Florida Blues / part 5

                                                      

 

                                                                       

                      Florida Blues / part 5

(conclusion)

   Hanging out with the crazy disco duck and his funky friends was a welcome respite indeed for Roy but when he had reached the point when another beer would have put him in the danger zone of his limited cash reserve, he made his exit quietly without a word to anyone and walked out of the club to Leon’s wheels. Luckily, the car door was unlocked. He shoved some of the clutter off of the back seat and lay down. During the brief moments before drifting off into dreamland, he weighed the options for how best to get home, but concluded that he didn’t really have any viable options to begin with.

   A couple of hours later, Leon stumbled back to his car, fell onto the front seat and was out for the count. The first to awaken some hours later was Roy, only because he was the first one to notice a sharp tapping noise on the window. He blinked and rubbed his eyes and stared at the automobile’s ceiling. Then he heard it again. He sat up and that’s when he saw the police officer tapping the windshield with his billy club. He reached over the front seat and nudged Leon. “Hey, wake up.”

   “ What…? What is it, man?” answered Leon groggily, with half closed eyes.

   “There are cops all around us.”

   Leon sprang up like a jack in the box. “What the hell is going on, man?” he almost yelled.

   One of the police motioned to them to get out of the car. Surrounding them were several patrol cars and half a dozen cops. The sun was just coming up and the air was slightly cool. A pea soup fog was moving across the huge parking lot, making visibility beyond a radius of fifty feet impossible.

 

 “You guys  got any I.D.?” asked the officer holding the billyclub.

   Roy and Leon handed their drivers’ licenses to him.

   “I suppose you don’t know that you are trespassing?”

   “No officer,” replied Leon. “That is… we didn’t know.”

   “Uh huh”, replied the cop.

   The fact that Leon was a local resident was definitely to their advantage. Several minutes later, the officer returned the licenses and told them to hit the road. Leon was very anxious to put as much distance between them and the cops as quickly as was possible, but the dense fog and the after effects from the previous day’s consumption of alcohol prevented him from doing so. After making a wrong turn or two, he found the exit to the main road and breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew! It’s a good thing those cops didn’t look in the glove box. That 45-caliber’s in there and it ain’t registered.”

   Roy shook his head in disbelief and wondered how he had survived thus far. In actuality, he knew that he should have parted company when they were in Key West, but that would’ve only created other complications to his way of thinking. At any rate, he was still a long way from home and with virtually no money. He looked at Leon and said, “I need to get a road map. Could you stop someplace where I can buy one?”

   “No problem,” replied Leon.

   After Roy had bought the map, Leon then drove to the on ramp of the expressway that went through Miami. Roy was understandably anxious, now that he was actually confronted with the glaring reality of the tiring journey ahead of him, but he had no other choice. He had been given the proverbial lemon. Somehow, he would just have to make that proverbial lemonade. After studying the map for a minute or two, Roy refolded it and stashed it away. “Well, this has been the most enjoyable vacation I’ve had in a long time,” said Roy, ironically.

   Leon smiled wryly and said, “I’ll bet.”

   Roy nodded toward the expressway and said with mock seriousness, “The next part of this journey should prove to be just as interesting.” Leon clapped his hand against the dashboard and they both laughed heartily.

 “Just go with the flow, bro and never say die.” said Leon.

   “Leon my man, that…was a most interesting road trip, sure enough.” They laughed some more, and then Roy got out of the car and the soul brother drove away. Suddenly the troubling uncertainty of what Roy now faced was weighing heavily on his mind as he walked dejectedly to the on-ramp with his thumb held out. Three rides later, he arrived at the turnpike between Miami and Ft. Lauderdale. He stood at the entrance of the turnpike with his sketchbook, on which he had painted, in bright green, a smiley face shamrock smoking a clay pipe and the words, TAKE A BREAK. LET ME DRIVE. It was St. Patty’s Day, and though he didn’t have any Irish ancestors that he knew of, he was hoping that the luck of the really lucky Irish would be with him.

   For way too long, he stood in the broiling sun as a multitude of cars passed by. Sweat dripped non stop off  his brow and into eyes with stinging persistence. The heat had just about withered him. He was dizzy and dehydrated when a couple of jet setters on their way to the Rockies to ski pulled over in a late model 4-wheel drive vehicle. Thirty minutes later, Roy was driving while John and Jane Jet-Setter played backgammon and fooled around in the semi-private rear section of the car. Roy hadn’t eaten in almost two days except for just a bag of potato chips and an orange. His stomach was making so much noise that the jet setters must have noticed.  Eventually, they told Roy to pull into the next rest area because it was time for lunch. Roy wondered what kind of lunch they had packed for the trip. But more importantly, he wondered if there was enough for a third person.

