“CESAR”

The mountains of Cesar’s ancestral home faded into the darkness as the boat effortlessly glided across the glassy water and into the abyss that lay between Matanzas, Cuba and the drop site. All was quiet except for the muffled humming of the engines, and the occasionally slap of water against the carbon fiber bow breaking through a swell. Just last week, Cesar had upgraded the outboards. The new screws were faster, quieter, and more fuel efficient; all of which would propel his 40 ft go-fast at 60 kts towards another payday and increase his bottom line.

As with every run, Cesar was meticulous in his planning, preparation, and execution. Although trafficking migrants had made Cesar Rodriguez a wealthy man, it was an inherently dangerous game that he played. Despite the risks, it was a game that he loved to play. Even with flawless planning, Cesar knew there was always the risk of something going wrong. At the forefront of his thoughts, Cesar was always weary of some unforeseen catastrophe at sea, a mutiny, or being detected by the watchful eyes of government agents intent on interfering with his operations. It was however precisely this clarity of thought and awareness that had made him so successful.

As the boat rocketed towards its destination, Cesar surveyed his cargo of twenty-six souls. All aboard appeared stoic, uncertain of what the future might hold. Of the sixteen men, five women, four children, and small infant, a mix emotions permeated the air. Some conveyed feelings of exhilaration at the thought of starting a new and free life, others expressed an air sadness for loved ones left behind, while yet others trembled with blinding fear of the unknown. All remained crouched low to the deck and quiet just as Cesar had instructed. The boat was grossly over capacity, and sound carries over the expanse of open water. It was because of these liabilities that Cesar was clear in his instructions before embarking; any deviation from his orders while underway would be met with swift and equally brutal of consequences.

Cesar was an intimidating figure, a first generation Cuban-American, a mulatto who stood at six feet, 3 inches tall, and 220 lbs,. and carried a chrome plated .45 tucked into his waistband. Although he had a somewhat innocent look about his face, Cesar possessed a fire in his eyes along with a sharp jawline and powerful athletic build which suggested he was not someone to be toiled with. The son of a Marielito, Cesar grew up on the bloody streets of Miami during the 1980’s and learned his trade at a young age from his father. While the Medellin and Cali Cartels created havoc in the streets of South Florida over drugs, Cesar’s father stood back in the shadows, silently building an empire from nothing but trafficking people instead of dope; which as it turns out is just as lucrative and draws a lot less attention.

About an hour into their voyage, Cesar eased back on the throttles and the boat gently receded back into the calm rolling waters of the Florida Straits. Every so often during a run Cesar would stop, check his bearings, and access his situation in the event he needed to make course corrections or alter his route entirely. Cesar cut the engines and paused to listen for the sounds of running motors or the distant rumblings of a helicopters rotor signature; tell tale signs of intruders and preying eyes into his clandestine operation. “Do you hear anything?” Whispered Cesar? “No, tranquilo” responded Juan, Cesar’s indentured associate. “Alright, go ahead and pass out the chorizo and water, we’re gonna rest here for a little bit, before moving on” said Cesar. Juan diligently carried out the captain’s orders and began distributing the rations, while Cesar took a brief opportunity to rest.

Cesar leaned back at the helm and closed his eyes. The boat gently rolled with the easy swell of a calm sea, as the rhythmic lullaby of water clapped against the bobbing hull. A cool breeze cascaded over Cesar’s sweat beaded forehead and gave welcome respite from the sub-tropical heat of the night. Cesar slowly exhaled and for a brief moment, indulged in the serenity of their solitude. When the sky is clear and the moon hangs bright overhead, there is a surprising amount of illumination which allows for a high degree of visibility in what is otherwise a dark and at times, a terrifying void. Cesar opened his eyes and scanned the horizon for signs of movement. No silhouettes passed in the sky and no shadows creeped in distance. “Tranquilo,” Juan had said, and for the moment, it most certainly was.

