A Lifetime of Vengeance Page 2

  Chapter 1

  October 1988

  The vault had been a well guarded secret for several years. The brothers, Pat, Joe and Mike McKinney, were doing well in their legal and illegal business ventures with no interruption and little cause for any real concern. Most of their business associates were both professional and discrete. But Pat, the oldest brother, was becoming concerned. It had been their policy from the beginning to keep everyone away from the vault to prevent even the temptation of theft by a business associate. He warned the other two that things were going too well and that they were letting their guard down. He even went so far as to recommend shutting down the operation for about one year and to reevaluate their business associates. Too many people were getting to know about their real business. They each had weapons that they could use to defend themselves and their property, but they all agreed that if they had to use guns, their troubles would only be starting.

  Mike, the carefree brother, thought that his big brother's fears were unfounded. He and Joe were confident that business could continue as usual. They even talked about expanding the business. They were so unconcerned that they were taking associates to the nursery warehouse in front of the grove to load bales that they'd sold. Early on, they’d agreed that the vault, the nursery, and the warehouse were off limits for drug transactions. But over time, these rules were loosened and all but forgotten. Now even Pat was doing business in a way that was contrary to their original agreement. The use of the warehouse for loading and unloading bales of grass became commonplace and the vault was a natural location for money exchanges due to its secluded location. He was getting worried despite how smooth operations were going.

  Pat, Joe and Mike were also skimming the bales; taking small quantities of grass out of the bales before shipping them to their customers. To compensate for the loss of weight, they would spray the bales with a mist of water or drop in a handful of sand. A few sprays into each bale added the weight back from the skimmed weed. That seemed to be a fool proof solution until one of their customers found out about the ruse. About this same time, they decided to raise prices for their illegal product. The combination of the watered down grass and raised prices didn’t sit well with a few of their customers. Word spread quickly that the McKinney’s were cheating.

  Joe called Pat one evening in mid-October. It was right before Mike’s wedding to his girlfriend, Julie. He said that he’d been feeling guilty about their dope business. He recommended that they shut down the business and get out. They’d made a small fortune and had no real need to continue. Pat told Joe that that he’d been feeling the same way. He’d been doing some soul-searching. What he found he didn’t like. Pat said that he even thought about talking to a priest but decided against it. He said that he’d rather talk to God directly instead. Pat and Joe made a pact. They were getting out as soon as their current holdings were sold out. That would be a little over a week. When they told Mike, he was angry at first, but Pat explained that he knew a friend that could invest their money. With the nursery and the grove, they’d be set for life. Mike confided that he’d been feeling guilty, too. He agreed that it was as good a time as any to get out. Pat was relieved, but still concerned. They still had a sizable amount of grass to sell. Pat grew more nervous with each passing day.

  Pat’s concerns escalated when he was confronted by a friend, Brian Purcer. Brian was a skinny guy, weighing about 140 pounds soaking wet. He had a huge head of frizzy hair. He was the only white kid with an afro that any of his friends had ever seen. He was also an up and coming rock musician who bought the occasional bag of dope from Pat. He wasn’t in the dope trade. He was a casual user and a good friend of Pat. He’d just bought some weed from Pat that was so wet from being sprayed down that it wouldn’t stay lit. The level headed Brian came unglued and unleashed a serious berating of Pat and his business practices. He told Pat that word on the street was that he and his brothers were going to be taught a lesson about ripping people off. Pat’s worst fears were soon realized, and the family business was now in jeopardy.

  November 1988

  Jamie Watkins, Donnie Lee Lester, Bobby Acquino, and Randy Farley were sitting in the ABC Liquor Lounge on State Route 436, in Apopka, Florida. They were celebrating. They’d just been released from custody at the Orange County jail. Their alleged crime was the rape and murder of a young lady named Julie McKinney. Julie was the new bride of Mike McKinney. They’d been married just over two weeks. The four had allegedly broken into the house of Mike and Julie McKinney and attacked the young woman when she arrived home from grocery shopping. Part of the attack was videotaped by the attackers. The Orange County Sheriffs Department had found that tape but it had disappeared from the evidence room at the Sheriff’s Office. Within a few days of the arrests, the case was dropped. That tape was the only key piece of evidence and it was gone.

