And if that wasn’t enough, when he was seventeen he joined the Pagans. Prior to that point he had caused harm only to those who bought his drugs and to himself. But once he became an official motorcycle gang member, a Pagan, no less, he probably felt free to hurt anyone who got in his way. Even some who didn’t.
For the next fifteen years John lived this lifestyle, dealing drugs, doing drugs, and wreaking havoc on his Harley-Davidson. Rumor had it that John was involved in even more heinous acts. If no one had ever proven the rumor, certainly John’s actions on Daytona Beach did nothing to dispel it. Together Earl and John made a tidy living selling drugs to kids along the beach and apparently caring very little about who got hurt in the process.
Bob Brown had heard stories that once in a while John or Earl would rough up a customer. Maybe John and Earl figured the ability to hurt a person came with the territory and it wasn’t something that bothered either man. Since both John and Earl rode motorcycles and associated themselves with the biker gang, Pagans, the rough way in which they may have treated some of their customers only added to their hardened image.
In fact, by 1978 Earl and John had all but dropped their given names. Instead, they went by their nicknames, names that were by far more appropriate. So that by the time Jim Boucher and Daryl Barber landed on Daytona Beach everyone knew them only as Snake and Spider.
But for as much as Bob knew about Snake and Spider, he still did not know the specifics of how they had met up with Jim and Daryl. Spider had been alone on the beach that evening when he had spotted the Michigan teenagers. Business had been slow along the beach since summer was nearly over. He was hurting for money and Snake had been pushing him to get something going. He had smiled as he watched the boys set up their towels.
“Coupla pigeons,” he muttered to himself.
Pigeons, at least along Daytona Beach, meant tourists who could be taken for all they had with very little effort. Satisfied with himself for spotting them, Spider had walked out of the shadows from beneath the boardwalk and headed their way.
After telling Jim and Daryl about the beach party, Spider had offered the boys the marijuana cigarette he was smoking. When both boys shook their head, Spider had laughed.
“What?” Spider had taken another long drag, and a hollow laugh mingled with the marijuana smoke that escaped from deep in his throat. “Don’t you smoke?”
“Sure, man,” Daryl had quickly lied and Jim turned and looked at him, his eyebrows raised.
Bob figured the boys had lied to impress Spider and so as not to appear naive in their new environment. After all, they might not have been interested in smoking marijuana but they still wanted to find a beach party.
“Yeah,” Jim broke in, probably doing his best to appear confident before the stranger. “Yeah, we both smoke now and then. Just not right now.”
Spider had shrugged in disinterest.
“Hey, you local around here?” Daryl asked. Bob could imagine Jim grinning, impressed at how casual his best friend sounded. Just as if he hung out on Daytona Beach every day.
“Sure,” Spider had replied, finishing the cigarette and burying the tiny piece of paper that remained in the white sand.
“Do you know of any parties around?” Daryl asked.
“There’s one over at the Days Inn down the beach.”
Spider had been laying a trap for the teens, but both boys were completely unaware of the fact. Spider had seen the way they lied about smoking pot and he probably sensed their nervousness. A deep sense of satisfaction probably began to build in Spider. The boys were even more naive than he had guessed. They were perfect for a hit.
“Where is it? I mean, is it close?” Jim had asked then. He was pleased with himself, convinced that he sounded just as experienced as Daryl had.
“Sure, just down the beach a mile or so.” Spider pointed vaguely toward the strip.
“We talking about an open party?” Daryl had said.
Spider nodded slowly, his eyes barely open as his body reacted to the effect of the marijuana cigarette. He took out another and lit it, inhaling and then holding his breath as the smoke worked its way into his blood-stream. Finally he exhaled and then looked at the boys. “It’s open. Most of the guys are pretty cool about newcomers, you know?”
Daryl nodded. “What room is it?”
Spider shrugged. “I could take you there, man. I’m going myself. It’s up to you.”
Daryl did not hesitate.
