THE WANDERERS #15
MISTAKEN IDENTITIES - THE MIAMI SAGE, PART III
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just gotten severely lost on their way to Miami and had blasted The Whale through a grapefruit grove at flank speed. Covered with juice, seeds, grapefruit rind, and drawing more and more flies by the minute, Carl was forced to stop and wash off The Whale, during which time he lost whatever sense of proper direction he had left.
After wandering around the sugar sand back roads of Florida for hours, Carl got on the CB and asked for directions, identifying himself, as usual, as The Whale. A voice possessing a distinct Spanish accent told him to look for a red flare in the sky.
We join them now as the red flare burst into the sky:
***
Carl thumbed the CB mike again. "Gotcha. We saw the flare and are headed in that direction. What should I look for?"
"Just look for the usual stuff, Senor Whale. Guns and airplanes." A harsh laugh followed.
Carl looked at Emma. Emma looked at Carl. Carl scratched his chin. "Hmmm. Wonder how he knew we were driving The Whale? Well, whatever. We'll find out soon enough."
Ten minutes later, The Whale lurched over a rise in the two-track sand road and pushed aside enough brush to see a rather large clearing. In the clearing were a number of trucks, two small airplanes, one Quonset hut building and a few small sheds. A number of rather rough-looking men lounged around with all sorts of weapons slung over their shoulders. Netting was stretched over the trees and sunlight barely filtered through the branches and leaves stuck in the netting.
Emma turned to Carl with a puzzled look on her face. "Dear, what do you make of this? These men with all those guns?"
Carl lobbed a medium-size wad of tobacco out the window of The Whale and nailed a beautiful tropical flower dead center. It quickly curled, turned brown and slumped to the ground.
"Emma, don't you know nuthin ? This here's clearly a huntin' and shootin' club. Betcha there's plenty of deers and such in these deep woods."
A tall man obviously in charge waved The Whale to an area to park, then walked over and stuck his head in the open window. "Senor Whale? My name is Carlos. I'm so glad to see you. Won't you please step into my office - humble as it is - and I'll give you the directions you are going to need?"
Carl stuck a meaty hand out the window. "Glad to meet you, Charley. A person could get lost out here real easy."
"Carlos. The name is Carlos."
"Yep, that's what I said. Anyways, let's go look at some maps. I'd like to make Miami before tomorrow."
Carl and Emma followed Carlos into the Quonset hut and he motioned for them to sit. He picked up a stick and pointed to a large map. "You are here now, amigo. Here is where you want to be manana. "And this," he pointed out a red line, "is the route you'll want to take."
Carl shifted his tobacco from one cheek to the other and scratched his head. "Hey, Charo, it looks like the main highway is only about five, maybe six miles from here. Wouldn't that be the hot way to go?"
"Carlos, please ... the name is Carlos. Ahh, Senor Whale, you have a sense of humor that I like. Hot, indeed. There would be police all along that road ... and you know what that means."
Carl smiled. "Yup. Tickets. Don't need any of those. You see, I usually drive a little bit over the speed limit."
Carlos slapped his thigh and let out a roaring laugh. "Oh, Senor Whale, you are indeed a very funny man. I like that. I take it, then, that we will be able to do business? You will deliver my package for me in Miami?"
Carl beamed. "Sure, Charo. It's the least I could do. After all, you guys got me un-lost."
"It's Carlos."
"Right. Now, what about this route here? What are we dealing with?"
"It's tough driving. Mostly narrow sandy roads, with lots of water crossings and some mud. But the good thing is almost all of it's under cover of trees or heavy brush. That way, no one can see you from the air, which is good."
Emma looked puzzled. "Why is that good?"
Carl sighed loudly. "Emma, don't you know nuthin'? Them traffic cops can give you a ticket from an airplane."
Carlos laughed loudly again, but Carl couldn't quite figure out why.
Two hours later, after Carl and Emma had eaten and freshened up, Carlos came up to them with a map marked with the correct route. It was one of those neat topo maps that Carl really liked; the kind that had gotten him lost many times in the past. He also handed Carl a small suitcase. "Here's the address and the man you should give this to is named Tito. Give it to no one else. And for your troubles, good friend Whale, here are 50 big ones for you." With that, he tucked an envelope in Carl's shirt pocket, and winked.
Carl was embarrassed. "Gee whiz, Casper. You didn't have to do that. You folks have been so nice to us ..."
"No, no, no, my friend ... I insist. Why, it would cost me at least that much to Federal Express it." With that, Carlos roared with laughter again and smacked Carl on the shoulder as though they'd been friends for years.
A half-hour later, The Whale was lumbering through the dense foliage in second gear, in 4-L, and the big Gumbo Mudder tires were churning comfortably through the crusty sand, that did, indeed, look like sugar.
The map that Carlos had given Carl was excellent. It showed every fork in the trail and even gave exact distances. Many of
the trees were marked with orange spray paint, just about at eye level.