“We’re grilling hamburgers”, said one of the jet setters. “There should be an outdoor grill at the rest stop.”

 They found an ideal spot nicely shaded with a view of flowering orange trees in a grove. John and Jane marveled at Roy’s bottomless pit of a stomach. Roy gobbled down almost three times the amount of food that the jet setters ate.

 “You sure do have an appetite. When did you last eat?” said Jane.

 “I don’t exactly remember,” Roy said as he continued to ravenously devour hamburgers, beans, and potato salad.   Afterwards, Roy felt like taking a nap, but the jet setters were ready to hit the road again. John took over the driving and Roy stretched out in the back of the car and fell asleep. Relatively speaking, traveling with John and Jane lacked suspense, which was just fine as far as Roy was concerned. He’d had more than enough surprises, and then some, to last for quite awhile. Luckily for him, their route to Colorado would include driving through Pascagoula, Mississippi. Roy had relatives living in Pascagoula, so that’s where they dropped him off.  He stayed there for a few days, safe at home, so to speak, among those that he knew, though only because on one or two occasions he had met them when families got together for weddings or funerals. Most of his relatives who lived there were considerably older.

   When it came time to leave, one of the relatives took him to the bus station, gave him a fifty spot and of course the obligatory words to the wise farewell speech which, in so many words, was that he should phone well ahead in advance to let others know what his plan was the next time he wanted to visit.

   Upon his arrival home late on a Sunday, he found out that his mother, who had also been on vacation elsewhere (which explained why he had no recourse), had called the police who then put out an all points bulletin alert that very same day when he arrived home. To her credit though, she remained calm which was unusual considering how much she generally worried about things. In spite of the sunburn, the weight loss, and the frazzled nerves he was none the worse for wear.

    As it turned out, the desk clerk at the Gulf Breeze Inn had committed an unfortunate error (to say the least). His father had apparently been at the hotel the whole time. When Mr. Baldwin checked with the desk clerk to see if Roy had arrived, the woman explained that since she couldn’t read Mr. Baldwin’s handwriting, naturally, she assumed that he wasn’t staying there. Roy was astounded at the incredulity of such a chance occurence.

   “Well, how do you like that,” he said as he grinned. “Still, it’ll be a helluva story to tell my grandchildren some day, and if I don’t have grandchildren to tell the story to, I can always tell someone somewhere about the time I went to Key West for some fun in the sun, but had a hair raising trip to the twilight zone, instead.”






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Florida Blues / part 4

  

Florida Blues / part 4

  Roy found the hotel where his father said they would be staying. He walked into the lobby and paused to catch his breath under a ceiling fan that was stirring the sultry air. Assorted huge palm plants were stationed around the wicker and rattan furniture. It reminded him of a movie that he had seen with Humphrey Bogart. He strolled over to the front desk.

  
   “Welcome to the Gulf Breeze Inn. How may I help you?” asked front desk clerk.

   “I’ve just arrived in Key West and I’m meeting my family who’s staying here. The name’s Baldwin.”
  
The desk clerk opened the registration book and thumbed through the pages. “Do you know when they checked in?”
  
   “It was a few days ago,” replied Roy.
  
   The clerk slowly moved her fingers down a couple of pages. As she did so, Roy felt a vague uneasiness steal over him.

   “Is it possible that a different name was used?” the clerk asked.

   Roy gave her a curious look as if to convey what to him seemed to be an absurd question.

   “People do that, you know,” she added.

   “He wouldn’t have any reason to do that. Besides, my family is expecting me to meet them here,” answered Roy.

   The desk clerk searched again and after a minute or two, she closed the registration book and said, “I’m sorry, but no one has registered by the name of Baldwin, at least not in the past few days.”

   “That can not be”, Roy replied incredulously .

   “I’ve looked very carefully”, she affirmed.

   “Well, this is not such a large hotel. Maybe you’ve seen him. He’s a middle-aged man of average height and wears black-framed glasses. You would've probably seen him with three teenage boys.”

   For a brief moment she paused to think and then replied, “I haven’t seen anyone that fits that description.”

   “I suppose he could have used a different name, but highly unlikely.”

   It was evident from his expression that he was surprised at what he had just said. “May I have a look at the register?” he asked. “I’m sure I'd recognize his handwriting.”

   “I’m afraid that’s against hotel policy, sir, for security reasons you understand. I wish, though, for your sake that I could.”


   Roy was familiar enough with Mr. Baldwin’s hand writing that if the man had, for whatever mysterious reason, signed the register using a different name, Roy would probably have no problem spotting it. If only the desk clerk would let him have a quick look at the signatures of the registered guests. Unfortunately for Roy, that was not going to happen.


