by Olivia Rigal
Patricia's a loyal member of the Tornadoes. Initially hired to be the admin of the Friendly Persuasion P.I. Agency, she left that job to rule the club.
Even Cracker recognizes she's the most efficient, and that it makes sense to have her manage the place instead of going through a rotation of unwilling volunteers.
"Daniel called to tell me you were coming." Pat seldom refers to her pet boy by his road name. Can't figure out why since Earplugs is not a bad nickname. "And Ice suggested that your guest be given the red room."
We follow her through the dim hallways until we reach the designated room. Patricia opens the door and turns on a pale light which gives a true cozy feeling to the space.
"Here's your domain for the night," she says. "The bathroom is fully stocked as well as the mini-fridge."
Kristal stands incredulous at the edge of the door. "That's my room?" Pat smiles and nods. "Oh, wow!"
Either the club she worked at was not as fancy as ours, or she never went past the public area.
Kristal cautiously enters the room, drops her bag at the foot of the bed and continues to the French doors. She pulls the curtains open and looks into the garden. The palm trees and shimmering water of the pool make for a spectacular view, especially at dusk when all the red lanterns turn on and reflect on the surface. Hand on the handle, she turns and asks Patricia, "Is it okay if I sit outside for a while?"
Patricia glances in my direction. My turn to shrug. "If it's all right with you, it's fine with me. She's been locked up all day."
"Then be my guest, enjoy the place." Patricia is about to close the door when she thinks to add, "You can even take a dive in the pool if you want." I'm unsure if Kristal heard her since she's already out and exploring the inner part of the building.
Once the door closes behind us and we're walking in the hallway, Patricia says, "Funny, I wouldn't have pegged her as a pusher, and I flatter myself to have great instincts about people."
That Patricia is. If she had cared to study, she could have become an extraordinary therapist. But school was not her thing. She's one of those crazy smart people who managed not to get a high school diploma. Still, her talent is not wasted here. Her people skills are most useful in her new position.
"That's what I thought too," I admit. "But then when I look at her, I'm not certain my brains fully engage."
Patricia raises an amused eyebrow but doesn't comment at my confession. We remain silent until we reach the monitoring room. She presses a few switches and a couple of screens come to life. To insure the safety of all members, there are cameras all over the club. The equipment is state-of-the-art with good mics. The staff on supervision duty needs to be able to check if a sub is calling her safe word or just playing along.
"Ice instructed me to open a phone line in her room," Patricia says.
Good thinking. If Kristal realizes the phone is connected, she may try to reach out to someone and give us clues on the identity of those who seem to scare her so much.
"Do you want some company?" Patricia asks.
"No. Thanks, I’ll be fine. I'm sure you have better things to do than babysit me." Patricia laughs at the very concept of watching over me and nods. "I'm going to stay a while. Well, until she falls asleep and then I'll get some shut eye as well."
She says, "If you want, instead of climbing up to your place, you could sleep in a room downstairs. They're all clean. You can have your pick. I'll see you tomorrow morning then."
"Sure." I turn to look at the screens.
Pat lingers in the room watching Kristal kneel by the pool to test the water. "She seems like a sweet girl," she observes. "What do you think is going to happen to her?"
"Damned if I know," I grumble. "But no matter what happens tomorrow, she's looking at time." I think for a minute before I continue. "She's made bad choices, and she'll have to pay the price. Now the question is, will she help us help her, or is she going to dig herself into a deeper hole."
I turn and realize I'm talking to myself.
Pat is gone.
7
On the small screen, I watch Kristal return to her room and pace back and forth like a wild cat in a cage. The camera doesn't show me her face, but her body language is clear. She's stressed, struggling to come to some sort of decision. Suddenly she stops and stares at the nightstand. I hold my breath.
Yes, yes, come on, pick up the phone and make a call.
She hesitates, then takes the receiver off the hook and holds it to her ear. Upon hearing the dial tone, she does a little happy dance, a fist pump and dials. I grab the headset connected to the switchboard and listen in. At the third ring someone picks up.
"Yeah," the voice is male and coarse.
Kristal stands a little straighter and squares her shoulders, gathering the courage to talk.
"Eduardo, it's me," she whispers.
"Kristal? Speak louder, for fuck's sake. I can't hear you." Yeah, the man's definitely a smoker and a southerner. "Where the fuck have you been? You were supposed to check in hours ago."
"I'm sorry. I couldn't call before," she pleads, speaking a little louder. Poor babe, she really couldn't. She was tied up. Literally. I chuckle at my own stupid joke. "But I promise, I did everything you asked."
"No, you didn't. My guy tells me you didn't deliver."
"Well, I'm gonna need a bit of time." She takes a deep breath. "I did manage to drop the first envelope, you know the one for the lawyer, just like you asked, but when I went to drop the other, some guys jumped me."
"Some guys?"
"Yeah. They sort of kidnapped me."
"What!" The roar of the man is so loud, she pulls the receiver away from her ear and takes a step back as if physically threatened.
"Well, what I mean, those guys, they stopped me, but it's weird. I don't think they're cops."
