Bad Day in a Banana Hammock

by Stuart R. West

  Crap, crap, crap! Move it, move it, move it!

  The detectives entered Smalls’ office. As soon as the door shut, it opened again. Zach felt four official eyes burrowing into his back. Shannon, wringing her hands, frowned as he blew by her. Disappointed, no doubt. But no time for fun.

  Almost to the hallway, just a little bit to go…

  “Detective?” called out Shannon.

  “Yes?” Four voices answered.

  Gah.

  But Zach had to turn around, not in his nature to leave a lady in waiting. Standing in the office doorway, the detectives glared at him.

  “I thought you wanted my phone number.” Shannon looked at Zach, back to the detectives, again at Zach. Watching a tennis match.

  With one hand on the exit door, Zora hunched her shoulders. She whispered, “Come on, Zach.”

  “Um, I’ll call you later for it,” Zach called to the receptionist. Then, under his breath, “go, go, go.”

  Zora pushed into the hallway. Smalls’ voice rose from his office. Loud, the only way he knew how to talk.

  “But they’re detectives,” shouted Smalls. “I’m telling you, as sure as my name is—”

  “Stop! Wait!” The detectives yelling now.

  Zora grabbed her brother’s arm, hustled him toward the elevators. She pounded the button. Footsteps clomped over the hardwood floor from within the office area.

  “Stop them!”

  “Dammit! Come on!” Zora smacked the elevator panel one more time, hissed at its noncompliance. Then she broke into a run, her destination the steps at the end of the hallway. Zach followed, hearing a door open at his back.

  Zora shoved the stairwell door open, clambered down the cement steps. A stampede of echoes filled the empty stairwell.

  “Hurry, dammit, Zach!”

  At the bottom of the stairs, fingers of daylight reached in. Zora smacked into the exit door, bounced off of it. Then pushed it open. She reached back in, pulled the fire alarm. The shrill alarm buzzed with the intensity of a dental drill.

  “Why’d you do that?” asked Zach.

  “To get more bodies in the cops’ way! Shut up and run!”

  People filed out of the building, a mass exodus. Zach thought he saw a gun rise above the crowd. One of the detectives trapped within the panicking people.

  “Go! Don’t stop. And quit looking back, Zach!”

  Pregnant or not, Zora scrambled into the van in no time, a new record. Holding her breath and pale as chalk as she drove the minivan to freedom.

  “Well…I think that went pretty good, huh?” said Zach.

  Smack.

  Chapter Seven

  “Still no closer to finding out the truth. Dammit.” Zora pulled off the highway at 95th street, parked the van in a shopping center lot.

  “What’re we doing? Shopping for new clothes?” Zach’s eyes lit up, hopeful.

  “No, we’re not friggin’ shopping. I’m thinking.”

  “What about Alderman Smalls? You think he had anything to do with it?”

  “Doubt it. He was practically thrilled to death he didn’t have an alibi, reveling in it.”

  “Yeah, that was a little weird.”

  “But guys like that? They’re just excited to be involved in their own reality show with the law. Living out their fantasy. Something you know a thing or two about.”

  “This ain’t no fantasy of mine, sis.”

  “Whatever you say, Hasselhoff.”

  “Guy sounds like a real jack-ass, though. Turlington I mean.”

  “Not the husband or politician of the year, that’s for sure.”

  “Maybe Turlington crossed the wrong guy in his crooked deals. Smalls said he was up to his neck in crime.”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” She winced, rubbed a circle out on her belly. “Damn baby’s telling me it’s time to eat. Fast food burger.”

  “Um…can we get salads?”

  Zora stared at her brother, shaming him into silence. “No, we’re not getting salads. Or Kale or anything like that.”

  As they entered the Deep Belly Burger drive-through lane, Zach remained quiet. Reverently so, almost. Zora needed the down-time, thrilled her brother’d learned one thing today.

  “Squawk, rawk, gronk, sepsis?”

  Zora leaned out the window, her ear close to the menu box, trying to decipher what the robot said. “Yeah, I didn’t get a word of that. Just give me two burgers, cheese, the works. Large fries. Diet Coke.”

  “Sis, it’s kinda pointless getting a Diet Coke with all that—”

  She hushed him with a finger jabbed over her lips. No one gets between a pregnant woman and her culinary cravings. “What’re you getting?”

