The Willing Seller is about environmental terrorism by our government. It is fiction based on truth. Here's how to access previous chapters on line: Visit www.kwtn.com/news/fiction. That will take you to our fiction index. Double click on "Willing Seller." That will take you to the index of chapters. Click on the chapter you want to read. To get back to the chapter index, click on your "back" arrow.
Billy Ray was dozing in a rickety lawn chair next to his trailer, stoned and listening to `The Eagles' on his walkman. He didn't even hear the car or the sound of three men approaching. He became aware of them only when they came up beside him, their bodies creating a windbreak and cutting off the light of the setting sun. The sudden shadow they cast made Billy Ray open his eyes. Then he just stared up at them without moving or taking off the earphones. A quick flick of fear showed in his eyes and he frowned, but he continued to lip sync the lyrics of `Hotel California'— as though he only half believed what he thought was happening to him actually was.
Doug reached over and whipped the headset off, held it up and let the tape player dangle over Billy Ray. He spoke over the stream of tinny musical sound coming out of the set. "Yo, Billy Ray. What you been doin', boy? Seems as though you forgot all about us. Forgot your obligations. You let down your end of a bargain, did you think we was gonna just forget it? Let it slide?"
"We been waitin' on your call," Donald put in. "My people ain't happy."
Billy Ray opened his mouth to say something and tried to get up, but Doug reached out and pushed him back down. "Sit there. And listen to the man."
Billy Ray sat there and stared at them, trying to look attentive. Donald was going on about trust and obligations, but the intense wave of fear that was washing over Billy Ray kept him from concentrating on the words.
Doug leaned over and poked Billy Ray in the arm, hard, staring him in the eyes. "Why didn't you call Mr. Renfrow like you was supposed to? This here's a busy man." He nodded toward Donald, standing there in his suit with a stern look on his face.
As Billy Ray started to answer, Doug let the walkman clatter to the ground and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.
"We're all three busy," Louie spoke up. "Now we have to come all the way out here on a Friday night jus' to get with you. Jus' because you dropped the ball. That's a real shame." He didn't bother to disguise the threat in his voice.
Then Doug let go of him and all three of them started talking at once. Billy Ray couldn't sort their words out. It felt like they just wanted to rant at him a while, they weren't really looking for him to answer. So he just sank back in the chair with a sigh and took it. Then suddenly they all got quiet.
Billy Ray saw this as his chance to be conciliatory. "No time like the present," he began' nervously. "I mean, you're here now. I'm here. Let's talk ."
"It's a little late for that, Billy Ray," Renfrow informed him. "You had your chance, we been very patient. We kept our side of the bargain. You didn't. You done lost our trust."
Billy Ray tried to explain, directing his words at Renfrow. "You see, I just can't seem to find the contract, I put it someplace in the trailer. Or maybe in my truck. I was hopin' it would turn up any time now." Even he thought that sounded a little lame. But he went on anyway. "You probably have another copy, maybe at your office. Just tell me when, I'll come in and take care of it. Or maybe you have another one with you . . .right now . . ."
Louie came a little closer, squinted down at him and said, "You jus' ain't payin' attention, boy. What he's sayin', your time is up."
Billy Ray repeated himself, trying to sound more convincing. He ended with, "I mean it, I'll sign anything. I swear I will. Anything you want."
But, Renfrow just glared at him. Then he glanced over at the others as if deciding what to do. Billy Ray caught the look and it shut him up. He saw that his hand on the rusted arm rest had started to shake. Reflexively he looked around for help.
Doug let his hands drop down at his sides and took a step back, as if to let on that it was someone else's move. Renfrow pursed his lips and shook his head, looking disgusted. He locked eyes with the Deputy, who nodded as if by a prearranged signal. But it was Louie who made the move. He unsnapped his holster, took out his firearm, waved it at Billy Ray to get him up out of the chair.
Billy Ray found his tongue as they ushered him over to the cruiser. He was in denial. "Why don't we just go on into town and over to your office, Mr. Renfrow. I'll sign anything you want." No one answered him, no one seemed to be listening.
