PICKENS LEE PLAYS IN A ROCK N ROLL BAND IN SOUTH WEST FLORIDA, LIVING A QUIET BUT PRODUCTIVE LIFE. HIS WHOLE WORLD IS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN WHEN HIS BEST FRIEND AND BAND MATE, JOSE’ ARANA, UNKNOWINGLY BECOMES INVOLVED WITH IDENTITY THEFT, A CROOKED REAL ESTATE BROKER, MARIJUANA GROW HOUSES AND MURDER. WHILE FISHING IN THE GULF OF MEXICO, THEY FIND A SMALL, SILVER OBLONG OBJECT THAT LOOKS LIKE A FOOTBALL, FURTHER COMPLICATING THEIR LIVES IN WAYS THEY NEVER DREAMED WERE POSSIBLE. FROM THE ISLANDS OF SOUTHWEST FLORIDA TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS OF NORTH CAROLINA, THE BAND TRIES TO STAY ONE STEP AHEAD OF THE MOB AND A MYSTERIOUS GOVERNMENT ENTITY; THE FORMER WANTS REVENGE AND THE LATTER WANTS THE FOOTBALL. IT IS A STORY OF FRIENDSHIPS AND LONG HELD BELIEFS THAT ARE CHALLENGED BY EVENTS BEYOND THEIR CONTROL.

SLOBBERKNOCKER

By RICK JOHNSTON

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 RICK JOHNSTON
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-3670-2

Chapter One

MAN IS ESSENTIALY ALONE, BORN NAKED AND TERRIFIED; ENTERING LIFE THROUGH VIOLENT CONTRACTIONS, PUSHING HIM FARTHER FROM THE SAFETY OF THE BENEVOLENT WOMB, THRUSTING HIM INTO AN ALIEN WORLD AND FORCING, HE OR SHE, TO ACT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN IT'S SHORT LIFE: BREATHE. ONE DOES NOT CHOOSE FAMILY, IT IS FATE OR LUCK THAT DETERMINES THE NATURE OF THE GROUP, AND BE IT ONE OF NURTURE OR DENIAL. HOPE AND PROVIDENCE HIS ONLY CONSTANT FRIEND AND COMPANION; ALL OTHERS ARE TRANSIENT. FRIENDS ARE AN IMPORTANT AND NECESSARY PART OF LIFE, BUT THEY EVENTUALLY EITHER MOVE ON OR DIE. THE LAUDITORY SEARCH FOR THE ILLUSIONARY QUEST FOR LOVE IS OFTEN EXPOSED FOR THE ELEMENTAL APPERITION THAT IT IS. MAN IS ULTIMATELY DEPENDENT ON HIS OWN DEVICES, AND THE WHIMS OF THE BIG GAME: THE LAS VEGAS OF LIFE.

THIS IS A STORY OF A GROUP OF PEOPLE WHO WILL HAVE THEIR LIVES TURNED UPSIDE DOWN. EVERYTHING THAT THEY THOUGHT THEY KNEW WILL NOW SEEM CHILDISH. TO PRAPHRASE COLUMNIST THOMAS SOWEL, "A MAN CARRIES AROUND BELIEFS ALL THROUGH HIS LIFE LIKE A SWARM OF FLIES ON A SUMMER'S DAY." THE FLIES IN THIS STORY HAVE TRANSFORMED INTO BIRDS OF PREY AND ALL THAT THEY WERE TAUGHT IS NOW SUBJECT TO SERIOUS DEBATE.

"EVERY TREE HAS ITS LIZARD AND EVERY LIZARD HAS ITS TREE."

JUNE 3RD ... WEDNESDAY ... 7:30 IN THE MORNING ... ST. JAMES CITY, PINE ISLAND, WEST COAST OF FLORIDA.

