FISHING
Finally, rational thought had clawed its way through the panic. The surreal terror of this horror story was unfolding, despite my unbelieving mind.
I was a blind man floating alone in a vast ocean, pushed out of the boat by my “best friend.”
Surprisingly, what rose through the fire in my head first, was of an encounter with my friend Nathaniel, who, when I had mentioned this “fishing” trip with Mac, had chuckled mysteriously. He refused to elaborate when I asked what was up.
I bobbed in the warm ocean, in the life ring Mac had tossed to me. Judge Daniel “Mac” Mackenzie had been my friend for years. We had bonded since I had first begun appearing in his 9th Judicial Circuit Courtroom as a homicide investigator for the Orlando Police Department. I knew Mac enough to say he would never be guilty of the very crime I used to testify about in his courtroom! Or, I thought I knew him well enough!
But there I was. The warm Atlantic swells of August lapped lazily over me and the ring in which I floated. I could feel the heat of the blazing sun above and heard the melancholic strains of “Slip Sliding Away” by Paul Simon drifting across the water from Mac’s fishing boat. Impossible to say from exactly where. Echoes on the waters seemed to distort any sure sense of direction. The irony didn’t escape me either; “Now there’s an appropriate description of my life.” The thought had muddled its way through. I hadn't stated that odd musing. Would Mac be close enough to hear me if I had, though? I heard the rumble of the three huge 4.2 liter V-6 motors on the back of Mac’s boat, the “O-Kay”, pushing him slowly away from me.
“How’s the water, Mike?” Mac asked. Did he think it was funny? I wondered if he had gotten a charge out of the whole “pushing the blind man into the drink” event. The outboards went quiet; I assumed Mac had something he wanted to say. He might be angry, like a lot of my other friends. It was hard work, making all of their lives as miserable as mine had become. What’s good for the goose is good for all the ganders, right?
We had journeyed out to an alleged fishing hole Mac said was phenomenal, and upon arriving at the spot, Mac supposedly pulled out the fishing rigs to prepare for some nice fishing. We’d polished off a few beers cruising out; then I stepped to the back swim platform, where I could relieve the growing pressure from my bladder.
It shocked me when I felt a strong shove which unceremoniously landed me in the ocean.
“What the fu...!” I screamed, but a mouthful of saltwater cut off my unsavory comment. I sputtered and screamed like a little girl, curses and threats pouring out; but somehow I heard Mac shout above my cacophony something about grabbing the life ring he was tossing to me. I clumsily treaded water until I located it nearby and desperately pulled it down over my head and shoulders. I was an excellent swimmer, but being in complete darkness out in the wide ocean was unnerving.
I tried swimming toward the sound of Mac’s voice on the boat and the sound of the music on the radio. My imagined track was off or the boat was more distant. Either way, I soon gave up any serious attempt to get to him, and alternated between floating in the moderate waves and taking a few strokes toward what I thought to be his position. It didn’t help that I couldn’t see a damn thing. The fear I felt inside was blinding my thinking, preventing a reasonable way out of this predicament from appearing.
The agonizing minutes crawled by like a slug sliming its way across a sidewalk. I sputtered as a few of the more aggressive waves splashed across my face. Being unable to see the watery world around me kept my defenses against their rhythmic assault ineffective. Fury at Mac’s joke, expressed through my foul remarks, devolved into insults and threats swirled with pitiful begging to be pulled back into the boat. “Really Mac? It isn’t funny anymore, man!”
Above me, I could hear an occasional gull screech, searching the sea below for its next meal. I prayed I wouldn’t become a meal for something silently hunting below me. Little else disturbed the quiet, and I wondered how this was going to end. I didn’t seriously believe Mac would leave me here to die. But I wasn’t sure if this was going to be A, a not funny joke that had lost its flavor a good bit ago, B, long-term torture or 3, just a quick lesson in the extent to which Mac might go to get my attention.
Mac spoke in his deep, melodic bass voice. Between the gaps in the sporadic seas that rolled over me once in a while, I got his message okay.
“Mike, how long have we known each other?” Mac asked.
I stewed silently for a minute, and finally answered him, “Mac, get me out of this damn water!”
“In time, Mike. But first let’s have a conversation.”
“No, goddamnit! NOW!” but Mac was silent.