  The beers were flowing, shots were slammed, and the laughter was loud and rowdy. They’d also forged a new partnership; they’d put the McKinney brothers out of business. They were excited about the prospect of making a ton of money. Their previous suppliers were gone, run out of town. They’d turned tail and run scared. The McKinneys dealt strictly in grass. Those days were over. No more limits on who they could talk with and what they could sell.

  “I told ya’ll them McKinney boys would haul ass outta here!” That was Jamie talking, more like yelling, about how the McKinney’s couldn’t take the heat. Jamie Watkins was originally from Garland, Texas, a suburb of Dallas. He was a stocky young man. He had a freckled face and light red hair which made him appear younger than his 24 years, but when he talked he sounded anything but youthful. He always wanted to be the center of attention. He did this by talking louder than everyone around him, no matter what the situation. In the ABC Lounge, he was nearly yelling over the music and crowd noise. “They saw us comin’ and decided it was time to get back up north where it’s safe for pussies like them. Back to momma’s tit. Hidin’ under her skirt. They couldn’t stand the southern heat.” Loud laughter sprinkled in as Jamie went on with his monologue about the wimp, Yankee McKinneys. He called them about every name in the book and even made up some new ones. They were all pretty well polluted. Each joined in Jamie’s berating of the brothers.

  The only one who seemed a bit reserved was Bobby Acquino. He felt miserable about what they’d done but he dared not voice that view in the middle of this drunken party. Bobby lost the only true friend he had when events started to unfold. He was truly sorry that he didn’t have the guts to stop it. He simply went along with the madness.

  Bobby was Puerto Rican by birth but his parents moved the family to Florida when he was a young child. Bobby still had the dark olive skin of his ancestry and he had very dark hair and eyes to match. He spoke with a slight Puerto Rican accent that he’d acquired from his parents. He was raised Roman Catholic and still prayed before every meal and before bed each night. He prayed every day that the madness would stop but then he turned around and continued his association with his current friends; this band of thieves.

  Donnie Lee and Bobby were best friends now. They seemed to stick together the most out of these four. Donnie Lee was a Florida boy through and through. He was born and raised in the rural south in Zellwood, Florida. His parents worked for Zellwin Farms which grew corn in an area known as the muck farms. He was a big man at 230 pounds and 6’2”. He kept his light brown hair shaved close to his head and looked as if he couldn’t grow a hair on his face which kept him looking younger than his age. Donnie Lee, like Bobby, also felt guilty about what happened to Julie McKinney. But he was less concerned about guilt and more concerned about getting rich. He didn’t want to follow in his dad’s footsteps on the farms. That was really hard, dirty work and he wanted nothing to do with it.

  Donnie Lee was the first to suggest that they should change the arrangement that they had with the McKinneys. He knew that they were skimming dope off of every bale. That was the first string pulled that caused the unraveling
of a tightly wound package; an arrangement that was working well for a number of years. It started out small and ended up making them all quite a bit of money. They were willing to overlook the skimming. Then they found out the McKinneys were adding weight by spraying the bales. The moisture added nearly half a pound to each bale and added another $300 per bale to the McKinneys, already good take. Within days, the close business arrangement fell apart. Friendship was replaced by accusations, anger and hate.

  That’s when they took matters into their own hands. That’s when they raped and beat Mike McKinney’s wife of only two weeks and left her for dead. The McKinneys and all of central Florida were stunned. After several weeks, charges were filed against Jamie, Donnie Lee, Bobby and Randy and subsequently dropped. Evidence disappeared. The Sheriff’s office said they couldn’t make the charge stick with no physical evidence tying the four to the scene.