WE LEFT MONROE CANAL IN ST. JAMES CITY AROUND SEVEN IN THE MORNING, THE FOG WAS THICK, SO THE GOING WAS SLOW. THE CANAL RAN, BASICALLY, NORTH TO SOUTH. THE WHOLE AREA WAS A MANATEE PROTECTION ZONE. SLOW, WITH NO WAKE: THAT WAS THE LAW. WE WERE IN JOSE'S ARANA'S 22FT. GRADY WHITE FISHERMAN, A GOOD FISHING PLATFORM FOR THIS PART OF THE GULF OF MEXICO. WE WERE HEADING SOUTH TO THE OPEN PARTS OF SAN CARLOS BAY, JUST EAST OF SANIBEL ISLAND. THERE WAS SOME HARD BOTTOM OVER TEN FEET OF WATER WHERE WE HOPED TO CATCH BAIT. MY NAME IS PICKENS LEE AND JOSE' AND I ARE PROFESSIONAL MUSICIANS WHO PLAY IN A ROCK AND ROLL BAND IN LEE COUNTY FLORIDA. THIS IS OUR STORY. THE EVENTS CAME ON US UNEXPECTLY AND WE WERE NEVER THE SAME AFTERWARDS. WE WERE, I THOUGHT, CHANGED, SOMEHOW ENOBLED, WITH AN APPRECIATION OF LIFE AND ALL ITS QUIRKY POSSIBILITIES.

TEN MINUTES LATER WE PASSED THE LAST OF THE NO WAKE SIGNS. JOSE' THROTTLED UP THE TWO HUNDRED HORSES CAPTURED IN THE MAINFRAME OF THE BIG YAMAHA OUTBOARD MOTOR AND POINTED THE BOW SOUTHEAST TOWARDS THE SANIBEL CAUSEWAY. THE FRICTION OF HULL AGAINST SEAWATER PRODUCED A SHHH ... SOUND AND A REMARKABLY COMFORTABLE RIDE. SOON THE WATERFRONT HOUSES ON THE EASTERN SHORE OF SANIBEL CAME INTO SIGHT. WE CLEARED THE SMALLER WESTERN BRIDGE AND HEADED OUT TO OPEN WATER TO A PRESET GPS CO-ORDINATE WHERE WE HOPED TO CATCH A HALF DOZEN BLUE RUNNERS, A SMALL MEMBER OF THE JACK FAMILY. IT IS ONE OF THE FAVORITE FOODS OF OUR TARGETED GAMEFISH OF THE DAY; KING MACKERAL. THE WATER IN THE GULF HAD CLIMBED TO ALMOST 70 DEGREES, SENDING SURGING SCHOOLS OF BAITFISH UP FROM FLORIDA BAY, PAST THE TEN THOUSAND ISLANDS AND UP INTO THE SOUTHEASTERN GULF. FOLLOWING THE BAIT WERE THE PREDATORS, AMONG THEM THE KING MACKEREL, OR KINGFISH TO THE LOCALS.

THAT MORNING, A WEST WIND WAS WORKING AN OFFSHORE BREEZE AND THE BAROMETER READ 29.95 INCHES OF MERCURY. WHILE LAUNCHING THE BOAT, A SLIGHT RESIDULE FOG STILL HUNG OVER PINE ISLAND BLURRING DISTANT SHAPES INTO FANTASTIC IMAGES AND THE SKIES IN THE DISTANT GULF SPROUTED SMALL COLUMNS OF RISING WATER VAPOR IN THE FORM OF GREY ON WHITE CLOUDS. A PAIR OF OSPREYS CIRCLED OVERHEAD. I WALKED BACK BEHIND THE CENTER CONSOLE, WHERE JOSE' WAS SIMULTANEOUSLY STUDING THE G.P.S. AND THE DEPTH FINDER. JOSE' ARANA HAS BEEN MY FRIEND SINCE HIS FAMILY MOVED FROM MIAMI TO CAPE CORAL MANY YEARS AGO. HIS MOTHER AND FATHER ESCAPED CASTRO'S CUBA IN THE MIDDLE SIXTIES WITH SOME OF THEIR MONEY; IN THE FORM OF ART: PAINTINGS BY THE SPANISH ARTIST, JUAN GRIS AND, THE CATALAN MASTER, SALVADOR DALI' AMONG THEM. THEY STARTED INVESTING IN REAL ESTATE, RAISED A FAMILY, AND MOVED TO CAPE CORAL IN THE LATE EIGHTIES. I MET JOSE' IN HIGH SCHOOL MY SENIOR YEAR. WE BOTH PLAYED GUITAR AND LOVED THE ENGLISH BANDS LIKE JETHRO TULL, ZEPPELIN, AND HUMBLE PIE. WE'VE PLAYED TOGETHER IN BANDS EVER SINCE.