Cesar glanced at his watch, 2:00 A.M. and then confirmed their position on the GPS. “We’re right on schedule Juan, just a little SW of Cay Sal.” Juan nodded in agreement, the route was one they had used many times. Their course was to take them along the international boundary between the United States and the Bahamas near an area known as the Cay Sal Bank. Officials in Cuba, Mexico, and the Bahamas could (and often were) easily be paid off to look the other way, a minor cost of doing business for Cesar’s operations. Unfortunately, U.S. Agents aren’t so easily (or cheaply) bought off. Should they encounter any Customs and Border Protection (CBP) Agents or the U.S. Coast Guard, this route could at least give them a chance to escape. By slipping into Bahamian waters, specifically via the Cay Sal Bank, Cesar could possibly out maneuver pursuers as the Bank is too shallow for Coast Guard Cutters to give chase, and CBP can’t pursue into Bahamian waters without permission from the Royal Bahamian Navy. Many of who just happened to be on Cesar’s payroll. Additionally, the bank offers any number of uninhabited islands to hold up, re-supply, and wait it out if needed.

Cesar instructed Juan to stow any supplies left loose on the deck and secure their “cargo” before they got underway when Juan shouted “Oye!” and pointed off the starboard bow. “What is it?” Demanded Cesar. “No Se. I can’t tell, I think I heard motors running.” Said Juan. “There!” as he pointed over their starboard bow. Cesar took a quick glance at his RADAR, a tiny blip appeared on the screen and just as quickly disappearing, and then again only closer. Cesar noted the distance and direction of travel of their impending visitors. “It’s a small boat, the signature’s not big enough to be a cutter and she’s moving too fast” shouted Cesar.

Cesar ripped a nautical chart and compass from the center console, quickly unfurled it on the deck and began to furiously scribble calculations. “Ok, I don’t know who the hell he is, but we’re not waiting around to find out. “Todos bajar! ¡No te muevas!” - (Everyone Get Down, Don’t Move!) Cesar barked at the migrants. Juan pushed the women and children to the back of the boat near the transom and ordered the men to kneel down low, dispersing them upon every open inch of deck space.

Cesar turned the keys and with the press of a button all four outboards roared to life. Cesar gripped the helm in one hand, and the throttles controls in the other. Yelling “Coming up!” Cesar slammed the throttles forward, and the vessel catapulted forward with the immense force of all 1200 horses propelling it up and onto the water. “Juan, can you see them?” Asked Cesar. “No, but I hear them - outboards! And they're getting closer!” Based upon his hurried plot line, and rough calculations, Cesar knew the approaching vessel was embarked on a collision course with his location. With this information, he was all but certain their pursuers were a CBP Marine Interdiction vessel. Cesar knew if he didn’t take evasive action and take it now, they’d be on them in a matter of minutes.

Desperate to create distance between them, Cesar adjusted his trim and hammered his fist down on the throttles as if willing them to produce just a little more precious power, but they were already wide open. They were close now, so close that Cesar could now hear the roar of the CBP engines over the howling 60 knot winds and his own engines. “Shit! They’re closing on us!” Cesar thought to himself.

“Cesar!” Screamed Juan, “they’re here, mas rápido!” Cesar glanced over his shoulder and out of the void appeared strobing blue lights and a blaring siren directly on his stern; rapidly closing the distance between them his worst fears were realized - CBP Blue Lightning. Cesar knew their only hope now would be to reach the Bank before CBP could close enough distance to open fire and disable his engines. These Agents are some the best vessel operators on the planet; they’re highly skilled seamen, heavily armed, tenacious, and aggressive; they live for the chase and they love a good fight.

Cesar took another glance over his shoulder, but he was momentarily blinded. His ears confirmed what he could not see, the report of a shotgun’s blast launching a flare which screamed through the air like a rocket just above his head. If Cesar had any doubt, a second incendiary round chased the first directly across his bow in rapid succession. Cesar’s heart raced, with his vessel so grossly overloaded he knew any attempts to outrun the agents would be futile. He would have to out maneuver them. Panic gripped the migrants as the CBP vessel inched closer and closer. Cesar abruptly pulled back on his throttles, causing the migrants to careen about the deck, and the agents to overtake him. With no time to waste, he flung the controls forward again, cutting his wheel hard to port creating some semblance of distance, but the CBP vessel was already circling around, in fast pursuit. With the engines fully opened, Cesar began to serpentine, but the agents mirrored his every move. Franticly trying to outmaneuver the Agents, Cesar cut his wheel hard to starboard 180 degrees and charged his pursuers head-on. The Agents cut hard to port, narrowly averting a collision but immediately circled back to give chase.

