Ivan gave Tag the day off Tuesday. Things hadn’t picked up by the end of March, and Tag didn’t do much but stand around the shop once the morning chores were done. Ivan could handle a rush if the empty half of the campsites suddenly filled up. The weekends were good but the weather could be iffy and for the first time since March the winter before, he had empty campsites.
The weather was running into the upper 60s and low 70s on the nicest days, but it rained more than usual in February and now March. That probably discouraged people who lived in Florida from making long-range plans only to have them washed out. Families took their chances on weekends and those who did usually got at least one nice day away from the rat race.
While most of the visitors to the Cove Campground were from Florida and they heard about Ivan’s Enterprises in ads or from friends, out of state people made up less of Ivan’s business during the winter. It was such an out of the way spot; visitors to Tampa or Orlando weren’t likely to drive so far south on the west coast of Florida. Out of state families were making their way to the quiet campgrounds on the beach next to the magnificent Gulf of Mexico in greater numbers each year.
Some of the nicest words Ivan heard were, “A friend came here for a week last year. His friend told him about it. His family had such a nice time, we couldn’t wait to come.”
What people liked most was the mix of quiet and activities. A camper could get up early, go fishing, take a ride into the Gulf, go diving, or lounge on beaches at the cove or on the Gulf of Mexico.
It wouldn’t be long before the Cove Campgrounds were running at full capacity and people would be waiting to get a campsite. Even the wilderness sites stayed occupied during their peak season, which was about to start. Up until mid-April, business was good but not great, and after mid-April, Tag wouldn’t be able to buy a day off.
The one nice thing about the winter months was that the locals weren’t as keen on coming to camp, but people from places where winter meant cold and snow loved the cove, rain or shine. A warm weather rain was delightful considering the weather back home.
There was a lot more time to get to talk to campers during their off season. There was no telling how far and wide people came from this season. Most people had stories to tell, and in the slower months Ivan had the time to listen and spend more time with visitors..
As Ivan was sipping his coffee behind the gigantic mahogany desk, he was watching the cove through the huge front window of the shop. The man walked down the boat ramp to take a close up look at the water. It was the first thing many new arrivals did.
Ivan had a clear view of the lower half of the boat ramp. Few campers brought boats, but occasionally a camper did. Mostly locals used the ramp. The ramp was there long before the campgrounds. There never had been a charge to use the boat ramp and Ivan wasn’t going to charge to use it. Ivan watched a woman appear at the top of the ramp and the man turned to say something to her. She walked down to join him. They held hands and looked out at the cove. They were a youngish couple, not quite middle aged. There were no kids with them, but Ivan suspected there were some kids at home going to school, while mommy and daddy escaped life in the fast lane for a week or two.
They turned together to look back down the beach toward the Gulf of Mexico. Ivan realized that they were about to discover they’d found paradise. All ten beach campsites were wide open from water’s edge to the fire pit. At present, seven were rented.
‘Yes, we do have a vacancy. I’ll put you in campsite 9. Welcome to the cove. If there is anything you need, I’m here to make your stay as enjoyable as possible.’
When the door opened, the bell over the door tinkled lightly. If Ivan was busy, the tinkle told him someone was there. The man looked over his shoulder to see where the noise came from. Then he turned to face Ivan.
“Morning,” Ivan said. “Lovely morning. I’m Ivan. How can I help you?”
“It is,” the man said, before looking back at the bell.
“We’re from Chicago,” he said. “We were told about you by friends. I should have called but I wasn’t sure what to say. We don’t go away much. We have two daughters at home. Do you have a campsite available?”
“Sure. I can put you in 9. It’s an easy walk to the Gulf of Mexico. You’ll find collecting shells is one of the popular pastimes here,” Ivan said. “Few as beautiful as the ones that come out of the Gulf.”
“Oh, Angus, I love beachcombing for shells. I haven’t done that since I was a girl.”
“You heard the boss. We’ll take a campsite. I’m Angus McCoy. This ravishing lady is my bride, Mildred. How long has it been, Dear?”
