The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection

by David F. Berens

  Taz comes to America to teach tennis.

  Taz teaches rich, pretty girl—Caroline.

  Caroline… angers/dumps/ridicules Taz?

  Taz murders Caroline.

  Troy shook his head against the stainless-steel bench he was laying on. That hurdle seemed a bit too high. Would Taz murder Caroline over something simple like that? According to Mindy, she’d been taking lessons from him for years. Maybe it was a caste thing—Taz was a servant while Caroline was royalty. Something about that seemed more plausible, but still a stretch. Troy continued his list.

  Taz moves on with Mindy as a new obsession.

  Mindy rebuffs him.

  Mindy’s dad has P.I. look into Taz.

  Troy sat up. Maybe the investigator had found Taz out and Taz got spooked and went into hiding. But why harm Mindy? Mindy had been suspicious of Taz all along… maybe she’d confronted him. Where the hell was he keeping her? If she was even alive. Troy shuddered at the thought. She was definitely still alive, he had to keep believing that. A dark thought entered his mind. If you’ve hurt her, Taz… He shook it away.

  Maybe the two girls were just locked up in a basement dungeon somewhere, like that crazy dude had in Silence of the Lambs. Troy thought that sounded about right. He wasn’t sure about Caroline, but he was pretty sure Taz wanted to keep at least one of the girls alive… to play with. Ugh, Troy shuddered again.

  He went to the door and pounded on the wire-lined glass.

  “Hey!” he shouted, “what’s taking so long? Where’s Joe?”

  “Dang, man!” a voice murmured from the other side of the room. “Keep it down, bro.”

  Troy turned to see a bum lying in the corner of the room, curled up in a fetal position.

  “Cantcha see I’m tryin’ a get some sleep?”

  “Sorry.” Troy turned back to the door.

  He could only see a few feet down the hall before it turned a corner. No one was coming.

  “Dangit,” he said and slumped back down on the bench.

  The bum uncurled himself and stretched. He yawned and smacked his lips loudly.

  “You got anything to drink?” he asked Troy as he slowly stood up.

  He was dressed in dirty, ragged, mismatched clothes that all appeared to have come from various dumpsters and such. His beard was long and brown, uncut and untrimmed. He wore a bandana on top of his head and had three more tied to his belt loop dangling down his leg. Spares, Troy guessed.

  “Sorry, dude,” Troy said and held up his hands, palms up, “I got nothin’”

  The man cackled out a raspy laugh, revealing he had fewer teeth than holes in his gums.

  “Yeah, I guess not,” he said through a hacked cough, then shot a suspicious glance at the door. “Ya got any Molly?” he asked Troy.

  “Molly?”

  “Yeah, man. Molly.”

  “Well,” Troy shrugged, “I don’t know what Molly is, so no, I don’t suppose I have any of that either.”

  “Shit, man,” the bum said, now scratching his arms in the crook of his elbow, “that’s too bad. I’m comin’ down somethin’ fierce.”

  “Sorry, dude.”

  “You’re alright, man,” the bum said, then plopped down on the bench beside Troy.

  He smelled awful. Like he’d rubbed a rotten banana all over his body, and then to be sure of a bad smell, had eaten a few rotten eggs.

  Troy gulped and tried not to breathe through his nose. The man suddenly wrapped his arm around Troy.

  “Whatchu in here for, Jabroni?” the bum asked with his mouth a little too close to Troy’s ear.

  “Ummm…” Troy’s mind raced, “littering.”

  The bum squinted at him.

  “And umm… causin’ a disturbance,” Troy lied.

  The bum seemed to like this better. “Me too, brother. Me too.” He nodded his head enthusiastically. “They locked up ma’ place down at the lighthouse. I wadn’t botherin’ nobody… just crashin’ there whenever it was cold or rainin’.”

  “That sucks,” Troy said, with no idea what the man was talking about, but he agreed anyway.

  “You’re alright, Jabroni,” he said with a grin.

  “Thanks.”

