Pineapple Disco

by Amy Vansant

  As she passed an alley, an arm hooked around her waist, jerking her into the shadows. Stephanie struck with the back of her fist, connecting with the attacker’s windpipe. She heard him gasp. His arm slipped from her waist, but not before she saw a flash of movement to her left, too far away to be the same enemy. She felt the sharp crack of something striking her skull. From the pain, she guessed a ballpeen hammer.

  The world spun and everything went black.

  Her final thought was that her last meal had been that revolting ice tea.

  Chapter Three

  Stephanie’s head throbbed.

  Her eyes fluttered open. Not that there was any point in seeing. She was certain she’d find herself in a dingy basement or dirt-floored warehouse. She’d been knocked on the noggin a few times in the past, and opening her eyes after a whack like that, she always found herself in a dreary—

  French medallions.

  The walls swarmed with French medallions. Small, dark blue patterns crawling floor to ceiling across a field of yellow. Not her favorite look, but somehow it worked with the solid navy draperies and the ivory settee pushed against the wall, opposite the bed.

  The poster bed was grand. She would have been impressed by it if she weren’t tied to it.

  Stephanie jerked her arm and found it tightly secured by a thin nylon rope. If she could pull it up the post, away from the thicker base, it wouldn’t be hard to snap the wood. She took a deep breath, tensing in preparation to yank her way to freedom.

  “Please don’t break my mother’s bed.”

  Stephanie’s head whipped to the left. The dark-haired man standing beside her in khakis wore a light blue Burberry polo shirt, his sunglasses perched neatly on his head. He smiled, teeth gleaming from inside his chiseled jaw.

  Oh my. Kidnappers had certainly grown more handsome since my time with the Honey Badgers.

  The last man who’d kidnapped her had been a pudgy Nicaraguan wearing a torn Tom Petty t-shirt. He’d smelled like a wet dog.

  This man... She sniffed. Was that Creed Pure White cologne?

  Stephanie offered her captor her most endearing smile. “Do you always kidnap women and bring them to your mother’s house?”

  The man’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “No, she’d kill—” He cleared his throat, gaze dropping to the floor. When he glanced back at her, it was as if he’d become a different person. He chuckled and pulled a dark, wooden chair from the corner to the side of the bed to sit.

  “No. You must be special, baby. My name’s Louis. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Stephanie had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. This man, dressed like a prep school dreamboat, had suddenly adopted a voice that sounded like Scarface attempting to seduce a waitress.

  I can’t wait to see where this is going.

  She held his gaze and smiled. “Do you think I’m special, Louis?”

  The blood rose in his cheeks and he looked away.

  “Ask her,” said another voice.

  Stephanie craned her neck to watch a tall, barrel-chested man enter the room. Spiky, red hair capped his olive-skinned face. If his coif had been dark hair dyed Ronald McDonald red, the result would have been strange enough. But this man had bleached his hair and then had it professionally colored to a strawberry blond. Against his swarthy skin, the effect was unsettling.

  Louis turned, appearing annoyed by the intruder. “I am. I will—”

  “Did you find someone else to work for? Someone besides Mateo?” asked the red-head, thrusting a chin in Stephanie’s direction.

  She felt her breath skip a beat. She hadn’t heard Mateo’s name from anywhere but the darkest recesses of her own brain in a very long time.

  “Matay-who?” she asked, pretending not to recognize the name.

  The man clucked his tongue. “My men saw you watching them a week ago. We took photos—”

  “You mean my men,” said Louis.

  The tall man smiled like a snake ready to strike. “Right. You know that’s what I meant, Louie. You the boss.” He took a step forward and thrust out his hand so the two of them could run through the gestures of an elaborate handshake. Finished, Louis grinned and turned his attention back to Stephanie, as if to ensure she’d seen his mastery of the maneuver.

  Oh you poor thing.

  She could imagine him practicing the handshake in front of a mirror.