“Twelve years, and you know exactly how long,” Mildred said.
“Yes, I do, but I love hearing how you say it. I’ve loved every day, My Lovely,” Mr. McCoy said, kissing her cheek.
What a character, Ivan thought.
Each day Ivan was surprised by the people who came to the Cove Campgrounds. Angus McCoy was a character and Ivan immediately liked the man. He was comfortable showing the love he felt for his wife and it was nice to see.
Ivan approved of love. There wasn’t enough of it, and if he could, he’d act exactly the way Mr. McCoy acted over the one he loved.
“Cut it out, Angus. I want to take a walk on the beach,” she said.
“Yes, My Dear, whatever is your desire,” McCoy said in a very good W C Fields voice that tickled Mildred.
“Chicago is a big town,” Ivan said.
“One of the biggest,” McCoy said. “Third biggest I think.”
“We didn’t come right here, however,” Mrs. McCoy said. “I’ve got people in Tennessee and Georgia. Angus is from Illinois. We see his people all the time. Mine, not so much... thank heavens.”
Ivan smiled at the confession.
“Too damn often if you ask me,” Mr. McCoy said. “Twice in one lifetime is plenty.”
“They are a bit anal retentive, I admit, but let’s not go into that here, Dear,” Mrs. McCoy said.
“Anal retentive? They’re batshit crazy, My Love,” McCoy said, borrowing W C Fields’ voice again.
Ivan tried not to laugh, without success.
“I’m taking my first vacation in ten years. I either have to take it or lose it. I’ve only got six more weeks to use up after a month. We drove down the back road from Bend, Florida. We stayed there last night. Quite rustic and different from the rest of Florida from what I’ve seen. The drive was pleasant, but now I need to stretch my legs.”
Ivan was accustomed to the buzz people got after driving for hours without a break. Everything seemed to move too slowly once you got out of your car. Ivan usually learned more about people in the first five minutes than he’d learn for the rest of their stay.
He had no reason to think it would be different with the McCoys.
There were friendly people who made a point of coming to the shop to say good morning, and there were people up who were up when he collected the trash first thing in the morning. That’s when Ivan drank more coffee than he needed, but he liked chatting with campers. He was amazed at how friendly people camping out were.
“Campsite 9 is close to the Gulf. It’s open. You can park behind the site in the lot off to your left as you reach the first driveway heading back north on the highway. Traffic here is very light and you walk to the site by the path. I’ll be more than happy to show you.”
Ivan watched the man sign his name and pushed the registry back across the desk at Ivan. That’s when the name McCoy clicked.
“I’ve got six weeks. I don’t know how long we’ll stay here. Are there going to be people expecting to camp on that site in a week or two, or is that my site for as long as I like?”
“It’s all yours. You’ll find you like it here. I’ve never had a complaint,” Ivan said. “McCoy, ‘Beam me up, Scotty.’”
“No relationship to the feisty Bones,” McCoy said without hesitation. “In real life, the doctor was Jackson DeForest Kelley.” “You’re a Trekkie,” Ivan said before laughing. “Me too.”
“There’s a Dr. McCoy, Dear? I haven’t heard that before.”
“Star Trek? Captain Kirk. Dr. McCoy,” McCoy growled. “‘Beam me up, Scotty.’”
“Oh, of course. That doctor,” Mildred said without a clue.
“Eat?” McCoy asked. “Anywhere within an hour of here. It isn’t what you call on the beaten trek.”
Ivan was going to like this guy.
“When you walk out the door, pass in front of this big window. When you reach the far side of the shop, look toward the highway. That’s JK’s Kitchen directly across the road. If you look at the big building just beyond the marina, also at the end of this building, the big structure is the Fish Warehouse. Freshest Seafood on the Gulf. JK’s seafood comes directly from the fish warehouse. Many campers cook fish, clams, crabs and such on the fire pit at their campsite. Almost any seafood you could want. I sell soda, chips, candy, bread, lunch meats for sandwiches. Items campers use a lot of.”
