Bobby Akart - Desolation

“We won’t be able to open them from the outside,” opined one of the men. “I doubt we can even pry them open.”

Wallace scowled at the man for interrupting him. “There’s another way. You might remember that they were doing some construction work at the school. In the utility yard where the roll-up doors are located, there is a Cat backhoe parked near the roof overhang. We need someone to climb up the backhoe boom, jump onto the roof, and break through the windows into the building. Once inside, you should be able to manually roll up the steel doors from inside.”

He studied the faces of the group, hoping for a volunteer. Wallace couldn’t do it himself because he had bad knees.

“I’ve done it before,” said a young man as he raised his hand. “I mean, I was a teenager foolin’ around, but I did it.”

“That makes you an expert in my book,” said Wallace with a smile. Then he laid out the rest of the plan. “There’s a long concrete wall dividing the loading dock from Sombrero Beach Road. We can hide our trucks behind there while we load up. We can even make several trips if need be.”

One of the women spoke up. “I think it’s a good idea. As soon as it’s dark, let’s do it.”

Wallace took a deep breath. “I want to do it right now, in the daytime, and here’s why. Headlights at night draw attention. Plus, if we are noticed, we can’t see anyone sneaking up on us. During the day, with our weapons, we can warn off anyone who tries to interfere. We can’t be surprised.”

“That’s true,” said one of the group. “Let them see us. It’s not like they can call the cops. Right?”

“Some people have two-way radios,” interjected another.

“Man, they’re not gonna rat us out. They’ll probably just hang around ’til we leave, hoping for a few crumbs.”

Wallace liked the fact the group seemed to be in near unanimity with his approach. “Listen, there’s no time like the present. Let’s get our trucks together and check our fuel levels. I know it’s only a couple of miles, but I don’t want any hiccups. Also, bring your weapons and flashlights. We’ll leave from here in an hour.”

Tuesday, November 12

Morton Street

Grassy Key

Marathon

The Morton family compound jutted into the Gulf from Grassy Key on the eastern side of Marathon. Several properties had been held by the family on Morton Street since Marathon was developed in the early 1900s. The Mediterranean-inspired homes were set in lush, mature tropical vegetation. Each of the three homes had its own jetty projecting out into the water to create a safe space for their boats to dock.

When they arrived, they were surprised to see Commissioner Bud Marino and the other two district commissioners referenced in their conversation at the hospital the other day. They stood on the terrazzo-covered entry leading inside Cheryl Morton’s home. The elderly woman stood just inside the doorway and was greeting the commissioners as Hank brought the car to a stop on the driveway.

Marino broke away from the group to hustle to Hank’s truck. He opened the door for Erin and spoke to both of them as Hank came around the front bumper.

“I know you’re surprised to see me here,” he began. He glanced over his shoulder to determine whether they were being observed by their hostess. She’d escorted the other two commissioners inside and left the front door slightly ajar.

“Those two, also,” said Hank. “Is this an ambush?”

Marino laughed. “No, of course not. Unless you get caught up in friendly fire. Listen, Hank. This may be presumptuous of me, but I felt compelled to move this thing along a little bit. I have news for you both, if you don’t mind waiting until we get inside.”

Erin and Hank looked at one another. They shrugged, and Hank said, “Lead the way.”

Minutes later, everyone had exchanged pleasantries and got comfortable in Mrs. Morton’s spacious living room, which overlooked her private beach. Hank was impressed.

“Let me bring Erin and Hank up to speed,” began Marino. “Late yesterday afternoon, Sheriff Daly pulled virtually all of the sheriff’s deputies assigned to Islamorada and Key Largo. They, along with several firefighters from our largest fire station, were ordered to report to Key West. The wife of one of the firefighters, who is a paramedic, rode with her husband from Islamorada. She returned just after midnight and pounded on my door, waking me up.

“This morning, Lindsey has Jock sending teams into food warehouses and grocery stores throughout Key West with the intention of emptying them all. Now, as we all know, this was not altogether unexpected. That said, I didn’t expect them to act so quickly after the hurricane.”

One of the other two commissioners spoke up. “Down our way, we’ve still got people wandering the streets whose homes were destroyed. I would’ve thought Lindsey would have more compassion than that.”

“She’s a vile woman,” said Mrs. Morton. “She never should’ve been put into office in the first place. We’re stuck with her, for now.”

“I presume you know that’s why we’re here,” said Erin.

“Yes. Before I begin, just so you know, I didn’t vote for your boss either.”

Erin laughed. “Understood. Half of America didn’t. It’s a funny thing about elections. Those who are placed into the highest positions of power automatically assume they have some kind of mandate from the people to implement their policies. They lose sight of the fact that half of the voters cast their ballot for the other guy.”

“I’ll try to bite my tongue when it comes to Carter Helton out of respect,” said Mrs. Morton.

Erin studied the matriarch of the Morton family, who’d been a fixture in the Keys for more than a century. She seemed like a take-no-prisoners adversary, which was exactly whom Hank needed in his corner to remove Lindsey from office.

“I’m glad we see eye to eye on this mayor,” said Erin. “Is there anything in the county’s governing documents that allows for her to be removed from office?”

“Not at the county level, no,” replied Mrs. Morton. “Florida laws governing recall must have been elected to a governing body of a municipality or a chartered county. There are twenty chartered counties in Florida; however, Monroe County isn’t one of them.

“She is subject to recall under state law if she’s served at least a quarter of her term in office, which she has. The next criteria relates to the grounds for the recall. They include, among other things, malfeasance, some permanent disability, conviction of a felony, drunkenness, and the two catchalls—neglect of duty and incompetence.”

“I believe we could make a case for two or three of those,” added Marino as he made eye contact with each of the attendees.

Hank leaned forward from the sofa he shared with Erin. “Suppose we make this argument to the residents of the Keys, then what?”

Mrs. Morton grimaced. “It’s a time-consuming process that certainly works against what you intend to do. You’ve got thirty days to gather the requisite signatures. Then the county clerk has a right to confirm them before turning the petition over to the supervisor of elections. Lindsey has the right to issue a statement of defense, followed by a formal recall petition and so on, including a special election. It’s meant to require a somewhat lengthy period of time to prevent political lynchings and rash decisions.”

Erin took a deep breath and sighed. “Is it possible to obtain a court order to force her to step down due to one of the criteria you listed? Perhaps the mayor pro tem, albeit an ally of the mayor’s, would be a little less zealous or heavy-handed.”