With the sheriff on the scene, Ivan thought he should feel secure. A plane came down in the cove, hitting the Fish Warehouse before crashing into the swampy region next to it. With a fire raging, firemen in the midst of the conflagration, Sheriff Davis only has eyes for Ivan Aleksa, who he finds prone, obviously in discomfort, nearby where the plane crashed.

Ivan knew this was where he should defend himself.

"I didn't shoot it down, Gerald," Ivan said. "I'm innocent. I have a shop right over...."

He intended to point it out, but he couldn't raise his arm. He let his head rest back on the asphalt

"You know where it is," Ivan said in a croak.

The sheriff laughed. Ivan was in the middle of any action that took place near the cove, since his return from Asia.

There was a kernel of truth in the sheriff's conclusions.

Ivan's Bait Shop burned shortly after Popov sold it to him. Then, there were the mobsters who came to waste Ivan. He inadvertently insulted a New Jersey hood who insulted Tag. Ivan was defending Tag from a bigot.

It did not end well for the mobsters. One of his soldiers burned up on the dock at the marina. The fire trucks and the sheriff came that day too. After shooting Tag, or while he shot Tag, a spark ignited the gasoline he brought to torch Ivan's, boat. The gangster went up in smoke, but Ivan's boat was spared. Part of the dock needed replacing.

The fire trucks came that day too and the sheriff too. A short time later the FBI came to the cove to take charge of the most wanted New Jersey capo, after Captain Popov brought him back, hog-tied, and handed him over to the FBI.

The sheriff came in the afternoon, after the FBI took the hood away. It was Ivan that ignited the flames that had the New Jersey hood causing trouble in the cove. It was nice and peaceful until Ivan came back from over there.

Ah, the good ole' days, Ivan thought.

Like the plane crash. Stuff happens, but the sheriff had developed a dislike for Ivan Aleksa, because he managed to be in the middle of anything significant going on at the cove.

Ivan watched the sheriff stand with his thumbs looped over his gun-belt. He looked toward the crashed plane, watching the firemen knock down the last of the hot spots. Remnants of burned brush and trees marked the planes resting place. The smoke lingered, hanging low as it drifted out over the cove waters.

"I came over from the shop," Ivan told him. "I thought it was the senator. Wasn't his plane. Some middle age dude. He was dead. A girl," Ivan said, managing to raise his arm to point at the back of the rescue squad. "A woman, the one they're working on, was a passenger. Didn't see anyone else."

"You were at the crash site?" the sheriff asked.

"Yeah. You think I got this way from sitting on the asphalt?"

"You're something, Aleksa. You'll never change. If there's action around here, you're in the middle of it every damn time."

There was no admiration in the sheriff's voice. If there was action, Sheriff Davis would be the last to know it.

Ivan laughed. He was right. Never a dull moment.

As an amusement factor, the sheriff was good for a laugh. Ivan actually was breathing easier, once Gerald ambled over to the rescue squad to check on the condition of the girl.

"That man is a waste of space on God's green earth," the woman said. "You want to get up a minute, Mr. Ivan? If you walk a little, might help you cough up some of what you breathed in."

Ivan lost site of the woman but she'd stayed right there.

The young woman was keeping an eye on him.

Ivan was starting to feel the gravel strewn asphalt under him. Starting to feel something but exhaustion was good.

"I thought I was the only one who saw Gerald like that." Ivan said. "I went to school with him. Always bigger than life, in his own mind. He'd like to be where the action is, just once. Never is. He does what he's doing now. Stands around."

"Let me help you up. You need to walk a spell. Cough up some of what you inhaled. They got water bottles over there. Let's go get us one," the woman said. "Lean on me now, Baby. I got ya."

"Do I know you?" Ivan asked. "You look familiar. I mean, I wasn't too keen on anything when you first came to help me. I believe I know you, don't I?"

"I'm Twila's sister's girl, Opal Jefferson. Mama's Tag's Aunt Opal. I'm Jade Jefferson. You're Ivan. You run the Dive shop."

"You're Jade Jefferson. I remember when you were no bigger than a minute," Ivan said. "Your mama named you that because of those beautiful green eyes. You had pigtails all over your head. Each one had a different colored ribbon."

Jade laughed.

"Yes, I did. I remember you from before you went away to find your brother," Jade said. "You was gone a long time. I grew up."

Ivan coughed and could hardly catch his breath. He leaned on Jade as they walked to the rescue squad to get a bottle of water.

