?”
“No drugs,” Michael yelled. “How many frigging times do we have to tell you?”
“Look,” Jay said, sounding very pompous with his English accent. “We can give you all a hundred thousand American dollars. That’s a fortune. One hundred thousand each. If you give us a phone we can have it wired here, and then you let us go. Deal?”
“You wealthy Americans, no?” A fat bastard with his beer gut hanging over his cheap wrinkled pants came up to Jay’s cell. “A hundred thousand? Psst!” He spat on the floor. “A million is the price. A million for your freedom.”
Michael snarled, “You miserable bastard. You’re supposed to be police. Police don’t take bribes. Filthy commies, that’s what you are. A hundred thousand is all you get. Now get us a lawyer and a god-damn phone!”
The fellow walked toward him, unlocked the door and before Michael knew what was happening, the guy backhanded him and sent him reeling. He staggered to the corner, and the guy pulled down his fly, took his dick out and pissed all over him.
* * *
“How did your mom and dad take the news?” Anna asked Jeremy the next morning over breakfast. They were all hanging around Taylor’s Café.
“They weren’t too worried last night, but when I spoke to them this morning they were extremely concerned. They’re talking about hiring a local pilot and doing a private search.”
“It is odd that nothing has shown up. You’d think if the boat capsized there’d be floating debris. Something which would catch the Coast Guard’s eye. Makes me think that they’re holed up somewhere,” Kevin said, setting down his mug of coffee. “Must admit, I’m getting anxious too. They should have been found by now.”
Juanita refilled their cups. “Si, si. They probably are in Cuba. Big problem for them. Their wallets are still in the room. Passports too.”
“They could be in the Keys,” Jeremy suggested. “Lots of reefs around here. Heck they could be partying in Key West for all we know.”
“Probably getting laid too, no doubt,” Ashley said, patting Nadine’s hand. “Especially if the women recognized them. Hard not to, three good-looking men like that.”
Taylor dropped off their breakfast plates, and stood with her hands on her hips. “Come to think of it, Jeremy, you’re probably right. There are 800 hundred islands in the Florida Keys—lots of places where they might be stranded.”
“Holy shit,” Cameron said. “I didn’t know there were so many! I figured a dozen or so. They could be anywhere.” He settled back in his chair and looked at all the grim faces. “We don’t know what kind of shape they’re in, whether they’re shipwrecked, or just having a blast. I can’t decide how to feel.”
“Agreed,” Taylor said. “Colt and I were talking last night, and the Bahia Honda Key is quite remote. It’s a state park with over 500 acres and it’s never crowded. They might not have landed on the beach, but wrecked the boat somewhere else, and could be in the woods, in trouble.” She shrugged. “It’s a thought—he’s put the word out to his buddies.”
Nadine looked up from her plate of French toast. “I’m sure they’re in trouble. Otherwise they’d have called. How can their boat not be found?”
“They will be. Probably today,” Jeremy said to soothe her fears.
“But their faces have been all over the news. They can’t just disappear! Where are they?” Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. She pushed her uneaten breakfast away. “I might be angry with Michael, but that doesn’t stop me from caring about what happens to him.”
Her dad and Cameron exchanged looks. Her brother hooked an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Sure you do.”
Kevin nodded. “Of course you care. We might not like what he did, but we sure want to see them all found and in good health.” He picked up his fork and resumed eating. “Hurry up, and then maybe we can do a little search of some of these islands ourselves. Colt could maybe take some of you to the areas close by, and I’ll hire a local pilot to have a look too. They are out there somewhere, and we’ll find them, don’t you worry.”
Tired of sitting around doing nothing, the idea of actively participating in the search lifted their spirits. Over breakfast they enthusiastically made plans.
By noon, Colt had found other boat captains eager to engage in the search, and Kevin had hired two pilots, one to focus on the northern Keys as far as Miami, and the other for the southern Keys to Cuba.
Kevin accompanied Nick Holden who flew a twin Cessna to explore north of Islamorada, and Jeremy assisted Pete Wiggins on the southern route.
Anna and Carole made calls from their office to city officials and newspapers to offer a reward for any information that could lead to the golfers’ discovery.
By nightfall, the disheartened group returned empty-handed to the cottages and drowned their sorrows in margaritas and beers.
* * *
“You can have one call.” The big burly cop had given his captives time to digest their dire situation and discuss the cost of freedom. When they’d reached some kind of agreement he’d handed Michael the phone.
Michael yelled out to his buddies, “I’m calling Dan. He’ll get us out of this jam.” Dan Collins was his agent, and he’d be relieved to know that the three of them were safe and well.
“Thank God!” Jay added, “Make sure he calls our agents too. They must be worried as hell.”
“You bet. Boy, I can’t wait to see Dan’s face when he gets here. He’ll freak out at the way we’ve been treated. We should get some photos for Facebook and Twitter fans.”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Just get him here. Today.” Devon asked, “He’ll bail us all out, right?”
“I’ll tell him that, don’t worry.”
He placed the call and Dan picked up right away. “Shit man. We thought you were dead. Where the fuck are you?”
“In a shithole Cuban jail. Me, Jay and Devon. We’re all here. Don’t have our wallets, passports, nothing, man. They’ve been holding us hostage for the past thirty hours.”
“What do you mean hostage? They holding you illegally?”
“Not sure how illegal it is since we crashed a boat on their shore, but they withheld our rights. Treated us like shit. Thought we were peddling drugs, but none were found on the Sea Ray. Hell, it was just some guy’s day boat.” He swore vehemently, remembering being pissed on. “We need you to get your ass down here and bail the three of us out. Jay and Dev want you to call their agents too. The cops wouldn’t give us a phone until now, and we can only make this one call. Told them we’d pay a million bucks for our release. We’ll make good on that.” Split three ways he figured it was worth the price to get the hell out a.s.a.p.
“That’s a heavy fine. But getting your ass out of there alive is worth it. Shit, man. We were all worried.”
“Yeah. We were drunker than skunks and decided to take a cruiser out after the wedding fiasco. Ran it into a pile of rocks. Cuban rocks,” he laughed with relief. This was a story that would get more amusing with every telling. “Hey, can somebody tell me what shithole town we’re in?”
Two guards walked in, bringing the men dinner. It was a small bowl with rice, and chucks of grizzled meat that could have been goat for all he knew. “You expect us to eat that?”
One of the guards gave him a look, then turned the bowl upside down. “Starve for all we care.”
His agent interrupted. “Stay cool. Give me the name where you’re at, and I’ll get there first thing in the morning.”
“Now, man. You can fly in—get us out tonight. Fuck the morning. We’re not spending another night in this fricking cage.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect miracles. You were the assholes that got into this fix. Now you want me to jump through hoops to get your skinny asses out. Where are you dimwits?”
“Would someone tell me where we are?” Michael yelled to the guards.
“You’re in a holding cell, waiting for transfer to the Guanabo Metropolitan Detention center. Welcome to MDC, dickhead.”