Beachcombers of the Apocalypse (Part II)

A Detective Florida Man Weird Tale

Part II

I made my report and emailed it to my betters at the insurance company. I decided to spend the following day running errands and doing some admin work. At the end of the day, I found myself at my favorite tourist bar by the beach. I took out the items Luz had handed to me the day before.

The brochures didn’t provide me much in the way of information, more slick marketing than anything else. Lots of self-help language wrapped up in hippy dippy spiritual babble. It was clear they weren’t Christian in any way. The founders were unnamed and they tried claiming their principles were based on both modern science and ancient practices at the same time.

I took out my iPhone and connected to the bar’s internet. The church’s website and social media accounts espoused the same drivel. Any pictures shown were clearly stock photos of attractive smiling, happy people. There wasn’t even a pic of the church itself in Dunedin.

My scam detector was screaming. I started doing some more digging using some internet tools at my disposal. Again, someone had covered their tracks very well. But I did locate on Sunbiz some old Articles of Incorporation. The Church By the Sea was listed as a non-profit entity. More specifically, their full title was The Esoteric Order of Dagon DBA The Church By the Sea.

That was quite the title, I thought as I sipped the remnants of my warm beer.

“Hey, Handsome, how about some fried shrimp to go with that brew? The shrimp just came off the boat this morning.”

“Sounds good, Missy. Pour me another beer when you get a chance as well.”

“You got it, Detective Florida Man!” She howled as she went to place my order. Missy was not only the bartender but the owner of the Tiki Hut. The outdoor tourist bar by Ashton Beach acted as my second office. I converted my second bedroom at my Florida Sugar Shack into a home office but rarely used it. I preferred the ambiance of the Tiki Hut and its irrepressible owner.

Missy was on the wrong side of 50 but still wasn’t a bad looking woman, she must have been quite the petite stunner when she was younger. She was a short, busty firecracker with a dark red pixie haircut who was good with a quip, but a terror to any homeless druggie who dared enter her bar. Legend has it that she bought the bar almost 30 years ago from the old owner in cash. She neither denied or confirmed this when I asked.

It was a cool Tuesday evening and the bar wasn’t busy. A few tourists and snowbirds were sucking down sugary cocktails and munching on fish and chips. It was quiet and allowed me to cogitate on the previous day's events.

Why was a Haitian scam artist linked to a new age church? They must be running some sort of scam that required Monsieur Guerrier’s expertise. Or he was paying them for something, he was the one who handed the church employees that bag after all.

This was no longer my case. I had gotten the evidence that Guerrier was scamming the insurance company and they could now stop payments. My part was done. Finito.

As much as I tried to kill him off, the old counterintelligence officer in me would not die.

I needed to know what was going on with this so-called church.

When I was eleven years old, my parents after a lifetime of Boomer sin and debauchery decided to get religion. I got saved at the Rocky Mount Church in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. I attended bible school there on the weekends. I read the Old and New Testament with the youth pastor.

I wish I could say that religion stuck but it didn’t. Maybe all the Scot-Irish in me simply rebelled when it came to the Ten Commandments but I strayed far from the light of Christ. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to believe and honor Him, even when mired in sin.

This poseur church touched off that long neglected spiritual part of me. I didn’t like the idea that a group of scammers in my new home were taking money from others by offering fake salvation. I was full of righteous fury that only Appalachians can grasp.

At that moment, I decided to do something about it. On my own dime, I was going to take a closer look at this so-called church’s inner workings. Maybe I could uncover enough evidence to take to a State Attorney's investigator and let their office run with it.

Where to begin? As Missy placed a plate of fried shrimp and fries in front of me, along with a frosty glass of brew, I decided that I would introduce myself to Monsieur Guerrier. I think we needed a lovely face to face chat together. I bit into a fresh shrimp and let the grease coat my dry throat.

“I am a disabled person, I require compensation…I deserve my compensation.” The Haitian whined in his heavy creole accent. We stood inside Guerrier’s open living room of his bungalow. It was sparse. What little furniture there was, was cheap and gaudy. A 65 inch Samsung Smart TV attached to a far wall dominated the room. When I had knocked on his door, he made sure I saw him answer the door with a cane in each hand.

“I don’t think so, Sir. We have video evidence from one of our investigators that you are misrepresenting your condition. You are in fact NOT disabled due to the accident.” I knew that Guerrier hadn’t yet been notified by Sunshine City that his workman’s comp payments would end. I had pretended to be an insurance rep in order to gain entrance into his home.

We spent a few minutes verbally sparring back and forth. He kept threatening lawsuits and bad publicity. I held my ground and then decided to probe him about the sham church in Dunedin.

“Through our fraud investigation, we know that you colluded with other fraudulent entities, such as The Church By the Sea.” I stopped there to observe his reaction.

It was unexpected to say the least.

Guerrier moved fast, much quicker than such a stick figure of a man should be able to. The cane in his right hand flew up and made a downward arch towards my very precious skull.

With my left hand, I trapped the cane hand before it connected. I balled my right hand into a fist and threw a right hook, connecting with his long slender throat. I made sure not to hit him with all my strength, I still wanted him to have the ability to talk to me.

Guerrier’s body sagged to the ground. I could tell he still was conscious due to all the groaning and wheezing.

“Monsieur, let’s try this again. You even think bout lookin’ at me funny, I’ll unleash some serious whoop ass on you.” I yelled at him in my best holler accent. I kicked his canes away from him, far out of his reach. He rolled over on his back and looked up in fright at me. I leered at him and stood over him in a dominating pose. I could be a real bastard when I need to be.

“Okay, okay, monsieur, please…I am sorry.” He threw up both hands in a placating gesture.

