Mango Motel

by Bill H Myers

  Inside, I headed to the deli at the back of the store. I knew it would be closed at that hour. They wouldn't be cutting meat or shoveling out chicken wings that late in the day, but there would be tubs of cold fried chicken and veggies in their coolers.

  I grabbed an eight-ounce tub of cowboy beans, a tub of coleslaw, and a chicken breast. It would be a quick and easy meal, and if I ate the beans and slaw right out of the containers, there wouldn't be much to clean up.

  After checking out, I headed back to the motorhome. Two other RVs had pulled in while I was in the store; an older one painted all black with a row of solar panels mounted on the side and next to it a fairly new Coachmen Mirada. They'd parked close to each other, side by side. They were probably traveling together. Maybe even heading to Saint Augustine like I was.

  After I ate, I headed to bed. I usually sleep well when I'm on the road. Driving for hours, with the constant rocking and swaying of the motorhome, makes sleep easy when you stop for the evening. It works that way for both me and Bob.

  But not that night. I didn't sleep much. And when I did, I kept having dreams about strangers coming into my RV.

  In one of them, the wicked witch of the west had brought in some of her friends and made themselves home. When I confronted her, she said, “You don't live here anymore. Leave.”

  After waking up from that one, I got out of bed and rechecked the locks to make sure no one was coming in.

  I had a few more interesting dreams after that one, most involving strangers either already inside the RV or outside trying to break in. All were unsettling. For both me and Bob.

  The dreams could have been my subconscious trying to reconcile with the woman who had stolen my meds.

  Or maybe it was the cowboy beans and coleslaw I ate right before I slept.

  Either way, I hadn't got the sleep I needed for what was going to happen the next day.

  When morning finally came, I pulled on shorts and a tee and headed back into Walmart. I was hungry and, like the night before, didn't feel like cooking in the RV. I wanted a quick bite of something filling, something that I didn't have to clean up after.

  I just wanted to eat and get on the road.

  Inside Walmart, I headed to the bakery section and grabbed a blueberry muffin and a cheese Danish. To wash them down and get a little caffeine in my system, I grabbed a cold bottle of Coke and headed to the self-check.

  After paying and getting back to the RV, Bob was waiting for me at the door. He looked at the grocery bag I was carrying and said, “Meooow?”

  I was pretty sure he was asking if I had gotten anything for him. I hadn't, but I did have treats in the top drawer near the kitchen sink. I pulled out the bag of treats and tossed two down the hallway. He immediately launched after them. Chasing his food before he ate it was one of his favorite things.

  While he was crunching on his treats, I sat at the table and ate the muffin followed by half of the cheese Danish. Both were pretty good. Or maybe I was too hungry to tell the difference between good and bad.

  After eating, I raised all the blinds, secured the doors and cabinets and got ready to head to Saint Augustine. I'd programmed the GPS with Waldo's last known address the day before. It showed that it would take me at least two hours to get there. Back roads all the way.

  When Bob heard me start the engine, he headed back to his pillow fort. He needed to catch up on the sleep he had missed out on the night before.

  I did, too, but sleep would have to wait.

  I needed to get to Saint Augustine and find Waldo.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Following the spoken directions from the GPS, it took me less than two hours to get to the address Waldo's mother had given to Marissa.

  I was thinking that, being new to the area, Waldo would have gotten a place at a tourist court where they rented rooms by the week or month. Or maybe if he planned to stay longer, he'd rent an apartment. Either way, I had his address and the GPS took me to it.

  When it said, “You have arrived at your destination,” I wasn't too surprised to see that he had chosen to live in a place called the Shady Haven Trailer Park. According to the sign on the marquee, they rented furnished trailers by the week and offered discounted monthly rates. Utilities included.

  Shady Haven was the kind of place that would be affordable, wouldn't require a long-term lease, and was turn-key as far as utilities and furniture were concerned. It would be an ideal place to hang your hat if you were new to the area and on a limited budget. Or if you were a transient just passing through.

  I pulled into the entrance and parked near a small, white cinder block building. It had a sign that said it was the office.

  Since the text with Waldo's address didn't include a trailer number, I wanted to see if the park manager could tell me which one was his.

  When I reached the door of the office, there was a sign that said, “Ring buzzer for manager.” To the left of the sign was a brown doorbell button. I pushed it and, somewhere in the distance, I heard a buzzer. Hopefully, the manager would hear it as well.

  Five minutes later, a beige golf cart came rolling up from deep within the park. The driver, a woman who looked to be in her sixties, was wearing an ankle-length dress with buttons down the front. It was bright pink and could have been either a housecoat or a moo moo. I didn't know the difference and it really didn't matter.

  She had a cigarette in one hand and on the seat beside her a clipboard.

  She looked me over and then pointed to my RV. “That yours?”

  I nodded. “Yes ma'am, it is.”

  “You looking for a place to park it?”

  I shook my head. “No ma'am, I’m not. I'm looking for a friend of mine. Name's Waldo and he told me he was staying here. I just don't know which trailer he's in.”