JOSE' FOUND WHAT HE WAS LOOKING FOR AND SIGNALED IT WITH A "WE'RE HERE!" I DROPPED THE ANCHOR OVER THE SIDE AND PICKED UP MY PENN ULTRALITE FISHING ROD RIGGED WITH A SABIKI LINE.

A SABIKI RIG IS A SHORT PIECE OF MONOFILAMENT WITH A WEIGHT AT THE END. THE LINE HAS AT LEAST TWO SMALL HOOKS AND SOMETIMES AS MANY AS FIVE TIED EVERY FEW INCHES DOWN ITS LENGTH. SOMETIMES THE LITTLE GOLD HOOKS WERE FESTOONED WITH A BIT OF FEATHER. THEY'RE REAL GOOD AT CATCHING LARGE BAITFISH. I DROPPED THE RIG DOWN TO THE BOTTOM AND THEN PULLED BACK ABOUT A FOOT SO I COULD DANCE IT BY JIGGING THE ROD TIP UP AND DOWN. I DIDN'T HAVE TO WAIT LONG.

"GOTCHA", WE BOTH SAID IN UNISON. JOSE' PULLED UP TWO AND I CAUGHT ONE. "PICK, START THE MOTOR ON THE LIVE WELL"; AS SOON AS I OPENED THE HATCH TO THE WELL, TWO FISH SAILED BY MY HEAD AND DROPPED AT MY FEET, FLOPPING FURIOUSLY. JOSE' LAUGHED. I PUT ALL THREE BLUE RUNNERS IN THE LIVE WELL AND RESUMED FISHING. JOSE' WAS STILL LAUGHING.

'YOU ALMOST HIT ME IN THE HEAD YOU DUMBSHIT." I SAID. "ALMOST IS ONLY GOOD IN HORSE SHOES", HE REPLIED, WHILE REELING IN ANOTHER DOUBLE HOOKUP.

"YEA, HAND GRENADES TOO"!

IN TEN MINUTES WE HAD A DOZEN SMALL BLUE RUNNERS AND TWO OR THREE PINFISH IN THE WELL. WE WERE MORE THAN READY TO GO CATCH KINGS.

A WORD ABOUT HE KINGFISH, THE ALL TACKLE RECORD IS 93 POUNDS, WITH THE NATURE OF A RAPACIOUS PREDATOR. WHEN A KING HITS A BAIT OR LURE IT'S TRAVELING IN THE 30 MILE AN HOUR ZONE. ARMED WITH ROWS OF HALF INCH, SURGICALLY SHARP TEETH, THEY CAN CUT A FISH IN TWO. ON ONE TRIP, OFF THE COAST OF ST. PETERSBURG BEACH, I HAD A KINGFISH BEND A TROLLING ROD ALMOST TO THE GUNWALE OF THE BOAT, ONLY TO REEL IN THE HEAD AND DIVING LIP OF A BIG RAPALA LURE. SOMETIMES YOU SEE ONE JUMPING TEN OR FIFTEEN FEET OUT OF THE WATER. WHEN A BIG ONE HITS YOUR BAIT, IT WILL STRIP OFF OVER A HUNDRED YARDS OF LINE FROM YOUR REEL AT SPEEDS EXCEEDING THIRTY MILES AN HOUR. YOUR REEL WOULD LITTERALY, SMOKE, THROWING SEMI-IONIZED SALTWATER AND GREASE OVER YOUR HANDS AND INTO THE AIR. I'VE SEEN GEAR EXPLODE FROM SEIZED UP BEARINGS, SENDING LITTLE BITS OF KENETIC ENERGY, LIKE SHRAPNEL, ALL OVER THE PLACE. THAT'S WHY FISHERMAN CALL THE BIG KINGS, SMOKERS.

