Beachcombers of the Apocalypse (Part IV)

A Detective Florida Man Weird Tale

Part IV

The difference between Five O’Clock Somewheres and his Robalo 270 fishing craft was something else. Five rarely did laundry more than once a month and his shirts could probably stand up on their own due to the saltwater crust. The khaki cargo shorts he never took off seemed to always have random paint stains on them. The stains seemed to move around to different locations every time I saw them.

The Robalo on the other hand was spotless. At over 27 feet in length with 500 HP, it could maneuver in and out of the Gulf and its various estuaries with ease. You could eat off the fiberglass. I suspected that Five power washed the boat daily. He had a second boat that was larger but only used when certain types of larger contraband needed transporting and offloading. For my purposes, the small fishing vessel fit perfectly.

It took several hours of motoring around the big blue, but we found the cove.

As soon as I saw the sacrificial rock, my throat went dry and my heart beat faster. I would never forget that small stretch of beach again. We marked the location on GPS and sped out of the area as quickly as possible. I assumed the Church Vigilant patrolled the area vigorously.

Later, Five and I were drinking Sapporos in the Quonson hut in Tarpon Springs that served as his business office and maintenance shed. The floor was concrete and various stray cats laid about, taking respite from the hot sun and enjoying Five’s central air.

“You got a plan, Detective Florida Man or you just gonna wing it?” Five asked between swallows. I stared at the various manga art framed on his walls, gifts from his son who lived in Japan and taught English.

“You still got those grenades from that Vietnam vet wingnut uncle of yours?” I dodged his question with a helluva one of my own. He stopped drinking and gave me a side-eye glance.

I in turn took another glance at Miss October on his old Snap-On Calendar from 1989, on the wall behind his head. She was a dirty blonde who wore a black witch’s hat and not much else. She had a nice set of wrenches though.

Five got up from the metal chair he had been sitting in. He turned on his vintage Pioneer stereo system, the Bose speakers beat out a raging ZZ Top tune. He turned up the volume.

“Why Sir, such ordnance is illegal in the great State of Florida. Why would a humble fishing tour guide carry such items?” He softly announced.

I took the hint. No honor among thieves…or smugglers. I stood up and took off my tan golf polo. I spun around and turned out my pockets as well. Five nodded once he had been satisfied and I put my polo shirt back on. He turned down the volume on his stereo.

“Suppose I still do have a few laying around, for old time’s sake…in remembrance of my dear departed Uncle Jethro. Do I want to know why?” I gave him a dead stare. He shrugged and went off to some hidden storage locker, he had several secreted throughout the building.

He placed three olive drab colored metal lemons in front of me. The old M26 fragmentation grenades were the mainstays of both the Korean and Vietnam wars. Although the US stopped making them in the late sixties, some could still be found in foreign militaries in various third world countries.

“Tomorrow, we’re headed for one serious death trip, aren’t we, Gus?”

“Just be ready by 6 pm. I’ll meet you at the dock. I need to pick up a few more supplies and do a bit more research before I make my final visit to that lovely church.”

“I’ll be there, boss man.” We parted ways and made our preparations.

I wanted payback, I wanted it so bad I could taste it like I tasted the bitter saltwater from the Gulf.

I knew from the church’s facebook page that on Friday evening, the church was having their quarterly board of trustees meeting in their auditorium. It was, of course, closed to the public. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t counting on gatecrashers.

I made my preparations. I sent an email to work, advising that I was down with the flu and would be out until Monday. I bought a few dozen water balloons from the local Dollar Store. The Florida Sugar Shack had a small shed out back and inside, I kept a few gallons of kerosene. Carefully, I filled the water balloons with kerosene and placed them all in a waxed canvas rucksack.

Once that was accomplished, I spent the day surveilling the church in the strip mall parking lot. I didn’t get sushi for lunch this time, my passion for seafood was going to be dulled for a while.

Just before 6 p.m., I made my way to Five’s dock rental and put on my outfit, a full body wetsuit and quick dry water shoes, all in black. Added to my outfit, I put on a load out tactical vest, in order to hold my Glock and a commando dagger and some spare mags. The vest also had some soft, light kevlar sewn into the chest and back.

Five was right on time. He was wearing his black mechanic utility overalls, but he had added some old Vietnam War era jungle boots, along with a plate carrier in multicam strapped to his chest. We stowed our gear and headed towards the hidden beach cove.

It was cloudy and the sky threatened us with a storm but the weather held. The potential thunderstorm helped us out since it kept boat traffic off the Gulf and we could maneuver the boat near the cove without tourists or fishermen observing us.

I threw on my ruck and went over the side. Five gave me a wordless wave. It didn’t take me long to reach the deserted beach. I unholstered my Glock and made my way to the elevator.

I ascended towards my mission.

The black security guard was quite surprised to see me, when the doors of the elevator opened. He had clearly been expecting someone else.

Well, I was going to be the last VIP he ever saw. A single round punched into his forehead and his eyes rolled up. He dropped like a broken marionette. I rushed into the lobby of the church.

