But as odd as that all was, that’s not why Alain was there. He’d been in class that morning and Samantha hadn’t showed up.
“RayRay has called, I called,” Alain said as Becky exited the gym, “but she didn’t come to class, a class she has never missed, and hasn’t answered anyone’s calls. Something’s up.”
“Eh,” Becky shrugged, “she probably started or something. I wouldn’t worry about it.” She walked away from Alain and dug into her pack to jingle out her car keys.
“Started?”
Becky turned and gave him an arched-eyebrow look.
“Ohhhh,” Alain said, nodding, “right. But still, don’t you think she’d answer her phone?”
“You know, Alain,” said Becky and turned and pointed a finger into his chest, “I have no idea and I really don’t care.”
Alain felt his jaw drop. Becky’s anger-tinged voice was a little strange. She had never been super friendly with Samantha… especially after Tayler had painted a portrait of her and not Becky… but she’d never been vitriolic toward her.
“I was just worried about her,” – he held up his hands – “what with all the stuff going on around Tayler.”
“Ughhh,” she groaned, “if I have to hear one more word about the so-called relationship between her and Tayler, I’m going to scream.”
Alain was shocked again. He wondered if right after a grueling workout had been a bad time to talk to Becky; she was clearly in an aggressive mood. But then her face seemed to soften suddenly, as if she was abruptly aware of how she sounded. She sighed deeply.
“Look, Alain,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll go over and check on her.”
“She’s my friend,” Alain said, “and if it was you who was… well, not answering my calls, I’d be doing the same thing.”
“I know,” Becky said. “I’m just dealing with a lot right now. I haven’t really had time to process all that happened with Tayler. I mean, we were getting really close there at the end.”
Alain started to open his mouth to protest, but stopped. No, they weren’t. Becky had a crush on Tayler, but he was clearly not into her. But she was on a roll.
“And I lost my scholarship.” She tilted her head to the side. “They gave it to Tayler this semester, which is cool and all… but then my parents said they couldn’t afford to keep me in school without me getting a job. And then he had to go and hang himself.”
“I’m sorry,” Alain said, “I had no idea.”
“Yeah,” she said as she opened her car, “and I wrote to the foundation about getting the scholarship back, but they decided to donate it to a memorial fund. Great, eh?”
“Uh, I suppose.”
“Mmhmm, so, I clean up at the box at night, but that barely pays for my membership here.”
“I know, but Samantha—”
“And that’s another thing,” Becky interrupted him, “since he went and painted that damn portrait of her, everyone has gone on assuming he was dating her. He wasn’t. We were talking. Tayler and me. Not her.”
“I never said that,” Alain protested.
“I know, I know.” Becky closed her car and rolled the window down as she started it.
“Look,” he said, “I was just hoping you’d maybe give her a call. Maybe she’ll answer for you.”
Becky sighed. “If it will make you happy.” She pulled out her cellphone, clicked a number and put the call on speaker. It rang two times and went to voicemail.
“Happy?” Becky said, clicking to hang up. “Not answering for anyone, including me.”
“Okay, okay,” Alain said. “I’m going over there.”
Becky gave him a long look. “Fine,” she said. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”
“You sure?”
“Just get in before I change my mind.”
The drive to the dorm was silent, except for the drumming of Becky’s fingertips on the steering wheel. Out the corner of his eye, Alain thought he could see her thigh twitching as well. She was either nervous or scared… or both.
“Look,” he said, trying to comfort her, “it’s gonna be fine. Maybe she’s sleeping off a long night or something.”
“Uh huh,” Becky said.
Alain decided maybe silence was better, so he let it drop.
“I wonder if she ever talked to that Troy dude.”
“She was going to talk to Troy?” Becky demanded suddenly, jerking the wheel and almost steering them into a ditch.
“Whoa!” – Alain grabbed the dashboard and the oh shit handle above his head – “keep it on the road, will ya?”