The previously tranquil waters now thrashed and churned with whitecaps produced from the chase. Cesar’s boat pitched and rolled in the fury of his flight. The screws howled and cavitated as the vessel leapt out of the water and slammed back down with bone crushing force. Water swished about the deck from gallons of sea spray which had cascaded over gunnels and saturated everything an everyone on board. The pleasant aroma of sea breeze replaced with the putrid stench of vomit and urine. Back in the hunt, the CBP vessel was astern and once again gaining on Cesar.

Their pursuers were now slicing through Cesar’s wake, coming along on his port with blue lights blazing and siren wailing. The government vessel so close, the Agents could seemingly just walk across the gunnels to board if they so desired. The situation was dire, one of the Agents leveled his shotgun and took aim at Cesar’s engines. Cesar turned his wheel hard to port. With a loud crash, the vessels collided swapping gelcoat and throwing the Agent off his feet. While this maneuver bought them a few precious seconds, Cesar knew he would have to take much desperate measures to escape. Within seconds the Agents were back on Cesar, cutting through his wake in an attempt to take a position for disabling fire.

Cesar looked about his deck at his pathetic looking cargo and ordered one of the young women to climb atop the engines. “No!” Responded the terrified girl, “No, I can’t!” Enraged by the blatant disobedience to his direct order, Cesar said “You can, and you will! They won’t take the shot if they think they might hit you.” Sobbing, the girl again said “No!” Annoyed at the insubordination, Cesar turned to Juan and said “get her on top of those engines or get her off my boat!” Juan’s eyes opened wide, “But boss, she’s, she’s got a baby.” “Do it, and do it now!” Ordered Cesar. Juan’s brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he gathered his conviction. “No!” exclaimed Juan, “I won’t do it.” Infuriated, and running out of time, Cesar relinquished the controls and ordered Juan to take the helm, shouting “I’ll settle with you later!”

Cesar grasped the woman by the throat and began dragging her towards the stern. The woman violently resisted Cesar, kicking and biting him. The woman clawed and scratched Cesar’s face with one hand, while clutching her child in the other. In the midst of the me-lee, a loud BOOM discharged, followed by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun’s slide chambering another shell. Cesar was out of time. In this moment of despair, Cesar recoiled his fist and slammed down into the young mother’s face. Her body went limp as she fell to the deck. Cesar ripped the infant from the unconscious woman’s breast, and made fast for the transom. Before the Agent could draw a down to disable another engine, Cesar outstretched his arm and pinning the child atop the engine’s rumbling cowling.

Observing the grave danger in which Cesar had just placed the child, the Agent scowled in disgust and lowered his weapon. “Juan!” Shouted Cesar, “You have to lose them!” Before Juan could respond, the windshield echoed with “Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!” A cloud of white dust enveloped the helm and spread about the boat. The Agents had unleashed a volley of pepper balls, small non-lethal pellets containing oleoresin capsicum (O.C). Cesar and everyone on board began to heave and cough. Juan began to panic, “I can’t see! My eyes are burning!” Panicked in his blindness, Juan heaved the boat towards the Agent’s vessel in an attempt to shake them until he could regain his sight. In Juan’s reckless maneuver to escape, the boats impacted with a force that threw everyone on board both vessels. Cesar was flung to port an nearly thrown overboard, and to everyone’s horror, Cesar’s powerful hand could not maintain its grip. The helpless infant vanished into the dark sea. Witnessing the child fall overboard, the Agents terminated their pursuit in an all but futile attempt to rescue or recover the lost soul.

With the Agent’s falling back, Cesar regained command of the vessel. “Juan, take a head count and go check on everyone.” Ordered Cesar. Juan nodded his head in acknowledgement, but said nothing as he turned to carryout the Captain’s orders. Cesar turned on his GPS, which flickered long enough to plot their position before shorting out. Remarkably, despite the erratic course changes during the pursuit, they had nearly made it to Cay Sal. This was little comfort to Cesar as the government was most assuredly tracking them from the air. With the baby going overboard, the stakes had dramatically increased and if Cesar was caught, he would be brought up on murder charges. The sun would be rising soon and the bank would provide them cover, a place to rest, hide, and make repairs. After years of smuggling, experience had taught Cesar to prepare for contingencies such as this. As such, he had built an emergency supply cache, consisting of food, fuel, spare parts, and weapons. A depot really, Cesar had ingeniously reclaimed an old abandoned lighthouse and cistern on Elbow Cay to facilitate his illicit activities. With a new sense of urgency Cesar trimmed the remaining engines and charted a course through Cal Sal to Elbow Cay.