“Mildred, did you hear that? A seafood restaurant right here,” McCoy advised. “We’ll set up the tent and go eat.” “I heard, Dear,” Mildred said. “We didn’t buy camping gear, Angus. We should think about buying some. Is there a place where we can buy some pans for cooking? Maybe a coffee pot?”
“Fort Myers is the closest spot and that’s over an hour’s drive to the north. You probably noticed it coming south,” Ivan said. “That’s the last place on this road that qualifies as a city.” “We could go tomorrow. I’m done driving today,” McCoy said.
“I have some things I keep in the back, for people who come without being prepared for a long stay. A coffee pot, a couple of pots and a fry pan. You’re welcome to use those as long as you like. They’re well used but we clean them up for the next visitor who needs them.”
“How much?” McCoy asked hesitantly.
“No charge,” Ivan said. “I lend them out as a courtesy. It isn’t worth my while to sell camping gear at present, but we’ve found it convenient to have those pots and pans handy.” “Convenient for us. I like this place already,” McCoy said.
“I’ll walk back up and see what you have after we take our things down to the campsite,” McCoy said.
“Site 9 is almost to the trail that takes you to the Gulf. Walking the beaches is a popular pastime for young and old alike.”
“That’s sounds like the ticket. Too many Twinkies and not enough spinach,” Mr. McCoy said using his W C Fields voice again. “My doctor tells me that. He looks like he’s seen a few Twinkies in his day, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Once you’ve walked all you like, we have a boat tour of the Gulf a little after noon each day. It’s popular. Most campers go out more than once,” Ivan said. “It’s great feeling the wind in your hair on one of our warmer days.”
“Oh, let’s do that, Angus,” Mildred said, excitement in her voice.
“First we need to put up the tent and you can take a look at the cooking gear on our way to lunch. I’m getting weak in the knees. We only had coffee for breakfast, Dear,” McCoy said.
“You have a tent?” Ivan asked.
“Yeah, I do. It’s all new gear. We haven’t been away in ten years. I told you that. We’ve been raising our daughters. Some friends told me about this place. They were here at the beginning of 1983. Taz and Kodak. Kodak is a tall redhead and Taz is...”
“Shorter, built like a Sherman tank. Has a hole in his chest right about here,” Ivan said, putting a finger on the spot.”
“You remember them? I’ll tell them that,” Mr. McCoy said. “I met Taz because someone put that hole in him. The General, Gen. Walker, it was at his ranch in Montana where Taz got shot. They got into a little scuffle with some badass dudes. One of them arranged to have that hole put in Taz. Nearly killed the boy. I tracked down the shooter. When that general died, Gen. Walker, we were all at his funeral, and there was a fight over who got the ranch. Taz and Kodak stopped on their way here. They’d been told about it by a guy who lives around here. On their way back from here, after the court gave the ranch to the general’s wife, Taz and Kodak stopped in Chicago, and they said how nice it was here. When they told me, ‘Take it or lose it,’ not wanting a divorce, here we are,” McCoy bragged.
“Clay and I, my friend, got to know Taz and Kodak. More we got to know Kodak. Taz
didn’t have much to say,” Ivan said.
“I understand he was no great talker before he was shot, and he was even quieter after,
according to the general. Anyway, I put the finger on the guy who shot him and told them where
to find him.”
“Fascinating. I”m sorry Clay isn’t here. He’d love to hear about it. He was quite fond of Kodak. He talked to our son about photography. Our son, Clay’s and mine, is interested in being a photographer.”
“Dylan!” McCoy said. “Kodak told us about the son of the owner who was into photography. Kodak called him gifted. Kodak is not one to exaggerate about a thing like that.”
“That’s our son, Dylan.”
“Our as in...” McCoy inquired.
“My partner, Clay.”
“Ah,” McCoy said. “You took to Taz and Kodak because they are partners.”
“I suppose that had something to do with it, but Kodak was quite outgoing and there was the photography connection with Dylan.”