“Hey, sounds great,” he said. He thought a moment and then added. “I’ll drive, Okay?”
Spider shrugged again. “Sure, man. Your gas.”
Standing up slowly and stretching, Spider flicked what remained of his cigarette onto the sand. “That’s some good weed, man,” he said again.
As Daryl and Jim had stood up Spider pulled out a plastic bag of marijuana and began sifting through it with his fingers.
“Let me know if I can be of service, understand?”
“Yeah, man,” Daryl said. “We’ll let you know. Hey, we have to get some things from our room before we go. You want to come?”
“Right behind you, man,” Spider said, stuffing the bag back into his shorts pocket.
“Hey,” Daryl said, stopping suddenly. “I’m Daryl and this is Jim. What’s your name?”
Spider pointed to a vivid tattoo on his left arm and Daryl leaned closer to see it.
“It’s a spider, man,” he said. “That’s me. Spider.”
“Cool.”
Bob doubted whether Jim or Daryl had ever met anyone named Spider. Somehow it probably seemed an exciting name, a fitting name for someone who knew everything there was to know about Daytona Beach.
The trio had walked back toward the Thunderbird where Spider followed the boys up to their room. Jim and Daryl changed into jeans and fresh T-shirts while Spider sat on one of the beds and looked around. He noticed their suitcases and the clothes they contained and the expensive camera sitting on the dresser. That’s when it occurred to him that the teens probably had cash on them. And lots of it. Snake would be thrilled.
“Let’s go,” Daryl said, grabbing his car keys and patting his wallet to make sure it was in his jeans pocket.
They walked out to the car and Spider could probably feel his excitement level rise. Michigan plates. That meant the boys were on vacation far from home. Not only were they pigeons. They were wealthy pigeons. Wealthy, dumb pigeons.
Next Spider had climbed into the backseat and waited for both teens to get in and close the doors. Once they were all inside, he began to speak. From everything he knew, Bob guessed that was the moment Spider began to set the plan in motion.
“Hey, I’ve got a buddy of mine, not too far from here,” Spider had said, leaning forward so Daryl and Jim could hear him. “What do you say we pick him up and take him to the party, too?”
Daryl glanced at Jim. Both boys seemed comfortable with the idea and Daryl shrugged casually. “Sure. Just tell us where to find him.”
“Toward the boardwalk at McDonald’s,” Spider said. As he spoke he pulled out another marijuana cigarette and lit it. This had probably bothered Daryl somewhat because he didn’t want his car to smell like marijuana smoke and because if they were pulled over they could be in big trouble if an officer found drugs in the car. But it was a short drive and everyone was in good spirits. Most likely Daryl didn’t want to dampen the mood so he kept quiet and did as he was told, carefully following the speed limit as he drove to McDonald’s.
“Wait here,” Spider said, flicking the cigarette butt out the car window and waiting while Daryl moved his seat so he could climb out of the Nova.
At that point Spider was very satisfied.
The setup was ideal and Snake would presumably be anxious to get in on the hit. He walked into McDonald’s and spotted Snake immediately.
Like a deadly reptile, Snake had sat by himself in the fast-food restaurant that night, his thick brown hair hang
ing in greasy clumps. There was a look of utter indifference in Snake’s eyes that set him apart from the younger set which commonly populated the beach-side hangout. Everyone knew they could find Snake at McDonald’s. If he wasn’t there, he was at one of the nearby arcades. Snake made his living selling drugs, and the only way he knew to be successful was to be available. Snake saw Spider approaching him and he rose to meet him.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked and the two sat down at the nearest table.
“Got a coupla pigeons outside.” Spider hissed the words, glancing about nervously to be sure that no one nearby could hear him.
Snake shrugged. “Let ’em go. It’s too late tonight.”
Spider shook his head. “Hey, man,” he said, his tone of voice more urgent. “These are a coupla rich pigeons, man. I mean it. They’re from out of town and they want to find a beach party.”
“Rich?” Snake asked, raising one eyebrow skeptically.
