Mango Motel

by Bill H Myers

  As I was putting the glass in the sink, Erin came up and joined me. She was fully clothed. She pointed at the juice and said, “Pour me one.”

  I did and asked, “You want me to fix you breakfast? I've got eggs, bacon, and toast.”

  “No, we don't have time. We need to get to Waldo's. We can stop at McDonald's on the way.”

  Ten minutes later, after topping off Bob's food and water bowls, we were sitting in Mickey D's drive-through. Erin ordered an Egg McMuffin, and I got two breakfast burritos.

  After paying and picking up our order, Erin pulled out of the parking lot and headed to Waldo's. As before, we pulled into Vapeville and backed into a spot that gave us a direct view of the Die Inn. We didn't see Waldo's car, so we sat and ate our breakfast.

  Erin didn't have much to say and I knew better than to ask her about her dream. Even if it were about me, she would never admit it, and it wouldn't do me any good to antagonize her by bringing it up.

  We finished our breakfast and sat watching Waldo's place, hoping he'd show up. We had arrived at Vapeville around seven and there weren’t any other cars in the lot. Around eight, one pulled in. The driver slowed when he saw us but didn't stop. After parking near the front door, a man who looked to be about twenty-five, dressed in all black, came over to talk to us.

  Seeing him heading our way, Erin rolled down her window and met him with a smile. She pointed to the Die Inn and said, “We're watching the place across the street. If you need us to move, we will.”

  We were in Raif's unmarked police cruiser, and it would have been easy to mistake us for undercover cops, parked as we were.

  The man, who we assumed was either the owner or the manager of Vapeville, said, “No problem. Can I get you a coffee? I'll have a pot ready in a few minutes.”

  Erin shook her head. “Thanks but no thanks. We don't want to do anything that might attract attention.”

  The man nodded and said, “I don't mind you parking here, but when my customers see a police car in our lot, they might be put off. So, the sooner you leave the better.”

  Erin nodded. “We won't be here long. Sorry if we created a problem.”

  The man walked to the front door of Vapeville, pulled out a set of keys, unlocked it and went in. A few minutes later, the inside lights came on and the sign on the door was turned to read “Open.”

  Erin started the car and I asked, “Are we leaving?”

  “Yeah, we're pretty visible parked here. Time to move.”

  She pulled out of Vapeville and headed north, back toward Anastasia State Park. We'd gone a half-mile when she slowed and took a right on Sixteenth Street, heading east. A mile later, we pulled into the parking lot of St John's Fishing Pier.

  She killed the engine and said, “Let's take a walk. Stretch our legs. Bring your wallet.”

  She got out of the car, and I did the same. I followed as she headed toward a collection of one-story block buildings, all with teal doors and matching dormers. The structures looked to be made of concrete and designed to withstand the pounding winds of the hurricanes that frequented the area.

  With Erin leading the way, we headed to a building with a sign that said, “Visitor Center.” Erin pushed open the door, walked up to the counter, pointed to me and said, “Pay the lady.”

  An all-day pier pass for sightseers cost two dollars a person. I paid for both of us and we followed the boardwalk out onto the pier. Erin grabbed my hand and we walked on the weathered boards over the white-capped waves of the Atlantic Ocean below. Seagulls flew above, and sandy beaches spread in both directions.

  Reaching the end of the pier, Erin released my hand, turned to me and said, “Walker, I enjoy your company. And Bob's too. It's been a fun three days and I hate that it has to end. But today is going to be my last day. We either find Waldo or we don't. Either way, I need to find a place of my own. I can stay with Raif and Fay for a few days but not for long.

  “I need to find my own place. But first, I need to see if the shop has got my car fixed. After I get it back, I need to decide what I'm going to do next, business-wise.

  “You're a nice guy. Too nice for me. The only thing we really have in common is Waldo. After we find him, I don't expect you to stay around. You have a life somewhere else and will want to get back to it.