He barks back. "What are they? Feds?"
"No, they're more like vigilantes, like a band of bikers."
"Which MC?" His tone softens.
"Which what?"
"Club. Colors. Affiliation!" He's exasperated. "What patch are they wearing?"
"Oh that! It's the something Tornadoes."
A stream of curses and then a short silence.
"Where are you now?"
"About ten minutes from Point Lookout. I think they want to keep me for the night."
"What about the package?"
"Oh, don't you worry about that. It's safe. Hidden in my car." She's not a bad liar. Let's hope this is going to fly. It could since she now distracts him with a question, "The package, it's not a file, like you said, is it?"
"Did you open it?"
"No, no, of course not. I didn't touch it. I swear. But the men who stopped me, they were talking about drugs."
"And what did you say?"
"Nothing, I promise. I didn't tell them anything."
"And so they jumped you and now they've locked you up in a room with a phone?" His disbelief is palpable.
"Yeah, I got lucky that way."
"Right," the man laughs. My guess is that he figured out we're listening in and now he's playing along. "You're a very lucky girl. So let's make this clear, no matter what happens, you don't tell them nothing."
The double negative makes me cringe while Kristal snorts and protests, "It's not like I know anything."
"Well, if you know what's good for him, you'll keep your mouth shut and never mention the Category 5 Knights."
"The what?" Kristal clearly has no clue what that means. Her tone turns from defensive to pleading as she adds, "Is he okay?"
"For now." His insistence on now is ominous.
"But you're protecting him?" her question remains unanswered. She insists. "I did everything you asked and you promised--"
"No, you didn't," he cuts her sentence short. "You didn't deliver no second package and you got yourself in a jam with bikers."
"So it would have been better if it had been with cops?" she asks. "Because I think they called in one."
Kristal sighs and starts pleading again.
"I'll do everything you ask. I'll find a way to get out and deliver the file, I swear. Just keep him safe."
"Like I said, he's good for now."
"Thank you." There's so much anguish in her voice, it's painful to hear.
"Call me when you are ready to deliver."
"Okay." She chokes. She's fighting tears.
"And no matter what, don't mention the Knights." He hangs up right after that final warning.
Kristal puts the phone down as well and resumes her pacing. She's struggling to keep it together and mutters to herself. Her lips are moving and she's repeating the same thing over and over again.
It takes me a minute to understand what she's saying but I finally get her mantra. It's simple enough.
"Everything's gonna be all right. Everything's gonna be all right."
Bob Marley's song comes to mind, and I wish I could tell her not to worry 'bout a thing. But I know better than that. She's in muddy waters and unless she comes clean with me, she's gonna get in deeper.
Now what I need is to find out who she's doing this for and what he needs protection from.
She opens the French doors, shuts off the light in her room, and stands by the opening looking out. I make out the silhouette of her body against the light of the red lanterns that light up the patio. She pulls her shirt over her head, shimmies out of her jeans, stops as if undecided to continue her stripping. "Fuck it," she mumbles loud enough for me to hear distinctively as she removes her bra and panties.
A second later, she's out in the garden, not giving me any time to appreciate all the details of her curvaceous figure.
I switch monitors just in time to watch her dive into the pool. Her body vanishes under the water. My breath catches at the beauty of the show she's unknowingly giving me. She glides until she reaches the other side of the pool. Remaining under the surface, she turns around and kicks against the wall catching speed for her second lap. Only when she reaches her starting point does she come up for air.
She doesn't stop to catch her breath but continues with a slow and elegant breaststroke. Each movement seems effortless as if water was her natural element.
Kristal is a mermaid. Her grace in the water steals my breath away. Regretfully, I tear my eyes away from the screen. Even though I would rather stay to watch her swim away all the extra energy she seems to have accumulated, there's something else I need to do.
Something more productive for my investigation.
Something less pleasant, but then again, less frustrating than watching this luscious siren.
8
Back in Kristal's room with a flashlight, I pull out the papers from her bag. I should have thought about doing that earlier. I toss the content of the plastic folder on the bed. The first thing that catches my eye is an envelope bearing the name of a detention facility down south. The stamp reveals it was sent to Kristal a week ago at a Manhattan address.
Why would she be getting mail from the prison administration? I look in the envelope and pull out a four-page hand written letter as well as a copy of a mug shot.
The man in the picture is in his fifties. Salt and pepper unkempt hair and a dirty beard. He sports a split lip and two magnificent shiners giving him a battered raccoon look. On the back of the picture there's a number and a name. John F Russel.
He's too old to be her brother. Her dad?
I unfold the paper and decipher the content. The letters are wide and poorly formed. Almost a childish handwriting with absurd flourishes in the weirdest places. The spelling is atrocious.
The content puzzles me.
It's a plea addressed to Kristal begging her to do "everything they axe" otherwise he's a "gonor." He blames Kristal's mother for keeping them apart all those years. There's promises of eternal love for a daughter he misses so much ... blah, blah, blah ... ranting against the system which got him unfairly convicted ... blah, blah, blah ... she's his only hope.