  The woman again pointed to my motorhome and asked, “How long is that thing? Thirty, thirty-two, maybe longer?”

  I didn't know why she was asking, but I wanted to stay on her good side, so I said, “It's thirty-two feet, bumper to bumper.”

  She nodded. “Got slides, right?”

  “Yes ma'am, it does. Three of them.”

  She took a long drag on her cig then asked, “You traveling alone? Or you got people with you?”

  “I'm alone, ma'am. It's just me. No one else.”

  She'd been asking questions about me and my motorhome and hadn't yet told me which trailer Waldo was in. I needed to find out, so I steered the conversation back to him. “So, my friend, Waldo, he said I could find him here. I know you probably have something better to do than stand out here in the sun, so if you can tell me which one he's in, I'll be on my way.”

  The woman took another long drag on her cigarette. She coughed once and said, “We got a Waldo here. Maybe more than one. But I can't rightly remember which trailer he's in.”

  She paused, took another drag, coughed again, and said, “We don't give out information about our guests to strangers. Most of them like it that way. But if you was staying here, that'd be different. You'd be a resident and I could probably help you out. We have a nice site back there that your RV would fit into. Full hookups.

  “Course if you don't want to stay here, that's fine by me. But unless you are a paying guest, I can't tell you anything about Waldo.

  “Now, if you was to pay in advance for a month, I could probably tell you how to find him.”

  She took a long pull on her cig and waited to see if I got the message.

  I did. She wasn't going to tell me where anything was unless I paid her a month's rent in advance. Even if I didn't plan on staying a single day, it'd still cost me a month's rent. She had me over a barrel and she knew it.

  I smiled, nodded toward my motorhome and said, “Now that I think about it, I do need a place to park it while I'm in town. I'm not sure how long I'll be here, but maybe I should go ahead and pay for a month. How much will that be?”

  She dropped what remained of her cigarette to the ground, rubbed it out with her
sandal and picked up the clipboard. She ran her finger down the page, stopped at a line number I couldn't see, and said, “I can put you in site seventy-one. It's near the back and you'll like the neighbors. The monthly rate is seven hundred. Paid in advance in cash.”

  The price wasn't bad. In fact, it was pretty good for a full hookup site in a Florida tourist town like Saint Augustine. I didn't try to bargain her down. I pointed to my RV and said, “I'll go get your money.”

  She nodded and I walked away. As usual, Bob met me at the door. He stretched out his front paws and tapped me on my shoe with his left one. He was showing he was glad I was back.

  I didn't stay long though. I pulled seven hundred dollars from the safe I have hidden under the bed and went outside to pay the rent.

  I handed the woman the cash, and after she carefully counted the bills, she handed me a sheet of paper with the heading, “Shady Haven Code of Conduct.”

  I scanned the page and saw the rules included “No open fires,” “No unleashed pets” and “No shooting.”

  On the top of the page she had written, “Site seventy-one.” She handed me a bright green card with the site number written on the top line and the date my next rent would be due below it. She said, “Put this on the driver's side of your windshield. It'll let us know you have paid and belong here.”

  She pointed to her golf cart. “I'll escort you back to your site. Follow me.”

  She hopped into her cart, or at least hopped the best way a person can when wearing a full-length house robe, and waited for me to start my motorhome.

  As soon as she heard my engine, she took off in her cart and I followed her to site seventy-one. When we got there, she sat in her cart and watched as I backed the motorhome into the site. After I had it positioned the way I wanted, I got out and went over to talk to her.

  Before I could say anything, she said, “Waldo is in site seventy-three. Next door to you. Don't hurt him.”

  And with that, she drove off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I didn't really know what Waldo looked like. I had the photo that had been texted to me, but didn't know when it was taken or if he'd grown a beard or changed his hair color since then.

  All I knew, at least what I thought I knew, was he was living in the trailer next door to my RV, according to the park manager. It was possible she had lied or sent me to a trailer where a different Waldo lived.

  I needed to find out.

  Before heading over to his presumed trailer, I took a few minutes to hook up to shore power and turn on the air conditioner. I didn't want it to get too hot for Bob while I was gone. Not knowing how long I'd be staying in Shady Haven, I went ahead and ran the three slide rooms out. This would give me a lot more room inside and make it easier for Bob to get to his favorite places.

  With Bob and the RV taken care of, I headed to the trailer next door where Waldo was supposed to be staying.

  Like most of the trailers in the park, his was older, probably from the sixties, back when they were called mobile homes. They had wheels and were mobile in the sense that they could be delivered to a mobile home park. Usually, the wheels were removed soon after.

  I couldn't tell whether they were still on Waldo's trailer or not. Like all the others in the park, his had faux brick skirting hiding whatever was underneath. I assumed the park’s owners thought the skirting gave the place a bit of class. I guess it did.

  Waldo's trailer was a single wide, like most of the others in the park. His was white with pastel-blue accents. There was a small deck on the front connected to a walkway that led to his front door, which was actually on the side of the trailer, meaning his front door was really his side door.

  The trailer number, seventy-three, was painted on the street in front of the single parking space next to the deck. Having numbers displayed like this made it easy to find the right trailer. That was kind of important in a place like Shady Haven where there might be a hundred or more identical homes.