“Damn that girl,” Becky growled, “always up in my business.”
“Huh?”
“She knew I was into Troy,” Becky snorted, “so why in the hell is she talking to him?”
“I think she was going to find out if he knew anything more about Tayler,” Alain said carefully. “I don’t think she’s trying to date the guy.”
“Yeah, well,” Becky shook her head, “I saw him first.”
Wow, Alain thought, this girl’s on the crazy jealousy train. He let the subject drop again, but Becky’s scowl continued to grow. She pulled into the first space in the parking lot and jammed the car into park. She stared straight ahead, her jaw set tight.
“Becky, I—”
“Out,” she interrupted again.
Alain realized he’d pushed all the wrong buttons and gotten Becky’s jealousy of Samantha worked into a frenzy… something only a woman – a jilted woman – would understand.
He stepped out of the car and closed the door. Becky squealed out of the spot so fast she almost ran over his feet.
“Sheesh,” he thought out loud, “note to self: don’t bring that up again.”
He looked up at the dorm and found the window he knew was Samantha’s. It was dark… no light on inside. He walked up to the door and pulled; it was still early and it hadn’t been locked for the night. He walked past the R.A. at the front desk and waved, as he’d been there many times. She tilted her head back almost imperceptibly then went back to watching what sounded like Will & Grace on her iPad.
He punched the up button and waited. Seconds later the elevator dinged and three sorority girls stepped out. When they saw him, they immediately looked down their noses at him and sneered. He was quite used to this response and he was ready with his usual quip.
“Alexandra, Jane, Sukie,” he said, tipping an imaginary cap their way.
It was a long way to go for a reference, and he was certain none of them had ever seen The Witches of Eastwick… but he didn’t care. They gave him a strange look as he stepped into the elevator.
“Whatever, geek,” the blondest girl said.
“Are the flying monkeys around?” Alain asked as the doors slid shut, “cause I’ve always wanted to meet them.”
He heard one of the girls grunt “shut up” behind the metal doors.
“Gladly,” Alain said to the empty car and punched the number four.
He rode in silence and stepped out when he finally got up to the fourth floor. He walked into the hallway and strode down to the first left. Two doors down, he stopped in front of Samantha’s door. It was slightly open. What the hell…?
25
Missin’ You
“Sami?” he called into the crack. “You in there?”
No answer.
“I’m coming in,” he said and glanced along the hall. He put one finger on the door and pushed. It swung open easily with a slight squeak. The apartment smelled like a recently made grilled cheese sandwich and potpourri. On the coffee table was an empty… or at least mostly empty… glass of what might’ve been milk. There were a few drops of it in the bottom of the glass. The couch had a wet spot and the floor was slightly sticky just below it. Spill? A blank notepad was next to the glass, and on top of that a ball-point pen.
Alain put his hand under the bottom of his t-shirt and picked up the pad. Holding it sideways to the light, he could see the indentions of what she�
��d written there. A little pencil scratching would show him what the notes said.
“Whatcha doin’ there, bro?” a voice came from behind him.
Alain dropped the pad, turned around, and put his hands up – surrender style.
“Nothing,” he said, “just trying to find my friend.”
“I know who you are, pardner,” said the man in the doorway, “and you can put yer hands down.”
Alain recognized the man, even though he was just a silhouette. The cowboy hat was unmistakable. It was that guy from the funeral, the one who worked at Jepson, sweeping floors or something like that. The guy Samantha had said she was going to talk to about Tayler. Troy.
He walked through the door and his face became more distinct. Good lookin’ guy, Alain thought.
“So, she ain’t here, eh? Troy asked. “She ain’t answered the phone for me all day.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Alain said, “and I haven’t heard from her since she went to talk to you.”
Troy glanced around the room. “How’d you get in?”
“Door was open,” Alain said and shrugged. “I literally just walked in before you got here.”