  “Um, nothing, I guess.”

  “Suit yourself.” Back to the box, she said, “That’s it.”

  Zora pulled up to the next window, greedily grabbed the grease-darkened sack. “Okay, I’ve got an idea…something I should’ve thought about before.”

  “What’s that?”

  “An old work acquaintance of mine. Miles.”

  “Yeah? What’s he do?”

  “If he’s still at it—haven’t talked to him in years—he writes a blog. A scandal piece about Kansas City. ‘Kansas City Korruption.’ He’s big on alliteration. Guy loves him some conspiracy theories, loves to find fault in politicians. If anyone knows what Senator Turlington was up to, it’s Miles. Maybe he can even suss out your mystery bimbo.”

  “She’s not a…oh, whatever.” Zach threw his hands up, knew when he was beat.

  Back on the road, Zora spoke around the burger invading her mouth. “There’re crayons and a pad of paper in the back seat. Get it.”

  “Um, why?”

  “Just get it!” Zora embellished her latest bite with a small burp.

  “Gross, sis.”

  “Yeah? You try eating for two. Then we’ll talk gross. Do what I tell you.”

  Zach unsnapped his seatbelt, leaned over the back seat, scrounging. With an elbow jab, Zora moved him over. “Get your stripper ass outta my face! Hello! Eating here!”

  “Geeze, Zor, chill out. Okay, got it.” He pulled out a purple crayon, ready, an enthused kindergartner.

  “Draw a picture of the woman.”

  “What? I’m not a sketch artist!”

  “Just do the best you can!”

  “Okay…whatever.” Zora had no doubt her brother’s sketch would suck. But they needed something to go on, something visual to show Miles. Zach hunched over the pad, concentrating, suffering for his art. Sticking his tongue out from the corner of his mouth and squinting, He grunted, scratched through his work, flipped the page and started over. Picasso on the job. Finally, he sat up and smiled at his drawing. “Yeah…yeah…that’s her.”

  Zora snuck a glance at his portrait and nearly swerved into oncoming traffic. “Oh good Gawd, Zach! Samantha could draw better than that!”

  “Hey! I told you I’m not a sketch artist.” He studied it, nodded his head. “It’s not all that bad. It looks like her.”

  “It looks like an egg on top of an hourglass! It took you that long to draw that?”

  “I think I captured her. You know my memory still isn’t what it should be.”

  “Never mind… That’s not going to help.”

  “Whatever.” Carefully, he folded the drawing, tucked it into his suit jacket. “Still think it looks like her.”

  “So, what, you’re sleeping with Legos now?”

  “I didn’t sleep with her. And I didn’t sleep with the Senator!”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” Another mean shot. But a foul mood weighed Zora down. Mainly because she felt like a ripe watermelon, ready to split at the rind.

  Compared with the nicer places in the KCMO metro area they’d been racing through today, Miles’ neighborhood came in dead last. Even worse than Fireman Freddie’s dump of an apartment complex. Miles lived on the top floor of a pseudo-renovated warehouse building. Zora wondered if h
alfway through the job, the architect realized the futility of the project and gave up. Even the brickwork had weathered, faded and crumbling. Bird droppings decorated the upper face, the only fresh adornment.

  On a narrow street next to the building, Zora cut the engine. Next to Zach, a window shade suddenly snapped down.

  “Nice neighborhood, sis. I think the rats vacated it a couple decades ago.”

  “Yeah, well…it’s how Miles chooses to live. Tell you something, though, assuming Miles still lives here, I’m sure he’s got a better security system than the Turlingtons. He’s…a little paranoid. Be careful what you say to him. Hell, just let me do the talking. Our usual routine.”

  As they walked up wooden stairs, a door inched open on the second landing. And just as quickly shut. A single bulb swayed above them, shifting their shadows over the mildewed walls. Caused by a draft or someone having just fled? For security, just for old time’s sake, Zora snapped open her purse, felt around for the pistol’s butt. Gripped it and kept her hand glued to it. Something skittered by their feet. Zach jumped.

  “Thought you were used to working with vermin, Zach,” whispered Zora.

  “Funny.”

  At the top floor, Zora knocked on a door, the only one in the hallway.

  Music blasted out from the apartment. Loud and awful, death metal. Yep, Miles still lived in the ‘hood.