  There wasn't a car parked in Waldo's driveway. It could have meant he wasn't home or that he didn't have a car. Either way, I was going to find out.

  I went up the steps onto the deck, walked over to the side door, and knocked three times. Thirty seconds later, I knocked again. After two minutes, no one had come to the door.

  I hadn't heard any movement inside, nor did I see anyone peeking out the windows. Being a Sunday morning, it was possible that Waldo had gone to church. Maybe all I needed to do was to wait for his return.

  But I wasn't in the mood for waiting. I'd had my fill of that on the highway the previous day. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, then tried Waldo's door. It was locked.

  Still up on his deck, I walked over to the nearest window and peeked in. I was surprised to see how nice the furnishings were. New couch and matching chair. Side tables with matching lamps, and a colorful woven rug between the couch and the front door. But no Waldo.

  I tried to open the window, but it was locked. Not giving up, I went around to all the other windows and tried each. Like the first, they were locked.

  I couldn't look into what I assumed was the bedroom window at the back of the trailer. It was raised higher than the others, keeping private whatever the occupants inside might be inclined to do on the bed.

  If Waldo had been out the night before, he might be still sleeping or passed out if he partied a little too hard. I felt it was my duty to check on him, to make sure he didn't need medical attention.

  I looked around the trailer trying to find something I could stand on so I could look into the bedroom window. Not seeing anything upfront or on the side, I walked to the back and saw a lone cinder block with a flower pot on top. The block was about twelve inches tall and six inches wide.

  I figured if I stood it on its end and climbed up on it, I would have enough elevation to look into the bedroom window.

  That's what I was doing when a male voice behind me asked, “What are you doing peeping into that window?”

  I didn't answer right away. I wanted to see if Waldo was on his bed. That was a mistake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Still trying to balance myself on the narrow cinder block, I turned to see who the voice behind me belonged to.

  The man standing on the deck attached to the trailer next to Waldo's looked a lot like one of the drill sergeants who had been assigned to us during basic training.

  He had the same kind of crew cut, same muscles and stance, and same demeanor. Standing there with his arms crossed, I half expected him to bark out an order. Something like, “Give me twenty push ups.” I'd heard that just about every day in boot camp.

  Except this wasn't boot camp. This was a trailer park, and the man wasn't my drill sergeant. Still, as a neighbor, he had a right to know why a peeping Tom was trying to look into Waldo's bedroom window.

  When I didn't answer right away, he asked, “You some kind of prevert, trying to look in that window?”

  I shook my head, a little off-balance as I was doing my best not to fall off the upended cinder block. With one hand against the trailer for support, I said, “No, I'm not a pervert. I'm just looking for Waldo. This is his trailer, right?”

  Mister gravel voice didn't answer my question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Why are you looking for him?”

  I stepped down off the cinder block, walked over to the neighbor's trailer and held out my hand. “Name's Walker. Yours?”

  He frowned, looked at my hand but didn't shake it. Instead, he said, “You didn't answer my question. Why are you looking for Waldo?”

  Instead of answering, I asked, “When's the last time you saw him?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, I'm not telling you anything until you tell me why you're looking for him.”

  Without thinking it through, I answered, “I'm trying to save his life.”

  Telling him that had been a mistake. Had I had thought about it before I opened my mouth, I would have known it would lead to more questions. But it was
too late. I'd said too much too soon.

  I waited, expecting the man to ask the logical follow-up. Like why did I think Waldo needed someone to save his life and why me?

  But he didn't ask either of those questions. Instead, he said, “They call me Raif. You with those two other fellows who came looking for him?”

  It was a question I didn't want to hear. If Mad Dog's guys already found Waldo, there wasn't much I could do about it except to pack up and go home. But maybe they hadn't found him yet. Maybe Raif knew where he was.

  “No, I'm not with those guys. I'm here on my own.”

  He smiled. “So you say you're here to save Waldo, huh? I'm guessing by the way you're dressed you're telling the truth about not being with the other two. So, who you working for?”

  I decided that telling him the truth was the best way to go.

  “His mother. She sent me up here to find him. To keep him from getting hurt.”

  Raif nodded. “Waldo talked about her. Said she told him it was time to go out on his own. I guess that's why he came up here. To get a fresh start.

  “But that doesn't explain why those two guys came to visit him. They rolled up in a black Escalade with dark-tinted windows. Stepped out wearing all black, black pants, black tees under black sports jackets. Reminded me of what Mafia enforcers are supposed to look like.

  “So tell me, why would two guys like that be looking for Waldo? What'd he do?”

  If Mad Dog's men were in town, hot on Waldo's trail, I needed to have someone on my side. Someone who could help me find him first. Someone like Raif.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Waldo borrowed money from a man named Madicof. He told him he needed it to buy a business up here in Saint Augustine. He said it was an all-cash kind of place and he wouldn't have any problem paying him back.

  “But he missed the first two payments and Madicof sent his guys up here to educate him. To show him why it was unhealthy not to make payments as agreed.