“And the glass and pad were just layin’ there?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so,” Troy said. “I was on the phone with her when someone knocked on her door. It was somebody she knew, ‘cause she let ‘em in. That’s why there ain’t no sign of struggle.”
“Shit,” Alain said. “Just like with Tayler.”
“Maybe,” Troy said, pointing at the ceiling, “but at least she ain’t hangin’ from the rafters.”
Alain looked up. “There aren’t any rafters.”
“Just an expression, kid.”
“Oh, right.”
“She might’ve just run out with somebody to get some Chinese or somethin’,” Troy said, “so we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions just yet.”
“I don’t know.” Alain shook his head. “How many people do you know these days go more than a day with their cell phone off?”
Troy raised his hand.
“Okay,” Alain said, “let me rephrase... how many people under the age of fift—”
“I get the picture, kid,” Troy interrupted him.
“She must’ve gotten too close to the truth about Tayler,” Alain said, slumping down on the couch, “ and I bet she figured out who was responsible and they came and got her.”
Troy was quiet for a second. “What do you know about LeFleur?” he finally asked.
“Our art history professor?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, not much, other than what I know from class.”
“Seem like an up-and-up dude?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess.”
Troy considered this for a minute.
“Samantha thought he was the one who killed Tayler,” he said, “ and had me work out a date with the guy to see what I could find out.”
Alain’s eyes went wide.
“I would’ve never figured you to be ga—”
“And I ain’t,” Troy interrupted again, “but I had to get into his house and poke around.”
Alain snickered.
“My turn to rephrase.” Troy rolled his eyes. “I had to get into his house and look around… see if I could find anything to link him to Tayler.”
“Well?”
“Found a print,” Troy said, “a print of Tayler’s painting, just like the one hung in place of the original down at Jepson.”
“Shit,” Alain whispered, “so, Mr. LeFleur did it?”
“Circumstantial, kid,” Troy said, “but it could be. I gotta find out more about this guy. Figure out where he goes and who he hangs out with. He’s good for means and opportunity… just can’t quite figure motive.”
“Well,” Alain said, “I think he goes out on Thursday nights to Club One.”
“Club One?”
“Yeah,” he said, “gay club. Drag shows and such.”
“Right.”
“Pretty fun place,” Alain said then stopped short. “I mean, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never been. Okay, there was that one time that RayRay wanted to go…”
“Don’t worry, kid,” Troy held up his hand. “I really don’t care what yer into.”
“But, I’m not—”
“Stuff it, kid,” Troy said, stopping him. “I’ll check it out.”
“So, should we call the police?” Alain asked.
“Yeah,” Troy said as he walked to the door, “you call ‘em. Tell ‘em you were comin’ over to study or somethin’ and that she ain’t answerin’ calls.”
“Gotcha.”
Troy walked through the door into the hall. Alain thought for a second then jogged to catch him.
“Hey, Troy,” he called down the hall to him.
“Yeah?”
“Um,” Alain said and took a deep breath, “you might want to check into Becky too.”
“Becky?” he asked.
“The other girl that hangs out with us,” Alain continued. “I just got a ride with her and told her Sami was missing.”
“And?”
“I dunno.” Alain rubbed his neck. “She just didn’t seem very worried, or act like she cared at all. And she said some things that made me… I dunno… maybe it’s nothing.”
Troy nodded his head and tipped his hat. “Alright, kid,” he said, “I’ll check it out.”
Alain walked back into Samantha’s apartment and clicked open his phone to call the police. When the Savannah P.D. picked up, he stuttered as he realized Sami’s pad was gone. Troy must’ve taken it, and Alain had been so flustered he hadn’t seen him do it.
Oh, shit, he thought, what if Troy was the one stalking… and possibly murdering… all of his friends.
“Savannah P.D.,” the voice on the line said, “what’s your situation?”
“I’m reporting a missing person,” Alain said, “and I might know something about the man who kidnapped her.”
“Go ahead.”