  “So when you leave, whether it's today, tomorrow or the next day, don't worry about me. I have my own life and want to get on with it as well.”

  She grabbed my hand and said, “Let's go find Waldo.”

  We didn't say anything on our walk back to the car. I wanted to tell her she was wrong about me moving on but thought better of it. Sometimes silence is the best way to go.

  When we got to the car, she slid in on the driver's side and buckled her belt. She waited for me to get in before she started the engine. After I was buckled in, she turned to me and asked, “Aren't you going to say anything?”

  I nodded. “I am. You may not like what I have to say, but I need to say it.

  “First of all, Saint Augustine is the oldest city in the country and there are lots of things here I want to see. The castle at San Marcos. The pirate museum. The Fountain of Youth. The lighthouse. All the touristy things.

  “You promised to show me these places. You promised to go with me on the old town trolley tour. But you haven't yet. You promised to take me with you when you toured that nudist RV park you might buy. You haven't done that either.

  “I paid a month in advance for my site at Shady Haven. I plan to stay there until my time’s up. You're welcome to stay with me if you want.

  “Either way, I'm staying. After that, I might stay longer. Or I might leave. But right now, I'm not planning to go anywhere. Except with you to the Die Inn to look for Waldo.”

  When I finished talking, I saw her wipe a tear from her eye. She made a sad face, and I thought she was going to cry. Finally, she smiled and said, “I think I like you.”

  She started the car, pulled out of the pier parking lot, and we headed back to Waldo's.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It didn't take us long to get back to the Die Inn parking lot. When we pulled in, we saw a faded silver Camry parked near the water fountain. Next to it, a man was standing with his back to us, filling a jug with water from the fountain. On the ground near him were at least ten more plastic jugs.

  If he heard us pull in, he didn't act like it. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder to see who we were, nor did he stop filling the plastic jug he was holding. He ignored us.

  Erin said, “That's Waldo.”

  She pulled her car up to the rear bumper of his Camry, making sure he wouldn't be able to leave unless she wanted him to.

  When she got out and slammed her car door, it got his attention. When he turned and saw her, he put down the gallon jug he was holding and walked over. He smiled broadly and said, “Erin. I'm glad you're here. I've found something and wanted to tell you about it.”

  Erin walked up to him and said, “You took my money and I want it back.”

  He shook his head. “I shouldn't have done that. I just figured that since I worked at the truck for two days, I should get paid. So after you left that day, I went back, found the money box, and took what I deserved.”

  Erin walked up close to him, poked a finger into his chest and said, “You didn't earn anything. You should have been paying me. I spent two days training you on how to run the business.

  “Then you steal my money and send me a text saying you're backing out of the deal. I've had it with you. Pay up.”

  Waldo looked over at me and nodded like he was acknowledging my presence, the way guys sometimes do. I nodded back.

  Erin repeated her demand. “Give me my money.”

  Waldo reached into both pants pockets and pulled out the lining showing he had nothing in them. “I'm broke. I don't have any money.”

  She cocked her fist, but before she could deliver a punch, I stopped her. I stepped up to Waldo and said, “Erin here is the least of your
worries. You owe a lot of money to Mad Dog. You're behind in your payments and he's sent two guys up here to find you.

  “They'll want their money or they're going to rough you up. They might do worse than that. They've already visited your mother and threatened her. If they don't get satisfaction from you, they'll go back and get it from her.”

  When I stopped talking, he asked, “Who are you? How do you know about my mother?”

  I shook my head. “Waldo, your mother sent me here to find you. To somehow get you out of this mess. But if you don't have any money, I don't know how I'm going to do it. Mad Dog takes it seriously when people don't pay. That's why he sent his guys up here. To find you and get what you owe him. And probably break a few bones in the process.

  “It only took us four days to find you. It probably won't take them much longer than that.

