Free Caribbean's Keeper by Brian; Boland Page B

the railing and their chairs kicked back on hind legs, Cole thought about the family that was reunited. He’d now seen the entire spectrum of southern Florida’s illegal migrant epidemic. It had plagued the country since its inception and Cole took a second deep sip of his beer as he tried to figure out where he stood on the issue.
    “What’s your take on all of this?” He was looking at Kevin.
    Kevin pulled the envelope from his pocket, opened it, and counted out bills with one hand. He put ten one-hundred dollar bills on the table and pushed them over to Cole. “That’s how I feel about that.”
    Cole counted them himself then folded and stashed the money in his pocket. “All right, then. Good enough for me.”
    Kevin looked back out at the quiet street in front of them and finished off his beer. “You’re in, bro?” His tone indicated more of a question than a statement.
    Cole laughed for a second and nodded. His mind was clouded, partly by fatigue and partly from the beer. It was a dangerous decision. He thought back to the feeling of being on the water, the rush of breaking someone else’s rules, and the roll of hundred-dollar bills in his pocket. He thought too of the Coast Guard, the years he’d spent pursuing a dream, and how it had all fallen apart in front of him.
    “Sign me up,” was all Cole said.
     

Chapter 4 – Indian Summer
    TWO WEEKS PASSED before Cole brought the subject up again with Kevin. They were under a palm tree on Fort Jefferson sitting idly under the noon sun when Cole spoke up.
    “So when are we going again?”
    Kevin laughed to himself, his arms up and crossed behind his head as he lay prostrate on the sandy grass. His eyes were closed when he answered. “It’s all you, bro. I like to go alone, plus the money is best when you go by yourself.”
    “So I just call your guy?” asked Cole, who was sitting forward with his arms draped over his knees and his heels dug into the sand. He yawned as he spoke.
    “Pretty much, man. I’ll give you his number. Don’t save it in your phone, just keep it written down somewhere. He’s a bit funny about his phones.”
    Cole nodded, looking down between his feet and spent some time thinking about what he was asking for. Criminal networks—and that was what this was—were a slippery slope. That much Cole knew. Where it ended he had no idea. He thought about finding his own limits and he thought about jail, then he pondered the look on Potts’ face if he ever found out his errant junior officer was rotting in some Cuban prison. He also thought about extending his middle finger to Potts as he sped past on a midnight run and the satisfaction of doing something well. That thought took hold. Cole was his own captain, master of his own destiny. He took a deep breath and solidified a plan in his mind.
    g
    Nearly a month after their first run, Kevin handed Cole a piece of paper one evening and told him to call the number written on it. Cole took the note, stuffed it in his pocket, and played the part as if nothing had happened. They were in the midst of another raucous night and Kevin had been gone for about ten minutes when he returned with the note. Cole figured Kevin had been off talking to Miguel, “the guy,” and Cole’s chance rested on the other end of that phone number.
    Cole nursed his drinks for the rest of the night, slowly sobering up to the thought of his first run as a captain. A young woman, pretty and barely in her twenties, had latched onto him earlier in the day. They’d been out on the Aquaholic and Kevin acted as a good wingman with her friends while Cole played the requisite games he’d become so good at. He was a bit burned by the sun and felt the dried salt on his skin from a swim he’d taken with her earlier. With smuggling on his mind, he’d slipped though and the night was slowing down. Worse yet, he’d forgotten her name, a major transgression in the game of drunken lust. She’d caught his mood change as