“Yeah, man. I saw their wallets,” he lied. “Real rich.”
Snake thought a minute and then grinned. “Okay, let’s go get ’em.”
Snake had led the way and the two men walked out toward the boys’ car where they slipped into the backseat.
“This here’s Snake,” Spider said, making the introduction brief. “This is Daryl and Jim.”
Snake was at least ten years older than Spider and Bob guessed Jim and Daryl probably wondered why the older man would be interested in a teenage beach party. But no one discussed the point, probably because there were more pressing matters at hand. Daryl’s car was running on empty.
“Where’s the nearest gas station?” Daryl asked, pulling back onto Atlantic.
“Next corner,” Snake said. “Broadway and Atlantic.”
Daryl had steered the car across two lanes of traffic and pulled into the station. After pumping ten gallons of gas, he pulled out his wallet and took out a fistful of bills. From where they were alertly watching from the backseat, Snake and Spider could see that Daryl had a sizable wad of what appeared to be twenty-dollar bills.
“Uh,” Snake said once Daryl was back inside the car. He cleared his throat as if he hadn’t quite decided what he wanted to say. “Hey, maybe we can go back by my place for a minute.”
Daryl glanced in his rearview mirror at the two men in his backseat.
“Where do you live?”
“Just about a block or so from here. Gotta pick up some things for the party.” He nudged Spider as he spoke. “Okay with you guys?”
Jim looked at Daryl and then at his watch. “It’s getting late. How long will the party go?”
“Hey, man, it’s early,” Snake said. “Those parties last forever. Besides, it’ll just take a minute.”
Daryl shrugged again. “Sure. Tell me how to get there.”
Snake then directed Daryl to turn right and head into the city. A few streets up they turned left and then made a quick right into a run-down trailer park.
“My place is up there on the left,” Snake said as they pulled up and Daryl parked the car. “I’ll be right back.”
In only a few minutes Snake returned to the car carrying a brown bag.
“What’s that, man?” Daryl asked.
“Just a few party goods,” Snake replied and then he started to laugh. For several seconds he laughed while Spider sat motionless beside him and Daryl and Jim focused on the road ahead. There was nothing humorous about Snake’s laughter and Daryl seemed suddenly anxious to get to the party. Whoever this Snake was, Daryl didn’t like the idea of spending time with him.
“Which way to the party?” Daryl asked, his voice sounding strangely irritated.
At that point there had been the rustling sound of the brown paper bag and in the backseat Snake pulled out two guns. He handed a .25 caliber automatic blue-steel pistol to Spider and kept for himself a .38 revolver. He grinned evilly at Spider.
“No party tonight, boys,” Snake had said, and hatred seemed to fill his voice.
Jim turned around and stared into the backseat. As he did, he spotted both guns. Snake laughed again and held up the .38, jamming the point of the barrel into the back of Jim’s head.
For a moment, Jim probably thought it was some kind of joke. But then instantly he knew he was wrong. Bob bet that at that moment the boys understood the severity of their situation. There had never been any party or any party goods. They had been set up. Right from the beginning.
“Daryl,” he had said, keeping his head very still and wincing as Snake pushed the gun harder against his head. “They’ve got guns.”
Daryl turned quickly and saw the two revolvers. As he did, Spider held his gun up and placed it against the back of Daryl’s head. The blood must have drained from Daryl’s face. Despite his inexperience with such things he was certain that they were in deep trouble. He began to worry about the money he and Jim were carrying. In all likelihood, these guys would rob them of everything they had.
“That’s right, boys. Guns,” Snake said, laughing once more. “Now do what I tell you and no one’ll get hurt. Just keep driving.”
He had directed the teens onto Highway 92, a deserted stretch of two-lane road that crosses vast swampland and scrub brush and eventually leads into Orlando.
The boys had been silent as they drove, too terrified to do anything but obey Snake’s commands. The only sound at all other than the car’s engine was the occasional sound of Snake laughing. A mean, cold laugh which must have sent chills down the boys’ spines.
