Acts of Nature - By Jonathon King Page 0,40

start at the bridge of his nose like he was beginning to smell something foul.

“You mean like when them boys found that there Caddy Escalade out of gas on the highway up to Naples and salvaged the wheels and electronics?” Brown said, this time looking up at Buck with a single eye. Buck was mildly surprised that the old man had heard of that incident with Wayne and Marcus. The fancy wheel rims had sold for a nice price. He avoided the old man’s look, shifting his own back to the map.

“You know them boys is headin’ for trouble. Don’tcha, son?”

Buck was not going to get into a philosophical debate with the old man.

For some men in Florida, trouble had been a natural way for a long time. He thought of the stories his own father had told of citizens in the early 1800s who often “salvaged” the broken holds of ships carrying goods from New Orleans around the tip of the Florida Keys and up the east coast to New York on the tide of the Gulf Stream. When those ships ran aground on the sharp- edged coral reefs, it was considered a Floridian holiday and pillaging was nearly a civic duty. Near the turn of the twentieth century, land owners selling useless deeds to Florida swampland created millionaires overnight who fled with the cash and left the losers behind. Nate Brown himself had poached gators out of his favorite hunting holes even though they were considered off limits after the federal government created the Everglades National Park in the 1940s and the practice was deemed illegal. Those men all used the excuse that what they did, they did to survive. Buck had heard that rationalization a thousand times coming in late-night conversation from the darkened bunks of men up in Avon Park Correctional.

“Maybe it’s just trouble of a different nature,” Buck finally said, but he was still not willing to meet the old man’s eyes.

“No, son,” Nate Brown replied, his voice holding a weak resignation that Buck had never heard before. “The nature’s the same. Sometimes that’s the part of people that don’t never change.”

Buck pushed his chair back, knowing the old man was finished. He stood and started to roll the chart, but Nate Brown’s finger was still pressed down on one last X.

“Let me give you some advice, Buck. If that’s what you come for,” he said, using the young man’s name for maybe the first time since his childhood. “Stay clear of this one here.”

He was indicating the X farthest south on the map.

“They’s stories on this one. One told is that an old-timer built here and must have died over the years because no one seen him for years. Word was someone in his family took it over but they somehow got spooked and left the place empty. Then new owners that put out the word of no trespassin’ and meant it. I been out there myself and heard awful strange music comin’ from the place when there wasn’t a shred of light on the property.

“Steer clear, son.” And with that the old man removed his finger and sat alone at the table while Buck gathered the map, and said his thanks.

“Yes, sir,” he said and then turned back to retrace his steps to his own place.

“We’re gonna hit those places now.”

The boys just looked at each other with a mirror expression that said surprise, but what the hell. They’d shown up midmorning after wandering around town in their boat boots, checking out the damage from the night. Buck was in one of those suspiciously dark moods of his. Wayne figured this was the way he must have been in prison and it was not a good idea to argue with him. Besides, when Buck wanted to roll, it usually turned out to be a hell of a lot more interesting than sitting around this place. They could easily tell their mothers that they’d been hired to do some kind of rescue or salvage work and with the promise of money on their lips they’d be off the hook for any cleanup at their own homes.

“I already been over at Owen Chadwick’s tour business shed and his airboat is intact and I have the key,” Buck said while he turned his back on them and stuffed something into his black, zippered duffle. They were both in that sort of uncomprehending dumb-assed mode he’d seen a dozen times in their teenage faces when he grabbed