Bad Day in a Banana Hammock

by Stuart R. West

  With a smile, Tufts ran at Zach again, head down like a rhino. Zach side-stepped, watched him fly by. Practically by instinct, Zach grabbed the marble pillar next to him. Timed it beautifully. As Tufts hurtled back, Zach spun on the pillar. Lifted both his legs. His super dance pole move, one for the ladies.

  Smack.

  Tufts went down. Stayed down.

  Zach dropped from the pillar onto shaky legs. Kissed his fingers and held them up.

  Thanks, Big Guy in the sky for my male dancing excellence.

  Clapped his hands, wiped away imaginary dust. And had an epiphany.

  No, dammit, I’m a stripper. And proud of it.

  The tilt-a-whirl wouldn’t stop, though. His knees folded. Zach watched the marble floor rush up to greet him. As darkness dropped, he thrust his hands out to break his fall. Light-headed and on the floor, he looked at Tufts next to him.

  Before Zach passed out, he thought, “Great. Second guy I slept next to in one day.”

  *

  Zora wanted to run up the stairs, she truly did. Instead, she hauled herself up, one step at a time, using the wooden banister as a crutch. Sweating, miserable, panting. Spine on fire. Heart hammering as she heard her brother tussling with Tufts below. Losing precious time and the element of surprise. But she couldn’t stop. Not now. Zach could handle himself.

  The double bedroom doors were closed. In no mood to knock, she reached for the knobs. The statute of limitations on good manners had long passed. Slowly, she twisted the knob. Then a tiny click sounded behind the doors, barely audible.

  “Whoa!” Zora rolled to the side, flattened against the wall. Semi-flattened, actually.

  Crack, crack, crick…

  Three bullets exited the door, leaving splintered holes as their calling card. Zora waited, listening. No movement. Just wood settling in the door. She turned over on her back. Gun up. Ready.

  “You may as well come in. I’m out of bullets,” called out Mrs. Turlington.

  Yeah, right.

  Zora dropped in a squat, hoping she’d be able to pull out of it in time. Reached for the doorknob again.

  Shack, crick, splack!

  Another volley of bullets broke the wood just above her head. A strand of hair flew up from the rush of the projectiles. She duck-walked back beside the doors. Playing the waiting game again. Nothing. The seconds crawled into minutes.

  Now she probably is really out of bullets. I hope.

  The doors were pretty much destroyed. Zora peeked through one of the golf ball sized holes. With her back turned toward Zora, Mrs. Turlington stood in front of the same window she’d reigned over this morning. Holding the most elegant gun Zora’d ever seen perched on her hip. A wine glass occupied her other hand. Woman could put the drink away.

  Zora entered, gun locked in rigid arms.

  “Turn around, Mrs. Turlington! I’m seriously pissed off! I’m hormonal! I feel like a human piñata! And I think I might’ve just piddled myself a little bit.”

  Mrs. Turlington turned, smiling ever so diplomatically. “I see you have a gun now. Something I’m sure you didn’t have earlier, Mrs. LeFevre.”

  “Great. You know who I am. Wonderful for you. Soon sucks to be you.”

  “Of course I know who you and your brother are, dear. I knew it this morning during our visit. I knew it late last night when I hired poor Mr. Martin.”

  “And then killed him.”

  “Oh, dear. Things do happen, I suppose. But his usefulness was over to me. Poor delusional man tried to extort me after he’d made a deal with you. Can’t have that. Such an immoral world. So as soon as I was off the phone with the late Mr. Martin, I sent Tufty to meet with the detective. Tufty had to move fast. But surely you’ve realized by now, Tufty’s much more than a mere political advisor.”

  “Why’d you hire Martin?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? To follow you and your idiotic brother. Find out what you’ve been up to. You two have been making things exceptionally hard today.”

  “Why didn’t you just call the police on us earlier?”

  “Because that would implicate me in my husband’s murder.”

  “You admit to killing him? Your husband?”