They put him in back with Louie and Louie kept his .45mm on his lap as they drove. For some reason, that barely registered with Billy Ray. He kept right on talking, to nobody in particular, as Doug started the engine and turned the car around. He could not stop his nervous chatter, he kept it up all the way down the bumpy dirt road and clear out the gate.
But, when they turned north on U.S. 1 instead of heading for Key West, Billy Ray slumped down in the seat and finally grew silent. The three men were silent also. Renfrow just sat looking out the window at the scenery flashing by. Louie was tapping out a little rhythm with his fingers and playing with his gun.
Every now and then, Billy Ray looked up and met Doug's eyes in the mirror, but none of them spoke to him. He didn't say another word— no one else did either— on the drive up the Keys. After a while, the only sounds in the car were Billy Ray's weeping and the occasional squawk of the police radio, which Doug listened to with some interest, but never bothered to key in.
When they got to Key Largo, Doug throttled back some and locked his attention on the road. This almost imperceptible change of attitude affected everyone in the car but Billy Ray, who sat slumped in the back seat, sniveling and mumbling to himself. As for the others, they straightened and began to focus like a pair of hunting dogs picking up on a spoor. A few miles later, Doug found what he had been looking for— a narrow dirt road almost completely obscured by vegetation. He turned the wheel sharply and left the highway, then drove carefully through the mangroves.
It wasn't dark yet on U.S. 1, but here as the bumpy dirt road changed to mossy rolling hammocks, the overarching hardwood branches created an artificial night. Doug slowed to a crawl and kept going, headed into the swamp.
Now Billy Ray's tears gave way to frantic outbursts, pleading for them to give him another chance, to turn back, to let him go because he'd learned his lesson. All of this fell on deaf ears. A little further, Doug cracked his window and peered out and the car was suddenly filled with a cacophony of insect and reptile cries.
Moments later, he braked and turned off the motor. He flipped a switch to unlock all the doors and called out, in a parody of cheerfulness, "Everyone out. End o' the line."
He pushed open his door, then sat for a second, grinning and cracking his knuckles. To Donald, sitting next to him, the sound was as loud as a pistol shot. Doug got out, walked around and opened Billy Ray's door.
By then, Billy Ray was holding on to the door handle and bracing his feet against the front seat in an effort to anchor himself. So it took two of them, Doug grabbing him by an arm and pulling, Louie shoving him from inside and hitting him on the arm with the pistol— to get him to exit the car.
When they finally got him out, he crumpled to his knees, sobbing. Then he lay down and had to be pulled up and dragged off bodily by Doug, who had never failed to move an inert suspect, one way or the other.
Donald got out and stood beside the cruiser, watching with an uncomfortable look on his face as the little group began advancing toward the water, in stops and starts, their forward motion hindered by Billy Ray grabbing hold of branches and bushes anytime he could. Noticing that Louie still had hold of his weapon, Donald shouted after them, "Remember, he wants it to look like an accident. Remember that."
They disappeared into the mangroves. Donald stood there for a moment, staring after them, until the mosquitoes chased him back into the car. He took a small notebook and a pen out of his breast pocket and began to run some numbers to get his mind off what was going on. It seemed that, lately, he just didn't have the stomach for this sort of thing.
Ellen Sugarman's writing has appeared in publications such as Newsday, Time, Vogue, Ms., Penthouse, New York Times Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Chicago Sun Times, and the Miami Herald's Tropic Magazine.
As a freelance television producer, she has worked with ABC, Fox News, A&E and the BBC.
Several years ago, she produced a segment on environmental terrorism in the Florida Keys for ABC's 20/20. Although scheduled to run several times, the show was ultimately killed, reportedly because of pressure from the Nature Conservancy.
The program did air in the Keys, however, after activist Peter Anderson was able to obtain a videotape of the show and paid for time to run it on local cable television.
Among a number of shocking revelations, the program documents that former State Attorney Kirk Zuelch, while a member of the local Nature Conservancy board, offered to drop charges against property owners accused of environmental crimes if they would sell or give their land to the Nature Conservancy. Zuelch quickly resigned from the Nature Conservancy board after he was interviewed by 20/20.
Anderson encouraged viewers to tape the show when it ran on local TV. If you want to see this show, KWTN has a couple of loaner copies. Info: 292-2108.