“Tell me about the church, Guerrier…NOW!” I leaned over and demanded menacingly. His eyes grew wide, his lips trembled and his large adam’s apple bobbed up and down frenetically.

It was then that I understood. It wasn’t out of anger that he attempted to brain me, it was pure fear. Guerrier was terrified of the church.

“I do things for them. When they ask, you see? In my country, I was a voodoo man. What you might say a medicine man or shaman. They ask me to make things for them, totems and other objects. My knowledge very old, you see? It comes from my great-grandfather and his great-grandfather before him, back before we were in Haiti, when my people lived on the coast of Africa.” He exclaimed excitedly.

“What do they do with these fetish objects, Guerrier?” I asked point blank.

“They summon…these objects used in summoning rituals…very old, very ancient, very powerful.” His eyes were so wide I was afraid they would pop out of his head. I was skeptical.

“Summon what, Guerrier? Mammon, huh…the God of Money? Lots of churches want to know that ritual.” I sneered at the shyster.

“Salop, you have no idea what they do. They raise those from the cold depths…those that were here before the Great Flood, survived it and stayed hidden even from the eyes of God.” He spat with venom.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Haitian? You mean the Nephilim? The prodigy of woman and demon? You been out in the heat too long, Monsieur.” He grew silent for several seconds.

“Merde…What do you want, why are you really here?” He seemed sufficiently deflated, so I decided to blow my load.

“Give me a name, Guerrier…that is all I want. Who is at the top of this pyramid scheme?” Guerrier, who had been looking up at the floor, slowly turned his head up and looked into my eyes. He gave a sly grin.

“Sure, Salop, I give you a name. A name is what you seek then a name is what you shall receive…Diego Pantano, he is the director of recruitment at the church. A conversation with him will provide the answers you seek…and probably more than you would want to know. He attends every meeting for new church members on the first Friday of the month.”

“Director of recruitment? No, monsieur, I want the name of the CEO.” I demanded. Guerrier stopped grinning and turned his eyes back to the ground.

“I cannot pronounce that name and even if I could, he does not take meetings from the likes of us. Monsieur Pantano will tell you everything you need to know. Talk to him. I will tell you no more.”

“Are you afraid that I will tell him I got his name from you?”

“My time here has ended. I have family in Montreal. I will be on the first plane headed north tomorrow. I don’t care what you tell him. My work for them is done.”

“What about your house, Guerrier?”

“It is not mine, it is owned by the church. They have several real estate holdings in this county. I am never coming back to this state.”

Well, that was that. I bid him adieu and left Guerrier to do his packing.

I decided to spend the day working another fraud case in south Pinellas County. The first Friday of the new month was just 9 days away. I would wait until then to visit the church again and have a chat with this Diego Pantano.

“The sea…the sea is ancient, it is eternal. It was here long before Man and it will be here long after Man has perished from his own destructive ways.” The comely young blonde woman announced from the glass podium she stood behind. In the background, a large screen projected swirling blue waves, then schools of fish swimming through calm blue waters.

The auditorium was smaller than the kind you would find in a high school but large enough for the audience of about hundred people, who sheepishly stood around staring up at the statuesque model speaker and her formidable audio-visual presentation.

She continued droning on about the environment and its destruction for several minutes before flipping the script into some spiritual pablum. The usual New Age we’re all connected and one bs.

Finally, the torturous presentation ended. We were invited to walk back out to the lobby for refreshments. A few tables had been set up with sparkling cider and suspicious looking seafood hors d’oeuvres. I decided to pass. A tall but stooped thin man circulated among the group and eventually headed towards me.

I am hard to miss after all.

“I am Diego Pantano, the director of recruitment for our humble organization. I bid you welcome to our church. I hope you enjoyed our presentation for prospective members.”

For a man with a latin name, he did not look latino. He must be from Spain, or so I thought. He spoke perfect English though. A perfect Transatlantic accent, too perfect, as if he were deliberately pronouncing every word with a conscious effort, like his tongue was not developed for human speech.

Far more disconcerting for me was Pantano’s overall appearance: the balding, bulbous forehead, the thick fleshy lips and protruding eyeballs. He had an underdeveloped nose and his ears seemed malformed. Finally, his skin was very sickly in appearance.

Hell, I’ve seen dead fish with more color and life in them than this character.

Mama taught me to always be gracious though.

“Hi there, I’m Gus. Lovely to meet you, Sir. Yeah, nice church ya got here. Never heard of y’all before.”

“We prefer to let our works speak for us most of the time, Gus.” I was trying to gauge his age, he could be anywhere from 30 to 50, I found it impossible to tell.

“I see, so y’all run a lot of charities, then?” I asked as pleasantly and neighborly as I could.

“Yes, we have a marine and ecological education program we run for children, as well as a spiritual men’s club for former military veterans. Perhaps I could interest you in our men’s club? I noticed you observing our security. They are all volunteers. All our security officers are former military and members of the Church Vigilant, our designated protectors. I find that it is important for veterans to find personal meaning in protecting others…you look like you have served as well?” He let the question hang in the air but I did not grab on to it. He never told me who the Church Vigilant were protecting the church members from exactly.

“I’m not much of a joiner, Mr. Pantano. I would need to know more about the church before I make such a serious decision. I ain’t got a lot of free time, you understand.”

“Of course, Gus. Should you change your mind, call our main office or come to reception anytime they are open. We can set you up for a tour and meet other members of the Church Vigilant. I have to leave you now and greet the other new visitors, it was a pleasure talking to you.”

He held out a moist, pale hand…devoid of fingernails. I was loath to touch any part of this man but I needed to continue the ignorant but lovable hayseed I had created for myself as a cover persona. I couldn’t help but shudder a little when his soft delicate fingers enclosed around my large paw.

It took several soap scrubbings to wash his sour stench from my skin afterwards.