Rick
Mendez got on the road way before sunrise. The drive from Key West to Lucky
Knowles' was a solid five hours. Lucky's place was the last post before the
deep wilderness of the Southern Everglades.
"You
must've left the Keys pretty early Mr. Mendez," said Lucky as he walked
out of the junkyard.
"Well,
I'd like to serve this notice and get back home soon; it's my little girl's
birthday today."
"I
don't know 'bout that, Mr. Mendez; it will be a slow ride to O'Sullivan's place,"
said Lucky as he jumped into Mendez' Explorer.
"What
is it that the County wants with old O'Sullivan anyways?" asked Lucky.
"It's
an eviction order. The property is being foreclosed on back taxes. We've sent
him plenty of notices to show up in court, and we can't seem to reach
him."
"Well,
I'm not surprised. Since this area became protected, wild alligator meat was
outlawed. He can't sell his catch anymore. I haven't seen the old man in
months."
They
drove for two miles on a muddy road to a clearing. A mud runner boat was tied
to a post a few feet into the marshland. Lucky adjusted the 4HP motor to the
stern.
"Now,
you will head southwest for 'bout an hour right through the open marshes,"
explained Lucky, "you will see a mangrove ahead of you, that's Gator
Grove. By the eastern end you will find a way in through the mangrove.
O'Sullivan's place is on a lagoon right at the center of the grove."
Lucky
hanged a rabbit's foot at the bow.
"For
good luck?" asked Mendez.
"You
bet."
"I
see."
Lucky
noticed the skeptic grim on the man's face.
"It's
not called Gator Grove for nothin'; you know? Plenty of alligator 'round there,
so, keep your hands on the boat and stay dry. Oh, and remember to keep an eye
on that compass too."
"Will
do."
"Well,
sir, good luck. I better start walkin' back, gotta feed the dogs."
"Thank
you, Mr. Knowles."
"You
bet."
Mendez
soon realized the little motor wouldn't pick up much speed. The morning had
died and now the high noon sun was merciless, Mendez was drenched in sweat; he
had underestimated the blazing desolation of the marshland.
He
found the opening by the edge of the mangrove like Lucky mentioned. In the
darkness of the mangrove the air was sticky, but Mendez felt relieved from the
scorching sun. The bellowing of hundreds of alligators filled the thick air; their
presence was dark, unseen. Mendez got the message; he was an intruder.
By
early afternoon, he found the clear in the mangrove. The house was standing on
piles and surrounded by water. Once the boat was properly tied to a post,
Mendez walked on the deck. "Mr. O'Sullivan? Are you home?" He knocked
on the door, no answer.
"Mr.
O'Sullivan, my name is Rick Mendez; I am with the Monroe County Assessor's
Office. I have important information for you sir."
Mendez
came close to the glass window next to the door to take a look inside.
The
butt of a rifle came full force through the glass and hit him on the nose and
forehead. As he was coming in and out of unconsciousness, he noticed he was
being dragged through the deck, and then he was out again.
"Eviction?!
You sonofabitch!" yelled the old man as Mendez was starting to wake up.
"What
is this name on your ID? Ricardo Mendez?" continued O'Sullivan,
"Where d'you come from, Mexico, Cuba?"
"What?"
asked Mendez.
"This
ain't no American name, you piece o' shit wetback."
Mendez
was now fully awake. He was tied to one of the piles. His chest was tightly
chained to the post, and from there down, his body was submerged in the swampy
water of the lagoon. He was completely naked, his feet entangled in oily swamp
weed.
"Mr.
O'Sullivan, please..." begged Mendez.
"Shut
yer mouth you fucking immigrant!"
"I'm
not..."
"They
send a fucking immigrant to take my home?"
"Sir,
please..."
"No habla English, motherfucker? I said
shut yer mouth!" As he said this, he hit Mendez in the head, this time
with a hammer.
The
steps of the boots on the wooden deck woke him up again. The sun was going down
now and thousands of mosquitoes came out of the mangrove. Mendez kept shaking
his hands to keep them away, but to no avail.
Old
O'Sullivan approached him from behind.
"Did
they teach you to read the Bible in your country, Mendez?"
"Please
Mr. O'Sullivan; I need to get out of the water."
"You
still ain't gettin' my questions, are ya?"
O'Sullivan
took Mendez' left arm, pulled it back and stretched the hand over the wood
deck, palm up. Then he took a four inch galvanized nail and hammered it down
through hand and deck in three hits.
The
screams were loud, loud and lasting. The bellows of the alligators stopped
suddenly. Only Mendez' cry could be heard in the lagoon. O'Sullivan moved to
the right and did the same to the other arm, only this time, it took him five
hits. Blood was trickling down to the water below.
The old man stood up behind a
crucified Mendez and proceeded to recite.
"O Lord, you are my dwelling
place! No evil shall be allowed to befall me, no plague come near my tent. For
you will command your angels concerning me to guard me in all my ways," he
paused, "And here come the Lord's angels!"
Two large male alligators silently
and carefully came to inspect the offering. Then one of them closed his jaws on
Mendez' left leg. O'Sullivan was silent and his eyes wide open as Mendez kept
desperately screaming and crying. The eight hundred pound beast started
twisting his body to pull the leg out of its socket. The second reptile followed,
and then others came to finish what was left. There were no more screams or
cries in Gator Grove, only bellowing, only hissing.
...