  That was the last straw. The McKinneys left central Florida. Before they left for good, they had a meeting at the vault. They put together a long range plan. It sounded good on paper but who would remember the details over the next seven years? Then Mike said he couldn’t follow through with the plan. He couldn’t do it and wouldn’t be a party to it. He was defeated before they even had a chance to get started. But Pat and Joe were determined. It would take years, but it was worth the wait. They shook hands, hugged and went their separate ways to prepare.

  Back across central Florida, Jamie, Donnie Lee, Bobby, and Randy hoisted more beer to their victory. They thought they’d won the war. They didn’t realize that it was just the first battle.

  Chapter 2

  June 1995

  The atmosphere of the engine room of the Trident submarine, USS Alabama was stale. The combination of cigarette smoke, diesel oil, hot electric components, grease from the galley, and gas from human waste hung in the air. Even though the ship’s stale air is re-circulated with fresh air on a routine basis while underway, the foul odors are always present. They’re never totally removed. They combine to produce a rancid aroma. The sailors of the USS Alabama aren’t even aware that they’re breathing this atmospheric soup until they reach port and breathe real, fresh air.

  When underwater the USS Alabama’s high pressure air tanks must be pumped full to operate different equipment, such as hydraulic accumulators and various air operated valves. Since the vessel is self-contained the air has to come from inside the ship. As the tanks are filled the pressure in the sub is lowered causing a differential pressure across the ear drum of each sailor. Then as equipment is operated, the air leaks back into the people tank, otherwise known as the submarine’s pressure vessel, and the pressure slowly rises. This constant change in pressure is like driving around in the mountains of North Carolina. Your ears are always popping. That's why submarine sailors have their wisdom teeth removed before they go on their first submarine cruise. The United States Navy learned early on that it was easier to pull those teeth than to have sailors evacuated from a submarine at sea simply to have routine dental work done. That same dental work can easily be accomplished to each and every submarine sailor, assembly line style before they ever lay eyes on a sub.

  Patrick McKinney was day-dreaming, oblivious to the stale air that surrounded him. He stared straight ahead, in the general direction of the electric plant control panel of the USS Alabama while he gently stroked the scar on the left side of his chin with the middle finger on his right hand. The control panel, the load dispatch center for all electric power generated on board, allowed centralized control and distribution of power to all of the electrical components of the powerful ballistic missile submarine. In the plants current condition, the electrical operator could sit for hours and not make a single adjustment to the controls at the EPCP. The indicating needles of the many meters on the panel seemed to be glued on their face plates, not moving even the slightest. In this normal, steady-state condition the electrical operator could take care of paperwork for training, or talk with the Reactor Operator, Throttleman, or Engineering Officer of the Watch and not be too concerned about the status of the electric plant.

  It also allowed Pat McKinney time to daydream about the last six years of his life, four years of which he was assigned to the USS Alabama. Most of the time spent at sea was boring. The routine was always the same.

  The life of a Navy Nuke certainly had its advantages. The Navy's Nuclear Power School was one of the toughest, compact courses on nuclear power technology in the world. For the average prospective nuclear power candidate, it meant six months of intensive study without a break. Some sailors with a good background in physics, calculus, and chemistry could master the training quickly. Others, like Pat McKinney, had to work a little harder.

  Nuke school. Seems like a lifetime ago.

  Pat looked up at the clock. Time for my last set of logs, ever. He smiled. After finishing his log entries, McKinney again began to daydream once again. Without a conscious thought, his middle finger again went to the scar on his chin. Then a familiar voice brought him out of his trance.

  "Entering maneuvering!"

  The voice of Captain John Stephen Galbreth, the Commanding Officer of the Alabama was unmistakable. Immediately everyone in maneuvering snapped to a rigid sitting position and scanned their respective control panels. It wasn't a requirement to sit at attention while on watch; it was just a natural reaction when the captain was watching you. He was a tall man at 6’5” and weighed a trim 195 pounds. He worked out while underway in the missile compartment lower level. He even worked out with the enlisted men. He liked to hear what the troops were thinking. It was one way that he kept his finger on the pulse of the crew.

