Caribbean's Keeper (6 page)

Twenty minutes after rounding the reef, Kevin approached Cole on the aft deck and the two stood facing out over the water.

Kevin said, “If this is something you wanna do, you’ve got the job. I was just impressed you were here early this morning.”

Cole replied, “Yeah, man. I think this is good for me.”

“Cool.” Kevin didn’t say much after that. The two stood side by side, their arms against the railing and their shirts blowing in the breeze. The sun was warm and the breeze was stiff as the
Yankee Freedom
dug through a groundswell and pointed towards the Dry Tortugas.

Two hours later, Kevin and Cole made their way to the bridge as Fort Jefferson came into view. The cat slowed as she neared the island, and Cole was struck by its secluded charm. Dating back to the middle of the 18
^th
century, the fort served as an outpost against piracy and commanded control of the straits. It was monstrous and a sight to behold. Her massive brick walls pressed up against the shallow waters of a larger lagoon. During the Civil War, it had housed hundreds of army deserters. Cole knew the history of the fort and smiled to himself in appreciation of the mindset of a deserter. He felt like one himself in some ways and imagined what life must have been like for a prisoner on such a remote stretch of islands.

As the cat approached the dock, Cole hopped over first and tied her off to several rusting cleats on a weathered wooden dock. Helping passengers off, he smiled and directed them towards the beach. Some brought snorkels and masks, others walked through the abandoned fort or took guided tours with the park rangers. Others were already drunk from the ride over and flopped themselves down on the sandy beach, happy to be on terra firma. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

Cole had a few hours to burn before the cat would head back towards Key West. He walked the quiet side of the island by himself and stopped at an open field littered with half-a-dozen homemade rafts. They were leftovers from Cuban migrants hoping to make landfall in the United States. To buck the Gulf Stream and end up west of Key West was quite a feat. Most had a crude engine, many from an old lawnmower or other small power equipment. The rafts were made of wood, plastic, Styrofoam, and even worn tractor tires. Each showed unappreciated craftsmanship. The vessels had been born out of the desire to escape communist poverty at any cost, and Cole admired the clever way the migrants had fashioned them. Cole walked past each of them, baking under the sun, awed by the fierce determination required to cast off from Cuba in the middle of the night, pointing straight at the northern darkness. All odds were against a successful landing. All too often, they were swept up by the Gulf Stream and never heard from again. Cole knew from first-hand experience that dehydration drove many insane and they simply rolled off their rafts to the circling sharks rather than face another hour of agony at sea. Some would fight among themselves and many would simply let death take them by the hand.

He’d picked hundreds off of rafts just like these. Some had fought Cole, the fire still burning in their cores to reach American shores. Most though were too weak to resist and many more were glad to be rescued at sea. Their impending return to Cuba was never a good thought, but those who still cherished life knew that beatings and prison sentences at the hands of Cuban authorities were better than a slow and painful death at sea.

Kevin walked up as Cole stood silent next to the sturdiest of the rafts.

“Gotta wonder what they’re thinking to try something like this.” Kevin obviously shared Cole’s respect.

“I’ve interdicted hundreds of these and I’m always amazed at their effort,” Cole responded, grabbing the rail of a raft with both his hands as if to give it a once-over before taking it out for a spin.

“No one knows what to do with the rafts that end up here, so the park rangers just drag them up into the grass and they sit here for years,” said Kevin, who walked around to the other side of the raft and peaked underneath at the hull.

Cole asked, “You ever see these on the trips between Key West and here?”

Kevin replied, “Nah, I always figured you guys picked ʼem up before they made it this far north.”

Cole laughed a bit out loud and answered back, “You’d be surprised, man. Most never make it in these things. We’d catch maybe half of them. A quarter might make it and the rest end up cooking under the sun. The ones that make it have enough money to pay a smuggler to pick them up in something fast.”

Kevin looked Cole in the eyes and replied, “You don’t say.” He grinned just a bit as he said it.