  Louis jerked a thumb in the direction of the second man. “This is my main man, Pirro. He runs my crew.”

  Stephanie found it difficult to hide her embarrassment for Louis. She forced a smile and returned her attention to the strange redhead.

  She found Pirro already staring at her. No little prep school boy hid behind his eyes. She recognized the empty anger of a man who had seen too much.

  This could be a problem.

  “Anyway, I bounced your picture off my uncle, girly. He said you looked like a girl Mateo used to use. Said you were a killer.”

  Louis laughed. “Her? She’s too pretty—”

  Stephanie cut Louis short, her eyes never leaving Pirro. “Who’s your uncle?”

  “Diego Rodríguez.”

  Again Stephanie had to struggle to keep her pulse steady. She could picture Diego’s face. He’d been a disloyal informant for the Honey Badgers. She’d thought he’d be dead by now. She took a deep breath.

  “Never heard of him.” She returned her attention to Louis and his expression belied his joy. She smiled and lowered her voice to a purr. “So, Louis...why don’t you untie me and we can put all this behind us?”

  Louis leered. “I can do that—”

  “No,” said Pirro.

  Louis looked like a scolded child. Pirro’s eyes widened, as if silently demanding his ‘boss’ follow a path on which they’d already agreed.

  Louis sniffed. “I mean, I could let you go, but I won’t. Not until you tell me why you’re watching my men.”

  “I wasn’t watching anyone.”

  Pirro sneered. “So you’re just a big fan of the tea at the Shipwreck Bar?”

  Stephanie smiled. “Tastes like grandma’s.”

  Louis sighed. “If you’re not the killer he told me you are, then I can’t hire you.”

  Pirro rolled his eyes and walked to the opposite side of the room, clearly agitated. Louis wasn’t following the script.

  Stephanie took a deep breath and softened her demeanor once more. For whatever reason, Pirro, a true gangster and leader, needed to acquiesce to Louis, a boy playing gangster dress-up games.

  Maybe playing the doe-eyed girl isn’t the path to follow.

  Maybe he wants me to be his gun moll.

  “You want to hire me?” she asked Louis. “Who are you?”

  She watched his chest puff with pride. “My name is Louis Beaumont.”

  “Beaumont? Any relation to Victor?”

  Louis grinned. “He was my father.”

  From the other side of the room, Pirro grunted.

  Ah.

  The puzzle pieces were beginning to fit. Victor Beaumont had been the area’s drug kingpin for decades. Following his death, his organization dissipated, but now here was his son, years later reclaiming the throne with the help of—

  Stephanie glanced at Pirro. She could see he knew she’d figure it out. Pirro was from Columbia. True drug cartel royalty if his uncle was Diego Rodríguez. Pirro was using Louis’ name to establish a foothold in Tampa.

  Pirro had to be a good boy…for now.

  She needed Louis on her side while Pirro was still allowing the pretender to give orders.

  Time to make your fantasies come true, idiot.

  “You need a lawyer?”

  Louis laughed. “You’re not a lawyer.”

  “Yes she is,” mumbled Pirro.

  “She is?”

  Pirro nodded.

  Louis looked at her, his brow crinkled with concern. “You’re an assassin too though, right? You worked with his uncle in South America? You w
ent by Ruby then. No…it was a Spanish word. Rubia?”

  Stephanie felt the familiar flow of ice water in her veins. Order had been restored.

  She owned Louis.

  “Let’s say for the sake of argument I’m this Rubia. What are you hoping I’ll do for you?”

  “I want you to kill my rival. If what Pirro tells me is right, that is what you do best.”

  “Your rival what? Drug dealer?”

  Louis nodded. “I prefer the term businessman, but yes. You can kill his men, too if you have to. Pirro says you like killing. He says you’re crazy, like that tall blonde chick in Kill Bill.”

  Louis looked like a kid staring at a Christmas package shaped like the bike he wanted more than anything in the world.

  I can be his killer for a while. That takes care of both our problems.