“Okay! We’ll play your stupid game then!” I stopped for a beat and thought, “We’ve known each other since I was a rookie cop and I appeared in your courtroom. A long time.”
“Yeah, you remember how we got to know one another? You would come around sometimes to pick my brain about how to improve your cases. I remember thinking that it was pretty unique for a young, green road cop to want to learn how to build a better case for the courtroom. It impressed me. Then one day, you let me know you had made homicide detective, and you were crazy excited. It thrilled me because I could see a good cop growing into what his potential was.”
“I remember Mac. I liked that you were a tough, ‘no-bullshit’ old bird, and you were my mentor.”
“That’s right. You were young and full of energy.” Mac paused for a couple of minutes, lost in reverie. “Remember the Police Martial Arts Tournament where you squared off with other cops? I had to walk you through a rough patch after that day.”
“I remember.”
“You were a leading contender. Like everything else you did, you went after that guy like a man possessed. In fact, as I recall, the ‘light contact’ rule had gone out the window early on, and you and your opponent were beating each other mercilessly. I recall a lot of blood spilled that afternoon. It was a pretty brutal affair, I thought.”
“We both couldn’t lose. Wasn’t in our natures.”
“But he did lose. A wicked spinning back kick just as he was crouching for a low leg sweep put him down. Your foot met his skull and we could hear the crack all over the gym. There were a few seconds of anxious silence, and his coach and team came out to check on him. It looked like he was gone. For a few minutes, we thought maybe you had killed him! But then we could see him moving. That was the good news. The bad news was he started saying he couldn’t see anything! The place was in complete chaos.”
“They disqualified me, and for the next few days I fought a lot of guilt over what I’d done. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, you know?
“Fortunately, that young man’s vision returned after a few days. He lived in terror for a few days, as I’m sure you know. Meantime, I had to help you find a path through the guilt and confusion. You visited him in the hospital and found a frightened, angry man. Kind of like you, right now…”
“Mac, come on, man! Let me back on the fucking boat!” There was a long pause before Mac spoke again.
“Yeah, interesting. You disrespect my boat while you beg to be brought back aboard her, huh? Funny story about that particular adjective. One of the earliest suspected uses of the word’s root, ‘fuck’ was from a mixed English and Latin poem satirizing the Carmelite friars of Cambridge, England. The name of the poem was, ‘Flen, flyys, and freris ('Fleas, flies, and friars'). Funny, huh? The poem included the line, ‘They are not in heaven because they ‘fuck’ the women of Ely.’ Ely was a cathedral city in nearby Cambridgeshire, and the line referred to the friars not keeping their vows of celibacy. They had been trysting with prostitutes in a nearby village." Mac paused again.
He continued, "A vulgar term coming from someone so eager to find comfort in the arms of my sweetheart here, huh?”
“Yeah, ok. Desperate times and all. Sorry Mac. I’ll cool the language.”
It was another minute before Mac continued, apparently nonplussed. The whole matter seemed unable to ruffle him from what was just a pleasant discussion between two guys; as if one of them wasn’t floating helplessly and blindly 30 miles out in the Atlantic ocean. “You know Mike, it’s kind of like what I asked Nathaniel on another fishing trip years ago-‘In or out’?”
“What the hell, Mac? ‘In or out’? What do you think?” then, after a lightbulb suddenly lit up, “Yeah, Nathaniel! I knew something was off!”
“Right!” Mac paused and then continued, “Well now, Detective. I’m not sure what I think. You have some terrible losses in your life, for sure. Your wife Rebecca murdered in a bungled purse snatching. Then you get beaten almost to death by the thugs who killed her! I can’t imagine how that must affect a man! To top it off, when you wake up out of your coma, you find you can’t see, and the doctors aren’t being real optimistic about your chances of ever getting your sight back. A hell of a lot of hell there, yeah.”
I waited, sensing a “BUT” coming.
“But Mike, you know what? All that is yesterday, brother. A really sad, painful and horrible yesterday; incredibly hard to forget. No, impossible. Shock turned to grieving, to anger, to rage, and then back and forth between those emotions. We’ve all cried with you, screamed with you, faced the confusion with you, and prayed desperately for you. We’ll never come close to knowing what you’ve gone through or are living through now, granted. But you know what, man?” Mac paused, and the question hung in the air for a long moment.