At first it burned when Ivan drank. He took short sips and soon his throat didn't feel as raw. The dissipating smoke had his eyes stinging less. He looked toward the sun and poured water in his eyes.

"Ivan," McCoy said. "You OK? You look like shit. Someone said you pulled a girl out of that plane," McCoy said. "Let me take him. He's my friend and he's a little big for a lady to be holding up."

Ivan's weight shifted to McCoy. He kept moving his legs. He coughed and he coughed some more.

"Guy was dead. I knew it was going to blow. I got her as far as I could before it did. No time to look for anyone else. People carried her over here. Helped me to get over here," Ivan said, coughing harder.

"I'm Jade. I know Mr. Ivan. Everyone knows him. Didn't mind helping him at all," she said. "My mama will be proud I done it."

"Thank you, Jade," McCoy said, guiding Ivan to the rescue squad.

"Here," McCoy said as an order. "Check his back. Give him some oxygen. Do it now. Hand me the oxygen bottle. I'll do it. I see you got your hands full. She going to live? This is the guy who pulled her out of that plane."

Ivan thought, McCoy had given orders like that before. McCoy was comfortable taking charge of a situation.

"Here," McCoy said, slipping the mask over Ivan's head, while Ivan was able to stand on his own. "Breathe deeply, Son. Get some clean oxygen into your lungs. It'll help."

"Thanks," Ivan said, still fighting to take in enough air.

As soon as the cool oxygen hit his lungs, he felt the difference.

Coughing began again. Soot coated the inside of the mask.

"Thought it was Harry at first. The senator who lives here," Ivan said, once the coughing subsided. "That's why I was running toward where I thought it was coming down. I owe Harry, big time. I'd lay down in traffic for the man."

"That's a story I'd like to hear," McCoy said. "You keep powerful company."

"Harry has a Beechcraft. He'd never come flying south. He has an airfield behind his house. He comes in from the Gulf side. This guy didn't know there was an airfield just behind the campgrounds.

"Good grief," Tag said indignantly. "Can't leave you alone for a minute. What have you done now, Boss?"

"Got myself a little singed," Ivan said listlessly. "Back hurts."

"He went into that fire and rescued the girl they're taking care of before they transport her, Ivan saved that girl's life."

"Your back is burned, Boss. They doing something about that? Hey, his back is burned. You need to come look at him."

"Let me," Clay said. "I heard the explosion. I figured when I got here, I'd find you where the rescue squad was."

"His back is burned," Tag said. "He needs something on it."

Clay held onto Ivan and slipped the oxygen mask off to remove what was left of his half tee-shirt.

It fell apart in his hands. Ivan made a soft noise as Clay finished removing bits of cloth off his back.

"Come look at him. You have something for his back," Clay yelled as one of the EMTs came out of the back of the squad.

"I'll be all right," Ivan said. "Thought it was Harry. Heard the engines cut off. He tried to restart them. By that time he was on his way down. Figured he was trying to ditch in the cove. He overshot. Went into the swamp," Ivan said. "Knew it wasn't Harry. He'd never have flown toward the cove. He'd glide onto his field."

"Why don't you just breathe for a while and shut up. I'm going to put this burn cream on your back."

"Should you guys take him," Clay asked, as a paramedic slammed the rear door.

"Nah, burns are superficial. They'll hurt like hell for a couple of days. Keep them clean. Apply the cream, he'll be fine. Keep an eye on his breathing. He seems to be coughing up what he inhaled. If he has too much trouble tonight, take him to the closest ER."

"I'll take him to doctor Wilson," Clay said.

"That's the guy. Give him a call before you come over. He'll take care of him. Bring the oxygen bottle back there when he's breathing OK."

"Will do," Clay said, and the rescue squad started up and left with lights and siren going as quick as it hit the highway.

Clay went and got the Buick while McCoy stayed with Ivan. He was breathing easier and the coughing had slowed. It was like Ivan had been drugged, and he was listless. It was the first time McCoy had seen Ivan run at less than 110%.

McCoy watched Clay drive away with Ivan. He was taking him home to nurse him back to health.

It would be dull around the Dive Shop until Ivan returned. He saw a lot of shells in his future. Mildred would be delighted.

McCoy watched Clay drive away with Ivan and Tag. He'd become part of the background pretty quick, but he was concerned for Ivan. He was a good man. He recognized Ivan's courage. Men like Ivan got knocked down from time to time, but you couldn't keep him down.

Clay let Tag off at the shop and he drove to Ivan's house.

On the way up the stairs, Ivan needed to stop to rest three times. He continued breathing the oxygen. He felt a little better but the stairs were a killer. Each time Ivan stopped, Clay stopped beside him.

