Dave Shoemaker
Contributing columnist
Note: The names and places in the following story have been changed for reasons that will soon become clear. Plus I don’t want to be contacted by the authorities.
Around 25 years ago, I became friends with a guy I’ll call Jack. Jack owned a little wine and cigar shop around the corner from our cottage at the beach, and we sort of hit it off right away. We had a lot in common and shared the same sense of humor. Jack was a pretty big guy and wore his hair tied back in a ponytail. Anyway, he, his wife and his kids lived in a really nice house on the Pamlico Sound and I’d stop in from time to time for a drink or burgers.
Jack was one of those guys who was always trying to make a buck, trying to hit the jackpot with some business venture. In the years I knew him, he owned the aforementioned shop, a Cuban restaurant (amazing crab cakes) and a place where vacationers could rent stuff – those little wagons with the big tires to haul stuff to the beach in, beach umbrellas, surfboards, things like that.
As I got to know him it soon became apparent that his background was, well, a little shady. Once over a couple of adult beverages, he began telling me that he used to live on the Gulf Shore of Louisiana. He said that he and a friend were heading in after a day of fishing when they saw something floating in the water. Upon closer inspection, they realized it was eight to 10 bricks of cocaine. After some discussion, they decided they should probably take it in to the Coast Guard Station, which was about a half mile from their house near the beach. After getting it onboard, they placed it right on the front of their boat for all to see as they headed toward the shore, directly towards the Coast Guard building.
But as they drew closer, they noticed that nobody was around at the station. The place seemed to be empty. It was then they made a last-second decision. They drew right up to dock, then made a hard left-hand turn straight towards their house.
Note: I’d like to take a second to reiterate here that I don’t condone any of this. That said, it does make a hell of a story.
Long story short, they took the bricks home, made some calls, and sold them for their own gain. After listening to this story, I asked Jack how much money he made from his haul. His response?
“Well, how do you think I bought my house and started this business?”
Ok.
Another time I was sitting with him in the back room at his beach rental place and he was talking on the phone to a friend of his back in his home state of New Jersey. It seems that some vacationers had rented a couple of kayaks from him and made off with them back to Virginia. These were really nice ocean kayaks, worth $1,000 apiece or something close to that. As I’m sitting there, Jack is asking his friend to help him get the kayaks back. He was on speaker phone, so it was then I overhear this conversation:
Jack: “Listen, I really want this taken care of. How much would it cost me?”
Friend: “It depends on how many were involved. Usually $10,000 per.”
Jack: “WHAT? Ten grand to get back two kayaks?”
Friend: “Oh, wait. I thought you meant you wanted the people taken care of. I can get your kayaks back for a grand.”
When Jack got off the phone he simply looked at me and we had this exchange:
Jack: “You didn’t hear that.”
Me: “Hear what?”
As I said, we’d become pretty tight over the years and I’d always make a point to spend time with him when I went to the beach. That is, until a few years ago when I went to his place of business. I walked in and asked if he was in, and the girl at the counter just looked at me, turned around, and speed-walked to the back room. Right away a guy came out and we had this discussion:
Man: “You’re looking for Jack?”
Me: “Yes I am.”
Man: “Are you a friend of his?”
Me: “Yes, I’ve known him for a long time.”
Man: “Do you know where he is? A lot of people are looking for him.”
Me: “What? Is he OK?”
Man: “More than likely, but there are a lot of folks around here that want to know where he is.”
After some more discussion, I came to realize that Jack had borrowed a lot of money from potential investors in one of his schemes and made off with the loot to parts unknown.
He went on the lam, so to speak and has never been found.
A few years ago I was in a local beach bar, and somehow a guy recognized me as a friend of Jack’s. Again, I went through the same question-and-answer routine, basically trying to convince the guy I hadn’t seen Jack in years because I hadn’t. Promise.
However, in my mind I picture him living in a little hut on an island beach somewhere, sitting on the beach and sipping a Margarita, maybe running a little Tiki Bar and living the good life. Either there or, you know, prison.
But either way, whether tourists or inmates are involved, somebody is bound be to getting scammed.
Dave Shoemaker is a retired teacher, athletic director and basketball coach with most of his professional years spent at Paint Valley. He also served as the national basketball coach for the island country of Montserrat in the British West Indies. He lives in Southern Ohio with his best friends and companions, his dogs Sweet Lilly and Hank. He can be reached at https://shoeuntied.wordpress.com/.