I screamed at Mac, “No, Mac, I DON’T know WHAT! I know all you said is true! I know I mostly don’t even give a damn if I live or die anymore and I sure don’t know how to navigate all of this hell I’m in! Everything was taken away, Mac! They erased everything that was good in my life in just days! My wife, my unborn daughter…”
The dam broke. I started sobbing so violently that I could hardly breathe, the lapping rollers not helping matters any. My heart was failing. Horrible destruction crashed down all at once. Incredibly, I suddenly poured out my heart to Mac as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did.
“Mac, WHY? Why would God do this to me? Why does He hate me, Mac? What was my offense? I never was a perfect husband, but we loved each other so deeply, and we had a perfect life together! The care I had for her was real, Mac! I worked every day and got good at my job. I wasn’t unkind to people or dishonest or hateful. Mac, I believed in something! I wanted to make the world a better place! I even went to church with Becca and found peace there!” A ragged breath. Words wouldn’t come anymore, and I sputtered again as a wave filled my mouth with saltwater. It might be almost comedic that God would hush my blasphemous raving like that. But right now, comedy wasn’t really in the channel line-up.
Mac was quiet for a long time. Long enough that my sobbing subsided, and I caught my breath. At last, he spoke. “Mike, you’re right. You’ve gone through what no man should have to. My heart breaks with yours, as you well know. Mike, all of our hearts broke! Kay and I wake up nights in tears over your losses and your pain every day. We pray for you–to this God you don’t understand. To be honest, I don’t always understand myself! All I know is there’s nowhere else to turn if we eliminate Him as a possibility. Why refuse the one Person right there, Who has the power and is willing to save you from the train wreck? Mike, your hell isn’t God; it’s time to see that.” After a few seconds he continued, “I can only say that you have an opportunity to find help, but it’s completely your choice–your God guaranteed right to choose–to either reach out, or to remain in the sea of death around you. You’re definitely ballsy enough to choose to just stay out here until that sea takes you. You’ve tried it before, and it was only by God's mercy that the attempt failed.”
"Whatever hope was once there was extinguished with your eyesight. I get it, Mike." It was a long minute before Mac continued.
"So if you want to ‘check out’, I can help. I can leave you right here, drive away and report you as lost overboard when we hit a rough patch as I was driving the boat. No one will be able to prove it didn’t happen that way, and maybe you’ll find peace out there.”
Another long silence and he said, “I don’t believe that, though. I believe we must all give account one day, and how we live the life we’re given, whether we call it good or bad, God will require of us on His terms. We’re all just stewards of the life He breathes into us the day we’re born. I’m sure you can’t see it right now. But His love is beyond our own ability to fathom. You CAN’T see it, but His plan for you is perfect and nuanced far past what you can even imagine. What you’re experiencing in your tragedy right now, as horrific as it may be, may someday turn into a powerful testimony of the One who brought you through the fire and through the darkness. You CAN’T see it today, but is there an amazing new life just over the next ocean swell?"
"So, I can only ask, Mike, ‘In or Out’?”
Mac’s powerful, rumbling words broke through the crumbling walls of my self-pity and hopelessness. What was he telling me? There was genuine concern in those quiet declarations and they found a chink in my black armor. I suddenly understood that I HAD no hope. Life might only be available if I surrendered to something bigger than me and this hell I was living in. The battle was raging for my soul.
I was never a quitter. Survival required a search for hidden answers. Did I want to survive? Mac’s offer was a flickering candle at the end of a very long and very black tunnel. And suddenly I realized yes, I wanted to survive. I had to investigate this case to its conclusion, go wherever the evidence might lead. No one could really save me from this black hole if not this One Mac clearly knew. Someone I clearly didn’t know–not like I should, anyway. I knew Mac though; his unfaltering care assured me of his trustworthiness-maybe a hope I could cling to in a roiling sea of danger and uncertainty.
