Wrecked – Chapter 10
Sgt. Dewey Beverage & suspected Taliban soldier Akhbar Ali have washed up on a deserted island.
Chapter Ten – Home
Dewey Beverage blinks himself awake and sees the stars above moving across the sky. It takes a moment before he realizes he is the one who is moving. “Am I on a boat?” he mumbles, still half-asleep.
The movement stops and Akhbar Ali’s frowning face enters Dewey’s field of vision. “I’m dragging you off the beach. It’s not safe to be out here in the open in the middle of the night with that panther lurking about.”
“The beast,” Dewey murmurs.
Akhbar props Dewey up roughly against a palm tree trunk and holds a saran-wrapped beige brick in Dewey’s face. “What is this, Sgt.?”
“That, my friend,” Dewey smirks, lids half shut. “Is the first good night’s rest I’ve gotten in a week.”
Sgt. Dewey Beverage is pacing up and down the aisles of an abandoned Pakistani arms factory, looking over his men as they convert confiscated poppies into high-grade heroin. “Let’s move, gentlemen. We’ve got a Pakistani assassin to escort to Cuba before we transport this smack back home to Florida.”
The men hoot & holler at the thought of American soil and American greenbacks.
One of Sgt. Beverage’s privates holds out a butter knife piled with that sweet brown betty. “Want a bump, boss?”
Dewey shakes his head and puts a hand on the private’s shoulder. “Never taste the product.”
Dewey snorts a thumb-pit full of heroin and bonks his head on the tree trunk behind him. “Ahh, that’s the stuff.”
Akhbar sits beside his fellow shipwreckee. “So this is what you’re going to do now? Dope yourself to death?”
“You got a better ideurrrrr…”
Dewey nods off as Akhbar shakes his head, eyeing the bricks stacked before them.
High school-aged Dewey Beverage is accompanying Bug Powell in a rundown industrial complex on the outskirts of Tallahatchee. “Thanks for lettin’ me come along, Bug.”
“Valuable lessons to be learned here, kid.”
The two drug-runners exit Bug’s pickup truck and approach a man in a slick suit and slick-backed hair, leaning against a slick ride, surrounded by sli–uh, seven heavily-armed men.
“Johnnie Cabel,” Bug holds out his hand.
The young Israeli mob boss smiles. “Bug.”
“How’s your grandfather.”
“He is well. We will visit him in Boca Raton before returning to Haifa. You have our product?”
Bug nods and Dewey hands over a duffel bag. “Prescription strength,” Bug beams. “You got my cash?”
“I’m afraid not, Bug.” Cabel replies as safeties are clicked off around him. “Today’s meet will hereby conclude our business relationship.”
“Oh, Johnnie,” Bug laments, shaking his head in disappointment. “Remember what I said about lessons to be learned, kid?”
“Today’s lesson is always have a backup plan.”
Bug whistles and two dozen men in jorts and heavy machine guns emerge and surround the Israelis.
Dewey shoots up out of his smack nap, blurting “Backup plan!”
Akhbar nearly topples over. “Pardon?”
“Always have a backup plan.”
Akhbar looks on skeptically. “And what is yours, pray tell?”
Dewey grins. “We’re gonna burn this island to the ground.”
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