  “Between you and me, I suppose I do. Won’t hold up in court, though. Not when I’ve killed the two true killers for breaking into my house. Assaulting me with a gun.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a very likely scenario from where I’m standing. Hello! Pissed off pregnant lady holding a damn big gun on you!”

  “Let’s not put the cart before the horse. How do you know I don’t have a contingency plan? What makes you think I won’t shoot you?”

  “You already decorated your home with six bullets. I think you’re out.”

  She looked at her gun, tilted her head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. And I certainly wouldn’t discount Tufty just yet.”

  “I would. My brother’s got some mad fighting skills.”

  “So does Tufty.”

  “‘Tufty.’ He your lover? That how you got him to go along with the murder of your husband? And Martin?”

  “Oh, my, don’t be a silly girl! Tufty would like to, ahem, be my lover, I know. But I’m afraid I don’t return his affections.”

  “Then why kill your husband?”

  “Because he cheated on me.” Her face darkened, rage in her eyes. “Bastard cheated on me. I found out. Actually Tufty did, but no matter. With a more than eager Tufty in tow, we followed Hal’s little tart last night. What we found was much better than what I’d initially planned. Too good to be true, a gift from God.”

  “Yeah, I doubt God had much to do with it.”

  “Probably not. But I would’ve been a fool not to act on it.”

  Zora’s arms shook from holding the gun, her muscles weakening. The strain on her back grew, painful. A helluva time for baby to make his presence known. But she couldn’t let Mrs. Turlington know that. Sometimes, posturing wins the day.

  “Alright. Let’s end this farce. Come with me. We’ll let the police work it out.”

  Mrs. Turlington laughed. Had the gall to take a large gulp of wine. “I think not. If you believe I’m going that easily, you don’t know me very well.”

  “Can’t say as I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you.” Zora released one of her arms, parlaying the strength into her gun-wielding one. She pulled back the trigger. “Would you like to meet my friend, Mr. Bullet? It’s happy hour!”

  Mrs. Turlington set her glass down on a table. Her arm raised, the gun pointed at Zora.

  Crap.

  Zora rolled to the side, crashed into a small table.

  Zwick. Spwack!

  The bullet missed Zora’s head by inches. She swung her gun back up, returned fire. The bullet didn’t come close to her target, cracking into the window. Glass shattered. Mrs. Turlington groaned, a display of grief over her destroyed window. She tossed her gun at Zora.

  Now she’s out of bullets, dammit!

  Zora wobbled toward her enemy. She needed Mrs. Turlington alive. Less muss, less fuss. Mrs. Turlington ran toward the bed, shouting, “Tufty! Tufty!”

  Zora knew she’d regret it, did it anyway. She flung her body onto the older woman, thankful for the bed’s cushioned landing pad. Fingers caught into Zora’s hair, tugging. Fingernails clawed at her arms. She smacked the woman with the gun. Too hard. The impact bounced the weapon to the floor. Shocked, Zora sat up, looking over the bed for the gun. The older woman grabbed Zora’s hair, pulling her back to the bed. Mrs. Turlington crawled over Zora, scrambling for the gun. Zora brought up her hands, hammered them onto Mrs. Turlington’s back.

  “Oomph.”

  Mrs. Turlington’s head dropped over the bed. Zora climbed down her back, her shoulders. Tucked herself into a sitting position on the floor. Picked up the gun. The baby kicked her an internal high five.

  She pressed the gun to the still dazed Mrs. Turlington’s silver-haired head. “Are we finished playing?” She huffed the words out between heavy b
reaths.

  “You’ve got nothing on me. My reputation’s golden. You’re nothing but an intruder.”

  “Oh yeah? Wonder how golden your confession’s gonna sound on my phone.” Totally unnecessary, but Zora played her a few lines anyway. A trick she picked up from the earlier bimbo.

  Zach raced in, caught himself on the jagged door.

  “Damn, sis! You all right?”

  “Your timing sucks, Zach.”

  “That’s not what the ladies think.”

  For a split second, Zora considered shooting her brother. Maybe just winging him in the leg.

