The Fugitive Messiah

BIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER 1

Outside the 747 at thirty thousand feet, the blanket of billowy white clouds looked like the floor of heaven, bright azure blue above and crowned with brilliant yellow rays of sunlight. It was a veritable pasture land of white, blue, and gold. The aluminum skin of the jumbo jet glistened like a child’s toy in the vastness of space. Only the deep drone of the plane’s engines, like the final chord in a Bach cantata, invaded the silent sky.

Inside the plane, a fat lady peered uncertainly through her oval window at the framed white clouds. She was very fidgety.

We must be getting close to Miami, she said, more like a statement of doom than delight.

John Waters, the man sitting next to her on the aisle, was neatly dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, wearing his hair in a ponytail. He turned to her and smiled.

Yes, he said.

I’m taking one of my heart pills right now, the fat lady said, reaching into her purse. I get the most nervous when we land.

John Waters smiled again. I’m sure everything will be all right.

Suddenly, the cabin speaker came on.

Ladies and gentlemen. We are starting our descent into Miami. The ground temperature is eighty-six degrees, and the skies are clear. Please fasten your seat belts.

In the next instant, a short middle-eastern man jumped out of his seat across the aisle from John Waters, brandishing a .45 semi-automatic pistol. Grasping a suspicious-looking black satchel in his left hand, he wrapped his left arm around the flight attendant, Maria Caridad, holding her tightly against his body as a shield.

Tell the pilot to head for Havana, Cuba! he spat at her, pressing the barrel of the gun against the flight attendant’s head. Maria grabbed the wall phone and spoke into it.

Captain Stevens, we have a bomb threat situation here at loading! The man wants us to fly to Havana!

The fat lady next to John Waters held her chest in pain. A woman five rows back screamed. The middle-easterner grabbed the wall phone from Maria Caridad.

Listen, you fucking pig! he screamed at the Captain. You’d better turn this baby to one-nine-five degrees right now, or you got one dead bitch outside your cabin door! Right now!

John Waters noticed the two burly football players, wearing Holy Cross T-shirts, in the seats across the aisle, and he motioned for them to sit tight.

The fat lady gasped and slumped unconscious.

The pilot’s cabin door pushed open, knocking Maria Caridad and the middle-easterner backwards, and Captain Stevens came through the door. The middle-easterner fired two shots point-blank into the Captain’s chest and he slumped to the floor.

John Waters stood up quickly and grabbed the gun, which immediately disappeared into thin air.

The two football players simultaneously dove across their seats and wrestled the middle-easterner to the floor of the plane.

John Waters knelt down over the Captain and placed his hand on the blood-stained chest. The wounds immediately closed up and the blood disappeared. Maria Caridad saw John’s action out of the corner of her eye, as she grabbed the wall phone and spoke quickly to the co-pilot.

Captain Mills! The situation is contained! she exclaimed. Land the plane immediately with a priority code and get a paramedic team to the end of the runway!

Maria then shouted to the passengers, who were in the aisles in a state of panic.

Ladies and gentlemen! Please be quiet and be seated! We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes!

Touching down at Miami International Airport, the 747 taxied to the end of the runway, where it was met by an ambulance, a fire truck, a paramedic vehicle, a bomb squad wagon, and two Miami police cars. A little yellow tractor pulled a portable rolling stairway up to the loading entrance door.

Inside the cabin, the two football players were sitting on top of the middle-easterner, whose hands and feet they have tied with their belts. John Waters was back in his seat, leaning over the fat lady, feeling for her neck pulse. There was none. He placed his hand on her forehead. She came to consciousness and took a deep breath.

Oh, my! she sighed. I had the strangest dream. Have we landed already?

John smiled at her.

Maria was watching John Waters very closely.

Captain Stevens was slowly coming to consciousness in the aisle. Maria Caridad was awe-struck that the Captain was alive.

Where’s the hijacker? the Captain asked, getting to his feet.

Rising from his seat, John Waters walked casually toward the rear of the plane.

Maria stared in disbelief at Captain Stevens’ chest. There was absolutely no sign of the two bullet wounds. She glanced at John’s empty seat and then noticed that he was disappearing into the rest-room at the tail end of the plane. She had a strong urge to follow him, but she knew her job was to stick with Captain Stevens and the captured middle-easterner.