  “Yup,” the bum said and closed his eyes. He was fast asleep within seconds.

  Troy eased out from under his arm and gently laid the man down on the bench.

  The door to the cell jerked open and Joe Bond stuck his head in. “Troy, come with me.”

  “Thank the Lord.” Troy felt the bum’s smell following him as he walked out. Joe clipped down the hall at nearly a jog and Troy skipped along in an effort to keep up.

  “Hey, Joe,” he called to the detective, “I don’t know what’s up with that shoe, but it ain’t mine. Heck, I don’t wear shoes unless I have to, and I wouldn’t wear ones like that anyway.”

  “We know,” Joe said as he turned into his office and pulled Troy in. “It’s a size nine and you’re a size eleven. But we have the matching shoe and they appear to be the shoes that made bloody prints in Caroline’s car. It’s not much blood, but it’s hers. And we found it along with traces of Taz’s blood on the steering wheel.”

  “Dangit,” Troy said, “I knew somethin’ was up with him.”

  “We’re sure he had them on when he…” Joe considered his words, “when he kidnapped her. The question is, what did he do with her?”

  Troy shrugged. “Been racking my brain with that all night. I have no idea.”

  “And there’s something else,” said a voice from a chair behind the door of Joe’s office.

  Troy turned to see Jack Colpiller sitting there.

  “It appears that he might be working with the private investigator I hired,” Jack said, standing.

  Troy furrowed his brow. “Taz? Working with the P.I. dude?”

  Joe broke in, “We traced his cell phone location to an apartment in Liberty Heights. The apartment was rented in the name of Remington Hoyt Reginald—the man Jack hired to find Caroline.”

  “Why in the heck would the P.I. be workin’ with Taz?”

  Joe shrugged his shoulders. “No clue. Neither of them were at the apartment.”

  “And it’s not like he wasn’t going to get paid handsomely for his efforts,” Jack said. “I spared no expense.”

  An image of dinosaurs running through an empty building trying to eat people flashed into Troy’s mind.

  “Well, hell, let’s get out to that apartment,” Troy said and turned toward the door.

  “Troy, there are four units watching the building,” Joe said quickly, “so if anyone shows up there, we’ll know about it.”

  Troy felt the helplessness coming back. “Dang,” he said and slumped into a chair beside Jack. “What now?”

  “We wait,” Joe said quietly.

  “And pray for a miracle,” Jack added.

  23

  A Mission From God

  Brant Reginald had lost his two companions, Christopher and Anastasia Saint Juneau, wandering around the halls of Raulerson hospital. Nurses and doctors rushed to and fro without much of a glance in his direction. He nodded and smiled to patients wearing paper nightgowns, and their visitors wearing two-day-old clothes. He dropped a couple of quarters in the vending machine and sipped a cup of burnt black coffee.

  His mind retraced the tumultuous events of the past few days. He’d gone from heavenly host to fallen angel in no time flat. From television star being beamed across the country saving the souls of the million-plus masses of viewers, to barely speaking to the lost souls buried down in the middle of Florida at the Raulerson Hospital. He was a long way from Fairhope, and felt like he was even farther from God.

  But then again, he was sure God had brought him here. The events were too coincidental, and the hand of the Holy Spirit could be seen in every turn he took. He stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked up.

  “Father,” he said, praying to the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, “send me where you will. I’m here beca
use of you, now show me what you would have me do.”

  A nurse jogged down the hall from behind him, clipping his elbow and throwing his coffee in a dirty brown rain all over his shirt.

  The nurse turned her head back toward him as she ran. “I’m so sorry,” she called, but she didn’t slow down. She turned a corner and disappeared.

  Brant felt something. An invisible force, grabbing him and tugging him in her direction. He dropped the empty cup and started after her. Then he trotted, and finally, he ran. He turned the corner after the nurse and slammed through the stainless double doors at the end of the hall. He never noticed the sign above them that said, No Admittance—I.C.U.

  “Hey!” a man in blue scrubs shouted after him as he passed.