  The color drained from Waldo's face. He looked over my shoulder into the parking lot then back at me. “If Madicof can give me an extension, I'll be able to pay him back and more. Just not right away.”

  He pointed to the fountain. “This is the real Fountain of Youth. People come from all over the world looking for it, and I've found it. No one else has it.”

  He pointed to the water jugs on the ground near him. “I plan to sell Fountain of Youth water. Ten dollars a jug. Won't take me long to come up with enough money to pay Madicof.”

  I looked at Erin and we both shook our heads. She was the first to tell Waldo the flaw in his plan. “You owe him fifty thousand dollars. Plus a late fee. Let's say ten thousand.

  “So you need to come up with sixty thousand dollars. Do you know how many ten-dollar jugs you'll need to sell to get that kind of money?”

  Waldo nodded. “I've already done the math. I only need to sell six hundred. I can do that down at the farmers’ market. It should only take me a day or two.”

  Erin shook her head again. “Waldo, you need to sell six thousand jugs, not six hundred.”

  He cocked his head and asked, “Are you sure about that? Because when I did the math, it came out to six hundred. I've already sold ten. Won't take me long to sell the rest.”

  I was starting to feel bad for him. His math skills were lacking as was his concern about his obligation to Mad Dog. I took a deep breath and said, “Waldo, we don't need to be standing out here in the open. We need to get inside, away from prying eyes.

  “Are any of these rooms unlocked?”

  He nodded. “No. But the apartment behind the office is. We can go there.”

  He started to pick up the water jug he had been filling, but I stopped him. “Waldo, you need to get inside. Leave the jugs where they are. No one's going to take them.”

  He sighed like maybe he was starting to grasp the seriousness of the situation. But I doubted it. He didn't seem too concerned about the guys Mad Dog had sent looking for him.

  I was pretty sure he would change his mind as soon as he met them in person.

  He led us to the main office and up to the front desk, where guests wanting to check in would go. But there would be no guests, not for a long time. Not without electricity and running water and guest rooms that looked like they were sets for a horror movie.

  From the front desk, Waldo took us through a door that led into the manager's apartment. It was dark, hot and smelled like mildew. He stepped over to a table and turned on an electric lantern. A 12-volt car battery was on the floor near his bed and connected to a fan creating a warm breeze. He waved his arm and said, “Isn't this great? A private suite for the manager. When I fix it up, it'll really be something.”

  Erin shook her head. “You live here now? Without lights, running water or air conditioning? You’re not that stupid, are you?”

  He had a ready answer. “No, I’m not. I don't live here yet. I plan to as soon as I get the utilities turned back on, but right now I'm staying at a motel down the street. It's not as nice as this place, but it does have everything I need.”

  Erin asked the obvious question. “If you don't have any money, how can you afford to stay there?”

  He smiled. “I've been cleaning out the rooms here, selling whatever I can find in them. I've already gone through three and made almost eight hundred dollars.

  “I can pay you back the same way. Take anything you want from any of the rooms. Whatever you think is fair.”

  I was pretty sure Erin wouldn't want anything from a motel room that had been closed up for six years. But she surprised me when she said, “Give me the keys. I'll go look.”

  Chapter Fifty

  We grabbed one of the flashlights we'd bought the day before and headed to the locked motel rooms. Waldo said to start with room ten, which was the closest to the office. He said he'd cleaned it and the one next to it.

  When we opened the door and stepped in, I wasn't sure he knew the definition of clean. The floors were filthy and an inch of dust covered everything in the room. The mattress on the bed had disintegrated into a sunken pile of cotton, likely infested with bed bugs or worse. We didn't bother checking out the bathroom.

  The next room was more of the same. Lots of dirt, dust and spider webs. Unlike the first, the second still had a few paintings on the wall. Erin pointed to one and said, “Get that. I want it.”

  The painting was unframed and hung onto the wall with a thin wire over a single nail. I had no problem getting it down and out of the room. I did my best to take as few steps as I could, not wanting to get too much of whatever was on the floor on my shoes.

