Midnight Pass: A Lew Fonesca Novel (Lew Fonesca Novels) Read Free

open Pass. From what I could tell, however, about ninety-nine percent of the population of Sarasota County didn’t care either way.
    “A bit oversimplified,” Reverend Wilkens said with a smile that indicated I was woefully uninformed on the issue but that he was a tolerant and patient man. “Before 1918, Siesta and Casey Key were separated by Little Sarasota Inlet. In 1918, a strong gale broke open Musketeers Pass about halfway down Casey Key and created Bird Keys, a small and a tiny island formed by wash-through sand. In 1921, Little Sarasota Inlet was partially closed by another storm. Property owners finished filling it in.”
    “Leaving only Musketeers Pass between Casey and the south end of Siesta Key,” I said to show I was paying attention.
    “That is correct, but without going into more of the Lord’s manipulation of the land and elements, let it suffice that Musketeers Pass was renamed Midnight Pass, a fifty-foot inlet separating Casey and the south peninsula of Siesta Key and providing direct access to Little Sarasota Bay and Bird Keys. The Pass began to grow smaller as the keys drifted toward each other or nature just filled it in. In 1983, two homeowners received permission from the state and county and closed what remained of the Pass. Result? Little Sarasota Bay became stagnant, creating a new ecological system.”
    “And that’s bad.”
    “No,” he said, “that is good. Little Sarasota Bay has become a unique plant and animal sanctuary, a relatively tourist-free nature haven. The Lord allowed those homeowners to close that Pass for a reason. They simply finished the work He had begun. If He wants it open, He’ll do so without the Corps of Engineers and many millions of dollars the county can ill afford. He parted the Red Sea. I trust he can part a narrow fifty-foot stretch of filled-in land if He so chooses. I wish the Pass to remain closed until the Lord chooses to open it. The Army Corps of Engineers has indicated the cost to reopen will be as much as ten million dollars, and then the cost of keeping God from closing it again after that will be a million or more each year.”
    He started at me with sincerity and unblinking eyes. He was good, but I could see there was another reason for wanting Midnight Pass left closed lurking behind those deep, brown eyes.
    “It will be the last item on the agenda and probably won’t come up till after midnight on Friday. I’ve got the feeling that a few of my fellow board members whose views differ from mine will have lots to say on the earlier items such as tearing up Clark Road again or replacing blighted trees on Palm Avenue. We’ll listen to the public and then discuss and vote on Midnight Pass. The vote won’t be subject to review unless there’s a violation of the state or federal constitution.”
    Wilkens basically represented Newtown, the African-American ghetto in Sarasota running about four blocks or more in either direction north and south of Martin Luther King Jr. Street. The far south end of what could be called Newtown was within walking distance of downtown. A curious man might have wondered what the Midnight Pass business in another district forty minutes south had to do with Newtown. I wasn’t curious.
    I was about to say, “What’s this got to do with me?” when Fernando Wilkens told me.
    He leaned over and whispered, “I’ve got the votes.”
    “The votes?”
    “To keep the Pass closed,” he said. “There are five members on the County Commission. Votes involving contracts for millions of dollars are routinely decided by simple majority.”
    I nodded to show him that I was paying attention.
    “I have your assurance that this is a privileged conversation?” he asked softly, though no one was listening. He looked around to see if we were being watched by anyone. Cars drove by but on a day like this only teens, joggers, and the homeless wandered the streets of Sarasota.
    It’s privileged. How did you find me?” I asked.