  Zora knocked again, louder. The music died. Soft thumps, a hasty yet hushed dance of feet. A small click. Metallic? A gun? Zora gulped. Miles’ paranoia had skyrocketed.

  Finally, “Who is it?” Harsh, abrupt, pissed off.

  “Miles, hey, it’s me, Zora. Zora LeFevre. Um…you probably remember me as Zora Caulfield. From back in the day? We worked together…I was at Denham and True Security?”

  Silence. Then a succession of chains unthreading, locks turning, clamps unlatching. Secured by a chain lock, the door opened, just a crack. A bloodshot eyeball peeked out from behind unruly black bangs.

  “Zora?”

  “Yep. Hey, Miles, long time no—”

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “He’s just my brother, Miles. Harmless. He’s…nothing but a, ah, stripper.”

  “Not a stripper, a male—”

  She stepped on Zach’s foot. “I need to talk to you, Miles.”

  “What about?”

  “Senator Hal Turlington.”

  The door shut. Maybe Zora needed a secret password. The final chain slid back. Miles opened wide, using the door as a shield between him and his visitors. “Hurry up, hurry up. Get inside!”

  As soon as they cleared the door, Miles slammed the door shut behind them. He completed his ritual, locking up Fort Knox.

  Ratchet, clack, shgggg…

  While Miles’ paranoia had been amped up, his digs seemed to be stuck in a ten-year-old time loop. Void of any functionally comfortable furniture other than a tired sofa, the same green beast Zora’d sat on years ago, electronics lined the walls, filling every space. Computer screens provided a succession of green and white blinking Christmas lights. An overhead fluorescent bulb buzzed at them, an incessant fly. Oriental carpets overlaid the many windows.

  Welcome to Mile’s cavern.

  Miles looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in a decade. With skin white as Zach’s teeth, his only color came from the dark crescents orbiting his eyes. His black hair hung down long, unruly, ponytailed up in back. Getting his Howard Hughes recluse on, just not nearly as wealthy. The life of a dedicated conspiracy theorist.

  “Hey, Miles, it’s good to see you again.” Zora stuck her hand out, quickly withdrew it, remembering Miles’ germ phobia.

  She hadn’t warned Zach, though. He thrust his hand out, waiting. “Nice to meet you, Miles. I’m Zora’s brother, Zach.”

  Miles stared at the offending hand, shuddered. “Why’d you bring a stripper here, Zora?”

  Insulted, Zach yanked his hand back in. Kneaded it a little bit. “Hey, I’m a male dancer and I take offense to—”

  Zora whacked the back of Zach’s head. No need for covert moves here. For once, Zach didn’t say another word. Some dogs are easier trained than others. “Miles, my brother’s got himself into a bit of a jam. You’re the only one who could possibly help. I mean, with your talents and all.” The way to every eccentric genius’s heart? Slobber ‘em up with a heaping dosage of butt-kissing.

  Bullseye! Miles softened, a smile exposing yellowed teeth, the by-product of a steady diet of junk-food. Zora mentally noted to change her diet as soon as she pushed out her newest burden of joy. “Well…I enjoyed working with you in the past, Zora. Come on in, come on in! Have a seat. Wait!” Behind the sofa, Miles pulled out an industrial sized roll of plastic. Tore off a long strip and draped it over half of the sofa. “Okay…now you can sit.”

  Zora plopped down in the middle, Zach next to her. Her brother fidgeted on the plastic, rearranging himself, apparently unable to get comfortable.

  Scrunch, rimple, shrak…

  “Will you please sit still, Zach? I swear, worse than my kids.”

  Miles sat on the uncovered section of the sofa. “Okay, what’s this about Turlington?”

  “I’m sure you know about his murder.” Miles nodded, brow brought low in journalistic integrity. “Well, my brother—”

  “Wait.” Fsk, fsk. Miles scratched at his unshaven face. “You’re him. Oh my God, you’re him!” He jerked a thumb back to a TV screen. “You’re the male prostitute the cops are looking for in connection—”

  “Okay, okay, I’m not a male prostitute. I’m a—”

  “I knew Turlington was bad news! Knew it! But I had no idea he was gay! Totally blew me away! Not sure how that escaped me. I must be slip—”

  Crunch, timple, scrunch…

  “The Senator wasn’t gay! And I’m not—”

  “Blew my mind! Zora, you know me, I don’t like to report on salacious, sensationalistic personal details, but this…this!” Miles left earth for a bit, his eyes roving his inner galaxy.