OUR PLAN WAS TO HEAD OFFSHORE ABOUT TEN MILES AND TROLL THE COAST OF SANIBEL, PAST CAPTIVA, TO REDFISH PASS, THEN GO TO SOME GPS NUMBERS THAT MARKED A PAIR OF MAN MADE REEFS WHERE WE INTENDED TO ANCHOR AND SET UP A CHUM LINE. THE SUN WAS UP AND HAD BURNED OFF THE REMAINING BIT OF FOG. THE LITTLE WHITE ON GREY CLOUDS OUT OVER THE WESTERN HORIZON HAD TURNED TO BLACK ON GREY AND WERE FOAMING SKYWARD. THE OSPREYS WERE GONE AND WERE REPLACED BY SEVERAL FRIGATE BIRDS SOARING A THOUSAND FEET OVER THE GULF LOOKING FOR LARGE SCHOOLS OF BIG FISH. I WAS EXCITED BECAUSE THIS WAS THE FIRST TRIP OUT THIS SEASON AND THE DAY OFFERED A BIT OF ADVENTURE THAT WE NEEDED. WE HAD JUST COMPLETED A TWO WEEK, FOURTEEN DAY GIG ON ESTERO BEACH. IT WAS FUN, BUT IT GOT TO BE A GRIND WITH THE TWO A DAY SHOWS BUT THE MONEY WAS GOOD. A WEEK'S VACATION WAS BETTER, AND WE WERE OFF FISHING. "HOLD ON WE'RE HEADING OUT" JOSE' SAID OVER THE NOISE OF THE REVVING YAMAHA ENGINE. I TIGHTENED THE DRAW STRING ON MY FAVORITE STRAW HAT AND WE WERE OFF.

THREE TO FOUR FOOT WAVES WERE ROLLING WEST FROM THE YUCATAN PENNISULA, WHERE A LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM HAD BEEN SITTING FOR DAYS, BUT THE BIG GRADY WHITE SLICED THE BLUE GREEN WATERS OF THE GULF WITH EASE AND THE RIDE OUT WAS GREAT. THE SMELL OF SALT AND A SLIGHT HINT OF FISH WAS IN THE AIR, WHICH I KNEW TO BE THE PRESENCE OF GREAT SCHOOLS OF BAITFISH SOMEWHERE IN THE AREA. THE SMELL TOLD ME THAT THE DAY WAS A GOOD DAY TO BE OUT FISHING IN THE GULF.

I WATCHED THE BOTTOM ON THE DEPTH FINDER DROP FROM FIFTEEN FEET OF WATER, SLOWLY DESCENDING TO AROUND THE THIRTY FIVE FOOT LEVEL. JOSE' BACKED DOWN ON THE THROTTLE AND WE CAME OFF PLANE TO AROUND FOUR MILES AN HOUR, THE PERFECT TROLLING SPEED FOR KINGFISH. JOSE' STARTED BARKING ORDERS. "PICK, PUT THE DOWNRIGGER TO TWENTY FEET AND BOTH SIDE RODS OUT ABOUT FIFTY YARDS". I TOOK ONE OF THE QUANTUM CABO ROD AND REELS FROM IT'S HOLDER, HOOKED ONE OF THE BLUE RUNNERS THROUGH THE NOSE, AND CLIPPED THE LINE TO THE TWO POUND PIECE OF LEAD ATTACHED TO THE DOWNRIGGER AND SLOWLY RELEASED THE RIG TO ABOUT THE DEPTH OF TWENTY FEET. I SET THE DRAG AND GOT ANOTHER ROD FROM THE HOLDER. THIS TIME I JUST LET THE LINE SPOOL OUT OF THE REEL TO FORTY FEET ASTERN OF THE BOAT, LEAVING THE BAIT SWIMMING A FOOT OR SO BELOW THE SURFACE. I PLACED IT IN THE PORTSIDE STERN ROD HOLDER AND REPEATED THE PROCESS EXCEPT THE ROD WENT IN THE STARBOARD ROD HOLDER. WE WERE READY FOR BEAR!

"KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR BIRDS PICK. MAN IT'S NICE TO HAVE A WHOLE WEEK OFF! THAT BEACH GIG KILLS ME, EVERY YEAR TWO SHOWS A DAY FOR THE SPRING BREAKERS. YOU KNOW I LOVE THE BEACH, BUT AFTER THAT GIG, I DON'T WANT TO SEE ONE FOR A WHILE, MUCH LESS GO THERE; MY BODY HURTS FROM ALL THAT DRINKING AND PARTYING, AND MY FINGERS ARE KILLING ME. EVEN NOW. WHEN'S OUR NEXT GIG AT CARLA'S" ASKED JOSE'?

"NOT THIS SATURDAY, BUT THE NEXT SATURDAY AND QUIT YOUR WHINING. IT'S THE SAME EVERY YEAR, YOU CAN'T WAIT FOR SPRING BREAK TO COME, BECAUSE OF THE WOMEN. IT'S THE LADIES, JOSE', THAT'S WHATS KILLING YOU. SPELL F-E-M-A-L-E, YOU GET IT? IT'S THAT CUBAN MACHO THING, BROTHER. I' LL BET YOU THAT TWO WEEKS BEFORE NEXT SPRING BREAK YOU'LL BE GETTING ANTSY AGAIN. ME, I DON'T EVEN WANT TO THINK ABOUT PLAYING NOW! BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, BEING ON THE WATER AGAIN, IS THE BEST MEDICINE I CAN THINK OF."

I SPOTTED A DOZEN BIRDS TO THE WEST SO I TOLD JOSE AND WE TURNED TOWARDS WHAT WAS BEGINING TO LOOK INTERESTING. A FLOCK OF LARGE BROWN PELICANS WERE DIVING ON A FOAMING MASS OF BAIT, AND THE SEAGULLS WERE PICKING UP THE SCRAPS. MACKEREL WERE SLAMMING THEM FROM BELOW: A THEATER OF BAIT, FISH AND BIRDS ALL LOOKING TO EAT OR BE EATEN, SWIRLLING AND TWIRLING IN ONE BIG DANCE OF LIFE AND DEATH. THE GLADIATORS THAT ONLY MOTHER NATURE COULD PROVIDE. "THERE'S GOT TO BE A KING OR TWO IN THERE" JOSE' REMARKED AS HE SPUN THE BOAT, TO CIRCLE THE POD, DRAGGING OUR BAITS JUST OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL IN HOPES OF ENTICING SOMETHING UP FROM THE DEPTHS.

"GET READY PICK, THE SCOPE JUST LIT UP."

"FISH ON THE DOWNRIGGER" JOSE' YELLED!

I ROLLED OUT OF MY SEAT ON THE BOW, PULLED THE ROD FROM THE HOLDER AND SET THE HOOK. THE ROD BENT AND I WAS PUMPED, BUT WHEN I SET THE HOOK A SECOND TIME THERE WAS NO FIGHT, JUST AS LOW PULL. "I THINK WE HOOKED SOMETHING ON THE BOTTOM, SLOW DOWN THE BOAT FOR A SECOND." SURE ENOUGH THE LINE WENT SLACK AND I KNEW WE HAD SNAGGED SOMETHING. "DAMN!' I EXCLAIMED, "MAN, I SURE THOUGHT WE CAUGHT SOMETHING WITH ALL THOSE BIRDS AROUND. I WAS READY FOR A SEARING HUNDRED YARD RUN." DAMN"! I SAID AGAIN.

JUNE 1ST ... MONDAY ... 2:47 IN THE MORNING ... SOMEWHERE IN HENDRY COUNTY ...

"BOSS, I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT OLD BITCH CAME FROM. I HAVE HALF OF THE SHIT IN THE CAR AND THE OTHER SHIT ALREADY BUNDLED UP AND THIS BITCH COMES AROUND OUT OF THE ... I GUESS ONE OF THE ROOMS, HELL; I WAS THERE FOR OVER AN HOUR. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE HELL SHE CAME FROM. BUT THERE'S ONE THING FOR SURE, SHE'S DEAD NOW." THE VOICE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CELL PHONE SPOKE, MAKING THE MAN VERY EDGY. "BRING ME WHAT YOU GOT, LEAVE THE REST. DON'T TOUCH THE BODY. MAKE SURE YOU LEAVE NOTHING THAT THE COPS CAN USE. BOY YOU REALLY FUCKED UP, AND DITCH THAT CELL PHONE, DON'T CALL ME UNTILL YOU GET BACK TO LAUDERDALE; USE A PAY PHONE." THE OTHER END WENT DEAD.