  Outside, in the sun, the painting didn't look too bad. Erin used a tissue to wipe the dust off and it revealed a colorful Florida scene of a sunset over a tropical oasis. She nodded and said, “Not bad. Let's see if we can find a few more.”

  The next two rooms had the same kind of paintings, three of them in each room. I grabbed them all and we set them next to the first one I'd retrieved.

  After she had removed most of the dust from the largest one, I checked the name signed on the bottom. It showed “Albert Hair.” The other two were signed by Harold Newton. I didn't have an art background and didn't know if the paintings were valuable, but they were pleasant to look at.

  When you looked closely, you could see individual brush strokes, meaning the paintings were probably originals and not reprints. But unlike most paintings, the ones we had found were on backing board instead of canvas.

  I remembered something that Katrina, Marissa’s daughter, had told me about paintings she used to sell by the side of the road to gullible tourists. They looked like the famous Highway Men paintings, but the ones she sold were fakes. Still, she had studied the real ones enough to know the difference.

  I snapped a photo of each painting with close-ups of the signatures. I sent them to her along with a short message asking, “Are these worth anything?”

  A few minutes later, my phone chimed with an incoming call. The caller ID said it was from Kat. I answered on the third ring and before I could say hello, she asked, “Where did you find them?”

  I told her about the old motel rooms and she said, “That sounds about right. If they're originals, they are worth between two thousand and five thousand each. Are there more?”

  “Yeah. Probably ten or fifteen.”

  As soon as I answered, she asked, “Where are you? If you’re anywhere close to Daytona, I can come and help you sell them. Or buy them myself. It won’t matter whether they’re real or not. I can sell them either way.”

  I didn’t think it would be a good idea to get Marissa and Boris’s daughter involved in what could be selling fake paintings. It might come back to haunt me, so I thanked her for her time and said, “The paintings are not mine. I was checking for a friend. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

  I ended the call before she could ask more questions. Erin was standing near me and asked, “What'd you find out?”

  “They might be worth something. Let's check the other rooms, see how many we can find.”

  Thirty minutes later, we were knocki
ng the dust off our shoes while standing next to sixteen paintings, all in the same style as the first ones. Erin had picked the three she liked best and put them in the backseat of Raif's car.

  I snapped a photo of each one just so I’d have a record of what we had found.

  We went back to the manager's apartment where we'd left Waldo. He was sleeping on the bed, taking a nap. One of the water jugs he had filled from the fountain was on the floor next to the bed. Half-empty.

  Not wanting to bother him while he slept, we went outside to talk about our next move. Erin spoke first. “Should we tell him? About the paintings?”

  I nodded. “We have to. If they're worth what my friend thinks they are, selling them might help him get square with Mad Dog. He was a fool for getting in so deep, and again when he bought this dump of a motel. If it were just me, I wouldn't do anything. But I'm doing this as a favor for a friend of his mother and she is depending on me to keep him from getting roughed up.

  “So yeah, we need to tell him about the paintings. Let's do it now before I change my mind.”

  We went back into the manager’s apartment. Waldo was still where we'd left him. On the bed, sleeping. I walked over, kicked the bed and said, “Wake up. We need to talk.”

  He didn't move. Not a muscle.

  I said it a second time. “Wake up. We need to talk.”

  Again, no response.

  Not wanting to waste much time, I picked up the water jug off the floor, flipped open the cap, and poured about a third of it on his face. His eyes opened and he struggled to sit up.

  When he was finally upright, he used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe the water off his face. “What'd you do that for?”

  “I couldn’t wake you and was worried you were in a coma or something, so I dumped a little water on your face. If that hadn't worked, we would have called 9-1-1.”

  He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “I got sleepy all of a sudden. I sat down on the bed, and the next thing I know, you're splashing me with water. You didn't need to do that. You could have just left me alone.”