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Authors: Randy Wayne White
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several ticks, probed an infected wound above the left leg . . . then discovered why the dog refused to release the snake.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I told Tomlinson.
The man was concentrating on his shoelaces. “Hah! I’m the fool who believes everything , remember?”
Constrictors aren’t poisonous, but their jaws are lined with recurved teeth that angle inward toward the throat. The teeth provide a secure loading system for muscles that convey food to the stomach. Once a boa, python, or an anaconda latches onto its prey, the only escape is to forfeit a chunk of flesh or to kill the snake. The retriever had killed this snake, but the head and fangs were still anchored deep in the baggy fur around his neck, the snake’s upper and lower jaws spread wide. Dragging six feet of boa would have been painful, so the dog was carrying the thing in its mouth. Smart.
“Get over here. You need to keep him calm while I do this. Once you see, you’ll understand.” I had the first-aid bag open, laying out gauze, disinfectant, tweezers, and salve.
“One more shoe. If the bastards come back, I want to be ready.”
I stood to grab a bite of clean air. “You sold drugs too many years, that’s your problem. Guilt isn’t as easy to quit, is it?” Several seconds went by. I looked at him and said, “You did stop selling marijuana . . . right? That’s what you told me six months ago.”
“And it was true—six months ago,” Tomlinson said, getting to his feet, then he looked toward the horizon. “Life is a fluid, not a solid. I probably should have told you and Danny, but it’s something I can’t admit to the cops. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Admit what?”
Tomlinson cleared his throat. “Well . . . two weeks ago, I found out I’ve seriously pissed off a Caribbean importer.”
“I knew it, here we go,” I muttered.
“I wasn’t looking for trouble! How was I to know I was undercutting his prices? We’re only talking a dozen veinte baggies to a few trusted clients. But this particular dealer is very territorial. Turns out we have a customer or two in common.”
“A Colombian,” I said.
“Haitian,” he replied. “A voodoo sacerdotal with zero tolerance when it comes to competitors. Even boutique operators like me, connoisseurs with big hearts and low prices. When a Haitian turns capitalist, trust me, the gloves come off.”
I wasn’t going to ask what sacerdotal meant. It would only encourage more esoteric gibberish.
Tomlinson provided it anyway, adding, “His name’s Kondo Ogbay, which is Swahili—you don’t even want to know what it means. The night you left for Tampa, one of Kondo’s people put an assault fetish on my dinghy. Blue stone and turpentine on a bundle of dried grass, which is obvious enough—the man’s a damn witch doctor. That’s sort of why I almost got electrocuted in your—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I said. “No more talk until we get the dog fixed up.”
I waited while Tomlinson, making soothing sounds, got down on his knees on the opposite side of the retriever. His confession hadn’t convinced me, and I wanted time to think it through. The gunshots from the Cessna were imaginary. Had to be—how would anyone have known we were out here in the first place? And my friend had missed the significance of the wire used to sabotage Futch’s plane. Tarpon guides in Boca Grande have used Malin’s leader for a century. As do other discerning anglers, including the so-called jig fishermen—but only when not fishing for tarpon.
There was something else Tomlinson didn’t know. I hadn’t gone to Tampa, as I’d told my marina neighbors. I had spent three days in a Central American city where I had added a new enemy to my list. Not just one man. It was an emerging terrorist cell founded by a Muslim cleric.
The cleric had recently disappeared. The bandage on my forearm covered the last evidence of the man’s final moments—a
“You’re not going to believe this,” I told Tomlinson.
The man was concentrating on his shoelaces. “Hah! I’m the fool who believes everything , remember?”
Constrictors aren’t poisonous, but their jaws are lined with recurved teeth that angle inward toward the throat. The teeth provide a secure loading system for muscles that convey food to the stomach. Once a boa, python, or an anaconda latches onto its prey, the only escape is to forfeit a chunk of flesh or to kill the snake. The retriever had killed this snake, but the head and fangs were still anchored deep in the baggy fur around his neck, the snake’s upper and lower jaws spread wide. Dragging six feet of boa would have been painful, so the dog was carrying the thing in its mouth. Smart.
“Get over here. You need to keep him calm while I do this. Once you see, you’ll understand.” I had the first-aid bag open, laying out gauze, disinfectant, tweezers, and salve.
“One more shoe. If the bastards come back, I want to be ready.”
I stood to grab a bite of clean air. “You sold drugs too many years, that’s your problem. Guilt isn’t as easy to quit, is it?” Several seconds went by. I looked at him and said, “You did stop selling marijuana . . . right? That’s what you told me six months ago.”
“And it was true—six months ago,” Tomlinson said, getting to his feet, then he looked toward the horizon. “Life is a fluid, not a solid. I probably should have told you and Danny, but it’s something I can’t admit to the cops. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Admit what?”
Tomlinson cleared his throat. “Well . . . two weeks ago, I found out I’ve seriously pissed off a Caribbean importer.”
“I knew it, here we go,” I muttered.
“I wasn’t looking for trouble! How was I to know I was undercutting his prices? We’re only talking a dozen veinte baggies to a few trusted clients. But this particular dealer is very territorial. Turns out we have a customer or two in common.”
“A Colombian,” I said.
“Haitian,” he replied. “A voodoo sacerdotal with zero tolerance when it comes to competitors. Even boutique operators like me, connoisseurs with big hearts and low prices. When a Haitian turns capitalist, trust me, the gloves come off.”
I wasn’t going to ask what sacerdotal meant. It would only encourage more esoteric gibberish.
Tomlinson provided it anyway, adding, “His name’s Kondo Ogbay, which is Swahili—you don’t even want to know what it means. The night you left for Tampa, one of Kondo’s people put an assault fetish on my dinghy. Blue stone and turpentine on a bundle of dried grass, which is obvious enough—the man’s a damn witch doctor. That’s sort of why I almost got electrocuted in your—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I said. “No more talk until we get the dog fixed up.”
I waited while Tomlinson, making soothing sounds, got down on his knees on the opposite side of the retriever. His confession hadn’t convinced me, and I wanted time to think it through. The gunshots from the Cessna were imaginary. Had to be—how would anyone have known we were out here in the first place? And my friend had missed the significance of the wire used to sabotage Futch’s plane. Tarpon guides in Boca Grande have used Malin’s leader for a century. As do other discerning anglers, including the so-called jig fishermen—but only when not fishing for tarpon.
There was something else Tomlinson didn’t know. I hadn’t gone to Tampa, as I’d told my marina neighbors. I had spent three days in a Central American city where I had added a new enemy to my list. Not just one man. It was an emerging terrorist cell founded by a Muslim cleric.
The cleric had recently disappeared. The bandage on my forearm covered the last evidence of the man’s final moments—a
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