“I like getting the facts. Makes a picture clearer,” McCoy said.
“How is it you tracked down the guy who shot Taz?” Ivan asked.
“I’m on vacation. I have time,” McCoy said.
“He’ll talk your leg off if you aren’t careful,” Mildred said.
“I met them a little over ten years ago. I was in the army then. The general asked for me to be assigned to him right after Taz was shot. I was with army investigations and we investigate things. The general was still the commanding general in charge of the Southeast Asia theater. Taz was close as a son to the general. He had two no-account sons. They went after the ranch once the general died. I see Taz and Kodak now and again when they come to Chicago for one thing or another. They appreciate I got his shooter off the street.”
“Tell them Ivan said hi, and asked when they’re coming back. It is a small world, isn’t it?”
“They’re back on the ranch after his wife took over. Taz runs the place for her. He’s a man that belongs on a ranch. He belongs in a man’s world. He was a hero in Vietnam, you know. That’s where he met Kodak. He came to photograph a war and found Taz. They found each other, although Kodak says it was a rough start. That would have been 1969 or ’70.”
“About the time the general was going to shoot you, wasn’t it, Angus?” Mildred asked.
“Shoot you?” Ivan asked. “That sounds like a story to hear,” Ivan said, captivated.
“Couldn’t decide which one of them got to shoot me. It was either the general’s turn or his driver’s, they argued about that. You see, I was pulling guard duty that night. As hot as the days were, nights could get nippy. I had one of my buds bring me a bottle of Jack Daniels from in town. I figured that would keep me warm. I was nineteen, homesick, lonely, and scared. I was standing in a guard shack at the main gate. I drank half the bottle of Black Jack and I guess I fell asleep. Nights were slow. The next thing I knew, the general, and he had more stars than I could count, was in the guard shack with me. It was a one-man guard shack, and Gen. Walker’s chin was an inch from my chin, and he was reading me the riot act. ‘Don’t you know we shoot guys for sleeping on duty?’ He didn’t mention I was also drunk on my ass. He told me he was going to shoot me himself. That’s when his driver got into that damn shack with us. I mean there wasn’t room enough for three people to breathe in there. The driver says, ‘No. No. You shot the last one. I get to shoot this one, and he hauls out the .45 he’s wearing on his hip. They argued and the general told me, ‘You be in my office tomorrow morning at eight sharp. By then we’ll decide who gets to shoot you. You read me, Soldier? Don’t make me come looking for you.’” McCoy explained.
“What did you do?” Ivan asked.
“I tell you one thing, I was stone cold sober when those two left that guard shack and got into the staff car and drove off. I was shaking. I was sure I would be shot at dawn, or damn close to it. I was relieved at six in the morning. I was afraid to go to sleep. I was petrified that I would oversleep. I expected to be shot, so why I was worried about being late is a mystery. At nineteen, your mind isn’t always quite able to keep up at times like that. I was petrified of seeing General Walker again,” McCoy said.
“I get to his office and they tell me to go in. His desk was something like yours, maybe not quite as big. There were papers all over it and he’s writing furiously, when he barks, ‘Take a seat.’ I’m there expecting to get shot and he wants me to wait until he’s ready?”
“‘Why are you here, Soldier?” he barks as he puts the paper he’s writing on in a pile next to his right hand.
“‘You were going to shoot me, Sir,’ I said, like a nineteen-year-old nincompoop would. I was sure he was about to laugh at me.”
“‘‘You like being an MP, Son?’ he asks.”
“‘Yes, Sir.’”
“‘How’d you like to come to work for me?’ he says.”
“‘I’d like that,’ I said. It sounded way better than getting shot.”
“‘We’re after some boys who are smuggling drugs from here, back to the good ole’ US of A. It will be dangerous and I can’t guarantee you won’t get yourself shot doing this for me. I figure it’ll save me a bullet and, if you get shot, well, I was going to shoot you anyway, so it works out pretty fair, don’t you think? You in or out, Son? Time’s a-wasting. Shoot you now, or risk being shot later?’”
