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Cold Blooded
By Robert J. Randisi Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © 2004 Dorchester Publishing
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-8439-5574-0
Chapter One
The average age of the members of the Coney Island Polar Bear Club was sixty-two, and that was because the youngest member, Bobby Kelly, was only fifty-eight years old.
As the nine men spread out on the beach and discarded their clothing, Kelly looked over at eighty-four year old Ed Dunham, who was wearing the skimpiest bathing suit of all of them. There was entirely too much of his pale, slack skin in sight.
"What the hell is that?" Bobby asked.
Dennis Hasselbeck turned and looked over in Ed's direction.
"Those are his french cut trunks," he said. "His wife got them for him."
"His wife?" Bobby asked. "Ain't she even older than him?"
"Yeah," Dennis said. "Louise is eighty-six. She calls Ed her boy toy."
"Yuck," Bobby said. He was hopping around on one foot, trying to get his other pant leg off, and almost toppled over before recovering his balance.
"Whatsmatta?" Dennis asked. "He's skinny enough to wear 'em." The man touched his bulging belly. "Wish I was."
"How old are you, Dennis?"
"Sixty."
"Be happy you ain't so old and senile enough to wear somethin' like that."
The rest of the Polar Bears got their pants off and began hopping from foot to foot, rubbing their arms to ward off the twenty-five degree cold. Bobby shook his head. If these old geezers couldn't take this what were they gonna do when it got down to zero? Of course, they weren't as young as he was, but it was kind of pathetic for a guy to come out here alone and swim in the cold water of Coney Island, and they were the only group of its kind on this beach. He coulda joined a couple of clubs on Jones beach, but he hated Jones Beach. It reminded him too much of when he was a kid, having his parents drag him there in the summer when it was wall to wall people. This was the way to swim on the beach, when you had it all to yourself.
"Okay, Polar Bears," Sammy Feinstein shouted. "Into the water!"
Feinstein was the president of the club, and he always called for them to get in the water like he was Napolean at Waterloo ordering his troops to battle.
Bobby looked up and down the beach. As usual there was seaweed and driftwood in either direction, not to mention garbage. There was even an old mattress that had drifted in from somewhere. He remembered the days when this beach was spotless. Even when he hated being on Jones Beach at least it had been clean. These days if you wanted a clean beach you had to go to Jamaica, or Hawaii or someplace like that, and Bobby Kelly was not about to spend that kind of money.
Bobby headed for the water with the rest of the men. Experienced Polar Bears, they did not hesitate or stop when they stepped into the icy water. They kept on going until they were waist high, then chest high, and finally swimming in the Atlantic.
Bobby enjoyed the shock to his system as the cold made its way to his bones. What people didn't realize was that once you were in the water it felt colder when getting out. The true bone-chill occurred when you made your way back to the beach, where the wind met the wet on your bodies.
Bobby looked over at Ed, wondering how many more years the older man could last before the cold gave him a heart attack? He also had to wonder if he'd still be doing this-or even be around-when he was the age of some of these other duffers, let alone Ed Dunham.
Bobby felt something swirling around his feet as he swam. He didn't know if it was seaweed or fish or garbage, but it made him head back to shore before the others. He did not, however, exit the water at the same point where he had entered it. The waves had carried him further down the beach, and as a result he came out near the water soaked, garbage covered, discarded old mattress.
Only there wasn't just a mattress there. As he came out of the water he spotted something else lying on the beach. He squinted, wiped salt water away from his eyes and slowly approached the debris. He thought he knew what he was looking at, but he was hoping he was wrong.
"Hey, Kelly," Sammy Feinstein shouted. "What are ya doin'?"
Bobby waved Feinstein away impatiently and continued to approach the mattress.
"Hey Bobby," Dennis Hasselbeck called. "You lookin' for a place ta lie down?"
Kelly ignored the others as they all joined in to toss cat calls at the youngest of their number for leaving the water first, but he didn't hear them. As he got closer he realized that he was, indeed, seeing what he thought he was seeing, and the chill that he felt no longer came from the cold water or the icy wind.
When he reached his goal he stopped and stared at the arm that was draped over the mattress. He was surprised that it looked so gray. In fact, he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, black, white or Mexican, but it was definitely a person.
"Bobby, whataya got?" Hasselbeck asked, coming up behind him. He came up next to Bobby and stopped short. "Jesus! Who is it?"
"I dunno," Bobby said.
They stared at it for a few moments, long enough for Feinstein and some of the others to join them. Before long they had formed a circle around the body.
"Somebody's gotta take a look at it," Hasselbeck said. "What if they ain't dead?"
"Of course they're dead," Tony DeMarco said. "Lookit the color of the skin. Ain't you ever seen a dead body before?"
"We gotta check, anyway," Feinstein said. "Bobby, you found it. You check it."
Bobby didn't mind. Suddenly, he was the center of attention.
"Okay," he agreed, " but you guys gotta move the mattress so I can take a look."
They all looked at each other, and then Feinstein said, "Well, come on, grab the edges and let's move it."
"Wait, wait," DeMarco said, "don't touch nothin'. We should just call the police. They're gonna be pissed if we move somethin'."
"Tony," Hasselbeck said, "this person could still be alive."
"I'm tellin' ya, they're dead-" DeMarco replied.
"Move the damn mattress so I can take a look!" Bobby yelled.
Four of the men-Feinstein, Hasselbeck, Eddie Delaney and old Ed Dunham-each grabbed a corner of the mattress and lifted. But it was so waterlogged it was too heavy and sagged in the middle. Two more Polar Bears stepped forward and grabbed hold and the six of them finally shifted the thing and uncovered the body.
"What is it?" somebody asked as Bobby leaned over it. "Man or woman?"
"Jesus," Bobby said.
"What?" Feinstein asked.
"What is it, Bobby?" Hasselbeck asked.
"Can we put the mattress down?" Ed asked.
"It's a man," Bobby finally said, "a kid, from the looks of him."
"How long you think he's been in the water?" DeMarco asked.
"Not long," Bobby said. "Except for the color of his skin he looks like he could be...sleeping. Except for one thing."
"What?" Feinstein asked. "What thing?"
"Lookit him," Bobby said, pointing. "He's still got ice on him. He's frozen stiff."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Cold Blooded by Robert J. Randisi Copyright © 2004 by Dorchester Publishing . Excerpted by permission.
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