Leading the way up the portable stairway with drawn revolvers, the Miami policemen were pounding on the loading door. Maria Caridad opened it and the policemen entered, followed by the paramedics, a fire captain, and the bomb squad personnel.

The first policeman looked around.

Where’s the hijacker?

One football player jerked the middle-easterner to his feet.

Here’s the little weasel!

Two policemen stepped forward, handcuffed him, and took him out the loading door.

Where’s the bomb? asked one of the bomb squad team.

Right here!

The second football player handed the suspicious-looking black satchel to a bomb squad member, who carried it gingerly out the loading door and down the stairway to the special bomb wagon.

What happened here? another policeman asked.

Maria spoke up, indicating the middle-easterner. This man brandished a gun and a black satchel and demanded to be taken to Havana. When Captain Stevens came through the cabin door, he was shot twice in the chest.

The policemen looked at Captain Stevens’ chest.

Where’s the wounds? one policeman asked.

Some other policemen searched under the passengers’ seats.

Where’s the gun? asked another policeman.

Maria was speechless. She looked toward the tail of the plane.

Where’s the nice man? asked the fat lady.

Everyone ignored her.

I have to get back to my cabin and make a report, said Captain Stevens. The first two policemen and the paramedics followed him forward in the aircraft.

Maria headed toward the tail of the plane, as the other flight attendants went up and down the aisles, checking on the passengers; and the fire captain and the other policemen continued to check under the seats, searching for the gun or anything else that might appear suspicious.

Outside of the plane, the bomb squad personnel ran the black satchel through an ex-ray machine in their armored vehicle. The satchel was empty. One man opened it up, turned it upside down, felt the thickness of the seams for anything suspicious. Nothing.

Reaching the tail of the plane, Maria Caridad opened the rest-room door where she saw John enter earlier. The rest-room was empty. She opened the one across the aisle. Empty, too.

She headed back up the aisle to the pilot’s cabin, entered, and found the policemen questioning Captain Stevens.

I really have no idea what happened, the Captain said. He looked at Maria. You’ll have to ask Ms. Caridad.

The policemen looked closely at Maria. The paramedics were just finishing their physical examination of Captain Stevens.

Nothing, said the lead paramedic. The paramedics looked at Maria.

Can you go over this again, Ms. Caridad? asked the policeman in charge.

Maria hesitated. She was confused now about what she really saw.

The man had a gun and a satchel. I thought it was a bomb. He held the gun to my head and told Captain Stevens to turn the plane. When Captain Stevens came out of the cabin, the man shot him in the chest. At least, it looked like he did.

"It looked like he did?" asked the other policeman. He motioned to the paramedics, who sat Maria down in the flight engineer’s chair and started taking her blood pressure and pulse. Another paramedic examined the pupils of her eyes with a pen light. The two policemen looked at each other and rolled their eyes like Maria was some kind of nut case.

Who else saw what happened? the first policeman asked Maria.

Most of the passengers in the forward seats. The two men who captured the hijacker.

Suddenly the plane lurched forward.

What’s going on? asked the second policeman.

We have to get off this runway, said the co-pilot. The tractor is towing the plane back to the loading bay.

What’s the story? the first policeman asked the paramedics, nodding at Maria.

She seems all right…considering, said the lead paramedic.

Maria stood up and straightened her uniform.

Considering what? asked the second policeman.

Considering what she’s just been through, said the lead paramedic.

That’s the question, said the lead policeman.

Everybody looked at him.

"Just exactly what has she been through?"

The plane lurched again and everyone looked out the front windshield of the 747. The tractor towing the plane had a big yellow sign on the back of it which read: FOLLOW ME.

Maria’s face reflected a strange mixture of confusion and wonder.

De-materializing in the rest-room of the 747 at the end of the airport runway, John Waters was slightly perplexed. His assignment was to take human form in Albuquerque, New Mexico, to fly to Miami, Florida by way of a jet passenger plane, and then to proceed to Key West, Florida by rental car. He was given no pre-cognitive consciousness of the violent event with the middle-easterner; but he felt he had handled it in the best possible way.

He had saved the Captain’s life, revived the fat lady from her fatal coronary, and de-materialized the gun and the satchel bomb, removing the potential loss of lives on the plane, not to mention possibly saving the middle-easterner from a longer prison sentence.

And so, John Waters felt comparatively clear, as he made his way through the Miami International Airport crowd and down to the baggage level, where a wide variety of rental car service desks were available.