JUNE 3RD ... 11:43 ... MORNING ... GULF OF MEXICO, OFF CAPTIVA ISLAND

JOSE HAD THE BOAT IN NEUTRAL, AND I WAS ATTEMPTING TO SALVAGE THE BAIT RIG. I SCREWED DOWN THE DRAG AND PULLED UNTILL I THOUGHT THE LINE WAS GOING TO BREAK. IT SEEMED TO GIVE A LITTLE SO I PULLED HARD AND DROPPED THE ROD TIP DOWN GAINING A FEW MORE YARDS. I REPEATED THIS PROCESS IN WHAT SEEMED LIKED AN ETERNITY, ALL THE WHILE GAINING MORE LINE ON THE SPOOL. "SEE ANY THING DOWN THERE YET" I ASKED. "NOTHING YET, KEEP REELING IN" JOSE' REPLIED. FINALLY JOSE SAID" IT'S A GOD DAMN NET PICK; LET'S SEE IF WE CAN GET IT IN THE BOAT."

I LOOKED DOWN INTO THE WATER COLUMN AND SURE ENOUGH I SAW A LONG STRING OF GILL NET, ONE OF THE WORST THINGS EVER DEVISED TO CATCH FISH. IT WORKS WELL, TOO WELL. WHEN THE JAPANESE DISCOVERED THAT THE MULLET ROE FROM THE GULF OF MEXICO WAS SUPERIOR TO ALL OTHER MULLET ROE, A SORT OF GOLD RUSH ENSUED. THE PRICE SKYROCKETED. FOR THE MULLET FISHERMAN, THE GILL NET WAS THE TOOL OF CHOICE. WITHIN TEN OR TWELVE YEARS THE MULLET STOCK WAS SEVERLY DEPLETED. SOME OF MY FRIENDS THAT I GREW UP WITH WERE COMMERCIAL NET FISHERMEN AT THE TIME, THEY WERE REALLY GOOD PEOPLE AND THEY WERE DOING VERY WELL FOR THEMSELVES AND THEIR FAMILIES, BUT THEY WERE KILLING THE GOOSE THAT LAYS THE GOLDEN EGGS. GILL NETS LONGER THAN FIFTY FEET ARE NOW FOREVER BANNED. THAT WAS OVER TWELVE YEARS AGO AND THE STOCK HAS NOT YET FULLY RECOVERED. REMNANTS OF NETS, LIKE THE ONE WE HAD SNAGGED, ARE ROLLING DEATH TRAPS FOR ANY ANIMAL OR FISH THAT GETS ENTANGLED IN ITS DRIFTING TENTACLES. JOSE' AND I WERE DETERMINED TO GET THIS NET ON THE BOAT AND BRING IT TO SHORE WHERE IT WILL NEVER DO ANY HARM AGAIN.

JOSE' SHOUTED OUT, "I GUESS THAT'S WHAT I SAW ON THE SCOPE. I THOUGHT IT WAS BAITFISH."

"JOSE', GET THE GAFF, I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH MORE OF THE LINE I CAN TAKE IN AND I WANT THIS NET OUT OF THE WATER".

I HAD MANAGED TO RETRIEVE THE NET UP TO ABOUT FIVE FEET BELOW THE SURFACE, BUT THE NET WAS WEIGHTED DOWN WITH ALL KINDS OF ATTACHED AQUATIC CREATURES. JOSE' LEANED OVER THE SIDE AND HOOKED IT WITH THE GAFF ON THE SECOND TRY HAULING IT UP BY THE HANDLE, HAND OVER HAND. JOSE' FINALLY MANAGED TO GET A GRIP AROUND PART OF THE NET, I BACKED OFF ON THE PRESSURE FROM THE ROD AND GRABBED ANOTHER PART OF THE NET, THEN, WE BOTH PULLED; HARD. IT CAME OVER THE SIDE, INTO THE BOAT, WITH A BIG SLOOSHING SOUND.

