would spend some time as guests of the state of Florida.
The girls taken by the Army from Blood Island were drying out in treatment centers in South Florida and would be given the opportunity to rejoin their families. Paul Galls told me that most of the families were so dysfunctional that the girls didn't want anything to do with them. Social Service agencies were being brought in to help the young women.
The Key West bomber would probably spend the next twenty or so years in a federal penitentiary. He had been brainwashed, but he wasn't crazy. Hopefully, by the time he got out of prison, he would have shed his demons.
Fats was going to be in jail for the rest of his life. His wounds had been treated, and he was spending some quality time in the Seminole County jail, a federal prisoner awaiting trial. He kept trying to tell anyone who would listen that a crazed lawyer from Longboat Key had stabbed him, but the FBI assured the reporters that Fats had been hurt in an altercation with a drug dealer.
Jock Algren was back in Houston, playing golf and trying to convince his agency that he really was retired. He reported that the bosses kept nodding in understanding, but he was sure he'd get another call in the future.
Me? Aw, hell, I was doing okay. Peggy Timmons was visiting, with her dad's blessing. She had adopted me as a kind of uncle, and I liked the role.
She was a tough gal, and wouldn't let her ordeal on Blood Island ruin her life. She had arranged to reenter the University of Georgia in the fall, and had plans to follow her dad to medical school. She missed Laura, as did I. It was good to have someone I could talk to about her. I was learning a lot about the life Laura had as a Timmons, and I was glad to know that it had been a good one.
My boat was still in Key West, watched over by the Coast Guard. Logan and I were going to get it the following week. We'd take our time getting back to Longboat Key. The tarpon were running in Boca Grande Pass, and we meant to bag our share. We planned to stay over a few days on Sanibel Island and find out what those people did for fun. I'd heard there was a new restaurant there, named for a fictional character conjured up by one of the local islanders. The food was reportedly outstanding.
So, on a tropical evening in early June, Logan and Peggy and I sat on the patio of Cafe on the Bay, enjoying a dinner of fresh seafood and white wine. Debbie was tending bar at Moore's and hadn't been able to join us. We'd stop by for a nightcap later. Peggy had become quite fond of her, and we all appreciated Debbie's help in rooting out what we had come to think of as pure evil.
A freshening breeze blew off the Gulf, bringing the smell of the sea, and rustling the branches of the banyan trees under which we sat. The lights on the patio were subdued, and Peggy's face was in shadow. She was beautiful, and, I knew, tough as nails.
'What I don't understand, Peggy,' said Logan, 'is how you got tied up with that bunch of nuts in the first place.'
'I'm not sure either, Logan,' said Peggy. 'I wasn't ready for the freedom I found when I went off to college. My mother died when I was five, and Laura married my dad and raised me from the time I was eight. She was a wonderful mother, but she and Dad were pretty strict about what I could and couldn't do. When I got to Athens, all the restraints came off, and I went a little crazy.'
'How did you get hooked up with Simmermon?' Logan asked.
'My boyfriend and I and a couple we lived with in Athens came here for spring break. We had all dropped out of school and were doing drugs and hanging out in Athens. It seemed like a good idea at the time, even if we didn't have any money. We met Jake Yardley on our first day here, and he seemed like a godsend. He took us in and paid for everything for several days. We lived on the beach and ate and drank well. He even had some weed for us. We couldn't believe our good luck.'
I'd heard the story before. Peggy had spent part of our week together trying to explain to me, and probably to herself, the disconnect from reality that led her to Blood Island. 'Tell Logan about meeting the Rev,' I said.
'Yardley kept telling us about this man of God who had a place in his organization for people like us; people who didn't have any other place to go. I was the only one of us with any kind of family, and the other three thought we ought to meet Simmermon.
'Yardley took us to the Rev's motor home over at Robarts. He was a smooth talker; offered us sanctuary,' she said, using her hands and fingers to indicate quote marks. 'He said we could go with him to a tropical island and live a life of ease. Said God would bless us with everything we needed or wanted. I didn't realize then that the punch he served us was laced with some kind of drug. We were all floating on the Rev's benevolence.
'The next thing I knew, I was on Blood Island, and my friends were gone. The Rev told me they had abandoned me, but that he was going to save me. That all sounded good, until I got sick and got the drugs out of my system. Everything's a little fuzzy about that time, but I must've been on the island for a couple of weeks before they tried to take me to the whorehouse.'
We sat quietly, sipping our wine, savoring the evening. Peggy was pensive on this, our last evening together. After a while, she said, 'Matt, I don't really understand why you came for me. You hadn't seen Laura in years, and you'd never met me.'
'I came because I loved Laura,' I said, 'and I would've done anything she asked of me.'
'Why then, did Logan come? He'd never met Laura. And Jock?'
'They came,' I said, 'because they're my friends.'