“‘I’m all for later, Sir,’ I said. I didn’t get shot but I did find the bad guys and I was in on the bust. It was like in the movies and I was the hero. The general sent me to army investigations for training as an army investigator. He never mentioned shooting me again.”
Ivan laughed.
“You are still with army investigation when Taz is shot?”
“I am. I’m a short timer too. I had maybe three months left before my discharge. I’d have stayed for as long as it took to get that guy for the general. Didn’t take three months. I was a good investigator. I got to spend time on the general’s ranch. I met his wranglers. All but a few were Vietnam vets. He gave them a place to go cool out, until they decided to go home. Some just stayed on there. They’d seen too much war. They couldn’t go home again.”
“That general sounds like a regular guy,” Ivan said.
“His daddy was a general, WWII. He started the idea of hiring on the men he was fond of. Give them something solid to go back to. The son saw what his father was doing. He did the same thing. Hard to say how many lives he gave meaning to. A lot of guys never get over going to war. A lot end their own lives. The general saved lives. He was probably the best man I ever knew, even if he did want to shoot me, once upon a time.”
Ivan didn’t laugh. It was more poignant than funny. McCoy was a good man too. Ivan could tell by the way he told his story. Ivan knew men like the general. The senator was like that. He had more power than any man ought to have, but he used it wisely.
“Angus, I’m starving. You’ve got plenty of time to swap stories with this fellow, and if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to faint dead away.”
“OK, Mil, we’ll go eat,” McCoy said.
“When you get done, stop by and I’ll go help you put up the tent,” Ivan said.
“You got a deal,” McCoy said.
“Angus, I’m starving here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” McCoy said. “Coming, Dear.”
Ivan laughed as the bell tinkled as McCoy looked up at it before going out. Then McCoy did something that startled Ivan.
The door cracked open a few inches. A big hand slipped between the crack and the door jam, feeling for the bell. Holding it, McCoy opened the door without a sound.
“Better get that fixed, Ivan. Someone can sneak up on you,” McCoy said before closing the door behind him.
The McCoys walked in front of the huge window before heading across the highway to JK’s. Ivan was amazed by McCoy. He clearly noticed the bell and he realized what it was for. He devised a way to defeat the bell and come in without a sound.
Why would he do that?
Ivan was amused by both McCoys. These were down to earth people. Ivan remembered how easy it was to like Taz and Kodak. McCoy was a different kind of fellow. Ivan wasn’t sure what to make of his sleight of hand with the bell. It wasn’t sinister but someone sinister could make the same move to come in unannounced. McCoy alerted him to the vulnerability.
Ivan had a sudden chill.
“I’m not vulnerable in this place,” Ivan said to himself.
Then, he remembered the mob boss he tangled with.
What kind of man does what McCoy just did? Ivan asked himself.
That wouldn’t come up again for another week or two. For the time being, all was quiet in the westernmost reaches of southern Florida’s peninsula. McCoy and his wife were ready to settle into a carefree vacation on campsite 9.
An hour after they ate and Ivan went down to help McCoy with the tent, he collected the cooking gear and walked it down to campsite 9.
“Oh, this is nice. Thank you, Ivan. I can cook just fine with the pots and pans you brought. I’ll clean them before returning them before we leave,” Mildred said. “No hurry. We aim to please. Enjoy your stay,” Ivan said.
“Thanks for the assist, Ivan,” McCoy said.
“You need anything, let me know,” Ivan said. “I’m here to make sure our guests have an enjoyable stay. My right-hand man is Tag. When I’m not here, he is. He’ll treat you the same as I do.”
“Thank you,” Mildred said as Ivan started to walk away.
“Oh, I pick up trash about sunup each morning. I brew coffee before I fire up our trash buggy. My son and I, or Tag and I, pick up the trash and then sit and drink coffee once that’s done. If you’re an early riser, come on up for a cup in the morning, and I’ll introduce you to Tag when he comes to work.”
