Isla Lacra

By John Boyd

Denver Noles is a Navy SEAL and Medal of Honor winner who inherits half an island in the Florida Keys after the death of his uncle Harry. Deciding to leave the Navy and change his lifestyle he converts his uncle's house into a bar and recruits a couple of other SEALS to run the bar, marina and boat yard and for five years they do just that, until an employee asks for his help. Her only daughter was kidnapped by Mexico's largest cartel.
Denver and his buddies head to Mexico to find the girl but get caught up in a conspiracy that puts them in a struggle for their lives between Mexico's two largest cartels. Their only way out is to go on the offensive to save the girl and her family and themselves.
Their hunt takes them to the coast near Cancun and eventually to a daring rescue in the Caribbean.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329490093

Book preview

Isla Lacra

Isla Lacra

By

John R. Boyd

Four Pawns Publishing

901 N. Gadsden St.

Tallahassee, Fl. 32303

www.fourpawnspublishing.com

© 2014, Four Pawns Publishing, All Rights Reserved

This book is dedicated to my family and friends—lessons lived and learned.

Acknowledgements

To my team: George Modric, my best friend.

Robert Ray, Bernard Daley, Audrey Graves, Donna Carver, and Lars Bjerga:

The continued effort you have put into my brand is amazing. Bonnie Hearn-Hill: For editing, advising, and guiding this work. Thank you.

And first in my heart, my wife Mariana, and my family.

Thanks for everything.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ONE

I had no idea when I woke up this morning, that today would be any different than any other Friday, and my life would soon become more complicated.

How does one spot the signs? A black cat crosses your path? No. Something more subtle? It is always a person who has the potential to change your life or your equilibrium. Yes. That’s what happened to me, but it’s not my fault it happened. I was just minding my own business as usual.

I had just started my daily crossword puzzle when Janice, the manager of my bar, walked up to give me the plans and the specials for the day as she always does, and I just nodded and said something stupid as usual. See, I never question Janice Wilson-Hayes about how she runs the place. You ask why? Because she’s smarter and better looking than I am, we made a good profit out of this place, and she’s my best friend, well at least my best female friend as it were. No, we’re not sleeping together, not that I didn’t try five years ago when we first met and opened the bar. She came in as my first employee. Okay, I admit I do have some male pig tendencies, but I can’t be held completely responsible for that. I have to place some of the blame on Uncle Harry. Yes, and twelve years in the Navy had a profound effect on my male pigness as Janice tells me quite frequently, but I’m proud to say not as often as she used to. See, I just assumed you were supposed to hit on any woman you see in a bar. And that’s what I had done for twelve years in the Navy, with some success I might add. Oops, there I go again.

Before we go any further, let me tell you about Janice Wilson-Hayes and me, Denver Noles. No I don’t have three names, sorry.

Janice is thirty years old, five-foot tall, nine inches in stocking feet, long, jet-black hair, a body to die for and a face that would launch a thousand ships as they say. She is smart and honest with a good attitude and great personality.

Me, I’m not a bad-looking guy as guys go at thirty-eight. Not a looker like Janice, but not ugly either. At six-foot-two, I’m at least taller than she is, but I’m blond with green eyes. Oh, I forgot she’s got blue eyes, if that matters to you. I still weigh one hundred eighty-five pounds, same as I did in the service, so I’m in pretty good shape. And I still work out daily because some things don’t come easy.

So why didn’t we hit it off five years ago, you ask, and if we didn’t, why is she still working here as the manager? Slow down, I’m getting to that, not one of my finer moments I admit.

She stopped by the place as the construction crew and I were fixing it up. See, I inherited it from my Uncle Harry, Harry Toliver, my mother’s oldest brother and ex-character extraordinaire. Back to him in a second.

She just showed up and saw the sign we had put up, Denver’s and asked if it was going to be a bar, and if it was, she was a bartender looking for work. I took one look at her and thought my ship had come in. Not that I couldn’t have found a bartender, but not one who looked like her, so without checking references, I hired her on the spot. She started that day five years ago and helped us put the finishing touches on the place before we opened it.

I didn’t know at the time that she had never tended bar before, or that she was escaping a failed relationship. She shared that with me later, but during the month before we opened, she would leave at 5 p.m. every day, drive thirty miles to Key West and tend bar for free just to learn the trade, another thing I didn’t find out until later.

I was attracted to her right out the get go. Hell, still am. Sorry, it’s the pig thing again.

After the first week, we were closing up one Saturday night when I decided to make my move. She had on a halter top and looked great in tight jeans, so I invited her up to my place, which happens to be conveniently located on the second floor over the bar. She politely turned down my advances, but I don’t give up easy. I pushed. She sat me down and told me I wasn’t her type. Hell, that didn’t stop me. I wasn’t looking for a wife, just a roll in the hay.