  Zora guided him back home. “Miles? Okay, Miles?”

  “Hm?”

  “Things aren’t what they seem to be. Zach woke up this morning. Next to the dead senator. With no memory. Well…little memory. He was roofied. By a woman, a blond.”

  “Really?” Miles patted down his pockets, came up empty-handed. Zora ripped out a sheet from her note-pad, handed it to him along with a pen. “Thanks. Okay…give me what you got.” He started scribbling, fast and furious.

  “Miles, I’ll give you an exclusive on the story. But…I’ve gotta ask you to hold off publishing it. At least until we find out who killed Turlington. Deal?”

  The journalist grimaced, sucked air in through his teeth. Wagged his head. “Fine. Start from the beginning…”

  Zora filled him in, Zach interjecting on occasion, usually defending his sexual orientation. Zora wanted to gag him, tie him up in a corner.

  “Wow…this is…wow…” Miles appeared exhilarated, tired eyes now at full moon. The scandal of a lifetime just made his day.

  “Exactly. Now…I know you’ve been after Turlington for a while. I’ve read some of your exposes about his…questionable ethics in office.” She hadn’t really, just riding a hunch.

  “Damn straight. He’s bad news.”

  Bingo. “That’s what I gather. Do you have any idea who might’ve wanted to kill the senator?”

  “That’s like asking if anyone wanted to kill Hitler!” Miles giggled. “Dude had enemies out the wazoo. But always came out smelling like a rose. Hell, I’m pretty sure he was mobbed up at one time, in bed with the local Kansas City mafia.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah!” Now on the edge of his seat. “He kept tossing the mob city contracts like they were candy. Questions were raised—mostly by me, thank you very much—about the validity of these contracts. And plenty of funds went missing. And I know where those funds went, too! Zora…do you think this was a mob hit?”

  Zora thought abou
t it, weighed her answer carefully. “No. I really don’t think so. It doesn’t seem very…mobby since there was a mystery woman involved. And she went to great lengths to drag Zach into her plan.”

  “Oh.” Miles’ shoulders sank. Maybe not so much the expose of a lifetime, after all.

  “But, don’t worry, Miles…this is still gonna be a good scandal, one worthy of your award-winning blog.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. Now, you said you know where Turlington’s misappropriated funds ended up. Where?”

  “Well…he had a mistress. Pretty much a kept woman. Bought her a nice house, gave her a car…hired her a driver even.”

  “A Cadillac, Miles?”

  “Yeah…yeah, I think so.”

  Srrrppp, scrunch, tmple, tump…

  Zach joined Miles on the edge of the sofa. “Wait! Is this…” Zach reached into his pocket, whipped out his earlier drawing with a soap opera’s worth of melodrama. “…her?” Zora imagined Zach heard a musical sting in his head, time for commercial break!

  Miles squinted at the drawing. “Wait…is that an egg?”

  “It’s not an egg. It’s her!”

  “Looks like an egg on top of a river or—”

  “That’s not a river! It’s her body!”

  Miles scratched an ear, clicked up a corner of his mouth. “It’s not a very good drawing. Kinda looks like something a kid would—”

  “I’m not a sketch artist!”

  Crunch, timple, tumple…

  “Yeah, but really, it doesn’t even look like a person. It’s just all—”

  “Okay, Miles. Yeah, the picture sucks.” Zora gave Zach a look, shook her head. “But do you have a name for Turlington’s mistress?”

  “Sure do. I can do you one better. Got an address.” Miles shot up, sat down in front of one his work-stations. His fingers ripped across the keyboard. “Selena Darkly’s the name I have. Kinda doubt it’s her real name, though. I dunno, sounds kinda strippery or—”

  “Nothing wrong with stripper names!”

  “Shut up, Zach.”

  Miles hit the return button again. Sat back with a satisfied smile. “That her?” A driver’s license image. Selena Darkly. Blond. A smile that didn’t budge her cheeks. Crows feet planted at the corners of her eyes. Definitely work done. Aged 36 and Zora suspected that was another lie. Ms. Selena Darkly appeared very comfortable with lies.