Page 110 of Alonzo

The kids, who were already in the middle of their trip from Port-de-Paix, Haiti, and on their way to the rendezvous point in the Bahamas, were shuttled onto a commercial fishing boat and started making their way north towards Bimini Island.

That boat will never make it to Bimini. In fact none of the boats leaving the Key West marina tonight will make it anywhere close to Bimini. And none of us leaving on those boats will either.

At exactly six oh nine PM the sun slips below the horizon in Key West and the blazing red-orange sky turns the color of twilight. Forty-three boats in the marina begin leaving their slips and motoring out of the harbor towards the open ocean.

Above us there are at least four helicopters hovering. All of them Coast Guard, presumably with the FBI on board. Keeping watch. They’re gonna track us. Every single one of us. And we’re gonna lead them straight to this all-important girl called Angelica.

But they were not expecting forty-three boats to be in on this operation.

Alonzo and Tony called a meeting of the other local fishermen and for the first time ever, people were told the secret the Dumas family had been hiding for the better part of three decades. And even though up until that very moment they were all, for the most part, upstanding citizens with nothing more on their criminal records than public drunkenness and speeding tickets, they all agreed to get on their boats at sunset and go in forty-three different directions.

We are all bait, I guess.

Jesse is just the one who gets to make the most noise.

And while all that is happening, Tony and Alonzo—who grew up diving these waters since the time they were first able to hold their breath underwater—will drop into the marina wearing scuba gear, swim back to the docks, get out, and meet up with a pilot at the Key West airport.

From there they will take a float plane to the waiting fishing boat with the kids off the coast of the Bahamas and then they will shuttle them all into a nearby superyacht owned by Johnny’s friend, Logan.

They will not stop in Bimini. They will not stop at all until they get to Virginia Beach, nearly forty-eight hours later.

By that time the FBI will have lost track of most of us because they will be busy dealing with a public relations nightmare called Jesse Boston. Who will, hopefully, be picked up during the scheme and make a huge scene, get himself arrested—bailed out, of course—and then start making public statements to the tabloids.

Johnny Boston will make an unprecedented public appearance, chastising his brother, and the social media pile-on will commence.

While that’s going down, Wendy and I will borrow a local fisherman’s truck and make the trip up to Virginia Beach by land to pick up her friend. And by the time we arrive, Tony and Alonzo are back in Key West doing their thing like nothing happened and the whole thing is over. Kids are in the US with their interim foster families waiting on their new identities and the FBI has eyes on Chek, Johnny, and the present Dumas family.

And that’s exactly how it works out.

Even though I ask Wendy many, many questions while I drive, she says absolutely nothing. Not a single word. And when I pull into the motel where her friend is staying with the man called Logan, neither of them says anything then, either. They meet each other’s brilliant blue eyes for a prolonged moment, then embrace in a hug that lasts for many more seconds than you’d expect.

Then Wendy turns to me and says, “Thank you,” turns to Logan and says, “We’ll take it from here, thanks.”

And they walk away.

Two little girls. Just. Walk away.

I look at Logan. I have no clue who this man is, but he’s definitely someone like Alonzo, and Johnny, and Chek. “That’s it? You’re just gonna let them leave?”

He shrugs. “My job’s over, Tara. But yours is just getting started.”

“What do you mean? My job was to drive Wendy up here. I’m done.”

“Done? No. You’re not done. We have nineteen scared kids in various foster homes. They need a friend right about now. Someone who gets them. Someone who understands what it means to start over.”

Just as he says that a car pulls into the motel parking lot and honks.

I squint my eyes at it, startled. “Belinda?”

“She knows what it’s like to start over too,” Logan says. “And since the FBI seemed to give very few fucks about her, she drove up behind you.”

I turn to look at Logan while Belinda pulls the car into a parking space next to me. “What’s going on?”

He places a hand on my shoulder. Nods his head. “I get it, Tara. I do. But don’t worry. Alonzo will be there when you get back. He told me to tell you that.”

And then Logan gets into the truck I drove up here, starts it up, backs out, and leaves.

“You coming?” Belinda calls through the open passenger side window of her car.