Once he got Ivan out on the deck, he sat him in his wicker chair. There were things he needed to be sure of before putting him to bed.

"The side of your face is red. Should I put some burn cream on it?" Clay asked.

"Yeah, starting to feel like a bad sunburn. The cream helps."

Ivan held onto the oxygen bottle as Clay put cream on his face.

After sitting beside him, Clay listened to his labored breathing.

"Do you want to go to Dr. Wilson's. Your breathing doesn't sound all that good. No point in taking any changes."

Ivan took Clay's hand and shook his head. He didn't have the energy to move again. He had become worn out just getting into the house. He wasn't going anywhere. After an hour, Ivan pointed to the bed. Clay took him into the bedroom to rest on his stomach with the oxygen bottle beside him.

"Hey, Mama. Did Lucy get home? I need her to pick Dylan up. Keep him with you. I don't want him to see his father until he's breathing better. He'll just worry."

"Anything to do with that plane crash? It hit the Fish Warehouse," Mama explained. "Can you believe that?"

"Ivan pulled the girl that survived out of the burning plane. I heard the explosion from the Conservancy. It shook the desk in my office. Anyway, he's resting. He inhaled a lot of whatever was burning. He's sleeping and I'm staying with him. Just tell Dylan we're busy with something, OK?"

"You've got to be kidding. There'll be no keeping that boy down here. He's going to know the story before he gets home from school. I've already had three phone calls about it. He'll know as soon as I tell him to stay here, his father was in the middle of it."

"The plane came down at the cove?" Lucy picking up the phone to ask. "When I show up instead of you, he'll know something is up."

"I suppose you're right. Maybe send up some of your homemade soup. I'll warm it up for him. He should be able to eat that when he gets hungry," Clay said.

"I'll do what I can, Clayton. I'll keep him busy for a while, but he'll be up there as soon as he catches on," Mama said.

"Thank you, Mama. I know you'll do what you can."

Clay went back to sit beside the bed and hold Ivan's hand. His breathing was clearer between coughing spells. He slept all afternoon.

Clay couldn't remember the last time Ivan slept during the day. Maybe after playing hide the sausage after he stopped over for lunch. He didn't want to leave Ivan for a second. As Ivan's breathing improved, Clay went to the bathroom and got some soapy water and a washcloth. He began washing the soot off of Ivan's face and arms. He lifted the mask and Ivan didn't wake up. He went back to the bathroom for clean water. He bathed Ivan's exposed skin. He slipped the oxygen mask back in place.

He watched Ivan breathing. He remembered the years he didn't see Ivan at all. He'd never loved anyone more. They met when they were both fourteen, and they'd become inseparable. Clay would have followed Ivan anywhere. Ivan taught Clay what love was.

Clay heard Dylan come in the back door. He was on the stairs. He took them two at a time. He came into the bedroom with two paper sacks packed full of food.

"How is he?" Dylan asked. "Mama sent dinner up, soup for Dad."

"He's been sleeping a while. Seems to be breathing better."

"Aunt Lucy said he saved some girl's life. I heard about the plane crash while I was at school. They said it crashed near the cove," Dylan said. "As soon as I heard that, I knew Daddy-O was involved. He'd have to do something."

"Hit the Fish Warehouse's roof at the far end. Crashed in the woods by the swamp land. Your father heard it from the shop. He went to the crash site and got the girl out before the explosion. I felt it at the Conservancy lab."

"It exploded?" Dylan asked, looking down at his father's sparkling clean face the cream on lobster red skin. "He was there?"

"So I'm told. He says, "I did what needed doing. I'm fine. He's been sleeping for hours."

"The oxygen bottle?" Dylan asked.

"That's the problem. I need to keep an eye on his breathing. Jeremy, the EMT, said to keep an eye on his breathing."

"I'll help you. You can't do it alone. I'll sit up with him while you sleep. Just until it's better."

Clay understood what Dylan was going to do, and that's what he made up his mind to do. Clay could do it by himself. He wouldn't.

"The windows at the school rattled," Dylan said.

"I knew where the noise came from. I drove toward the shop. The smoke told me where to go. I walked from the highway. Fire trucks and sheriff's cars blocked the driveway. Your father said he was OK. McCoy ordered a bottle of oxygen. He was helping your father. It wasn't his first fire. Jeremy said to keep an eye on his breathing. Your father wasn't going to the hospital. He's breathing better."

"How's the girl?" Dylan asked. "The one dad saved."