After more pushing, she looked at me and said, I’m sorry Denver, but I’m a lesbian.  Then, she stood and walked behind the bar, leaving me sitting with my mouth open. I watched her stuffing things in a box and finally summoned the courage to speak.

What are you doing?

I’m leaving.

Why? I asked, approaching the bar.

I didn’t think you’d want me to stay once you found out, she said, with tears in her eyes.

I walked behind the bar, took the box out of her hands, set it down, and put both hands on her shoulders.

Listen Janice, I can’t say that you didn’t shock me, but I have a secret to admit too.

She stared at me with a strange look, but before she could speak I continued, Hey, I also like women. I think I might also be a lesbian.

That was the first time she called me a pig, but afterward, I hugged her. I wiped the tears off her face and put the box behind the bar. Then I walked her to her car, opened the door, and told her, Now that we got that out of the way, I’ll see you tomorrow.

There’s not a better or more loyal person on earth than Janice, and after five years of working with her, I have grown to respect and trust her, and I still have those urges when she wears that halter top. What can I say?

Back to Uncle Harry. He’s another story.

December 7, 1941 Seaman First Class Harry Toliver was at Pearl Harbor or somewhere thereabouts. He was never quite clear of his exact whereabouts when asked about that fateful day. I always figured he was at some card game or visiting a house of ill repute off base, but would never question him.

His father, my grandfather, was Captain James Toliver, also a Navy man, who fought with distinction during that war in the Pacific, in charge of a submarine, he did the best he could to get his son, my uncle, interested in. He never could.

I came to learn as a kid that my Uncle Harry spent all of World War II in the South Pacific going from island to island. I don’t think he ever saw any real fighting but sure brought a lot of Japanese junk back with him. Samurai swords, helmets, guns, rifles, uniforms. Many of them now adorn this bar.

After the war, my grandfather returned with my grandmother and produced a healthy baby girl nine months and one day after his return. That baby girl, Mary Toliver, was and is my mother.

My uncle bought an island in the Keys, Isla Lacra. Not a big island, mind you, but it was all his. By the way, it is still a mystery how a Seaman First Class had enough money to buy the island. As a young man on leave from the Navy when I was about twenty-five years old, I sat in a poker game with my then seventy-five-year-old Uncle Harry and proceeded to lose my shirt.

After the game, I was pretty sure how Seaman First Class Harry Toliver scraped up enough money to buy Isla Lacra. For you who only understand Taco Bell Spanish, that’s Scar Island, named after some Spanish pirate who sank off the island somewhere. As the story goes, the pirate was picked up on the island by a British ship and claimed he lost his ship and all hands during the storm. Except for one little problem. When the British captain saw the guy was wearing one of his old uniform jackets that had been taken from him a year earlier during a battle, the pirate was promptly hanged.

Originally Harry built a large two-story concrete house and little else on the island. He was content to live in peace, fish, and you can figure out the rest. But some politician and others had a great idea to connect the islands and Keys by roads and bridges, so in the early fifties, Harry was connected to the real world, and people could now reach him by auto.

Always being a man with an eye on profit, he sold little pieces of his island paradise to finance an expansion to his house, create a marina and service station and grocery store. It didn’t take long to find a bride and pump out two boys, my cousins.

My mother grew up in Miami, as a kid and would often travel down south to spend summers with Uncle Harry, her brother. After she married my father, we continued to live in Miami and make treks to visit Harry, where he taught me to fish, love the water, and play cards. Of course he never taught me everything he knew, just enough, as he would say and smile as he won another pot.

It was he who encouraged me to join the Navy to continue the family tradition. I always found that a little strange since I knew he really didn’t like the Navy, and neither of my two cousins entered the military. My father died in a car accident when I was a young boy, so Uncle Harry was my surrogate dad, and my mother always adored her older brother. I never met my grandfather. He died ten years before I was born.

Over the years Harry’s wife came and went as did a couple of others along the way until it was just him at the end, as it was when he started. He told me many times he liked it better that way.

When I graduated from Annapolis, as his father had, it was Harry who traveled with my mother to see it. I still remember him hugging me and telling me I was like his son, but better because he never had to change my diapers, and then laughing that raucous laugh of his.

Every time I had leave during my time in the Navy, I would come home and visit Harry and his island, which wasn’t his anymore, but you couldn’t tell him that. He was always proud to show off his Navy SEAL nephew who was going to be a lifer in the Navy just like his father had been.

I was on a secret op when a message was waiting for me when I finished. It directed me to call my mother. Uncle Harry had died. I took leave and made it back to the funeral just in time.

My mother told me how much my uncle had loved me, and she handed me a letter from him, something he had written the last days of his life—a full life, thank God. I remember sitting with her on a bench in the cemetery near where Harry was buried as I read it.