“Sure thing. I’m fond of coffee. I’m not sure I’ll be so fond of what we rustle up over that fire pit. Might take a spell to get the hang of making coffee over an open fire.”
“You come on up. I open the door at six and we’re in and out until the trash is picked up. I’ll leave you guys to settle in,” Ivan said.
*****
On the third day the McCoys were on campsite 9, McCoy stood beside a coffee pot Ivan recognized. It was on a grate built into the fire pit. McCoy held a cup of coffee as he watched the trash buggy coming down the beach.
“Morning, neighbor,” McCoy said, as Ivan picked up the trash on campsite 10. “Care for a cup of coffee, Ivan? Not half bad at all if I don’t say so myself.”
The trash buggy stopped next to the water, where the sand was firm. Dylan watched his father dump the can of trash and take the empty can back. Not being all that social, Dylan didn’t have anything to say at six a.m. Watching his father, he went at Ivan’s speed.
McCoy definitely knew things Dylan wanted to know but not first thing in the morning. The man had come to the shop several times while Dylan was there over the past couple of days. There would be plenty of time to inquire about Kodak. For now, he favored not falling asleep before they collected the trash and returned to the shop.
Dylan yawned and stretched.
McCoy put a cup of coffee in Ivan’s hand. Ivan drank the steaming brew without changing his expression.
“Not half bad. It might grow hair on my knuckles, but I’ve had worse,” Ivan said. “You’re catching on to the cooking out deal?”
“Dad, you picking up the trash or what?” Dylan asked in between yawns.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Young Blood.”
“This is the photographer,” McCoy said, looking Dylan’s way.
“My son, Dylan Aleksa-Olson. This is Mr. McCoy. He knows your friend Kodak,” Ivan said.
“And that scary guy that came with Kodak,” Dylan said. “You told me a friend of Kodak was here. Hi, I’m Dylan.”
McCoy laughed.
“Kodak told me all about you, Young Blood. He told me you were a better photographer than he was when he was your age. You and your father, ah, not this father, took him diving. Let him take his first underwater pictures using your underwater camera. You aren’t the dad who took Kodak diving?” McCoy deduced. “I’m probably confusing what he told me.”
“Clay’s my partner. Dylan is our son. Clay is a marine biologist and he took Kodak SCUBA diving. Taz wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Let me guess, he wanted to keep both feet firmly planted on land? He had no interest in being under the water,” McCoy said.
“That’s about it,” Ivan said. “You have it right.”
“I know Taz and Kodak and Kodak told me about this place. They had a wonderful time here and he gave you some pointers on using a 35mm camera. He spoke of how talented you were with a camera,” McCoy told Dylan.
“He was a nice man,” Dylan said. “I liked him. His buddy was a little scary. The hole in his body didn’t help. He looked like he could chew nails in half.”
“He probably could,” McCoy said. “He’s quiet. He didn’t have much of a life until he met Kodak in Vietnam. They’ve been together ever since, and that was about fifteen years ago. Taz was a hero. Won himself medals and he was featured on the cover of Time Magazine.”
“You’re kidding,” Ivan said. “Taz? I read Time Magazine.”
“He was quite the soldier and his squad loved him,” McCoy said. “Kodak told me about it. He was there photographing the world.”
“He still scared me,” Dylan said.
“We’ve got to get the trash. Come on up for a cup of house coffee. Clay will be coming to pick Dylan up for school.”
“Sounds like a plan,” McCoy said.
Dylan walked back to the trash buggy as Ivan took the McCoys’ trash to dump. Dylan moved the buggy up to campsite 8 and Ivan walked up the beach dumping trash cans as they went.
Ivan scored a piece of cinnamon toast and twice he was offered strips of bacon. He ate the toast and gave a strip of bacon to Dylan.
It was the beginning of another perfect day in paradise. Ivan loved getting exercise and chatting with campers who were up. Even on vacation, campers tended to get up early most days.
When you visit paradise, you want to get everything you can out of each day.