As they cruised through the early morning hours, a cloud of somber emotion hung heavy in the air. The young mother had not yet come to, unaware of the debt she had unwillingly paid to purchase everyone’s freedom. The migrants sat in silence, staring into the void; each traumatized by their journey and each wrestling with their own emotions. Cesar and Juan had not spoken but a few dispassionate words to one another following the incident. Juan desperately wanted to break the silence, to cut through the tension that had consumed the vessel.

Tormented by the weight of his conscience for his own role in the child’s death, Juan opened his mouth to confront Cesar but said nothing. The anxiety Juan carried was at transparent as the turquoise water below his feet. “You have something to say.” Said Cesar, not in a question, but as a statement of fact. Juan’s pulse quickened, confronting Cesar was a dangerous proposition. Juan was “paid” for his services, in reality a pittance as he himself was once smuggled by Cesar. Unable to pay the fee for passage from Cuba, he was indentured to work for Cesar until the debt was paid. If he refused, he or possibly his family might pay with their lives. Juan gathered his courage to respond, “Si Patron. I, I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” Slightly amused by Juan’s cowering, Cesar raised a brow and asked “You can’t do what exactly?” Despite the danger to himself, Juan exclaimed “This! I can’t do this to innocent people anymore. Señor, these are human beings yet you treat them as nothing more than cargo! That baby, you..” Before he could finish, the butt of Cesar’s pistol wretched across Juan’s jaw. “Oyeme Cabron! You work for me, until I say you’re done - never forget that!” Shouted Cesar. Irritated by Juan’s sudden insubordination, Cesar continued “This is a business, and they ARE cargo, quite valuable cargo at that! You of all people should know that, don’t go trying to grow a fucking conscience; as for the kid, that kid was worth $15,000.00 … the cost of doing business sometimes. Unless you care to join him, I suggest you remember who you’re speaking to!”

For the remainder of the night, Cesar’s boat traversed northbound through the shallows of Cay Sal Bank. As the dawn broke, a thick fog rolled in across the water’s surface and enveloped everything in its path. Cesar eased off the controls and paused to access their situation. “Coño!” Yelled Cesar in disgust. The RADAR must have been damaged by the pepper balls and his seemed to have stopped working. Based upon his previous calculations, if they were correct, Cesar determined they were more or less about 10-20 NM southwest of Elbow Cay. With zero visibility, low fuel, and no working navigation instruments, their journey had become exponentially more dangerous.

Deep in thought as to how to best navigate through submerged coral heads and shoals, Cesar wretched with a sharp and searing pain piercing the back of his shoulder. Lifting his head, all he could see was point of the gaff dropping on his head like an ax. Cesar instinctively flinched and rolled off to the side and fell backwards to the deck as the gaff missed its mark and embedded into the console. “Asesino! Cried the women. Cesar’s eyes met hers, as she struggled to dislodge the gaff. “Te voy a matar! Exclaimed the woman. The hope and life Cesar had seen in her eyes when she embarked on their journey had gone, her soul replaced with the vengeful fury of a mother’s loss. Cesar attempted to regain his footing but slipped on the debris covered deck. The woman, freeing the gaff, stood over Cesar and raised the weapon over her head. Spitting on Cesar’s face, the woman said “Te maldigo!” and drove the hook downward. Cesar flung himself backwards, drew his pistol from his waistband and fired a single shot as the hook impaled his leg. The woman fell to her knees, her lifeless body slumped over the gunnel as her white blouse flooded into shades of crimson red dripping into the sea.

