“I’ll take you,” a voice booms out from the far corner of the airport near the bathrooms. A grizzled-looking old man is still zipping up his fly. He’s wearing a sea captain’s hat pulled down over his eyes, and he’s sporting at least three months’ worth of facial hair.
“Call me Cappy,” the man says. “You want to give me a hand with this bin, Son?” He gestures towards the battered plastic crate that’s still sitting on the motionless carousel.
I help him haul it onto a luggage cart. It weighs a ton.
What the hell has he got in there?
“Were you on the flight out of Miami?” I ask, thinking I don’t recall seeing him on the plane.
“No, I just came down here to do a favor for a friend. Had to pick up his package.” Cappy shoves the cart towards the exit. “I’ve got my boat moored not far from the resort. I’ll be wanting to check in on her on the way there,” he says.
“You can’t drop me off first?” I ask.
“You want a ride, or would you prefer walking?” he asks.
“Fine,” I shove the bill back in my wallet and follow Cappy out into the storm. The wind is blowing now, sending sheets of rain across the parking lot.
“You got any rain gear?” Cappy asks, pulling a rain poncho out from a compartment in the back of a Jeep. An open-air Jeep. He’s got to be kidding me.
“I didn’t pack for the monsoon season. I thought I was planning a trip to a five-star resort,” I grouse.
“No need to be churlish, Son,” he scolds, pulling out a plastic tarp from another compartment. “This’ll have to do you, then.”
“Thanks,” I say, visions of complimentary cocktails and scented hand-towels popping and vanishing like soap bubbles. This is not the VIP arrival I was anticipating.
And where exactly is Isla? I’d expected to see Isla Fairfax at the airport.
“Shake a leg! I promised my buddy I’d get his jeep back before 4 pm.” After we get the plastic tub loaded in the back, Cappy leaps nimbly into the driver’s seat. It occurs to me that he probably isn’t that old after all. I follow suit, buckling in and stashing my backpack underneath my seat, where I hope it will stay reasonably dry.
Lucky for me, Cappy seems to be a competent driver. We pull away from the airport and make decent progress down the empty, water-logged streets. I’m glad that I’m in a rugged four-wheel drive vehicle even if I’m wrapped in enough plastic to conceal a corpse.
“So what brings you to the island?” I make an attempt at small talk.
“This and that.” Cappy cinches the cord on his hood. “I’m normally based in the Bahamas, but I came down here for a few weeks for a gig. Staying with an old buddy of mine. Lucky I got to the airport when I did. You seemed like you needed some rescuing.” He glances sideways at me, squinting into the wind. His thick, gray brows are drawn together.
Suddenly, and without indicating, Cappy takes a sharp left turn onto a sandy, muddy road. I grab the roll bar to steady myself. Up ahead, I spot a small, weatherbeaten sign advertising a marina. The Jeep bounces over roots and ruts and jerks to a halt in a dirt lot on the hillside above the marina. Cappy parks under a scruffy tree that offers little shelter from the downpour.
“Wait here,” he advises. “I’ll be right back.”
“Got it,” I say. I check my phone again under the makeshift tent of my tarp. Barely two bars. Not even enough to gather email. I sigh, hunched over my phone, scrolling through and re-reading all the messages I cannot respond to.
“Well that’s a relief,” Cappy seems more relaxed, when he gets back. “My boat’s just fine. I left her in the best berth, and she’s all covered up, snug as a bug. I think I’ll drop off the new parasail tomorrow when it’s a bit drier.” He gestures to the heavy crate we loaded in the back of the Jeep and sighs contentedly. Then he cracks his knuckles, not in any hurry to get going. It’s almost like I’m not sitting here dripping wet, freezing and shivering my ass off.
“That’s great, Cappy. Think we can get going then?” I ask.
“Course, course,” Cappy mumbles agreeably, starting the engine. He throws the Jeep into reverse. The wheels spin. He throws it into forward. They spin in the other direction. He tries something else. Still spinning.
“Well crap,” he says. “Looks like we’re stuck. You’re going to have to get out and give her a push.”
“What?!” I ask, in disbelief. “Isn’t this a Jeep? Do Jeeps get stuck?”
“Have you seen the ground out there? Just look at my Wellies!” Cappy gestures down at his muddy boots. “Those loafers of yours are gonna take a real beating in that muck,” he laughs. “Sorry Son, nothing’s to be done.”
“You want me to push the Jeep?” I repeat. I’m pretty sure at this point that this is either a fever dream or I’m being punked. “Are you messing with me?”
“Well,” Cappy says,“if you want to get out of here any time today, I’d sure appreciate a good shove.”
“Fine,” I bite back my irritation as I step down into the soupy muck that is the parking lot. My left shoe immediately gets stuck. I have to retrieve it with my hand and end up tossing it into the back of the Jeep. I sigh and toss my other one with it for good measure.