They walked back to the dock together. There was nothing more to say about the rafts. Just as he had as a boarding officer, Cole felt an immense respect for any human who would set off with his family in search of something better. Always focused on the law enforcement mission before, Cole allowed himself to look subjectively at the choice so many Cubans made to flee their homeland. The rafts pulled up on the beach of Fort Jefferson were just a fraction of a much larger and endemic problem. It seemed appropriate that Fort Jefferson, a last bastion for America’s borders, still stood a silent watch over a smuggler’s paradise.

Chapter 3 – Cuba Libre

A WEEK PASSED and still Cole heard nothing from the applications he’d put in. He checked out of the hotel after the first week and, with Kevin’s invitation, Cole moved in with him. In exchange for stocking food and booze in the fridge, Kevin gave Cole a couch in the corner of his apartment just a few blocks from downtown Key West on a quiet side street. The old palm trees gave plenty of shade throughout the day and helped to mask the insanity only a few hundred yards away. Kevin’s apartment was cut out of what had been a larger house, and the rooms still held much of the grandeur of its former existence. There was one main living room with dark and worn hardwood floors, where Cole’s couch sat in a corner under a large window. There was always sand on the floor, and it stuck to Cole’s feet when he walked barefoot. Off of the living room there was a bathroom, a small kitchen, and Kevin’s room. The two struck up a good friendship and Cole embraced a simple routine well-balanced between work and pleasure.

After a second week passed, Cole stopped by the Key West police office to check on his application on one of his days off. After a few minutes, the same officer with whom Cole had met the first time came out and escorted Cole back to his office. Offering Cole a seat, the officer sat behind his desk and took a long breath before explaining, “Cole, I heard back from your command on
Delaney.
Frankly, they didn’t have many good things to say and I don’t think we can offer you a job without some better recommendations.”

Cole felt his mouth go dry. He couldn’t think of a thing to say in response.

The officer continued, “I’m really sorry, Cole. You do seem like a good guy, but my hands are tied on this one.”

Cole nodded and thanked the officer for his time. With that, he left the office and walked back towards Kevin’s. Cole tried his best not to let it rattle him, but he knew that Potts was not going to ever give him a good recommendation for anything. It was no surprise then that Cole hadn’t heard back from the Fish and Wildlife office either, as Cole had listed Potts’ contact info. The magnitude of Cole’s situation sunk in as he walked back up the steps at Kevin’s apartment. His only employment to speak of was
Delaney,
and while he had a degree from the Coast Guard Academy, he had no good work experience that would get him in the door with anything related to law enforcement. Cole took a beer from the fridge and nursed it on the small porch outside of Kevin’s apartment. He thought for a second to just pack up his things and leave the Keys, but the thought of some office job and a suit bored him. Cole took a long sip from his beer and realized that he was now truly on his own. Still, he refused to give up.

For the next two weeks, almost every morning Cole was up and out of the door just after five for a jog down to the beach and back. He’d finish up with push-ups on the front porch and take a quick shower before heading out the door to the
Yankee Freedom
. He basked in his newfound existence as a free spirit, but he was always on time for work, unable to shake the military punctuality of his former life. If the night before had gone too late, Cole slept under a palm tree at Fort Jefferson for an hour or two in the middle of the day while the tourists played on the island. If he wasn’t tired, he’d lounge around the upper deck of the
Yankee Freedom
and make small talk with the crew.

Almost every night centered around pretty girls Kevin and Cole would pick up from the
Yankee Freedom
. They’d come from all over the country to Key West, and Cole played up his quasi-local status to the best of his abilities. Together, Cole and Kevin tried as hard as they could to treat each night as if it were the greatest of their lives, mirroring the mood of the young women so often in their company. They lived like kings. Cole grew his hair down past his ears and it turned a muddied blond from the sun. He shaved once a week or so, almost always sporting something between stubble and a beard, and he never shaved on Mondays, as it was his unique way to distinguish himself from the laboring masses. Cole was fit and tanned from days under the tropical sun. After more than a month, Cole had forgotten about his problems with Potts and his failed attempts to get back in with law enforcement. He accepted the fact that he’d inadvertently burned that bridge and found in himself a renewed vigor for life.