A rather large cashier’s check fell out of it, but I didn’t even bother to pick it up right away. His letter told me to see his lawyer because he had some papers for me to sign, and that the house, marina, store, and the boatyard were mine. The money was for me to use as I saw fit, but he wanted me to get out of the Navy and live—life for myself and my family. Yes, he wrote. Stop and have a family. Only do it better than I have.

I looked over at my mother. You knew about this? I asked.

Yes, sweetheart.

How long?

Almost your whole life. Harry loved you because you always looked up to him and thought he was a hero. He told me you were always his hero because you never complained, even after your father died, and you were always looking forward, never back. This is his way of helping you.

But what about his sons?

Don’t worry. Harry was a wealthy man, and he took care of them. He knew they would only sell his island or at least what’s left of it.

How did he know I won’t?

She leaned close to me and put her head on my shoulder. That place is in your blood. You couldn’t sell it any more than he could.

I was out of the U.S. Navy ninety days later and on that island. Looking ahead, as Harry had said.

TWO

We turned the house into a bar, renovating both the first and second floors into living quarters and an office. The money he left me, along with what I had saved, was enough to make it happen along with improving the marina and boatyard. I was lucky enough to talk to two of my SEAL buddies, to help.

Paul Hinds runs the marina and store, while Davy Lipton heads the boatyard. With Janice managing the bar, we’ve made a fair amount of profit during the last five years. So things have been going well, knock on wood.

Denver, Janice said, Maria wants to speak to you, but she’s nervous.

I looked up from my daily crossword. Is she okay?

I don’t think so, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.

I got off the barstool and put the puzzle down hoping to get back to it soon. I strolled to the back door were Maria was standing to see if I could settle the problem.

She had worked for us for almost five years, cleaning up the living quarters and the bar. I knew she was an illegal and that she’d come from Mexico years before to make a better life for herself. I hoped she wasn’t in big trouble, but I would help if I could. I saw a look of fear in her eyes as I got close, and I motioned to her that we should go upstairs for some privacy.

As we got to the top of the stairs, she began crying. I didn’t know what to say, so I just hugged her and told her whatever the problem was, we’d work it out.

I promise, I said. I may be a little piggish at times, as Janice says, but when I say those two powerful words, I always mean them.

She finally slowed up enough that I was able to lead her to a chair. I sat directly in front of her and told her to tell me what was wrong. Even after five years, she still hadn’t learned enough English, but lucky for both of us I speak Spanish like a native. I have always had a knack with foreign languages.

"Señor, they have taken my baby," she said, rushing the words out in a single breath.

I knew she was in her forties, exactly how old I didn’t know, but since she’d worked for us for five years, I was sure I would have remembered her having a baby. I surely couldn’t have missed that event, could I? No. I would have noticed. Damn, I hope so.

Okay, slow down. Who are they? I asked her calmly in Spanish. And who’s the baby? And where and when did this happen?

After a few deep breaths, she went on. "Señor, it’s my daughter Mariana. She’s been kidnapped in Mexico."

Trying to remain calm and patient, and really hoping this was a dream, I continued asking questions.

Who took her, Maria? 

A drug dealer named Humberto Rodriguez. 

How do you know?

"Oh, Señor, it’s a long story. I’m so sorry to bring this trouble to you, but I have nowhere else to go."

I knew she didn’t have anybody else to turn to, so I continued to prod her along. Just take your time, Maria, and tell me the whole story.

Well she did, and after an hour, I understood the problem. I didn’t like it either.

THREE

Maria Lopez Cruz was born January first, 1960, in a small fishing village called Costa Brava, about sixty miles south of Cancun, Mexico. Her parents, Rocio and Jose Luis, had only been married for a year. The fisherman and his wife couldn’t have been happier having their first child. They didn’t know Maria would be their only child. Sometimes things work out that way.

Her childhood was normal for a kid from a rural area in Mexico during the sixties and seventies. The family was poor, but she didn’t know that. She was loved, had never missed a meal, and always had a roof over her head.

She fell in love with Javier, one of her neighbor’s sons, and they married at twenty, quickly having a baby girl named Mariana. Raul, a son, was born a few years later. Maria, Javier and the two children lived happily in her parents’ home, but always dreamed of a better life for their small family.

Javier worked with her father fishing. Their business started to grow with the birth of the tourist business in Cancun in the eighties, supplying fresh fish to hotels and restaurants that had cropped up along the coastline. Maria worked with her mother in the small field, growing vegetables for themselves and to sell to the markets. When the kids were ten and seven years old, the family’s life changed forever.

Maria’s father, Jose, and her husband, Javier, were caught out at sea during a tropical storm that had gathered the strength of