“Wait, wait, wait.” Like a traffic cop, Zora stuck her hand up. Zach could never tell a story for his life. Or keep it together in a crisis. Something she’d come to expect from him over the years. “Back up a minute. What’s this about a dead guy? No…wait…” She bent over, lightning ripping up and down her spine. “Kids, it’s just Uncle Zach. I need to talk grown-up stuff. Go do your homework.”
“It’s summer, Mommy!”
“Well go play, watch TV, torture the neighbor…whatever you do all day.”
They scampered off at a dangerous inside sprint, singing the EZ Brite song. “EZ Brite takes out the greeennn…”
“Get in here, Zach! Before the neighbors see you!” Still holding the stain remover, she wagged him in. Then thumped him in the head with the bottle.
“Owwww, dammit! Why’d you do that?”
“Because I know you and I know this isn’t gonna be good.”
“Come on, sis.” His grin blossomed into a face-wide smile, one that never worked on her. “I didn’t do anything. Really.”
“Yeah, right.”
He jacked a thumb behind him. “Um, I sorta told my cab driver you’d pay him. Please? Cash only, Bennie doesn’t like plastic. You know I’m good for it.”
Good for nothing, more like. With a sigh, she grabbed her purse.
After the transaction ended, she stormed back inside. Mad as hell. Even worse, her brother was sitting on the sofa with her nice pillow covering his junk. Watching TV.
“$120.00! I had to pay him double, Zach!”
He shrugged. “I’ll pay you back.”
The purse flew, missing her brother by a mile. Still felt good.
She sat far away from Zach. Pretty much for his safety. If she could reach him, she’d kill him. “What have you done this time? Why are you showing up at my house in your stripper bikini, freaking out my kids and—”
“Whoa, whoa…I’m a male dancer. An entertainer. I’ve told you—”
“Save it! What’s this about a dead guy?” She couldn’t believe he was somehow involved with a dead person. Well, strike that. Yes, she could. Her brother’s screwing up and her constantly bailing him out formed the backbone of their relationship. Sorta a take-take relationship. Nothing surprised her anymore when it came to Zach. “Tell me from the start. Try and be coherent for a change.”
“Okay.” He held his hands up, struggling for mental balance, she supposed. Good luck. “I woke up this morning…didn’t know where I was. And I felt hung-over.”
“So, you tied one on?”
“No! That’s just it, Zora…you know me. I gave up drinking after high school. Pretty much.”
“Yeah…pretty much. Go on.”
“Anyway, I was in some dumpy hotel room. Downtown. And…there was a dead guy in bed with me. Naked!” For the first time, he showed something resembling fear. His eyes grew round, glistening. “But I’m not gay! You know I’m not! Not that I got a problem with that, you know. Some of my best dancer pals are gay. But it’s gonna look—”
“Let me see if I have this straight. You woke up next to a dead man. And you’re worried what sexual orientation people might consider you?”
“Well…yeah. Duh.”
This time his sheepish smile pushed the wrong button. A pillow flew across the room. Flumph. Contact. “Hey! Cut it out!” Immediately, his fingers flew to his hair, primping and patting it back into place.
“Duh yourself, idiot. And don’t ‘duh’ me! You’ve got a much bigger issue here! The police are gonna be looking for you! Why didn’t you call them? So stupid!”
“I’m not stupid,” he muttered.
“What you did is stupid, no other word for it! Things could’ve been straightened out! You coulda got off the hook. But noooo! Instead, you hightail it over here, dragging me into…whatever!”
“Zor, I’m sorry. Really. But I had no choice. I couldn’t remember anything. Nothing. I know I’m not a killer. I know I didn’t do it. I just don’t know how it happened. Or what happened, really.” The boy she remembered growing up with, her protector, surfaced. No play-acting, no put-on fake charm that only works with ditzy women. Then he blew it. “And…I can’t have anyone thinking I’m gay.”
Her eyes rolled, straining as much as her lower back. “You sure the guy was dead?”
“Yep. Touched him and everything.”