"The EMT said, he thought she'd make it. She was breathing better than your father. He breathed in whatever was on fire."

"I'll sit with him. Go eat. Lamb chops, corn fritters, green beans with mushrooms. Those were good. Fried taters, and half an apple pie. I knew she wanted me to get some of that. She said the ice cream would melt on my way up here. You can go down there if you want ice cream with your pie."

Dylan had Clay's mouth watering. He unpacked the bags while sitting on the deck. It was all hot and even the soup was warm. There was enough for all of them to eat twice. Mama's answer to every emergency, 'Eat already.'"

Clay smiled as he savored the flavor packed into the food. He wanted to wake Ivan for him to eat, but he needed to sleep for as long as his body said to sleep. He could eat when he woke up.

Ivan waited until three in the morning to wake up. Clay was holding his upper body cradled in his arms as he leaned back on all the pillows they kept on the bed. The oxygen ran out hours before but except for coughing from time to time, Ivan slept soundly.

"I'm thirsty," Ivan said. "What time is it?"

"3 a.m." Clay said. "What do you want to drink? Orange juice?"

"No. Nothing with acid. Mama's tomato juice. The bottle is behind the milk and pineapple/banana juice jug."

How do you feel?"

"I'm OK. Why didn't you wake me up?"

Clay eased Ivan down onto one of the firm pillows and went to get the tomato juice. He brought a bottle of root beer, just in case. He got himself a Coke. He'd been thirsty but he didn't want to move."

Dylan had been sleeping on the deck. He heard his father's voices and he was sitting in the chair beside the bed when Clay returned. This was a kid who could sleep with a hurricane raging outside his bedroom.

He gave Dylan the root beer. If Ivan wanted one, he'd go get another one. Ivan sat up to drink the tomato juice.

"Where's the oxygen mask?" Dylan asked.

"Yeah, where's the oxygen mask?" Ivan asked. "That was good stuff."

"Ran out about midnight," Clay said. "Your breathing is better."

"Maybe trade the empty for another one tomorrow," Ivan said. His voice wasn't quite as distorted.

"How are your lungs?" Clay asked.

"They burn. No big deal. The oxygen helps with that."

"Tag's coming to do the trash in the morning," Clay said. "It's the last thing he said when he got out of the car."

"I was there, Babe. I heard him," Ivan said. "Don't worry. I'm not rushing out to do the trash."

"I'll go over to help," Dylan said.

"You run the trash. You know how Tag hates to get up with the sun. That'll make it a little easier on him," Ivan said. "You might need to wake him up to get him to move the trash buggy up the beach."

"You going to be all right, Dad?" Dylan asked.

"I'll be fine. Struggling to get enough air wears a guy out. I still feel exhausted. Not a good feeling when you just woke up."

"I'll stay with you until you're back on your feet," Clay said. "There is no hurry. Tag can do anything you can do."

"Not everything," Ivan said. "Don't you have some memory of just how well I take care of you, Babe?"

"He can do anything at the shop you do," Clay clarified.

Dylan laughed.

"You got work, Babe."

"I got you, Babe," Clay said with certainty.

That made Ivan smile.

"Work can wait," Clay said.

The alarm was set for five thirty and Dylan was already awake and listening to Ivan breathe. Ivan didn't budge before Clay turned the alarm off.

"Get me my car keys," Clay said to Dylan.

"You don't have to take me. I can walk it in twenty minutes, Dad."

"Bring me the car keys," Clay said firmly.

"Yes, Sir."

Dylan fished the car keys out of his father's pant's pocket.

"OK, here's the deal. Can you drive the Buick?"

"Of course," Dylan said. "You think I'm lame or something?"

"Here's the deal. Drive directly to the shop. Pick up the trash with Tag. Drive the car back here. Do not try to drive my car to school. I'll need it in case your father needs something. I'll get Aunt Lucy to pick you up to go to school."

"OK," Dylan agreed happily.

"Kewl," Clay said in Dylan's voice.

Dylan laughed as he headed for the stairs.

His father trusted him to drive the Buick. That was kewl.

The unpredictability in life was never more obvious to Ivan than it was while he recovered from the plane crash incident. For the minute he thought it might be Harry's plane crashing, it gave him incentive to go to help the most important man in the cove community. He began with a purpose, and he ended up saving a life. It wasn't Harry but it was too late to turn back. He figured, he was meant to be there.

The Chinese believe, if you save a man's life, you become responsible for that life. Ivan didn't know if it was true if you saved a woman. He called to ask about Fran Willow's condition.