Mac, a cerebral man with a dry, intelligent sense of humor, wasn’t very funny right now. I guess I knew he wasn’t really trying to kill me, although my initial panic had certainly made me wonder about that. We had left the dock heading for what Mac billed as a “fun” time fishing and drinking beer. Mac confirmed I was a good swimmer; so we made the 30 mile trip without life preservers. On the 90-minute trip out, we cracked a few brews, chatted about friends, his family, and cases I had delivered to his court, both successful and not. There were a few light moments; Mac was attempting to dislodge my bitterness and anger, even for a few minutes. But like an injured fish, I kept floundering and circling back to my misery. For me, the conversation was only a winter day of heavy gray clouds over a dreary gray ocean.
Mac was a great counselor and friend. He had come up through the legal system, from criminal attorney to his judgeship, conservative but always fair. Now he was leaving the circuit court bench as a seasoned adjudicator in his 60s. The liberal legal system had no great love for Mac’s conservative, measured style. The profession knew him as a tough and thorough man, thoughtful in his analysis of cases brought before him. He stood committed to constitutional principles, including the right to a fair and unbiased trial where the defendant was presumed innocent until proven guilty. That being said, Judge Daniel, "Mac" Mackenzie also understood that the processes and procedures required for the state to remove a person’s rights and bring him before the court in trial were not trivial; there was usually a good chance of wrong-doing along the way. His job was to oversee with impartiality the prescribed process of determining truth. That happened through the detailed examination of facts, forensic evidence, testimony, and investigation. Judge Mackenzie had a sterling reputation for directing such proceedings fairly.
The judge was a large African American man, built solidly on big bones. His face was hard in lines but with sparkling, intelligent eyes. He sat on his bench, an imposing figure, but soft of speech and gentle in nature. The public was unfamiliar with any drama or notoriety from his bench, and he maintained well-controlled temperament and volume in all his remarks during trials. Still, he gave you the feeling that, if needed, he could absolutely contain any aberrant outbreaks or uncivilized behavior in his courtroom.
Mac had come from a military family, proud to serve their country standing the wall. Mac’s dad had been an army major in charge of a SFUWO (Special Forces Under Water Operations) company stationed in Key West, Florida. Surprising to many people, the U.S. Army (rather than the Navy) had initially and continuously operated the SFUWO training school there from its birth as a maritime and underwater operations unit, under the direction of Army special forces. Mac’s father had proudly served as the commanding officer of the base for almost two decades, in view of his excellent and forward-thinking leadership. He led the brave men and women there and was still serving when his own son Daniel, (whom I came to know as "Mac"), entered the Army as a new First Lieutenant in the Judge Advocate General’s Corps. Groomed by his superiors for expected success, after school and the bar, Mac rose to the rank of Lt. Colonel after only 15 years of service. Mac left the Army in 2002 and a civilian law firm in Orlando, Florida recruited him shortly afterward. A head-start into civilian law was not unheard of, but transitions typically took years. Uncharacteristically, Daniel Mackenzie's exceptional record meant equally exceptional notice from this firm when the time came. Mac had years of outstanding work showing leadership, responsibility, and an uncanny resourcefulness, especially in criminal law. His ability to adapt to unexpected changes and connect the dots in complex investigations awarded him with accelerated advancement while in the JAG Corps.
The Orlando firm of Black and Wells was a fairly well-established legal office made up largely of veterans and conservatively minded attorneys. The practice took pride in integrity beyond the normal standards of legal counseling (such as they were) and sought to deliver honest justice to those they served. The Black and Wells office encountered a sudden need to fill a vacant spot in its criminal case division after a senior member passed away unexpectedly, and Daniel Mackenzie's name came up. One of the team’s lawyers, responsible primarily for investigation and reporting, and a former JAG herself, introduced Mackenzie’s profile to her team. The partners scrutinized Kay Blanch's presentation of Daniel Mackenzie's record to them, and consideration in the line-up of other candidates began. Kay specialized in investigation of criminal cases, with strength in preparing written briefs. She thought Daniel’s notable reputation in military courtrooms was worth a hard look. While an outstanding lawyer and senior laborer in the firm, her retiring personality kept her in the background, doing the important foundational work required for success in the courtroom. Teaming with exceptional trial lawyers was always desirable for her, and she had, in fact, earned that privilege because of her dedication, insightful investigations, and reporting.