Why not take Avis? he thought. Or are they now Number One? The first shall be last. He decided on a little known company and presented his credit card to the service agent.

I’d like a small van with the rear seats removed, John Waters requested.

I’m sorry, sir, but company policy prohibits altering the vehicles before they are rented.

John smiled. That’s fine. I’ll do it myself, he thought.

He initialed the boxes to indicate that he was self-insured, signed the papers, and took the little local map and van keys from the service agent. He was already looking forward to the beautiful and peaceful drive over the Florida Keys Overseas Highway.

Sitting in the Airport Manager’s plush office, overlooking the vast panorama of runway patterns, were Lieutenant Bill Payne from the Miami Police Department’s task force on kidnapping, hijacking, and terrorism; Special Agent George Archer, Bill Payne’s FBI counterpart; the Airport Manager; an Airlines Official; and Maria Caridad.

We questioned everybody on the plane, Lieutenant Payne said. "Six people actually saw the perpetrator put two rounds into the pilot’s chest. They saw the blood splatter. They saw the blood stain on the pilot’s shirt. They saw him go down dead!"

I want to talk to every one of them again, said FBI Agent George Archer.

Up jumps the federal peanut gallery! Lieutenant Payne exclaimed.

George Archer’s face was grim. I should have been there at the initial interrogation.

The Airport Manager was calm, due primarily to the fact that nothing serious had happened to one of his aircraft. And not a single passenger had been hurt!

Gentlemen, I don’t think this is the time to….

The Airlines Official spoke. The point is, NOBODY was physically injured. The airlines wants the hijacker prosecuted. We’ll be up to our eyeballs in stress-related law suits as it is.

"The point is, said Payne, we don’t care jack shit about the law suits. We need to determine what we can charge this guy with. We got no dead bodies, no blood, no gun, no bomb, no nuthin’! What am I supposed to nail him with?"

George Archer spoke slowly to Maria.

Ms. Caridad, would you mind going over this one more time?

Gimme a break, Payne winced.

The Airline Official broke in. I believe Ms. Caridad has said everything she needs to say without our attorney present.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Payne asked.

I’d like to hear more about the mysterious passenger in 1B, said Archer to Maria. What’s his name?

John Waters, Maria answered.

George Archer paced the room, thinking aloud.

"John Waters. Dressed like a farmer. He’s on the flight from Albuquerque to Miami. He’s bosom pals with the lady in 1A. He jumps up and grabs the gun away from the hijacker. And then he disappears into thin air."

Obviously the guy is some kind of an accomplice, Payne stated.

"He isn’t an accomplice, and he didn’t take the gun away, Maria said. He made it disappear."

Payne looked up at the ceiling. Oh, brother.

He made it disappear, Archer mused.

The Airlines Official got up and ushered Maria to her feet.

I think that’s all for us. Unless Ms. Caridad is being charged, we need to meet with our company’s representatives.

Lieutenant Payne looked at Maria. Just don’t go anywhere we can’t find you.

Ms. Caridad is a responsible employee of this airlines, said the Airlines Official. He took Maria by the elbow and lead her out of the office.

Do you have a rest-room? George Archer asked the Airport Manager.

The door in the corner, the Manager nodded.

Archer entered it and locked the door behind him.

Fuckin’ FBI, said Payne. I didn’t think they pissed.

Inside the Airport Manager’s rest-room, FBI Agent George Archer pulled out his cellular telephone and dialed a number quickly. He spoke into the phone.

Follow the woman.

John Waters was driving south on the Dixie Highway in a new white caravan through the mangrove swamps south of Homestead. He was dressed in a brightly flowered sport shirt with pink flamingoes on it, cut-off jeans, and blue rubber thongs, all of which he purchased at a K-Mart going through South Miami. There was a pleasant smile on his face. His eyes roamed the flat landscape: the mangrove trees with their twisted and exotic roots; the tall, sparse cypress trees; the water turkeys and white cranes; the ospreys’ nests in the tops of the telephone poles. What a wonder! John thought. The material world. What a creation! It never ceased to amaze him.

He pinched his left arm with his right thumb and forefinger. Pain. He could feel it, if he wanted to.