He worked five days a week, normally matching Kevin’s schedule, but occasionally he found himself with a day off and nothing to do. Kevin’s apartment was semi-furnished and the owner had left an entire wall of books on heavy ornate wooden shelves in the living room. On those days when Cole was alone, he grabbed one of the novels and made his way to the Schooner Wharf just before noon. Nursing something laced with rum, he’d read for hours, stopping occasionally for conversations with passers-by. He read Hemingway’s
The Old Man and the Sea
in one sitting, thinking only of the horrible taste of fish oil and wondering for some time if there were still men in Cuba so hardened as the old man.

As the summer pressed on, Cole migrated further and further from Duval Street. Kevin had a 23-foot Mako center console. It was older than either Kevin or Cole and still sported its original inboard diesel engine. Aptly named
Aquaholic,
she never reached a full plane, but Cole loved the reliable hum and smell of the old diesel engine’s exhaust. The fiberglass deck beneath his bare feet would rattle as Kevin pushed up the throttles and the old boat felt sturdier than the newer and fancier center-consoles that jetted around the Keys. The
Aquaholic
had character and charm, fitting in perfectly with the Keys. Oftentimes they’d get off work as the sunset neared and take the days’ catch of ladies for a cruise around the Keys at night. Kevin kept his boat at a dock in Garrison Bight, and each night they’d pass the Coast Guard base coming west out of Fleming Key Cut. Cole found himself a bit quiet as the cutters came into view. Months had passed, but still Cole wondered if he would ever be able to forget his past. However, the giggles and smiles of their female company never let Cole dwell too long on it.

g

Kevin would, on occasion, disappear for a day or two. Cole never thought much of it nor did he care, until curiosity finally got the best of him. They were both working on the
Yankee Freedom
one afternoon late in the summer when Cole noticed Kevin wearing a Rolex watch.

“What’s up with the watch man?”

Kevin shrugged it off and the two stared each other down in a light-hearted manner.

“Seriously man, I’ve never seen that before.” For reasons even he wasn’t sure about Cole found himself unable to drop the subject.

“You want one?” Kevin was playing mind games and the two continued coiling lines as the
Yankee Freedom
approached Fort Jefferson.

“Maybe I do,” Cole said as he dropped a coiled line to the deck, smiled, and pushed the issue, but Kevin went quiet.

They tied up at Fort Jefferson, put on their friendly faces, and helped the pile of tourists off the boat and onto the island for their day of leisure. Kevin and Cole cleaned up the loose ends and made their way into the shade of a patch of palm trees.

Kevin offered up a veiled explanation.

“Listen man, I do some work on the side, the kind of shit you might not like.”

Cole looked him straight in the eyes and asked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin, for the first time since Cole had met him, looked a bit uneasy. “I know you had a rough time in the Coast Guard, but I don’t really know where you stand with all this migrant shit we’ve talked about.”

Cole’s mind raced as he put the pieces together. Kevin, for as long as he’d known him, took off for a day or two every few weeks and Cole never asked questions. But now Kevin was offering up something mischievous that Cole had never caught onto.

“What are you into man?” Cole smiled to relieve Kevin’s clearly mixed conscience.

“No one gets hurt. I just help some people out,” said Kevin, clearly on the defensive.

Cole fired back, “I’ve got no allegiance to anything, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Kevin relaxed a bit and explained, “I drive a boat sometimes, any boat really, down to Cuba and back.”

He was finally at ease, as if in a casual conversation, like any of the other hundred conversations they’d had together. “There’s a ton of shit going on down here, and I get into it every now and then. It pays like crazy. I pick up a boat somewhere, run due south with the throttles down, pull up to some spot, load up some people, and drive them back up north. It’s as simple as that.”

Cole smiled, partly because he couldn’t believe it was going on this whole time, and partly to relieve Kevin’s anxiety over the conversation. “I could teach you a thing or two about driving a boat.”

Kevin laughed, “Bullshit you could.”

Cole, with a straight face, asked, “Can I go with you next time?”