“Great. DNA, genius!” She tapped her lip, thinking. When she used to work, she’d come across similar cases. Without the dead body, of course. “Maybe he died of natural causes…you know, from pleasure?” Her turn to smile. She couldn’t help it. Mean, maybe, but it’s not like he didn’t deserve a little dig.
“What? No! I told you…I would never…”
“I can’t believe this. Just can’t believe it…surely you remember something.”
“Nothing.”
“Before you woke up…what’s the last thing you recall?”
He closed his eyes, thinking hard. A Herculean task. As if being channeled by a smarter spirit, he spoke slowly. “I was dancing at the club. Killing ‘em. Um…not, you know, like what happened to the guy I found. But…I remember…I found a note stuck into my speedo along with some mad cash. Something about…” His eyes rolled open. A snap of his fingers followed, a few synapses sparking. “A woman! She wanted to buy me a drink at the bar!”
“Okay…it’s a start. Did you meet her?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Look, everything’s…hazy. Like a dream.” He gasped. “You don’t think…you don’t think someone roofied me or something?”
“Kinda looking that way. If what you’re telling me’s the truth. I swear to God, Zach, if you’re lying to me, I’ll—”
“No, Zor, no.” He shook his head slowly and stood to display his melodramatic hurt and humility. That wasn’t the only thing on display.
“Oh, for God’s sake! Cover back up. Gah. I’ve got kids in the house!”
“Hm? Oh, crap, sorry.” He scooped up the pillow, buried himself beneath it. “But I’d never lie to you. Not you. Never. Anyone but you.”
She believed it. Even if his admission as to lying to everyone else pretty much deflated his humble moment. “Whatever. So…you met the woman for a drink. You get a name? Phone number?”
“If I did, it wasn’t on me when I woke up.”
“Well, you remember the woman, right? What’d she look like?”
His slow-burning Cheshire cat smile forecast his juvenile lust. Sometimes men really suck. “Yes! I’m remembering something…” He pulled cupped hands back and forth to his chest. “She had huge…um, sorry…”
“Great. Just what I didn’t want to know. Like I want to know any of this. Anything else you remember about her?”
“Sorry. The mind’s run dry.” He tapped his temple. Zora swore she heard a hollow echo somewhere. “And I’m hungry. Got anything to eat?”
If she had another pillow she would’ve hurled it. “Oh, sure, you want me to cook for you? Maybe a full meal? Some nice protein to build your muscles up?” She ignored his happy nod. “Idiot! You’re on the run for murder and you wanna eat?”
As sure as a piano crushing down on her brother, she saw the weight of his dilemma finally sink in. He crashed into the sofa. Cradled the pillow over his face, hugging it tight. A terrified little boy. Of course she was going to help him.
“Guess not.”
“Alright, alright, let me think…you had a drink at the bar?”
“I…think so.”
“So…the bartender. Let’s go talk to him.”
His eyes, his demeanor brightened. “You’ll go with me?”
“I’m not gonna lend you my car. Last time I did that, Phillip was pissed for a week. You still owe us for the scratch.”
“Oh, yeah…that.” Dreamily, he smiled up at the ceiling, a nostalgic recollection. Zora didn’t even want to know. He pulled out of it, faster than usual. All business again. “Seriously, Zor…I t
hink someone’s framing me. Out to trash my good name and reputation.”
She couldn’t help another eye roll, sort of an involuntary reflex with Zach. “First of all, and as usual, the world does not revolve around you! You really think someone would go to all the trouble of framing you? Maybe it’s about the dead guy. And not you.”
“You mean…like I was used…or something…” His voice trailed away, the thought incomprehensible, even though Zora knew he spent a better part of his time catting around and using women. Karma can be a bitch.
“Maybe. Suck it up, tough guy. And as far as your good name and reputation? Hah! When did that happen?”
“Hey, I’ve got a good reputation in the male dancing field.”
“Stripper field.”
“Male entertainment dancer.”
She dropped it. Bigger fish to fry. “Let’s see what the bartender has to say. We’ll go from there.”
For once, Zach sat quietly, his eyes big and blinking at the TV.
“Zach? You okay, big brother?” When she looked at the TV, a fist enclosed around her stomach. Either that or the damn baby was kicking up a storm.
