Randy White - Tampa Burn

“Then there’re the kidnappers. They know you’re here, which means that everyone associated with them knows. What’s to stop one or more of them from trying to intercept you? Cut you out and steal the money for themselves? That’s what makes you a target. Day or night, from the moment you pick up the briefcase at the consul, you’re a target. It puts you right in the middle.”

I puzzled over something for a few seconds before it came to me. “American Indians used to form two lines and make prisoners run between them; hit them with sticks and clubs and stuff- gauntlet, that’s the word. Running the gauntlet. With that much cash involved, you could be attacked from either side at any time. So I’m going with you to Miami.”

Tomlinson said, “Doc’s right. You can count me in, too.”

“When you write back, there’s something else you should add,” I told her. “Lake’s next message needs to contain something personal. That only you or I would know. Something that tells us the e-mails are really from him.”

My meaning had implications so dark that she didn’t comment. Just nodded.

NOW we were on the bottom deck of my house, Pilar standing, watching Tomlinson and me preparing to return the sedated tarpon from its holding tank into the bay. The fish had been in the tank for nearly an hour. Gill coloring and opercula rate were both fine. So far, this first step in what would be a long and complicated series of procedures had gone well.

Like everything else in my life lately, my luck had been good.

Until now.

I am forever and alternately amused then pissed off at how blindly I stumble through life. How is it that I keep forgetting one of the most powerful laws of physics? It is the law of “momentum conservation.” The law states that momentum lost by any collision or impact is equal to the opposite momentum gained.

The law applies to our own day-to-day lives because, during good times or bad, we need to remind ourselves that just when it seems life can’t get any better-or worse-things inevitably change.

And my life had been going very, very well. Lucky in life. Lucky in health. Lucky in love.

I’d been running, swimming, and lifting weights daily with Dewey, who was not just my lover but my all-time favorite, kick-butt workout buddy. With her drill sergeant goading, I’d started eating better, watching my diet.

Something else: A while back, I’d given up alcohol. Had to. I’d gotten into the dangerous habit of drinking myself to sleep every night. So I quit. I piled all the bottles of booze into a box, marched them down to the dock, and left them buried in the marina ice machine for some thirsty soul to discover.

Many months later, when I mentioned to Dewey that I missed having a beer or two at sunset with the rest of the marina family, she offered a suggestion that was as appealing as it was simple. She said, “Do you remember when we first met? Weeknights, you never let yourself drink more than three beers. Ever. Weekends, you’d cut it a little looser, but you never broke your weekday rule. Even for parties. Why not go back and do that?”

Which is exactly what I did. No more than three drinks a night. Ever.

So I was in the best shape I’d been in the last ten years or so. I was enjoying the slow and lazy existence that is life at a small marina on the west coast of Florida. I had tropical blue mornings, glassy slick days on the bay, and Gulf Stream sun-sets with cold beer in hand.

For work, I was involved with this new research project. I had a chance to play a role in being among the first scientists to devise a way to strip tarpon of fresh sperm, called milt, use it to fertilize eggs in captivity, and then raise the hatchlings until they were mature enough to release.

Life had never been better. Which is why I should have known my luck was due to change. But why did the Fates have to choose my son? The world always seems at its cruelest when it selects a child as an instrument of misfortune.

Holding the tarpon’s lower jaw, my right arm cradling its belly, I lifted the fish from the tank, then carried him along the boardwalk, taking quick, short steps because of his weight and slickness. His tail made a heavy, drug-dulled fanning thud against my inner bicep.

Once on the mangrove bank, I waded into waist-deep water, immersing the fish, walking him, forcing clean bay water through his gills. It would be a while before he recovered and I could release him.

Tomlinson was beside me, still shirtless, bony ribs showing, baggy Gandhi shorts dragging in the water. He said, “I’m sorry, Doc. What a soul downer. Because of my ex-love, the Nipponese mummy-her and her beef jerky heart-I can’t see my daughter. The girl’s been poisoned against me. But the thought of someone snatching Nichola makes me want to cry. I could, too. Right now. Bawl like a baby. I know how you must feel.”

I said, “Something like this happens, it’s like a light goes on. Why the hell didn’t I spend more time with him? Why not get off my dead ass, grab a plane, and make the occasional visit? I’m the one who should have taught him how to fish, play ball. That sort of thing. Instead, we just traded e-mails. Now look what’s happened.”

“Don’t do that, man. Don’t do the punishment gig. Besides, we both know why you couldn’t go visit. It’s because of her. ”

Tomlinson swung his head toward my stilt house. “It’s because of the woman, Pilar. You think you’re still in love with her, man.”

I said, “It’s that obvious?”

“Oh yeah. You look at her like she’s a combination religious shrine and delicious morsel. Every time you’da went to Masagua to visit, it woulda been like having your heart winched out through the bunghole. No way, man. That’s why you didn’t go. You couldn’t go.”

After a moment, he added, “In my opinion, it was for the best.”

Looking at the fish, but concentrating on something else, I said, “T.M.? You’ve got good instincts. Probably the best of any person I’ve ever met. The way Pilar reacted to me… well, what’s your impression?”

He said, “She’s not an easy one to read, man. A monster grabs her child, and she can still keep the emotional shields in place. How many women would be as calm as her under these circumstances? But, yeah, I definitely tuned right in on the vibes about you-weird that she’d let them show when she’s so good at the stoicism bit. You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“That’s O.K. Tell me the truth.”

“For starters, she was more than chilly, compadre. She was distant, with a little touch of distaste thrown in. That was my strong impression. It may have seemed like she loved you once, but not now. She doesn’t even appear to like you much-which doesn’t mesh with the relationship you apparently once had. Did you ever notice her behaving oddly before?” His question seemed to have broader implications.

“No, not really. What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing… Did you do something to offend her? Piss her off?”

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it and thought about it. A few years back, we spent a couple of great weeks together down in Panama. It was like we’d never been apart. Then, nearly two years or so ago, she began to cool. Finally, she dropped right off the radar screen. The only time she contacts me is with a card at Christmas, a photo of Lake enclosed. Not even a note from her. And when I telephone, she’s never in.”

“Did you ever ask your son about it?”

The tarpon’s tail was beginning to flag more strongly now. “No. I wouldn’t impose on a child with a question like that. You wouldn’t either.”

“Then my advice, Doc? After you release the fish, take her aside and ask her. Get it out on the table. What you’ve got to deal with now is too important to have any problems communicating. Which is why I’m going to leave you two alone.”