  “It’s okay,” he shouted back, “I’m on a mission from God.”

  He smiled at the reference as he ran on. The nurse rounded another corner and he followed. She ducked into a room with a label beside the door, that said, Jane Doe. He swallowed, inhaled deeply, and pushed open the heavy glass door.

  Inside, the nurse was checking the patient’s heart with a stethoscope. Then she wrapped a sleeve around the patient’s arm. She pumped it a few times, taking the patient’s blood pressure. When she was satisfied, she shook her head. “Gave me quite a scare there, Jane,” she said to the patient.

  The person lying in the bed had bandages covering almost her entire head. At least, Brant thought it was a girl. With so much of her face covered, his only clue was her long curly hair.

  “What happened to her?” he asked.

  The nurse jumped and he realized she hadn’t known he was in the room. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  “My name is Brant Reginald,” he explained. “I’m just here with some friends doing visi—”

  “Oh, my God!” the nurse said, “Pastor Reginald! I watch you on TV every week.” She ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him. “You have blessed me in so many ways. I can’t thank you enough,” she said into his shoulder.

  She released her hug, but held tight to his arms. She was smiling through tear-filled eyes. He felt a surge of pain slice into his heart. He felt like a charlatan.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” he said.

  She looked puzzled and slightly distraught.

  “The TV thing,” he said quickly.

  “Ohhhh.” It appeared as though something occurred to her. “You do house calls now, eh?”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “Visitations,” she said, “you do healing visitations now. Right?”

  “Oh,” Brant stammered, “oh, no. Well, I mean… I am doing a visitation. But the healing happens… um, well, it’s God’s decision whom to heal and so forth.”

  “I understand completely,” she said, nodding. “I always knew those people on TV were expectin’ too much. I mean, if it’s God’s will for you to be sick, you’re gonna be sick. And if it’s God’s will for you to be healed, then you’re gonna be healed. Am I right?”

  Brant blinked at the woman. Well, that was true… wasn’t it? He wondered why he hadn’t seen it this way before… and instead let God decide who would be healed and who wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t play well on TV to have God turn someone down… would it?

  “You are right,” he said.

  The nurse squeezed his arm. “You’re a good man, Mr. Reginald.”

  Brant started to protest the label, but then the nurse’s phone chirped. She looked at the message.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I’ve got another call.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, smiling.

  “Will you sit with her?” she asked, and pointed toward the girl in the bed.

  “Oh… um, sure,” Brant said. “What’s her story?”

  The nurse shook her head as she opened the door to go. “We don’t really know. Came in with a bunch of fractures and water in her lungs. She’s been in a coma ever since, and we haven’t been able to find out yet who she is. No one’s claimed her and her D.N.A. and dental workup hasn’t returned any matches. She’s a true Jane Doe.”

  Brant looked at the woman in the bandages. “I’ll sit with her awhile.”

  “Bless you, Mr. Reginald,” the nurse said as the door closed behind her.

  Brant woke to find that he’d slipped into sleep in a chair beside Jane Doe’s bed. The sun was streaming between the blinds, telling him that it was late afternoon and headed toward evening. He glanced at the clock on the wall and decided he’d better get going if he was going to make the revival tonight. He stood up and stretched, joints crackling and popping as he did.

  “God, I’m getting’ old,” he said to no one.

  He brushed a strand of Jane Doe’s hair off her forehead. She had young looking skin, what little of it he could see, and though her eyes were closed and he couldn’t see any of the lower half of her face… she looked very pretty.

  Words forced themselves into his mind and he almost rebelled against them. It was his carefully crafted, meticulously worded, brilliantly constructed prayer… of healing. The fakery he’d used on television to heal the steady stream of sick, dying, and broken—or at least those actors who played the sick, dying, and broken—was coming back to him. He felt a tingling in his fingertips and rubbed his hands together to make it stop—it didn’t.

