The Road To Key West
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The Road to Key West is an adventurous/humorous sojourn that cavorts its way through the 1970s Caribbean, from Key West and the Bahamas, to Cuba and Central America. In August of 1971, Kansas Stamps and Will Bell set out to become nothing more than commercial divers in the Florida Keys, but adventure, or misadventure, seems to dog them at every turn. They encounter a parade of bizarre characters, from part-time pirates and heartless larcenists, to Voodoo bokors, a wacky Jamaican soothsayer, and a handful of drug smugglers. Adding even more flavor to this Caribbean brew is a complicated romance, a lost Spanish treasure, and a pre antediluvian artifact created by a distant congregation who truly under- stood the term, pyramid power. Pour yourself a margarita, sit back, and slide into the 70s for a while as you follow Kansas and Will through this cocktail of madcap adventures on The Road To Key West. IF YOU ENJOY THIS BOOK, BE SURE TO GET THE SEQUEL - BACK ON THE ROAD TO KEY WEST. DUE OUT IN LATE AUGUST, EARLY SEPTEMBER 2013
because that’s all you’re gonna have.” He winked at me “We got da magic, man. Did I tell you she’s a bona fide card-carrying member of the California Kama Sutra Club? I think that girl’s mother was a ferret, or a pretzel. Did you know she can—” I put my hands over my ears. “Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!” I yelled. Will laughed. “I win.” “Okay. You win. No more about Banyan.” Will nodded. “Okay. No more about Banyan… except did you know, she can actually put her—” “Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!”
Trujillo was dead ahead, sixty miles. We were an hour ahead of sundown. I adjusted the pitch on the props a little, settling them into a pleasant sync, pulled back on the throttles slightly and set up at about 120 mph. The old girl verily vibrated with the desire to serve—obedient and responsive. There was no hurry. We were right on time, and we were being taken care of by a classy lady, who had been well treated by her man. I could tell. Half an hour later, as we dropped toward the clandestine
mangroves toward the stand of buttonwoods and banyans near the fire. Behind me I could see the flames licking up the driftwood, sparks crackling and exploding upward, sending showers of glowing embers into the darkness, and I could hear the sounds of Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung” ripping asunder the still summer night. In the shuffling madness of the locomotive breath, Runs the all-time loser, headlong to his death. By the bonfire, the rhythm of the drums faltered, falling out of meter, and halted.
Cayo Hueso.” Will looked at me questioningly. I shook my head. “No way, man! I’m not stealing anything from Justin Mames, least of all something every bloody law enforcement agency in the world is after.” “For sure, man. I gotta agree.” Will said. “I’d like to get that SOB, but right now, I think we should consider a small vacation. All of us.” He turned to Brandi. “We need to get Turtle out of here and we all need to book a flight to someplace like Disneyworld—lots of innocuous little motels,
death with the heel of his boot. “Okay, that was good. Now time for execution.” “Nuh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “I haven’t had my gum.” Villadosa frowned. “You don’t need no stinkin’ gums.” “You promised, man! You said I could have gum!” The captain threw up his hands in acquiescent anger. “Okay! Okay!” He fumbled around in his fatigues jacket for a moment and came up with a pack, ripped out a piece and stuck it in my mouth. “Eat your gum, then shut up and die like a man.” As I nursed the