Memory. Random thoughts…images of the past drifted softly through his mind: a giant swamp with large lizards; a snow forest and a grizzly bear; a wide Grecian plain in the midst of a pitched battle; the Sea of Galilee. There were so many memories…so much pain and so much pleasure.

And, now, here he was again. How would it all turn out? That was part of his own creativity, his own free choice. His mission was to convey the message as best he could, and to leave the rest to the Creator God.

In some ways it was the simplest assignment in the universe. In other ways it seemed the most complicated. This time he was going to try to make it as pleasant as possible. But that was not always easy on planet Earth. The number of takers was always small. No matter. His business was to do the best possible job he knew how. And he had been at it for a very long time.

John Waters’ white caravan broke through the mangrove swamp and out into the mid-section of Key Largo, where the highway took a bend to the southwest, and light-blue patches of the Bay of Florida could be seen off to the right. The colors! He always loved the colors so much.

Leaving the airlines main office as soon as she could, Maria Caridad made her way through the crowded airport down to the baggage area. She was looking for John Waters. She had overheard him telling the fat lady in seat 1A that he planned to travel on to Key West by rental car.

No one actually believed her story about the disappearance of the hijacker’s gun and the fatal wounds in the pilot’s chest. She also speculated that the mysterious passenger, John Waters, had probably made the bomb in the black satchel disappear, too, although she had no idea how or why. All she knew was that there was something very special about this man called John Waters, and she felt a strong compulsion to find out more about him.

Maria Caridad did not notice she was being followed by FBI Agent George Archer and another taller man dressed in a plain blue suit, Matthew Fisher, a CIA agent attached to the Department of Paranormal Events in Rock Springs, Maryland. Investigating a UFO sighting in Miami, Matthew Fisher had had dinner with George Archer last night. The two old friends were planning to tie one on tonight; but Archer knew Fisher would probably rather investigate this story about a disappearing gun and a resurrected pilot.

The two men watched as Maria Caridad walked her way down the line of rental car service counters, asking the various service representatives if they had just signed in a customer named John Waters.

Finally Maria hit the jackpot, also learning the type and color of the caravan John Waters was driving. Renting the van for three days, he planned to return it to the agency branch in Key West.

After Maria left the rental car area to retrieve her own car in the airport parking lot, it didn’t take long for Agents Archer and Fisher to find out the same information about John Waters, his caravan, and his destination.

The two government men looked at each other.

Your car or mine? asked Archer.

Mine, Matthew Fisher replied. Might as well let The Company pay for it.

John Waters drove over the bridge to Islamorada Key. To his left and to his right were the tropical blue-green and marl-white waters of the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. There were small islands with palms and mangrove trees off in the distance. Smiling at the beauty of it all and feeling like he was on a vacation, he saw a sign advertising a tourist attraction called The Dolphin Pens and pulled his van into the parking lot.

SWIM WITH THE DOLPHINS: the sign read.

What an amazing experience that would be, John thought.

Maria was stopping at every restaurant and cafe in the Upper Keys to see if anyone had seen John Waters on his way to Key West. She pulled into the parking lot of a rustic-looking Keys-style cafe built of crumbling coquina.

The single waitress was wiping the counter, when Maria walked in. There were two sport fishermen wearing bill caps sitting at a table by the window.

What can I do ya’ for? asked the waitress, jokingly, as Maria stood before her.

I’m looking for a man in jeans and a plaid shirt, ponytail, clean-cut.

Ain’t we all, said the waitress, straightening the sugar, salt, and pepper shakers.

He’s driving a white caravan.

You police? asked the waitress. The Florida Keys was a place where many people with a past came to live in relative obscurity.

No, I’m a flight attendant. I was on his flight to Miami today, and I need to return something to him that he left on the plane.

As soon as she told the lie, Maria felt a strange pang in her chest, as if her heart was being squeezed by a giant hand.

The waitress’s eyes narrowed and then she grinned.

Real nice smile and real intense eyes?

Right, Maria said, excitedly.

I remember him, all right, said the waitress. He ate a whole hot apple pie, covered with American cheese and a pint of Haagen-Dazs choco-chocolate chip ice cream. I never seen anything like it.

How long ago?

Maybe an hour.

Rushing out of the cafe, Maria called thank you over her shoulder.

Realizing it was a long hot drive to Key West and the only way in and out of the southern-most city was over the narrow overseas highway (so they really had John Waters boxed in at this point), FBI Agent George Archer and CIA Agent Matthew Fisher decided it would be a good idea to stop at a cozy little off-the-highway watering hole to stoke up for the journey.

