Blood in The Backcountry
As I sit surrounded in a room full of strangers, I am desperately alone. With so many thoughts streaking through my head, its almost ironic at this moment that time is seemingly standing still. Just as I begin to feel at peace, escaping in my blur of memories; the cold tight steel binding my extremities jolts me back to reality and crushing pressure of panic and anxiety grip my chest like a vice. My God, these self-righteous assholes are actually going kill me!
“All rise!” bellowed the bailiff, “The Honorable Judge Harold Cambridge presiding, the 16th Judicial Circuit Court of Monroe County, the Great State of Florida is now in Session!” Judge Cambridge took his place on the bench and addressed the jury. “Madam Forman, has the jury reached a verdict?” With a solemn look and trembling hands, the old bat responded with a barely audible “We have your Honor.” All I could think was what the hell is she so afraid of; after all she’ll be the one throwing the goddamned switch, not the one sitting in the fucking chair! “Would the Forman please read the verdict.” After a brief pause, juror number four responded “We the jury find Cade Jacobs guilty of murder in the 1st degree.’
The courtroom was a fervor of emotions as the verdict was read, filled with sighs, gasps, cries, and tears. Funny thing is, none of that pomp and circumstance emanated from me. Perhaps its because the truth is, I am precisely the cold blooded killer they portrayed in that circus they called justice. If I have any real emotion right now, its mere disbelief. Disbelief that I actually got caught, how could I have overlooked such a minute yet painfully obvious detail?
I come from a little drinking town with a big fishing problem called Islamorada. My best friend, Danny Lopez and I grew up on the docks, listening to crusty old lobstermen's tales. No, not Jack Sparrow and Spanish gallons filled with gold. I’m talking a bit more recent, think along the lines of Cocaine Cowboys during the 80’s & 90’s and stories of square grouper and cold hard cash literally falling from the sky. Not much has changed from those days aside from the product. No more square grouper washing up either, in fact the only thing you might find floating is a body. Some unlucky prick that either didn’t or couldn’t pay their tab. Smuggling is alive and well in the beautiful Florida Keys and just as lucrative.
Today the product is people, and as far a smuggling goes, Danny and I were two of the best in the business. The problem is, to stay in business your associates have to be able to keep a secret. Unfortunately for Danny, a secret is only safe if the other person is dead. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Danny; we were like brothers, but Danny always did have a big mouth. And, in this business that’s a liability.