“Turn it up, turn it up!” Zach picked up the remote and flicked the volume louder. “Shh, quiet…”
“…late breaking news from channel 8, Senator Hal Turlington found dead in a downtown Kansas City hotel room today at the age of 62. Official cause of death has not been released. There are reports of local police inquiring about a man of interest…”
“Crap…I’m the man of interest, aren’t I, Zor?”
“Oh, damn, damn, damn! You couldn’t just wake up to a normal dead, naked guy! Noooo, you had to wake up next to a damn dead senator! Oh, damn…” If Zora could’ve jumped out of her chair, she would’ve. Instead she fork-lifted herself out, then paced the room. “Dammit! What’re we gonna do now? You’re involved in killing a senator!”
“I didn’t kill him!”
“The police don’t know that! And now they’re gonna be looking for you!”
“How? There wasn’t anyone who could identify me. I don’t think.”
“Again with the ‘you don’t think’! That’s your problem, you never think!”
“Do too!”
“And now…now the cops are gonna be searching everywhere for you! Dragging me and the kids and Phillip into this whole damn mess!”
“Well…Phillip doesn’t need to—”
“Gah. Quiet! I gotta think about this…it doesn’t look good for you, Zach!”
“I know…”
“Do you? Well, you better get used to it! And now you’ve made it ten times worse by running!”
“I have to clear my name! Or I’m going down, sis! They can’t connect me with it, I’m telling—”
“How do you know this? For all you know, you checked into the hotel under your own name!”
“Doubt I’d do that.”
“Charming! And what about your DNA you left everywhere?” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe even in the sheets!”
“Now that I know I didn’t do—”
“Shut up!”
“Sis, I have a clean record. Even if they find my fingerprints, they don’t have—”
“Clean record, clean record…let me see…clean record…Oh! Guess you forgot about your high school drunk driving bust?”
Enlightenment smacked him upside the head. “Wait…oh yeah, crap. Well, they, whaddaya call it, expectorated it from my record.”
“Gah! ‘Expunged!’ And just because they did that, they still have your fingerprints on file!”
“I’m in big trouble, aren’t I?”
Zora didn’t deem his ludicrous question worthy of an answer. She continued pacing, back and forth, burning a path into the carpet. Stewing.
Zach stood. The pillow fell. Oblivious to his near naked state, his usual way of dealing with life. He sucked in a deep breath, buried his face in his hands. Building up to a dramatic moment, always on stage. “Look, Zora, I’m sorry I brought you into this. I’ll understand if you can’t help me. I’ll just leave. Again…I’m sorry.”
“Would you go get some of Phillip’s clothes to put on, for God’s sake?”
“But…Phillip’s like four sizes bigger than me!”
“Cry me a river! Just do it, dammit!” Before she could stop herself, she rushed across the room. Her arms went around her brother’s back, possibly a little too violently. She closed the distance for a hug, as close as his semi-nudity and her protruding stomach would allow. “Dammit,” she said. “Of course I’ll help you. You’re my brother.”
Cries from upstairs broke the moment. Zora pushed away. “Great. All I need. My fourth child waking from his nap.”
As she hurried from the room, she heard her brother struggling through his limited mathematical abilities. “Wait…Zor…you only have three kids.”
*
With a diaper bag strapped over her shoulder, Zora hustled Nikki and Justin out the front door. “Come on, kids. We’re going on an adventure.”
“Adventure,” parroted Justin.
Nikki, already the sullen teen before her time, whined, “Mom, what’re we doing? I’m busy!”
“Girl, I don’t wanna hear about busy. Just get in the back seat. Enjoy the sunshine. Remember what that is?”
“So stupid!”
“Zach,” she yelled up the stairs, “Samantha’s already in her seat by the door. Grab her on the way out.” A task surely even he couldn’t mess up. Then again, when it came to her brother, all bets were off.
Justin struggled with his seat, always a battle. No wonder her swear jar had evolved into a bucket. “Just stay still…almost….there.” Clack.
“Mom, really, what’re we doing? Why was Uncle Zach naked?”
“He wasn’t naked, Nikki. Just under-dressed.”