Kay liked to keep up with her colleagues still in the military that she loved. She had noticed Mackenzie, who grabbed her attention as a leader and a man of steadfast character. She had once read an article in an Army Times issue on the rising stars of the JAG Corps, which had highlighted Daniel Mackenzie and several other prominent military counselors. Kay thought that Mackenzie had stood head and shoulders above his peers in the article, which notably pointed out the straight ethical path he followed. Kay found Mackenzie’s outspoken conservative and Christian values to be a light in an otherwise dreary profession, where it sometimes looked like gifted men and women were simply serving their time “in the barrel” before moving on to a more profitable post service career–something she disdained. She found Daniel’s commitment to true justice and honorable service refreshing and noteworthy; and was interested enough to check occasionally on his career progress.
It was no great leap finding that in this opportunity, she might remember Daniel "Mac" Mackenzie. He had recently separated from military service and might be unemployed for the moment. Without too much difficulty, she had located and then called him, and had discussed any potential interest he might have in continuing his legal profession in the central Florida area. He considered her invitation for a few days and called her back to see if the two could meet unofficially to discuss details. She agreed, and the two met at a downtown Orlando café, where for several hours Daniel ("Mac", he had told her to call him) increasingly impressed Kay with his knowledge, understanding, and personal commitment to what was right. Kay also appreciated Mac’s quiet, powerful personality, and, if she had to admit it, his charming good looks. Likewise, Mac noticed an attractive, soft-spoken but confident woman in Kay. And he liked what she had to say about the firm.
Daniel quickly found a spot in the organization where, just as in his military service, he warmed to the job. As a result, he flourished beyond a normally expected pace toward success. A natural similarity in style and philosophy grew between Daniel and Kay, who eventually teamed up in a highly successful run of courtroom victories. Their close cooperation meant a mutual admiration soon grew into a spark of something beyond the professional; they got married after two years.
Successful years followed in the firm until the day of the birth of their first child, James, named after Mac’s father. Kay stayed on at the practice during that first year, but when she became pregnant a second time, she talked with Mac about the need she felt to be at home caring for her growing family. She would still work for the firm coordinating investigations, but from the house. Mac was thrilled, and they set the new plan into place immediately.
Just as Mac’s military and later civilian law career had prospered, the public noted the same qualities that had propelled him forward so quickly. An Orlando Sentinel write up on Black and Wells praised the stellar work Attorney Daniel Mackenzie was doing, and the city’s population took notice. When approached by co-workers at the law firm, friends, and political observers regarding a run for a vacated Circuit Judge spot in the 9th district, he and Kay discussed the idea, carefully examining every point of the opportunity. The two counseled extensively with their pastors and leadership from their church, who enthusiastically endorsed the growing throng demanding Daniel run for the spot.
Concluding that this was the next logical step in their service, Mac and Kay tackled a campaign. The election eventually placed him in the spot left vacant by the now 70-year-old circuit justice Al Monroe. Al left kicking and screaming, but the state required it because of his age; he turned 70, making the incumbent judge ineligible by law to continue on the bench. Chances for a Mackenzie team election victory seemed as likely as any of the other contender’s chances. A resounding positive response by voters in the 9th district proved it at election time. Chosen to the judgeship overwhelmingly, Mac’s success grew steadily from that time. His continued approach of deep love for American freedoms and tough impartiality on the bench insured his continuing popularity among his constituents. All the while, Mac and Kay’s love and their happy family continued to grow and prosper. Kay started a campaign of her own-making financial investments. In that, the two worked intelligently and soon had garnered quite a fortune.
The Mackenzies lived well enough, if somewhat more modestly, than their means might afford. Besides their Orlando home in the Dr. Phillips area, Mac and Kay found a small get-away home in the Florida Keys, where Mac had loved growing up in his family of origin. It was inevitable that Mac’s family would find the ocean with the great fishing waters surrounding the keys, so the Mackenzies bought the home and a big fishing boat to go with it. The family developed a love for being out on the ocean in the “O-Kay!”, bringing home fresh fish dinners on most excursions offshore. They even provided the catch-of-the-day for local restaurants who purchased their frequent big hauls drug up from the rich offshore waters.
Mac’s love for and knowledge of the water, and his maritime skills, had now delivered me to what I found to be a personal, existential threat. Or maybe the salvation I needed so desperately.
“Ok, ‘in’, Mac. I’m ‘in’.”