Carl was amazed. "Jeez, Emma, this map is so good that even a blind man couldn't get lost."
Fifteen minutes later, Carl got lost, hopelessly lost.
In desperation, he looked at the compass on the dash and said, "Well, when in doubt, go back to basics. It's late afternoon and as far as I know, the sun still sets in the west, right?"
Emma nodded.
"Then, we just head due east until we hit the Pacific Ocean and the highway runs right alongside the ocean."
"You mean the Atlantic Ocean, dear."
"Yeh, that's what I said. Your ears goin' bad in your old age, woman?"
Carl sighted on the compass and headed dead-nuts due east. He crashed through the brush, forded small streams, almost got stuck in the mud and nearly had a heart attack when a snake fell on his windshield. He quickly flicked the wipers on and flipped the confused reptile about 20 feet into the jungle where it decided to take a long rest underneath an old rotten log.
Success was realized, however, when Carl finally broke through the brush and was greeted with the welcome sight of a paved road with the ocean on the other side. The Whale was a filthy mud and leaf-covered mess. Carl could barely see through the windshield.
They rumbled down the road at a comfortable speed until the metropolis of Miami came into view. Emma shifted in the comfortable captain's chair and said, "You know, dear, the Whale looks a mess. Why don't we stop in at the first truck wash place we can find and get it cleaned up before we drop the suitcase off with Mr. Frito?"
"That's Tito, Emma. But that is a good idea. No sense pulling up to a place looking like a garbage truck."
After a few minutes, Carl found a car/truck wash and pulled in. The manager looked over the filthy Whale and said, "Mister, no way am I going to clean that rolling swamp for the $12.00 price up there on the sign. It's going to cost you 40 bucks, and that don't include the interior. Take it or leave it."
Carl's face grew crimson in hue. "Forty bucks? I'm not asking you to paint the damn thing! I just want it cleaned!"
Emma stepped in between the two men and calmed down her husband. "Now dear, don't worry. After all, we do have that $50 Mr. Carlos gave us back at the hunting place."
"Yeh, good idea, Emma. Funny I didn't think of that." With that, Carl thumbed open the envelope and extracted the bills ... all 50 of the $1,000 bills!
He looked at it dumbly, the facts still not registering yet, and with a puzzled look on his face, asked the truck wash manager, "Uhh, you got change for $ 1,000? Seems to be the smallest thing I've got on me."
***
An hour later, Carl was in the Miami County jail, in the maximum security section, next to a cell occupied by Emma. Carl picked up a tin cup and rattled it against the bars. "Saw this in a movie once and always wanted to do it."
Emma broke into loud, wailing crying. Carl realized that his joke had not helped much.
The detective looked at Carl in his best no-nonsense look:
"Let me get this straight, Al ..."
"Carl. The name's Carl."
"Right. Now listen up. We got you on some pretty serious charges here. First off, you try to pass a counterfeit $1,000 bill. Then, when the cops stop you on the tip from the truck wash manager, we find 49 more of them and a suitcase full of coke. Would you like to explain?"
"Coke? In a suitcase? That's a stupid way to transport the stuff. You should always put it in a cooler with lots of ice. "
The detective jumped with glee and said, "Could you please repeat that into this tape recorder? And maybe the judge will give you a reduced sentence for co-operating with the law. And maybe your girlfriend here would like to spill the beans, too."
Emma wailed loudly and Carl looked at the ceiling, hoping it would fall in on him.
An FBI agent shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk, turned to the detective and spoke. "Not a chance. This guy has a totally clean record and everything checks out, no matter how weird it sounds. Plus, we think he's too dumb to transport drugs."
Carl bristled. "I am not too dumb to smuggle drugs, I ... ooof!"
Emma had just elbowed him smartly in the rib cage.
Carl got a sheepish look on his face. "Well, after second thought, maybe I am."
The FBI men turned to Carl like they were mounted on gears, and one of then said, "Now, if you'll work with us on this, perhaps we can ..."
***
Two days later, The Whale was headed north, exactly at the speed limit. Carl was swearing under his breath and spitting tobacco juice out the window at a prodigious rate.
Emma quietly commented: "Carl, you ought to be happy that we were able to get that Tito and all those dope fiends caught and put in jail. And the FBI men said you were a real hero for delivering that codeine to the ..."
"Cocaine, Emma. lt's cocaine, a terrible drug."
"That s what I said, dear. Anyways, why didn't we stay there in Miami and finish our visit?"
" What? And hang around all those old, retired people? Not me. We're gonna head somewhere new ... someplace different ... we're going to Mexico! I'm just curious to see if The Whale could navigate that Baja 1000 course they're always writing about in the magazines. Buenos airhose. Hasta Garbonzo! Viva Las Vegas. Watch out, Mexico, here come the Wanderers!"
Emma sighed and said nothing at all, which seemed like good idea at the time.