  She glanced at Pirro who stood leaning against the wall, glaring back at her.

  I’ll take care of Pirro later.

  “What’s killing drug dealers pay these days?”

  Before Louis could speak, Pirro stepped forward.

  “Don’t you want to ask her why she was followin’ us?”

  Louis looked at Stephanie, who raised her eyebrows with expectation.

  “I wasn’t following you. I was following a cop who was following you,” she said.

  Louis looked at Pirro. “You have a cop following you?”

  Pirro’s expression darkened. “Yeah. We know about that guy. Why would she follow him?”

  Stephanie sighed as if explaining her actions was the most tedious task she’d been asked to perform in some time.

  “Because I was thinking of coming to Louis here and asking for a job. I figured spotting his enemies and letting him know about them would make me useful.”

  Louis clapped his hands together. “Great. You’re hired.”

  Pirro thrust a hand in Stephanie’s direction. “Dude, she didn’t even know who you were a minute ago.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Are you kidding? He’s Louis Beaumont. Everyone knows him.”

  Louis beamed. “How about a million dollars?”

  Pirro slapped his hand to his face and walked back to his place on the wall.

  Stephanie pursed her lips and nodded to herself as if mulling the offer. She couldn’t believe her luck.

  “Make it a million two and I promise to take out anyone else around him who might consider revenge.”

  Louis yipped with excitement. “Deal.”

  “I told you I would get rid of that guy,” said Pirro.

  Louis frowned. “It’s been like six months and nothing’s changed. I need to hire a professional.”

  Stephanie nodded. “I’ll get it done. I can’t get much done with my hands tied to this bed though.”

  Louis motioned to the ties. Pirro pulled a switchblade from his pocket, glaring at Stephanie as he approached.

  Easy there, little fella.

  He cut the rope binding her to the bed posts. Feeling the bump on the back of her skull, she winced.

  Pirro folded his knife and slipped it back into his pocket.

  Louis helped her off the bed. “I owe you a dinner. Why don’t we grab a bite and discuss the details?”

  Stephanie stood. “You made one mistake.”

  Louis scowled. “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t ask me to promise not to kill you when I’m done.”

  He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not worried. I have a lot of money. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  Charlotte sipped lemonade on the porch of the tiki bar where Gloria Abernathy had asked to meet her. Gloria had once lived in Pineapple Port which, though a retirement community, was also where orphaned Charlotte grew up, raised by the local community after the death of her grandmother. She’d never dreamed the neighborhood would become her primary source of clients, but since becoming a private detective, it seemed that particular well of eccentricities would never run dry.

  If Gloria hadn’t left Pineapple Port, she could have been Charlotte’s crown jewel. The woman had a penchant for petty revenge, and her confused victims would have kept any budding investigator’s dance card full. With wide eyes, sharp features and a poof of auburn hair, Gloria looked more like a high-strung Pomeranian than a suburban avenger. But when wronged—real or imaginary—she attacked like a pit bull.

  Charlotte lowered her lemonade. “You look good, Gloria.”

  The tiny woman touched her hair and grunted. “Lot of good it does me when my suitors go missing before I can try on the suit.”

  Charlotte cleared her thoughts and took another sip of lemonade. She’d learned long ago to avoid banter with retirees about their romantic lives. In her experience, the older people grew, the more often modesty lost a wrestling cage match to honesty and there would be no rematch planned. You never knew what you might never be able to unhear.

  “So you’re telling me this man was talking to you through his t-shirts?”

  Gloria nodded. “He was. It was a very passionate relationship in its own way.”

  Charlotte chuckled. If the little woman could believe every move a stranger made was meant to annoy her, couldn’t she also fancy a man’s novelty tees were secret love messages?

  “You’re sure the messages on his shirts were meant for you?”