“Is he in trouble again?”
“No.” Yes. “We’re just gonna try and help him with some stuff.”
Zora pressed down on the pedal, revving the engine. Hoping to speed her brother along, never the quickest guy to get things done. She checked her phone, fully charged and 10:30 a.m. Plenty of time to clear her brother of murder, get back and have dinner on the table for Phillip by six.
Despite the situation, Zora laughed when her brother stumbled out of the house. He had Samantha’s carrier seat in one hand and kept his pants cinched up with the other. A belt lapped off the end-loop, a wagging brown tail. The suit looked like a relic from the ‘80’s, entirely too large and probably never in style.
As Zach rolled open the back door of the minivan, he sighed. “I know, right? I look ridiculous. Doesn’t Phillip own any regular clothes? Jeans, a polo, anything?”
“Hey, stylin’ guy, shut up and get in. It’s better than you waving your…golden sack around town.”
“Golden sack, golden sack, Uncle Zach has a golden sack!” Justin joined his sister in song. “Golden sack, gold—”
“Kids, enough! I don’t wanna hear that again about your uncle!”
“But, Mom, you said it first!”
“Again. Not a democracy.” She turned in her seat, double-checking Zach’s strapping in of Samantha. Unbelievably, a grin threatened to eat his face off. Clearly proud of the song his niece and nephew had concocted in his golden sack’s honor. No shame. “Get in, Zach.”
He climbed in beside her, fidgeting with the suit collar. “Still don’t know why I have to wear the jacket and everything.”
“Look, if they’re onto you, they won’t be expecting you in those clothes, right?” Kinda lame logic, but she just wanted to shut up his grousing. In all honesty, Phillip didn’t have any “fun” clothes. Something she’d been working on for years. Accountants aren’t the most fashion-conscious people.
“I guess.”
Zora punched in the strip club address to her phone, turned the speaker on. “Okay, I’ve been thinking. Say you have been set up.” As she backed down the driveway, she made sure little ears weren’t tuned in. For once their
attention devouring electronic gadgets served a useful function. “Or it may be about the senator. But we have to consider both options.”
“S’what I’ve been sayin’.”
“Yeah, fine. Do you have any enemies? I mean as far as…” Finger quotes. “…‘male dancing’ is concerned? And I’m not talking about broken-hearted women.”
“What kinda cad you take me for, Zor? I don’t break—”
“Zzzzzz. Huh? Sorry, you put me to sleep for a minute. The truth. Enemies?”
He stuck an “aha” finger up. “Well…there’s Fireman Freddie!”
“Keep your voice low,” she sang. “Dare I ask who—or what—Fireman Freddie is?”
“Oh, he’s just this guy at the club. He’s jealous of me. I guess we sorta have a rivalry. I mean, his shtick is he dresses up as a fireman. So been there, done that. No artistry whatsoever.”
“Oh, the shame. How is this relevant?”
“He used to make fun of my gig. ‘The Banana Hammock Bandit.’ Always laughing at me, saying things behind my back—”
“And then he went out with the head cheerleader and wrote nasty stuff on my locker and tattled on me to teacher. Whatever. How about leaving high school behind for the time being? Get to the pertinent point.”
“I had a custom-made…um…” Zach snuck a look behind him, lifted an eyebrow. “…thong, painted up like a banana. Green and yellow and totally awesome! Even put a couple dark spots on it like it was ripening. Threw down a lotta bank on it, too. My jam!” He rocked a fist up. Zora didn’t feel like rocking along. “Anyway…Freddie said it looked like dirty underwear…”
“Hah! Gross. I can’t believe you paraded around in that! What were you thinking?”
“Oh, whatever! At least it was original. Anyway…we’ve been fighting since, trying to one-up each other, dogging the other.”
“So corporate skullduggery in the male dancing trade?”
“Yeah, something like that. Recently Evans—he’s the manager—gave me the top spot. Demoted Freddie to opening act. Didn’t sit well with him.” He snapped his fingers, twisted in his chair. The suit didn’t turn with him. “As a matter of fact, he threatened me after that.”
Bad Day in a Banana Hammock Page 2