Archer and Fisher went back to 1975, when both were CIA during the fall of Saigon. Being inveterate drinkers, travelers, and womanizers, specializing in kidnapping, hijacking, and terrorism gave George Archer the freedom to do all three.

Matthew Fisher, on the other hand, got side-tracked into the Department of Paranormal Events in Rock Springs, Maryland, because he had had a girl-friend for a while who was seeing flying saucers. She was a member of a group who called themselves contactees, because they claimed they had been spoken to, touched, abducted, and/or surgically operated on by extra-terrestrials.

Going to a few of their meetings at first because the lady was such a great lay, Matthew Fisher soon became more interested in these flying saucer people than his girl-friend; and so he kept on going to the UFO meetings and reading the literature, and when his Section Chief in Washington, D.C. found out about it, Matthew figured he’d be dumped by the Company in a hot minute.

Instead, he was reassigned to Rock Springs, Maryland, because, believe it or not, the White House was getting more and more interested in UFOlogy, which they called Paranormal Events. And not only that. The Air Force, Rand, and Los Alamos were all developing contingency plans, in case an extra-terrestrial contact was ever attempted with the U.S. government.

Matthew’s mind was blown when he started traveling around the country for a year, gathering data on sightings and contacts. The whole thing was escalating like wildfire. And now, this incident with the ponytailed passenger on the 747. This particular event, however, sounded like some kind of paradigm shift from the usual UFO story.

So you really believe in all this outer limits crap? George Archer asked Matthew Fisher.

They sat at a table carved up by jackknives in a low-slung Caribbean-style bar, hung with mullet nets and lobster trap floats. A four-bladed wooden ceiling fan rotated slowly above their heads. They both had a shooter of Cuervo and a bottle of Coors in front of them.

To tell you the truth, George, said Matthew, the longer I’m in this business, the weirder it gets.

He threw down his tequila and bit into his slice of lime.

Archer downed his shot and motioned to the bartender for two more.

It’s true there are supposed to be millions of galaxies and billions of stars, George Archer commented, but to think that somewhere out there are planets with advanced life on them. The FBI agent shook his head and swigged at his Coors. It’s just too much for me.

Well, I’ll tell you something, George, Matthew Fisher said. It’s just too much for a lot of people.

And to think that some of that life might have the capacity to travel from wherever they are to where we are! Man, gimme a break!

The bartender returned with the two shot glasses of tequila and gave them both a funny look.

Matthew Fisher winked at him and swigged at his Coors. The bartender shook his head and went back to the bar.

What really rattles your cage, Georgie-boy, said Matthew Fisher, is the very profound notion that there could actually be somebody out there who knows more than we do. He sipped his Cuervo.

What do you mean?

Man—the ultimate egomaniac, the big kahuna, the center of the universe! Matthew Fisher drank the rest of his Cuervo. We’re so fucking full of ourselves that there isn’t a brain cell left in our puny minds for the idea that advanced life just might exist anywhere else in the universe than right here on Mother Earth. And even if we did believe in life on other planets, Matthew Fisher went on, we’d have to believe they’re dumber than we are. Our bloated egos couldn’t stand the humiliation of being second best!"

I still think this guy John Waters is a real guy, just like you and me, Archer said, and I also think he’s somehow connected with the sky-jacking.

Georgie, with a case like this, Matthew Fisher said, we’re not paid to think. We’re just paid per diem.

He finished his beer. Let’s go.

CHAPTER 2

At The Dolphin Pens on Islamorada Key, a female attendant was fitting John Waters with a mask, snorkel, and fins to go swimming with the bottlenose dolphins. Other men, women, and children were in the pens, swimming gleefully with the friendly sea mammals. Some swimmers were being nudged along in the water. Others were holding onto the gray triangular dorsal fins and getting pulled across the surface. It was the ride of their lives.

There’s no need to fear them, said the female attendant to John Waters. Just don’t make any aggressive moves. It tends to make them nervous.

John smiled. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.

The attendant gave him a glance. Rarely were the customers this self-confident, without at least some fear.

Slipping into the water, John started swimming out toward the middle of the pen. As he approached the center of the pool, the dolphins, who had been frolicking with the other customers, all began to leave their human swimming companions and head straight toward John Waters.