   Out of the hotel and into the blinding light of the broiling Key West sun he slowly walked disheartened and stunned. To a casual observer, he must have appeared as someone who enjoyed confused conversations with himself as he shuffled dejectedly across the parking lot. Fortunately, when Roy got to the car, Leon was still passed out. Roy fidgeted for a minute or two as he contemplated his next move. He opened his wallet and counted the bills but what he saw just made him more depressed. He wondered if he had misunderstood some of information he had been given as he started the car and drove towards no place especially while venting loudly and perhaps causing other motorists and pedestrians to think that he suffered from some sort of mental disorder. He tried to imagine the sort of hotel his family would stay at in a place as unique as Key West. Still, if Mr. Baldwin had checked out of the Gulf Breeze Inn, he would have most assuredly left a note at the front desk. It just didn’t add up. Nothing made sense and now he was unsure as to what he should do next. In spite of the long shot odds and the lack of a better idea, he drove from one hotel to another looking for his family while the hours slipped by. What modicum of hope there may have been was turning to disappointment and despair. When the sun had almost completely arched across the sky, he knew then that his visit to Key West had come to its tiring end. Leon was right. There were too many damn hotels.


   Bleary eyed and groggy, Leon awoke from his slumber and took over the wheel and back to the mainland they drove. It was a fairly quiet and uneventful ride, except for the occasional outburst from Roy as he naturally continued to try to sort through the details of the information that he had been given, such as when his family were supposed to have arrived and where they would be staying. He had gone over every detail a number of  times. Eventually, he concluded that he had not made a mistake. So how could this have happened, he thought.

   It was almost dusk when they drove into a hotel parking lot in Homestead. “A woman that I was supposed to go to the beach with today works at a club in this hotel. I gotta go in there. I got some 'splainin’ to do,” said Leon in a mock Ricky Ricardo voice as he got out of the car. “C’mon, we’ll have a few beers and listen to the band.”

   “What the hell, I sure don’t have anything else to do.” At least it would help him to forget about the dilemma he was faced with, if just for one evening. Luckily and ironically for him, it was “happy hour”. Maybe he’d have some fun after all, as some compensation for all of the aggravation he'd been put through, he thought.　The band wasn’t half bad and although he was the only white guy in the joint, no one made him feel unwelcome. Leon’s friends, who were mostly military guys and bar flies, were jumpin’ and jivin’ like Soul Train veterans. Roy also kicked up his heels a couple of times, though only at the urging of some of the rather insistent patrons. He definitely stood out like a sore thumb. It made him feel self-conscious at first but the booze gave him courage and made him forget that he was the only "honky" in the joint. Otherwise, he might have felt as if he were overstepping the boundaries of what he would allow himself to do normally. His adventure so far, however, wasn’t a total disaster. But his journey was far from over.


(...to be continued)


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Florida Blues / part 3

Florida Blues / part 3

 

The story you are about to read is true.  From a collection of short stories entitled, The Little River Outlaws and Other Stories of Adventure.

   About half way to Key West, they picked up a couple of bedraggled looking backpackers. As the dharma bums were cramming themselves and their backpacks into the cluttered back seat, a patrol car came into view heading toward them from the opposite direction.

   “Man! Are you cats ever lucky,” said Leon . “You know it’s against the law to hitch hike on this highway, don’t you? That cop driving by coulda fined yo asses mightily, and thrown ya in the pokey too.”

   The rucksack wanderers watched unconcernedly as the patrol car drove away.

   “Didn’t know that,”said dharma bum 1.

   “Besides,” continued Leon, “there ain’t too many places to spend the night between here and Key West, unless you wanna take your chances being eaten alive by the mosquitoes or perhaps a hungry alligator. Most of the islands between here and there are too swampy. Anyhow, the hotels and motels are mostly in Key West.”

   “So we’ve learned”, replied dharma bum 2. Roy wondered if Leon was having a bit of fun at their expense.

   That was the last of any conversation for quite a while. During that time of reflection and quiet introspection, Roy had noticed a gloominess come over Leon. He seemed to be brooding about something. It made Roy uncomfortable.

   Eventually it was Leon who interrupted the silence. “I hope ya’ll know how to swim,” he said.

   A puzzled expression formed on Roy’s face.

   One of the rucksack wanderers leaned forward and said, “What?”

   “What I said was, I hope ya’ll know how to swim.”

   Both dharma bums looked at each other with the same expressions that Roy had on his face.

“ ‘Cause I’m gonna drive this heah vehicle into the drink just before the next bridge”, continued Leon in a tone that suggested complete seriousness.

   The dharma bums chuckled.

   “You think I’m jivin’, don’tcha?”

   They laughed again half-heartedly. “I don’t know. Are you?,” asked dharma bum 1.

   Leon didn’t reply.