The message is clear: in substance, she owes him and she needs to make good on her debt.
From my dispassionate point of view, it's obvious his logic is flawed. So much that I can't figure out why Kristal should now feel responsible for the man. She seems like a normally intelligent woman, someone smart enough not to fall for such a lousy trap. How could it possibly be her fault if her dad had a craptastic life? Yet, there's no doubt she felt guilty enough to drive from New York to try to save him.
The possessive part of me is happy the man she wants to save is her father while the protective part wants to shake some sense into her. I'm ready to bet my mother's house that when I look up John F Russel's file, I will not feel one ounce of compassion for the man. I will want to congratulate Kristal's mother for running as far as she could from him and never letting him know where she had gone. She most likely knew better than to expect any form of assistance or child support.
I put the letter and the picture back and quickly go through the rest of the papers. There's bank statements and stubs. She's cashed all her savings to buy a car and drive down here to meet her deadbeat dad. What a waste.
Now the real question is what he needs saving from.
My guess is that he's beyond saving.
Clearly she's being set up.
Her and the Knights.
I know for a fact that the members of the Category 5 Knights MC are into dealing drugs, but not the type of drugs that Kristal was walking around with.
We found out a few weeks ago about the Knights’ network. They import prescription meds from Canada and Mexico.
Of course, it's illegal. There's no denying that, but for now, we're looking the other way. Why? 'Cause they don't bring in anything that can be used recreationally, and we don't have enough manpower as it is to address all the urgent issues we need to address.
So unless someone's grandmother is found dead from an overdose of anti-bone loss medication, the Knights’ trafficking will not become a priority. For now, we won't do anything about it.
Yep, as long as the Knights keep flying under the radar, their business is pretty safe from local police interference.
Returning Kristal's stuff to her backpack and retreating from her room, I wonder why anyone would want to set up the Knights.
The only explanation I can come up with is that they are stepping on someone's toes. Another group that deals in a wider range of drugs? Yeah. There's enough money to be made to jealously protect the Florida market from any serious competition.
When I reach my observation post, I find Kristal resting in the pool. Arms spread, she's floating on her back with her eyes closed. The only parts of her out of the water are her toes, a tiny belly, her breasts, and face. Just as I'm wondering how long she's going to stay like this, she flips to her stomach, swims to the edge of the pool and walks out. I observe her magnificent body until she returns to her room and shuts the French door closed behind her.
I've found out all I could for tonight. I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow could be a long day.
Even though I'm certain Patricia made sure they were locked, I check the two main doors before taking the elevator to my place. Better safe than sorry.
My studio smells fresh and clean. As usual, it's impeccable. I kick my boots off and throw my clothes in the hamper after turning the radio on for company.
One of the benefits of living in the Styx is room service. The staff is amazing. They're most discreet and incredibly efficient. They come, clean up, change the sheets and the towels, and even do my personal laundry. It's the perfect set up for a bachelor.
Not an official one, though. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I'm a regular mama's boy still living at home while almost thirty. I take all the teasing I get with a smile.
Those who count know better, and those who don't, can laugh all they want. I won't lose s
leep over it.
9
The insistent ringing of the phone jolts me from the soundest sleep. According to the clock on the nightstand, it's five a.m. An ungodly hour for anyone to get up, especially on Labor Day. This better be serious.
"Yeah," I growl as I pick up the phone.
"Well, excuse me for waking you up." My mother's voice drips with sarcasm. "Your police captain is looking for you. I told him you just ran out for fresh bread and milk." She chuckles. "I'm not sure he bought it, but just the same, he said you were to meet him on the double on A1A by the peer."
"Thanks." Now I feel like shit for barking at my mother. "Sorry about that. I hope you can go back to sleep."
She snorts. "No chance. Captain Stevens caught me as I was walking out the door. The hospital called ten minutes earlier. Ernest, brace yourself. It's seems it's a carnage your being called to. Another race gone terribly wrong."
Her answer startles me and suddenly the light switches on in my brains. Fuck me sideways! I should have known. I'm such an idiot when I let my dick rule my thoughts.
Last night, Kristal said she had delivered one envelope before Earplugs grabbed her. It sounded as if she had dropped a file at a lawyer's office, but for all I know, it wasn't a file. It was a fresh supply of Biker's Dream.
A Biker's nightmare is what it is.
Cursing under my breath, I throw on clothes and rush out the door. Riding the elevator down, I remember I drove Kristal's car here last night. Shit, I hope Earplugs made good on his promise to bring my bike here.
Sure enough, he has. The keys are on the console table in the monitor's room. I don't even take the time to check on Kristal. It's so early, I'm certain she's fast asleep. Lucky girl.
The ride to the shore is quick at this time, especially since today is a holiday. There's practically no traffic until I reach A1A. One officer in uniform is rerouting inland the only car I see. I stop to identify myself and while he looks at my shield, I ask, "You're alone?"
"Nah!" He points to his colleague I hadn't seen. He's bent over the side of the road. "It's his first week on the job and he's taking it real hard."