“Where are we going?” Daryl finally asked; his face was white with fear, his skin tight around the tense edges of his mouth. Jim clutched the door handle tightly, listening for Snake’s answer. The night was pitch-dark and they were heading farther and farther from the beach.
“Just keep driving.”
• • •
BOB SIGHED AS HE SCANNED THE FINAL PAGE OF HIS notes, which so far included none of those specific details. He guessed that at that moment, Jim and Daryl must have stopped worrying about the money they might lose and started worrying about their lives.
Bob closed the file.
That much of the story he knew, and it was enough to tell him that in all likelihood the Michigan teenagers had not survived their encounter with Snake and Spider. Bob narrowed his eyes and looked toward the roadway. He was glad he had decided to bring Mike along for the stakeout. If Snake was going to return on schedule, he would do it soon and it was crucial that one of them be watching when he did. Bob had his plan mapped out perfectly.
He and Mike, working shifts from their separate cars, would watch for Snake, knowing that he would have to return sometime in the next few days if he wanted to be paid for his three weeks of deliveries. Then they would radio the FDLE. Bob had not received any further information from the agents, despite his financial agreement with them. He knew the reason. The investigation was at a standstill. Everyone—from police officer Mikelson to sheriff’s deputies Ziegler and Deemer to the FDLE agents—was waiting for Snake to return.
Once Bob had spotted him and radioed the FDLE, he and Mike would follow him. Then, at some point the FDLE would catch up to them and make the arrest.
Bob could hardly wait.
Of course, there was the chance that Snake wouldn’t show up. But Bob didn’t think it very likely, since Snake would have to forego his paycheck by dumping the truck and failing to return to the shop. There was only one reason why someone like Snake would do that, Bob figured. And that was if he knew for sure the legal trap that faced him back home.
The wait had continued through Saturday night and Sunday. Finally, it was Monday morning and Bob motioned for Mike to roll his window down. Mike had just sat up after taking a four-hour sleeping break. According to the schedule they’d worked out, now it was Bob’s turn to sleep.
“Today’s the day, Mike,” Bob said, looking more alert than Mike despite his lack of sleep.
“Okay, boss.” Mike was too tired to be e
nthusiastic. “You going to get some sleep or what?”
Bob looked outside his car window at the bright blue sky. There was an unusually cool breeze in the air and Bob had been savoring the weather before Mike woke up. “No, not now. I’m not tired. He’s coming home today, Mike. I have that feeling.”
“You know, boss, that feeling of yours has been wrong a time or two.”
Bob grinned. Mike was right. Especially when it came to this case. “This is different, Mike. Feels like it does before the big bang. Just before everything finally comes together. It’s going to happen, Mike. Today’s the day.”
Mike held up his hand and nodded his head. “Sure, Bob, whatever you say. Care if I sleep since you’re so perky this morning?”
Bob looked at Mike in mock amazement. “Oh, sure, go ahead. Go to sleep and let me sit here by myself. No one to talk to. Of course, you’ll miss the big moment. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Mike shook his head and laughed. “All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll stay awake.”
An hour passed and then two and Mike was yawning. “Still have that feeling, boss?”
Bob nodded. He was sitting straight up, his eyes alert and his face full of suspense.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a truck pulling into the parking lot.
Immediately both men sank lower in their seats and watched as the truck positioned itself in front of a company stall and parked. They still could not make out the driver, but the description of the truck fit that of the one Snake was supposed to be driving.
The truck door swung open and they watched a man climb out. He shut the door and for the first time Bob could see his face. He knew instantly that it was Snake Cox. The man had tattoos on his arms and brown hair that was slicked back. They sat perfectly still while Snake walked into the shop. He hadn’t seen them.
“Turn your engine on,” Bob whispered to Mike. “Let’s be ready.”
He turned the key in his ignition and when the engine was running he picked up his citizens band radio and found the frequency he needed. In a matter of seconds he was connected to the FDLE.