Cesar yanked the gaff from his leg, and attempted to stand but fell back once more. “Juan, ayúdame!” Ordered Cesar. “No Paton, not this time.” Replied a defiant Juan. Realizing a possible mutiny in the making, Cesar raised his pistol at one of the children and said “Either you do as I say, or I’ll put a bullet in his fucking head. Entiendes?” Knowing that Cesar does not make idle threats, Juan briefly weighed his options and begrudgingly complied. “Alright, I’ll grab the first aid kit, but por favor Cesar, don’t shoot him, he’s just a kid.” Juan retrieved a small bag from the bow of the boat and set it down beside Cesar. Cesar’s wound was deep and he was beginning to lose a large amount of blood. For a moment, Juan considered allowing Cesar to bleed out but the thought receded just as quickly. They were utterly lost without Cesar’s navigation skills and surrounded by heavy fog. No, he would tend to Cesar’s wounds take his chances with this savage once they reached the relative safety of land. To stop the bleeding, Juan fashioned a tourniquet using some spare line and a screwdriver for a spindle. After tending the more serious wound, Juan applied a bandage to Cesar’s shoulder, a superficial wound albeit a nice gash none-the-less.

The splash of the woman’s lifeless body entering the water broke the eerie silence of the early morning fog. Juan’s blood boiled over as Cesar callously jettisoned the corps like a piece of trash. As the woman's body slowly faded beneath the surface, Juan could no longer contain his disgust. “You are not a good man Cesar.” Said Juan in a somber statement of fact. Indifferent, Cesar shrugged his shoulders, and replied “I never claimed to be.” “Someday, you will have to atone for your sins Cesar, what will you say when judgement comes for you?” Asked Juan. In no mood to entertain anymore of Juan’s sudden pious sense of morality, Cesar fired up the engines and said “If you’re finished with your bullshit, we need to go.” Defeated, Juan shook his head and took a place in the back of boat with the other migrants.

“Coming up!” Cesar yelled. The boat slowly lifted on plane towards as they cautiously proceeded through the fog towards the old lighthouse at Elbow Cay. As they blindly traversed the hazardous waters, the sea state began to rapidly deteriorate. Through the dense fog, a voice in the distance was carried on the wind like wraith “Te maldigo!” Cesar eased back on the controls and listened. Again the wind whispered “Te maldigo.” Not believing his ears, Cesar turned to Juan “did you hear that?” With a puzzled look, Juan replied “Hear wha…. wait, behind us Patron. It, it sound’s like a baby crying.” “No.” Said Cesar, “I could swear I heard a woman’s voice, it was coming form there,” as he pointed past the bow. “A-S-S- S-E-E-S- I-N-O! TE MALDIGO!” The voice shrieked loudly, this time rising from the depths below. Cesar’s face went pale as he recalled the young mother’s final words “Te maldigo,” I Curse You!”

Terrified by the unexplained apparition, Cesar wrenched the throttles forward as hard as he could. With a violent jerk, the vessel shot up and out of the water, blindly propelling them towards Elbow Cay. The wind continued to howl as the boat crashed through the growing swells, sending everyone careening about. Cesar had abandoned all caution in his flight, focused only on getting away. The voice gave chase, whispering, repeating over and over again in Cesar’s ear “Te maldigo.” The high pitch whining of the engines pierced the air as the boat emerged into a slight clearing from the fog and the old lighthouse briefly revealed itself just off Cesar’s starboard bow. Determined to reach their destination, Cesar began their approach through the narrow channel with throttles wide open towards the old watchtower’s ruins.

As they rocketed towards the rocky shore, a sound far more terrifying than ghostly whispers and for more real split the air. With an explosive crack, boat’s hull instantly smashed apart on a reclusive coral head hiding just below the water’s surface. Cesar was immediately and violently ejected from the helm. The bodies of his precious cargo impacted the console and dispersed into the water as the boat disappeared into pieces, a pile of useless debris scattered about the surface. Cesar entered the water like a torpedo just launched from its tube. Barely conscious, and in excruciating pain, Cesar called out for Juan, or any survivors. No one answered. Separated, alone and adrift Cesar was confronted with the reality of his circumstances. He was badly injured, ready to lose consciousness, and floating along in an unforgiving environment. The rocky shores of Elbow Cay were within sight, but Cesar knew they might as well be on the other side of the world if he lost consciousness, so he began swim. With each pain staking stroke, Cesar closed in on the rocky shoreline. Exhausted, and with labored breath, Cesar reached a small outcropping of rocks. Hanging from the rock, half submerged Cesar struggled to pull himself up and out of the water. Clinging to his last remaining ounce of determination, Cesar extracted himself from the water. Lying on his back, Cesar closed his eyes and succumbed to the exhaustion of his ordeal.