  "Engineering Officer of the Watch, are you aware that your Engineering Watch Supervisor is in the head in machinery two?"

  "No sir. The last report that I received was that he was touring shaft alley and intended to inspect the shaft lube oil system. Engine Room Upper Level said that he got a turn over that shaft lube oil strainers were at a higher than normal D/P. He's checking on that now, Captain. If he's taking a head break, it's news to me, sir."

  "Well, I guess you passed the test, Ensign. He really is back aft." Ensign Decker breathed a visible sigh of relief as the captain turned his attention elsewhere in maneuvering.

  "Petty Officer McKinney, where are you going when you leave the ship today?" Captain Galbreth asked.

  It was an odd inquiry since the captain had already talked to McKinney about his immediate and long range plans. He and the captain had an amicable relationship and they talked on several occasions when McKinney was not on watch. It was rare for a captain to be interested in a crew member's future in the way Captain Galbreth was in McKinney's. A submarine captain has tremendous duties and responsibilities and has little time for small talk. Ballistic missile submarine captains may be among the ten most powerful men on earth. This captain seemed to recognize a quality in McKinney he had rarely seen in many officers much less an enlisted man. He thought McKinney would go far if given half a chance and often wondered why he was not an officer. He'd talked to Pat about becoming an officer through one of several Navy officer training programs, but Pat had respectfully declined.

  McKinney kept his eyes toward the EPCP and answered, "Well Captain, my wife, Diane, my kids and I will be leaving for Ohio to see Diane’s folks. Then we’re off to Ft Myers, Florida to see my folks and drop the kids off. Grandma and Grandpa McKinney are baby-sitting for a week or so while Diane and I head to Dunnellon, Florida to try to get the new house ready. Our things should be arriving there in a few days, that is, if the Navy doesn't screw up and send them to BF, Egypt."

  McKinney had built up a considerable amount of unused leave time and was using it in his last 30 days before his EAOS (end of active obligated service). The Navy called it terminal leave. "Terminal leave" reminded McKinney of a dying elderly patient. He could see in his mind a doctor looking seriously at a nurse next to a bed, saying, "Make him as comfortable as possible, he'll be on terminal leave soon.
I don't want him in any pain." Though he didn't feel ill, Patrick McKinney knew that this chapter in his life was about to close.

  Captain looked around maneuvering as he talked to McKinney and said, "Are you sure that you won’t stick around in the Navy for a while longer? We sure could use you. We have a lot of great bonus plans that you’re eligible for and the money’s pretty darn good for an enlisted man. On top of that, we’ve got some great officer programs. You’re wife could figure out a few ways to use money like that.”

  "I’m sure she could sir, but my mind’s pretty well made up," McKinney replied. “Besides, Diane’s already got other plans for me.”

  "Entering Maneuvering." The Engineer Officer entered maneuvering behind the Throttleman with the Captain and the regular watch-standers.

  The Throttleman, Dell Johnson, from Jellico, Tennessee, said in his deep southern drawl, "Hey Pat, why'd you decide to move to Florida anyways? You're a Yankee. You don't belong down there."

  "Dell, you always told me there's nothing but transplanted Yankees down there. So, on your advice, I thought I'd see for myself." The statement rang with sarcasm, though Pat had no real malice toward Dell. Dell was a skinny guy and only about Pat’s height. He walked slightly hunched over and his cheeks and eyes appeared sunken. He looked like he was starving but he always ate plenty before he came on watch. Dell always looked like he needed to shave. Pat and Dell had this ongoing friendly feud of words for as long as he could remember. Ensign Decker then reminded them that first names were not allowed in maneuvering. It was one of those "professionalism" rules, like wearing a suit to a corporate meeting. You just don't wear jeans in front of the CEO if you plan to move up. Likewise, if you wanted to stay in the captain's graces, you followed the Navy's directives on professionalism to the letter; at least when he was within earshot. Then McKinney wondered why the captain was in earshot; and the Engineer. Then it dawned on him . . .