26
Make It Rain
Troy looked around… it was after one in the morning and Club One was still as boisterous as any scene he’d been to in Louisiana or Las Vegas. There was a long, narrow stage in the center that reminded him of The Peppermint Hippo back in Vegas, and currently there was a large... well, big-boned… um… performer dressed in a pale blue satin pair of chaps with a huge stripe of sequins down the side. A matching bustier with twice as many sequins and white fringe dangled from the bottom. This was wrapped in a silver jacket with blinking white lights on the sleeves over more fringe. And all of this was capped with long, flowing blonde hair – likely a wig – seventies style, graduated lensed, Elton-esque sunglasses and… oh, dang… a straw cowboy hat. The singer immediately fixated on Troy’s similar hat and locked eyes with him.
Why in God’s name did I wear my hat in here? he wondered.
“Well, hello there, sugar,” the performer – who’s stage name was Lady Bareback – said to a mortified Troy. “Why don’t you come up and see me?”
The crowd turned to see who Lady Bareback had motioned to and the catcalls and whistles began immediately.
Troy raised his hand to try to wave her off. But she wasn’t going to have any of that.
“Baby, don’t worry,” she said, “I can tell from here that you’re as straight as Robin Hood’s arrow, but we don’t discriminate here at Club One, do we honeys?”
The crowd cheered and urged him closer to the stage. Dangit, Troy thought, I was trying to avoid attention and this is what I get?
He was urged… pushed forward… and felt himself stumbling toward the stage. He decided it might be best to play along and get this over with as fast as possible.
“Ladies,” she said over his head to the crowd around him, “let’s help him out. I know you’re gonna want to see this eye-candy up here on stage.”
The bulk of the screams came from the women in the crowd, but Troy thought he heard some of the m
en joining in as well. He felt a shiver run up his spine, but was pretty sure it was all harmless… just a quick jump up on the stage, run around a little, get back down, disappear into the crowd.
Yeah… that’s not at all how it played out.
Troy was lifted on stage by two brutish men wearing tight black pants and black bowties over bare muscled chests. He felt sure that one of the guys grabbed his butt on purpose. Without thinking, he jerked his head back and glared at the guy. Muscle boy was grinning and held his hands up, feigning innocence.
Lady Bareback grabbed Troy’s hand and led him to the center of the stage. The crowd roared upon seeing Troy: linen shorts, white shirt, unbuttoned halfway, long black hair, neatly trimmed black beard, ice blue eyes, all topped with an Outback tea stained straw cowboy hat. Troy felt sure he looked like a member of the Village People. He wondered how many in the crowd thought he was a regular part of Ms. Bareback’s act.
“Don’t worry, sugar,” she said, tugging on Troy’s hand and nodding toward the muscled bouncer, “Rudy is all bark and no bite. Besides, what’s a little goose among the gander, am I right, ladies?”
They whooped and hollered as she spun Troy around like a top. He took a deep breath and smiled.
“What’s your name, baby?” she asked and thrust the mic in his face.
“Troy, ma’am,” he said, leaning into the microphone.
She smirked and arched an eyebrow. “Ma’am? Honey, my mama was ma’am. I’m just Lady Bareback, but uh, you can call me…” – she paused, took a toy pistol out of a holster on her hip, and popped a cap into the air – “anytime!”
As she said this, the D.J. cranked the song Call Me by Blondie, and Troy was taken back to his days spinning tunes at the Hippo. This was all part of a bit that they must run every weekend. The song played a few bars and then turned down.
“Now, baby,” she said to Troy, “we have a tradition here at Club One.” She looked out at the crowd. “Don’t we, honeys?”
She motioned for them to cheer and they obliged… loudly. The entire club was now focused on the display.
“If you get on stage dressed like that,” – she looked at Troy, lowered her glasses, gave him an up-and-down stare – “you can’t get down without taking it off. Am I right, honeys?”
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 81