Cesar was awakened by the rhythmic trickle of the incoming tide gently overtaking the rocks where he laid. Gingerly rising to his feet, Cesar’s head throbbed as his eyes adjusted from his slumber. Limping along the shoreline, Cesar made his way to a small path which would take him up a the hill to the lighthouse. As he made his way, Cesar shivered in his damp and disheveled clothes, fortunately it was only a short hike to the other side of the the island. Once he reached the old lighthouse he could grab some food and dry clothes from the cache of supplies he had hidden there.

Upon reaching the top of hill, Cesar stopped dead in his tracks. “Where’s the fucking lighthouse?” Bewildered, Cesar surveyed the area but the lighthouse and more importantly his stash were no where to be found. Cesar had used this location as a waypoint for years, Reviewing his nautical calculations in his head, Cesar knew he had made it to Elbow Cay, hell he just saw the damned thing before they crashed. Confused, he pressed deeper along the trail until he reached the highest point on the island. The rock was pristine, it appeared untouched, there was no lighthouse, no cistern, just nothing. The ruins had simply vanished without a trace. With mounting concern and confusion, Cesar scanned the area in which he had wrecked for debris. Again, he found nothing. Even if the boat sank, which it most certainly did, as hard as they impacted there should be some visible debris, some evidence of a crash washed up on shore. “And, what about Juan and the migrants,” thought Cesar. “Surely someone made it to shore.” Tired and confused by the strange events of the day, Cesar sat down beside a tree along the trail to rest and contemplate his next move.

 Cesar leaned back against the tree, attempting to make sense of everything. The sun had set, exposing a brilliant tapestry of stars in the night sky. A pleasant breeze blew over the island, swaying the palm fronds and rustling the tall grass that cover the island. Cesar looked up to the sky, closed his eyes and let loose a long accentuated sigh. As Cesar exhaled, he was unnerved by by the sharp edge of cold steel being pressed to his throat.

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Title: Devil’s Triangle

Genre: Historical Fiction / Mystery /Science-Fiction/ Thriller

Age Range: 18+

Word Count (Excerpt): 4,588 Book: In progress

Screen Name: Marlinspike

Why a good fit: This book would be a good fit because it spans multiple genres that appeal to different readers. It is loaded with unique twists and multiple character plot lines which intersect as the story unfolds.

The Hook: The subject of this book is the mysterious disappearances associated with the Bermuda Triangle. The book takes loosely draws from actual and fictional disappearances from different points in history, ranging from the mysterious disappearance of Navy Flight 19 (1945) to the fictional smuggler Cesar Rodriguez, to the disappearance of to teens off the Florida coast in 2016. The book transports the characters to the golden age of piracy in the late 17th century where their journeys paths intersect.

Synopsis: The Bermuda Triangle, often referred to as “The Devil’s Triangle” has been the source of unexplained phenomenon and countless disappearances for years. In the excerpt provided, Cesar Rodriguez, a ruthless smuggler is embarking on a human trafficking journey from Matanzas, Cuba and destined for the United Staes with a load of migrants by way of the Bahamas. Along the way, Cesar’s run is met with challenges and castrophe as he unwittingly enters the Devil’s Triangle. Cesar, a mulatto Cuban-American suddenly finds himself in the 17th Century and must come to terms with the parallels of his 21st century human trafficking and the very real slave trade in the late 1600’s. Follow Cesar’s road to redemption as he pushes back against slavers and finances his mission under the guise of the notorious pirate, Black Cesar.

Target Audience: Adult

Bio: I am a novice writer, college educated with a B.A. in Organizational Leadership. I am a professional Law Enforcement Officer with experience and assignments ranging from local uniformed street patrols and plain clothed investigations, to homeland security, to federal maritime narcotics, human trafficking interdiction. After a nearly twenty year career, I have had a front row seat to the very best and worst human beings have to offer. 

Personality / Writing Style: I am a bit of a beach bum and as a licensed Captain, I have an immense love for the sea. Salt water courses through my veins and is often reflected in my writings. 