The attendant noticed something very strange about John’s method of swimming. He was moving his body up and down in an undulating fashion, with his legs together and his arms stretched out in front of him, almost exactly the way the dolphins themselves swam. Also, he was swimming faster than the attendant had ever seen anyone else in her life swim.

As John undulated across the surface of the pen, the dolphins were drawn to him like a magnet. The attendant was afraid they were going to collide with him, that they perceived him as an aggressive male, and, therefore, a threatening human in the pen.

Just at the moment when a collision was imminent, John made a rolling dive below the surface of the water, and the dolphins disappeared at the same time, almost as if they were diving on top of him.

The attendant, perceiving danger, blew the whistle around her neck.

Everyone out of the pool, please! she yelled. Other Dolphin Pen attendants appeared.

What’s up? asked the first attendant to arrive at her side.

I think one of the swimmers is in trouble.

Another attendant donned a scuba tank. I’ll go down and see what’s happening. Better call the medic.

He rolled backwards into the water, holding his mask against his face, and swam along the bottom toward the center of the pen, where he saw a mass of dolphins circling closer and closer to a human swimmer, John Waters, who was lying motionless on his back on the bottom of the pool.

The dolphins were nudging and nestling him with their bodies, as if the sea mammals were trying to get as close to the human swimmer as possible. When the scuba diving attendant finally reached the scene, the human was completely surrounded by the squealing, smiling dolphins, who seemed to be in a state of ecstasy at the touch of John Waters.

Having been under water for at least five minutes or longer, the diver expected to find John Waters unconscious, but when he finally pulled the dolphins aside and got a look at the human’s face, he saw John Waters smiling up at the dolphins and squealing at them in their own language. It was as if a reunion was taking place between the human and a group of old friends.

Looking at the diver, John gave him the circled thumb and forefinger sign to indicate that he was all right. It was then that the diver noticed something even stranger.

The swimmer seemed to be breathing under water. His chest was not inflated, as one who was holding his breath, nor were bubbles coming from his mouth. It was as though he was breathing normally, as if he was outside the pen in the fresh and open air.

Reaching out his hand to John, who took it, the diver lead him to the surface. The dolphins followed them both, squeaking with joy.

When the diver and John reached the side of the pen, the other swimmers, the other attendants, and the medic were all waiting for them. Everybody watched in amazement as John Waters slid up onto the side of the pen like a seal. He stripped off his mask, snorkel, and fins and laughed out loud.

They are such beautiful animals! he exclaimed. What wonderful thoughts in the mind of the Creator God!

The dolphins were all lined up along the edge of the pen, watching John, totally ignoring the attempts of the attendants to feed them fish. The medic listened to John’s heart with a stethoscope. He took his pulse.

What are you, a fish? the medic joked.

I was. Once. John smiled.

Everyone stared at him, as the squirming dolphins strove to get to him over the edge of the pen, their bottle-shaped noses reaching out to John Waters.

Looking at every parking lot along the way, Maria Caridad drove through Islamorada Key until she spotted a white caravan in the parking lot of The Dolphin Pens. She pulled in and parked a short distance away from the entrance.

As she entered the tourist attraction, Maria noticed a large crowd of swimmers gathered around the edge of one of the pens. Nudging her way through the crowd, she saw John Waters being examined by the medic.

What happened? Maria asked.

I don’t know, answered a young boy. "We were all playing with the dolphins in the pen, and this man jumped in and all the dolphins just started following him. It was weird!"

Maria looked at the excited dolphins, who were all lined up in a row, as they wiggled and smiled and squealed at John.

Pulling out of The Dolphin Pens parking lot in pursuit of John Waters’ white caravan, Maria saw a blue government car, whose passenger she was sure she recognized as the FBI Agent from the Airport Manager’s office, George Archer. She turned her face quickly the other way, so he wouldn’t see her.

Having made John Waters’ white caravan and Maria Caridad’s blue Toyota at The Dolphin Pens, Matthew Fisher and George Archer drove down the Keys Highway at a leisurely pace. Matthew was drinking Coors from a six-pack on the front seat between them. He tossed the empties over his shoulder into the back seat, where they landed with a clank in a large heap.

Do you drink that stuff all day long, or is this just some special occasion? asked George Archer.

Matthew Fisher smiled, wearily. "Do you kick your dog every day or