  *

  Zora met her brother in the KCMO police parking lot. He looked as tired as she felt.

  “Well…that wasn’t so bad, sis.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Did you give up the lovely Selena Darkly?”

  “You better believe I did! She racked up more crimes than we did today. Cops are on their way to pick her up now. Unless she and Dennis have blown town already. They’ll get ‘em soon enough.”

  “Right.” But Zach didn’t look so right, staring down at his feet, kicking a pebble. Forlorn over the one who got away. Idiot men. “Anyway, I think I passed with flying colors. They want to ask me more questions tomorrow, though.”

  “It’s typical. Nothing to worry about. We’re in the clear. It helps that I still have friends on the force. And Mrs. Turlington’s confession, of course.”

  “Hey, that female detective who grilled me?” Zach whistled. “I’d like to grill—”

  Smack.

  “Dammit. I thought we’d moved on from that, Zor!”

  “And I hope you move on from your silly groin-based life. Honestly! Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

  “What? What lesson? None of this was my fault!”

  Simply impossible. He’ll never learn.

  “You might want to reconsider that thought.”

  Briefly, it looked like her brother reconsidered. Nope, he still had nothing.

  “Seriously, Zach, why is your big woman-chasing, hetero persona so important to you?”

  He leaned up against a cop car. His smile dropped. Letting his guard down for once. “I guess…I guess it’s because I feel inferior sometimes…”

  “Inferior? To what?”

  “Well, to you for one thing.”

  “Me?”

  “Yep, you. You handled this with your usual confidence, your smarts, your wits. Never once did you lose faith in me.”

  “Oh whatever.” She smacked him, this time not so hard and on the shoulder. “Remember, it was you who protected me throughout high school. From the mean girls, the bullies…”

  “Yeah, you never did know how to play with people nicely.”

  “You like how I played with them today?”

  “Heh. Guess I did. You were amazing.”

  “I was, wasn’t I?”

  “But enough about you, let’s talk about me—”

  “And you just lost me. You’re all we ever talk about.”

  “Hey. Come here.” He pulled her into an embrace. “Thank you. For everything today.”

  “Don’t go getting all sensitive male on me right now, Zach! Hormonally challenged here.”

  “Really, though, thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Damn straight.”

  She hugged him tighter. At least as tight as she could from a foot or so distance. Before tears started flowing, she pushed him away.

  “You wanna come over, have a celebratory drink? Of the non-roofie type?”

  “Is Phillip home?”

  “Yep. Probably pitching a fit about now.”

  “No thanks.”

  “I’m gonna have to have a long talk with him anyway.”

  Full-time babysitter, he learns to cook, I’m going back to work. And, oh yeah, that little thing about a mandatory vasectomy…

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tell him I’ll get his suit back to him tomorrow.”

  She stood back, definitely downwind, examining the state of her husband’s late suit. “Keep it.”

  A cop approached, asked if they were the brother and sister who needed a ride home.

  “Yep.”

  Zach crawled into the car next to her. Asleep on her shoulder before they left the parking lot. With a tender touch, she caressed his hair and smiled down at her biggest child.

  The End

  More Stuart R. West Novels Published by Books We Love:

  Ghosts of Gannaway

  Secret Society (Book One of Killers Incorporated)

  About the Author

  Stuart R. West is a lifelong resident of Kansas, which he considers both a curse and a blessing. It’s a curse because…well, it’s Kansas. But it’s great because…well, it’s Kansas. Lots of cool, strange and creepy things happen in the Midwest, and Stuart takes advantage of them in his work. Call it “Kansas Noir.” Stuart writes thrillers, mysteries, horror usually tinged with humor, both for adult and young adult audiences. Bad Day in a Banana Hammock is his first full-on comedy with Books We Love. Stuart spent 25 years in the corporate sector and now writes full time. He’s married to a professor of pharmacy (who greatly appreciates the fact he cooks dinner for her every night) and has a 22 year old daughter who’s still deciding what to do with her life.