My old friend, the front desk latina was behind her post. She was surprisingly calm considering I had just executed her co-worker. Then again, some women are just built like that. Her right hand flew out from under her desk. She had a snub nose revolver. But before she could squeeze the trigger, I had her in my red dot sights.

Two hollow point rounds screamed into her chest in quick succession, her polo turned a dark crimson and she plummeted to the floor. I snatched her subnose revolver but she was already dead. One round had perforated her heart. I shoved the snubie into my chest rig and headed to the auditorium double doors, I threw them open.

Around thirty or so people turned towards me with open mouths and shock in their eyes. I pointed my Glock at them and unslung my rucksack.

Since it was almost Easter I shouted into the surprised crowd: Christ has risen motherfuckers!

I began tossing balloons from the rucksack.

Some hit the floor, other balloons hit people in the face. They all burst on contact.

People began shouting. They couldn’t process what was happening. Pandemonium reigned.

No one charged the front doors where I stood, too terrified of my scary black pistol. When about twenty of the balloons had been launched. I began phase 2, in quick succession, I threw all three fragmentation grenades in different directions. I quickly excited the auditorium.

Once outside, I took a large chain and wrapped it around the door handles, locking it with a stout padlock. Inside, I heard and felt the concussive explosion of the grenades. For a brief moment, there was complete silence.

Screams and flames ignited at the same time. Survivors began beating on the doors, crying out and cursing. Once I was assured the doors would hold, I turned and left them to their fate. As I jogged back to the elevator, I got rid of the rest of my deadly balloons. As the elevator doors closed, I tossed a lighter on to the kerosene soaked carpet.

The elevator brought me back down. I could smell smoke coming down the shaft.

As I exited the long cavern. I heard gunfire.

From the beach, I witnessed Five unloading his First Gulf War era M16A2 into another boat, a 27 foot Hard Top, painted in black and red. Four men in polos and kevlar vests were shooting back at Five with pistols. A Church Vigilant patrol boat had found us.

However, they hadn’t been prepared to fight an aggressor with military grade hardware.

Five’s M16A2 had a M203 grenade launcher tucked under the heat shield. Once the grenades began raining on the Hard Top, the fight went out of the guards. The boat operator was killed outright by shrapnel. I killed another security guard when he tried to get away by jumping in the water. It was more luck than anything else when the Hydra-Shok round struck his head as his body hit the water. The other two were polished off by rifle rounds as the damaged boat slowly sank into the Gulf.

I turned away from the scene of utter carnage. I trained my sights on the cavern entrance to the elevator. If anyone made it out and down the shaft, I planned on popping them. I waited about 5 minutes or so but all was silent.

“Watch your six!” I heard Six shout from his boat.

I whirled about and Pantano was practically on top of me with his sap. He had come out of the water so quietly, I hadn’t heard a single sound. He knocked my glock out of my hands with his sap. My fingers were bruised and hurting but they could still hold a knife. From my load out tactical vest, I unsheathed my slim Boker commando dagger.

We circled each other. Pantano’s eyes were filled with hate. Noiselessly, he came at me with the leather sap. I blocked his incoming wrist with my left hand. I had the dagger in an ice pick grip and I drove it fiercely into the neck of that unnatural cleric.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” I stated each time the steel blade penetrated his foul flesh. Pantano remained silent, he emitted a smell like rotting fish entrails from his wounds, his blood, more pink than crimson spilled over sand. The hostile stare finally lost all light.

I had been so surprised by the sudden attack, that I hadn’t noticed he was naked. Pantano’s blotchy skin and overall sickly appearance was even more hideous naked than clothed. In my disgust, I picked up the dying man. As bright blood flowed down the crown of my head, I tossed him into the expectant waves from whence he had come. The sea accepted this sacrifice, the body disappeared, never to resurface again.

I collected my Glock and swam out to Five and he helped me back into the boat.

As Five and I sped away in his fishing vessel, I glanced back. In the distance, a dozen misshapen heads peeked out from the water, quietly observing us as we made our rapid getaway. They didn’t follow us…or at least I didn’t think they did.

I knew this would not be the last time I would see these silent aqueous watchers.

Five got us home and we shared a few beers in his maintenance hut, in wordless male camaraderie. He was still blasting ZZ Top when I left an hour later.

The rest of the weekend was spent in a black out drunken stupor. At least I didn't remember the nightmares when I passed out. I saw bits and pieces of the local news.

Mainstream outlets were strangely blase about the whole affair, only remarking that a tragic explosion and resultant fire occurred at the Church By the Sea, in Dunedin, multiple fatalities were reported and an investigation was ongoing, now on to other news, et cetera.

On Monday morning, with a vicious hangover in full bloom, I opened my work email to discover that my position with the insurance company had been terminated. It seems some people found out about my moonlighting investigation of the Church By the Sea and they weren’t happy about it. Perhaps some of my coworkers were members.

Cowards couldn't even fire me in person at the corporate office. Rather than becoming all conspiratorial about it, I decided to say: fuck it.

I would set-up my own website and hang out my own shingle. This Detective Florida Man would be his own boss for now on. No matter where life would take me here in the Gulf, I would accept it with a grin and meet it head on.