"WHAT A MESS. MY BOAT MAN, SHIT."

JOSE' WAS RIGHT. THIS REMNANT OF A NET MUST HAVE BEEN ROLLING AROUND THE BOTTOM OF THE GULF FOR YEARS, THE STORMS AND TIDES MOVING IT THIS WAY AND THAT. IT WAS FULL OF MARINE LIFE, TRASH AND A TON OF SEAWEED. A HALF OF A WOODEN STONE CRAB TRAP WAS ENTANGLED IN A PIECE OF ROPE THAT KEPT THE NET FROM MOVING VERY FAST, MAKING SURE THAT THE THING STAYED IN THESE WATERS, ROLLING AROUND THE SAME PIECE OF GULF BOTTOM KILLING WHATEVER IT ENSNARED IN ITS GRASP.

"YOUR RIGHT, YOUR BOAT IS A MESS," I SAID TO A NOT SO SMILING JOSE'.

JUNE 3RD ... 10:35 IN THE MORNING ... SOME WHERE IN LEHIGH ACRES

THE AIR CONDITIONG IN THE UNMARKED FORD POLICE INTERCEPTER WAS ON HIGH COOL. OUTSIDE, THE TEMPERATURE HAD ALREADY CLIMBED PAST THE 88 DEGREE MARK. A HEAT WAVE HAD COME UP FROM THE SOUTH BRINGING WITH IT HIGH HUMIDITY LEVELS. IT WAS UNUSUAL FOR THIS EARLY IN THE MONTH. LEHIGH ACRES, A GROWING COMMUNITY IN EASTERN LEE COUNTY, WAS BAKING UNDER THE HOT SUN. THE MAN DRIVING THE SILVER UNMARKED CAR WORE A RUMPLED GREY SUIT, NO TIE AND BLACK WINGTIPS. HIS BROWN HAIR WAS THICK, WITH A HINT OF BEARD STUBBLE THAT SHOWED FLECKS OF WHITE. DETECTIVE JOHN J. RIKER OF THE FORT MYERS POLICE DEPARTMENT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF EATING BREAKFAST AT HIS FAVORITE FOOD JOINT; MCDONALDS. HIS IMMEDIATE SUPERIOR, LT. MARK DANIELS, HAD REQUESTED, ORDERED REALLY, THAT HE MEET A COUPLE OF LEE COUNTY DEPUTIES AT A HOUSE IN LEHIGH. IT WAS TECHNICALLY OUT OF HIS JURISDICTION, BUT A TASK FORCE WAS BEING CONTEMPLATED, AND RIKER HAD SOME HISTORY WITH THE SHERRIFF'S OFFICE. HE HURRIDLY FINISHED HIS EGG MCMUFFIN, CURSING THE INTERRUPTION UNDER HIS BREATH. THE CALL CAME IN AS A POTENTIAL HOMICIDE AT A MARIJUANA GROWHOUSE. THIS WAS THE THIRD HOMICIDE INVOLVING A GROWHOUSE IN THE AREA IN THE PAST THREE DAYS. RIKER DROVE SOUTH ON RICHMOND AVE, TAKING A LEFT ON EAST SIXTH AND THEN A RIGHT ON LULU LANE. THE HOUSE WAS SURROUNDED BY YELLOW CRIME SCENE TAPE. THE RUBBERNECKING NEIGHBORS AND THEIR DOGS RUNNING AROUND COMPLETED THE CIRCUS. HE GLANCED AROUND HOPING TO SEE A FRIENDLY FACE BEFORE STEPPING OUT FROM THE COMFORT OF THE CAR. A SMILE CROSSED HIS FACE BEFORE IT QUICKLY FADED AWAY.

"JOHN, IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU, I WAS TOLD SOMEONE FROM THE CITY WAS COMING OVER," SAID DEPUTY TOM REEDS.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from SLOBBERKNOCKERby RICK JOHNSTON Copyright © 2011 by RICK JOHNSTON. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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