Hometown: Currently residing in Nashville, TN, but my family and I claim the Florida Keys as our home and yearn for the day we can return to our island town of Islamorada, FL.

 As I sit surrounded in a room full of strangers, I am desperately alone. With so many thoughts streaking through my head, its almost ironic at this moment that time is seemingly standing still. Just as I begin to feel at peace, escaping in my blur of memories; the cold tight steel binding my extremities jolts me back to reality and crushing pressure of panic and anxiety grip my chest like a vice. My God, these self-righteous assholes are actually going kill me!

“All rise!” bellowed the bailiff, “The Honorable Judge Harold Cambridge presiding, the 16th Judicial Circuit Court of Monroe County, the Great State of Florida is now in Session!” Judge Cambridge took his place on the bench and addressed the jury. “Madam Forman, has the jury reached a verdict?” With a solemn look and trembling hands, the old bat responded with a barely audible “We have your Honor.” All I could think was what the hell is she so afraid of; after all she’ll be the one throwing the goddamned switch, not the one sitting in the fucking chair! “Would the Forman please read the verdict.” After a brief pause, juror number four responded “We the jury find Cade Jacobs guilty of murder in the 1st degree.’

The courtroom was a fervor of emotions as the verdict was read, filled with sighs, gasps, cries, and tears. Funny thing is, none of that pomp and circumstance emanated from me. Perhaps its because the truth is, I am precisely the cold blooded killer they portrayed in that circus they called justice. If I have any real emotion right now, its mere disbelief. Disbelief that I actually got caught, how could I have overlooked such a minute yet painfully obvious detail?

I come from a little drinking town with a big fishing problem called Islamorada. My best friend, Danny Lopez and I grew up on the docks, listening to crusty old lobstermen's tales. No, not Jack Sparrow and Spanish gallons filled with gold. I’m talking a bit more recent, think along the lines of Cocaine Cowboys during the 80’s & 90’s and stories of square grouper and cold hard cash literally falling from the sky. Not much has changed from those days aside from the product. No more square grouper washing up either, in fact the only thing you might find floating is a body. Some unlucky prick that either didn’t or couldn’t pay their tab. Smuggling is alive and well in the beautiful Florida Keys and just as lucrative.

Today the product is people, and as far a smuggling goes, Danny and I were two of the best in the business. The problem is, to stay in business your associates have to be able to keep a secret. Unfortunately for Danny, a secret is only safe if the other person is dead. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Danny; we were like brothers, but Danny always did have a big mouth. And, in this business that’s a liability.  

Music is said to be the universal language. It is the paint we use to fill the canvas of our lives, with every stroke it creates a portrait. Lyrics employ memories and emotions to weave a tapestry which tells one’s own unique story which is known solely to the artist himself. Have you ever noticed that a single song can paint you a picture and take you back to a precise moment in time; instantly recall a specific emotion, feeling, or even a specific scent? The beauty of music is that the while the lyrical prose of a songwriter conveys the author’s thoughts and emotions, it allows anyone to take ownership of the spoken word to apply and convey their own personal meaning. I love music and I love this challenge! So many to choose from, I suppose I’ll just have to share a couple of random pages from my own story. One about emotion and one that take me back in time to those vivid dream-like memories.

“In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade

and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame I am leaving, I am leaving.

But the the fighter still remains.” - Paul Simon’s The Boxer

Such a beautiful song about perseverance and life in general. I so often feel like life knocks me down for the count and like the Boxer, I want to hang it all up and leave. But, like the boxer I pick myself up and stand again because “the fighter still remains.”

“We spotted the ocean at the head of the trail

Where are we going, so far away?

And somebody told me that this is the place,

Where everything better, everything’s safe.” - Toad the Wet Sprocket  Walk on the Ocean

Some of my fondest memories are from a time in my life in which I was blessed with the opportunity to live on a tropical island, many would call it paradise - I certainly did. All it takes is hearing the first note of this song and I am instantly transported to a place of lucidity. A vivid dream like state takes hold of me, and once again I can feel the gentle trade winds caress my skin in heat of the tropical sun. The scent of saltwater permeates the air I breathe, and the sound of crashing waves engulf every fiber of my consciousness. For a brief moment in time, I’m home.