She was going to live and her mother and two brothers had come to Tampa to be with her. She was told her father died. She figured as much since her mother stayed in the room with her.

No one was surprised Ivan did what he did. He'd once gone to get his brother from Vietnam. No one thought he could do that, but he did, even if it took a while to bring his brother home with him.

Ivan did what needed doing most of the time. It wasn't something he thought about. He went on instinct and he might end up with his skin singed and his lungs a bit worse for wear. When all was said and done, Ivan usually did what he set out to do and it gave the locals something to talk about.

By weeks end, Ivan was back at the shop, although Tag and Dylan did the trash that morning. When he got to the shop, Tag and McCoy were having coffee and a chat.

"I wondered if I'd see you before it was time for me to go," McCoy said.

"You planning to leave us already?" Ivan asked.

"Next week sometime. My mother is taking care of the girls. She already raised a batch of kids. We need to relieve her of duty, although she'd like to keep our girls," McCoy said.

"Don't be a stranger, once you go. You know where we are."

"Yes, I do and I'll play hell keeping Mildred away from here. I suspect we'll be vacationing here regularly from now on."

"That's what I like to hear," Ivan said. "We aims to please."

"We does," Tag said.

McCoy laughed at two men who seemed to be totally comfortable with each other. Tag made the coffee in Ivan's absence and McCoy came to chat, and it was another perfect day in paradise.

Ivan's breathing wasn't quite back to normal but it was way better than it had been. He'd laid around the house for about as long as he was able. He had work to do and it was time to get to it. Clay agreed and he dropped him off at the back of the shop before going to the Conservancy.

When the Tampa Times came to take pictures of the crash, they brought the mother and two brothers. Ivan told them he was glad he could help. He didn't mention watching the girl's father burning or his cold dead eyes that stayed on him.

When they wanted a picture of Ivan and the family, he said no. It wasn't about him. It was about a family celebrating the daughter who survived, while mourning the father who didn't.

Ivan knew his original thoughts of it being Harry in trouble, he wouldn't have been running full speed, once he saw the plane coming down, and he wouldn't have been in time to save the girl. As it was, they barely escaped the explosion.

He was glad he could help. He didn't think he was capable of being responsible for her for the rest of her life, but he wished her well and a speedy recovery. He had no need to get involved any more than he already was.

The confluence of events that ended up involving people who wouldn't ordinarily be involved, was nothing new. People in the Fish Warehouse were involved because a plane hit the roof. It wasn't a story. It just happened and Ivan was ready to move on.

Perhaps an interview and a story about his rescue of the girl would be good for business. It was another reason he didn't want to be mentioned. People came to places to see someone they think did something cool. The last thing Ivan needed was to have the looky-loos coming to the cove to look at him.

McCoy liked men who took the bull by the horns and got things done. It made coffee in the morning more enjoyable. As a Chicago cop, he worked with men like Ivan, and he admired such men.

You never told a man that you admired him. McCoy's occupation brought him in contact with a lot of men he admired. He worked with men who ran toward gunfire, while most men ran for cover. While most men didn't think that was smart, it was part of the job. Even being part of the job, few men ran toward gunfire, job or no job.

When he talked to Mildred about when to leave. His wife said, "Next week, maybe.' McCoy couldn't argue with that. Another week in paradise wouldn't hurt. He hoped Chicago would still be there when they went home. For now, Chicago would need to make it on its own.

The last thing McCoy thought he'd do in Florida was make a friend. Ivan was friendly to everyone, but when they sat over that first cup of coffee one morning, McCoy felt comfortable.

Tag was an interesting man who did what Ivan did while Ivan was gone, including make McCoy feel welcome. Tag stopped and talked with people on the campsites, just like Ivan did. They both made visitors feel like they were welcome in the cove.

Ivan knew each person who camped on his beach campsites. He knew little or nothing about the men who camped on the wilderness sites. There were four wilderness sites and Ivan knew, when he saw a camper he didn't recognize, it was some from a wilderness site. If he didn't recognize him, Tag rented the site to him.

Men who came to stay on a wilderness site usually wanted privacy. They remained as anonymous as they wanted. Ivan's job was to give every visitor the experience he wanted.

McCoy wondered about men who came alone and didn't want contact with others. Men who stayed alone in a place where people enjoyed the setting and the people, made McCoy suspicious. What are they hiding, or what are they hiding from?

He couldn't turn off the cop in him. He wasn't supposed to turn it off. If there was trouble, he needed to be on his toes. Trouble on the beach Ivan built was about as likely as a flying cow.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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