   Roy kept his cool but, no doubt, he was concerned.

   Suddenly, a bridge loomed into view. Leon gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared straight ahead with a look of iron-willed determination. Tension and suspense were building up to such a fever pitch that, at any moment, Roy was ready to bolt as were certainly the other passengers in the back seat.

   When the moment of truth was at hand, Leon slowly turned the car away from the road. At that instant when the vehicle had completely left the blacktop and was on the gravel shoulder, he veered it quickly back onto the asphalt and drove onto the bridge. “I just realized that if I didn’t live to see tomorrow, my wife would get all of that insurance money. That would not be cool,” he said.

   Thank goodness for that, thought Roy.

   The backseat boys did not understand the relevancy of that statement, but laughed nervously, anyway.

   Roy only smiled, but it wasn’t because he was amused. In any case, he couldn’t be sure if it was some sort of sick joke or if their driver was truly a deeply troubled individual. Perhaps it was a combination of both, he thought.

   Leon had obviously become a likely road hazard should he continue to drive. At the first opportune moment, when he pulled into a filling station to get a snack and the nerve-wrecked hitchhikers had quickly departed, Roy politely but firmly suggested that he should take the wheel. When they got back to the car, Leon slumped onto the front seat on the passenger side. Roy heaved a sigh of relief as he started the car and drove onto the highway. While he was eating some potato chips, Leon slid on to the floorboard and rested his head against the seat and passed out.


(...to be continued)


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Florida Blues / part 2

 Florida Blues / part 2

"The story you're about to read is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent" (to slightly paraphrase George Fenneman). It is from a collection of short stories entitled, The Little River Outlaws and Other Stories of Adventure.

   “I gotta drain the radiator. I’m about to spring a leak,” the inebriated would-be smoothie announced. Then, suddenly he veered the vehicle into a gas station and brought it to a screeching halt. He threw the car door open and jumped out of his seat and walked briskly toward the rest rooms. When the boozy driver got back in the car several minutes later,  he said, “I was just thinkin’… Actually, I’m kinda in the mood for a road trip. Tell you what, you buy me a tank of gas and I’ll give you a ride to Key West...Deal?”

   The fact that the driver was driving under the influence, as it were, plus the fact that Roy would be giving a total stranger, in effect, a substantial amount of his limited immediate funds to transport him approximately a hundred and fifty miles were concerns clearly worth considering. He wondered if it was worth the risk. He thought it over, but only for a second. “Okay… I can do that.”
So they filled up the gas tank, and cruised down the highway toward the abode of pirates.

   Apparently, the driver was embarrassed about the clutter in the car and felt the need to explain the reason for the mess. He said that it was because he was moving to a new apartment. He mentioned that he was a cook in the Navy and that he was married but had recently separated. Then, all of a sudden, he burst into a harangue about how his wife had become addicted to heroin, unbeknownst to him. When he found out that she was a smack addict, she had already “split the scene”. He ranted on about how he suspected that she was “shacking up somewhere in Miami with one of her associates” and even though he claimed that he loved her, he said that he would “put her in the ground” if he ever located where it was that she was staying. To make his point more fully understood, he reached under the seat and pulled out a chrome-plated 45-caliber handgun and began to wave it around.
   How the woman’s heroin addiction could have escaped the detection of the angry man, to begin with, was never questioned. Roy wasn’t about to go there. But throughout the sordid story, the driver continued to wave the gun around menacingly. Fortunately, for Roy’s sake, the mad man eventually calmed his nerves and put the gun away.
                                                                             
   The scenery along the highway to Key West was like a souvenir post card, cobalt blue sky and huge billowy clouds that were scattered across the horizon. It was plain to see why pirates were fond of the Florida Keys. If a buccaneer needed a place to cool his heels for a while, it could easily be done hiding out among the many islands of the Florida Straits, where a captured ship could be stripped of anything of value, while enjoying the balmy sea breeze that blew across the Keys. Included among the larger Keys were countless smaller ones, many of them so small that one could not sit down without dangling one’s feet in the water. For the variety of sea birds in the Florida Straits, however, those miniature islands provided safe havens to rest on. Linking the numerous Keys were the numerous bridges, some of them several miles long, from which hundreds of fishermen tried their luck. Occasionally, a large oblong shape in the turquoise water just beyond the bridge would attract Roy’s attention. “Are those dark torpedo shaped objects down there what I think they are?”

“Yep…probably sharks. They’re just waitin’ around for someone or something to fall into the sea.”

   Roy laughed slightly uneasily and looked down at the clear water for another shark and wondered. He reasoned that, if they were sharks, they were obviously there because they were either attracted to the fishermen’s bait or perhaps to the fish that were being attracted to the bait, itself.


(...to be continued)

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