  Gloria’s mouth curved into a tight frown. “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

  Charlotte thought for a moment. “I do. I believe you. It’s just—I suppose if you thought he’d purposely cut you off in traffic I wouldn’t be so sure—”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That temper of yours. Sometimes you believe people are out to slight you when they’re just going about their lives.”

  Gloria looked away. “People can’t just go about merrily ruining other people’s lives. Running them off the sidewalk and whatnot.”

  Watching Gloria’s taut jawline Charlotte realized two things. First, she’d better watch how she teased her potential client or she might find herself the focus of one of Gloria’s revenge schemes. And second, Gloria’s reference to sidewalk hogs seemed strangely specific.

  Should I ask what she’s done to those poor people? Maybe I should check missing persons...

  “Don’t be angry, Gloria. I just think sometimes you see malice where there is none.”

  “Like when?”

  “Well, I don’t think the store manager who fired you for calling shoppers fat was out to ruin your life. I think he was out to avoid a lawsuit.”

  Gloria sniffed. “That’s a matter of opinion. That kid was a porker. His mother should’ve been ashamed.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to put dead lizards in the store’s fruit salad.”

  A strange smile rose to Gloria’s lips. She leaned forward, her eyes somehow wide and squinty at the same time. Before that moment, Charlotte had only seen smiles like that on cartoon villains.

  “You’re right. I should have put the lizard in the potato chips. That kid wasn’t going to eat a fruit salad. I could have killed two birds.”

  Feeling the heat radiating from Gloria’s piercing stare, Charlotte leaned back in her seat. “Okay, okay. We’re getting off track.”

  Gloria took a sip of her sweet tea and the vein bulging in her temple quelled like a subsiding flood. Once again she assumed the doe-eyed demeanor of a teacup poodle.

  “Fine. So you do believe me?” she asked.

  Charlotte released an involuntary sigh of relief. “I do. I’m just trying to get my facts straight. You and this man were sharing a moment every day. Winks, nods, hellos—and then he wrote words on his t- shirt?”

  “Several words, in pen. All together, they said, Hi, will you go out with me? The question mark had its own shirt. It was in pink. Which was amazing, because I had chosen pink for my answer.”

  “Your answer? You made a shirt of your own?”

/>   Gloria nodded so hard it looked like an invisible hand was dribbling her head like a basketball. “Yes. And Yes is what it said.” She rung her hands together, gaze darting toward the Gulf of Mexico, which lapped against brilliant white sands a hundred yards from where they sat. “Do you think I scared him away? Maybe he saw me coming with my big pink Yes and he got cold feet.”

  “It’s possible. Not everyone can handle a woman with a big pink Yes.”

  Gloria nodded and then squinted at Charlotte, who quickly continued. “This man sounds pretty cheeky. He says hello, he touches your hand...he goes through all the trouble of writing words on his shirt... He doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who would spook.”

  Gloria shook her head. “No. He radiated confidence. But in a white-knight sort of way. Not an arrogant way. Smiley Joe wouldn’t be arrogant.”

  “Smiley Joe?”

  “That’s what I call him.”

  “Got it. And you haven’t seen him since? Not at all?”

  “No. The last day was the question mark and then nothing.” Gloria’s shoulders slumped. “I think he’s been kidnapped.”

  “That seems unlikely. He might have just caught the flu.”

  “But it’s been over a week—” Gloria paled. “Oh no. You think he died from the flu, don’t you? If I find the person who gave him the flu—”

  Charlotte laughed. “No, I’m not saying he died of the flu. I’m just saying he could have fallen ill or twisted an ankle or been called away on business. There are a lot of things that could have happened before we jump right to kidnapped.”

  Gloria put her napkin on the table. “Well, that’s what you’ll have to figure out.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  A giant gold frog sat astride Gloria’s middle finger, a pale green stone set in its center.

  “That’s quite a ring,” said Charlotte.

  Gloria glanced at it. “I’m into tree frogs. I couldn’t resist it.”

  Charlotte wondered what animal she’d collect during her later years. Apparently, you had to pick one.