  Time in the room seemed to stop. The clicking, whirring and whooshing sounds of all the machinery keeping Jane Doe alive seemed to fade away. The rattling, clanking, and buzzing of hospital business outside the door turned down to zero. The silence was deafening. His hands shook as he reached out and let them hover over Jane Doe’s body. Tears poured from his eyes as he suddenly became terrified that God would not choose to heal her. Or maybe it was the fear that God did not want to use him as his instrument anymore.

  As if to erase this from his mind, the sunlight outside hit the horizon and bright orange and yellow light blazed across the room and drew lines across Jane Doe. His hands were on fire now.

  Brant Reginald laid his right hand on her forehead and took her left hand in his. He spoke quietly, but as he felt the power flow through him, he grew louder and louder.

  The sun went down and the room fell into a haze of twilight. He slumped down into the chair beside her and waited. Nothing happened. He tried to stand to leave, but he was too tired. His legs were completely drained of their strength and he felt glued to the chair. So, he sat, and he prayed.

  Darkness fell across the room and he slipped off to sleep.

  He woke to the sound of a helicopter thumping away from the building. He wondered if it was a chopper airlifting someone badly injured back to the hospital. He pulled a blind down and to his surprise, saw a black helicopter with some sort of government seal disappearing into the distance.

  “Good morning,” a voice said from behind him.

  It was a soft voice, muffled behind a few bandages, but he knew instantly that it was Jane Doe. He whirled around to see her staring at him.

  Tears once again streamed down his face and he fell to his knees. Looking up at the ceiling, he thanked God for the miracle that had happened overnight. His heart pounded in his chest.

  “Who are you?” Jane Doe asked.

  Brant looked up at her through wet eyes. “My name is Brant Reginald. And who are you, my dear?”

  She thought about it for a second and something seemed to suddenly occur to her. “I’m Jackie,” she said, “at least, I think that’s my name.”

  Brant stood and took her hand in his. “I am very pleased to meet you, Jackie.”

  The door to her room flew open. Doctors and nurses and a whole bunch of people in scrubs swarmed in and surrounded her, shoving Brant away from her bed.

  He was escorted to the waiting room by the nurse he’d met yesterday. Her eyes were wide and she seemed completely awestruck.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she said as she directed him to the lobby, “I mean, if you’ll just wait here for a few minutes. I just can’t…�
�

  She never finished her thought before scurrying away. It was nearly an hour later that she came back and the gaggle of medical professionals that followed her all had smiles on their faces and were high-fiving and congratulating each other.

  The nurse stood in front of Brant. She had her hands on her hips, but she was smiling broadly.

  “So,” he asked, standing, “how is she?”

  “She’s awake,” the nurse said, “and everything is perfect. Heart, lungs, eyes, mouth… everything.”

  Brant put his hands together. “That’s great news!”

  “Mr. Reginald,” —the nurse took his arm and led him down the hall toward Jackie’s room— “This girl has been in a coma for over a week, with no response whatsoever. I mean, what happened in there last night?”

  “A miracle,” he said, and smiled.

  “Well, there you are!” called a familiar voice from behind him. “Mama and I were so worried about you last night!”

  Brant turned to see Chris standing in the hall. He was beaming and smiling, with his hands outstretched as if to hug Brant.

  Brant laughed and wrapped his arms around the man.

  “We looked everywhere for you,” Chris said, shrugging his shoulders. “Heck, I thought you must’ve bugged out on us and took off for Key Biscayne.”

  Thoughts of Key Biscayne and his son drifted into his mind and he knew he needed to get on with his journey soon.

  Chris continued. “We saved so many last night, Brant. I wish you could’ve seen it. I was so worried about you. I thought you were lost.”

  Brant put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I was lost,” he said quietly, “but thanks to you and Mama… and a… well… a miracle that happened last night… I am found.”

  “Praise Jesus,” Chris said, “I’m so happy for you, brother. Join us for the revival tonight?”

  Brant shook his head. “I’m gonna check in on Jackie. And then I’m heading on down the road.”

  “Travelin’ on down the road, eh?” Chris said and winked.

  “That I am,” Brant said, and stuck out his hand.