“Hurting me?” she questioned. “Alain, what in God’s name are you talking about?”
Alain looked around the room. There was no one else there. The TV was on, with the U.S.A. Ninja Challenge program blaring on its screen.
“I thought I heard someone… attacking you,” he said rubbing his ankle gingerly. “I mean, I heard you screaming.”
Becky inhaled deeply. It was obvious she was out of breath. As Alain looked her over, he began to surmise the mistake he’d made. She was wearing a sports bra, spandex shorts, gloves with the fingers cut out, and workout shoes – the kind that had separated toes. Her wrists and ankles were taped with athletic tape and all of the above was covered in sweat and chalk.
“Dude,” she said between breaths, “I was working out. I was grunting… not screaming.”
“Yeah, but I heard someone throwing you around the room.”
“You heard burpees, ya douchebag.”
“Burpees?”
Becky rolled her eyes and stood up. In an apparent demonstration, she performed a burpee – squatting to touch the floor at her feet, thrusting her feet backwards behind her, putting her in a pushup position, doing a pushup, pulling her feet back in toward her hands, then jumping as high as she could and lowering her hands so they wouldn’t hit the ceiling. It had produced a pretty significant thump when she’d dropped to the floor.
“Oh…”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry,” he said, “I just thought… okay, well, never mind what I thought. Are you okay?”
Becky walked toward her kitchen stripping off the gloves as she went. “Of course I’m okay,” she said. “I do my burpee challenge every night while I watch… sort of my penance.”
“Your penance?”
She reached into her refrigerator and pulled out two bottled waters. She tossed one to Alain. He grabbed it out of the air, unscrewed the top, and took a long sip.
“Ice?” she asked, pointing at his ankle.
“Yeah,” he said, “definitely a sprain.”
She pulled an icepack out of the freezer and tossed it to him. “I use those a lot,” she grinned.
“I guess so,” he said, laying it across his swelling ankle. “So, what’s this penance you’re talking about?”
She nodded toward the television. “I didn’t make it.”
“Huh?”
“U.S.A. Ninja Challenge,” she said. “I went out on the burpee slide.”
“The… burpee slide?”
“Hard to explain,” she said, “but it’s damn difficult and I couldn’t do it.”
“Ah, so you’re working on your burpees.”
“Yeah,” she said shrugging, “and it’s a good time to do it cause the roomies downstairs are in a Bible group that meets in the lobby. I don’t disturb them, they don’t disturb me.”
“Oh.”
Becky walked into the living room and turned the TV down. Reaching out a hand, she helped Alain pull himself up onto the couch. She plopped down beside him and took a swig of water.
“So, what the hell are you doing here, anyway?” she asked. “Not that I care, but you’ve never come over here before… hell, nobody every comes over. We always go to Samantha’s place.”
“Becky,” he said, “that’s not true. We go to the coffee shop.”
“Yeah, well,” she said defensively, “before that we did”
“Before that we went to Tayler’s place.”
Becky was stumped, but managed to find a way to turn it against Samantha. “Yeah, and that was because Samantha was dating him at the time.”
“They never dated.”
“She wanted to date him.”
“But they never went out unless we were all together.”
“Whatever,” she said. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Yeah,” Alain said quietly, “I guess not.”
A long awkward pause in the conversation filled the air. Alain took a deep breath and laid the icepack to the side.
“Becky,” he said quietly, “what happened to Tayler?”
She gave him a strange look he couldn’t quite read. Then she sucked some air in across her teeth.
“Ohhhh,” she said, “I see. You’ve got it in your head that maybe I had something to do with it. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Al, but I don’t know what happened to Tayler and I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“I know that,” Alain shook his head, “I just had to make sure.”
“I mean, what the hell, dude?” she huffed. “You really think I’d do something like that to someone I lov—” She stopped short, and Alain winced. “Someone I loved,” she continued, “the same way I love all of you guys… including Samantha.”
“I’m sorry,” Alain sighed, “but with Samantha missing now and all this shit going on… I was just paranoid. I mean, I thought maybe Tayler’s killer was after her now and—”
“Look, Alain,” she interrupted him, “I’m sure Sami is just fine. Why would the killer be going after her for, anyway?”
“Maybe she found something out,” Alain said, “figured out who did this. I think she told Troy she thought LeFleur had something to do with it.”
“It wasn’t LeFleur,” a voice came from the doorway.
Alain jumped and turned his head toward the voice. He realized that in all their tumbling around they’d left the door open. The figure in the doorway was familiar. A reasonably tall man wearing a short-sleeved linen shirt – unbuttoned down to mid chest, a pair of khaki shorts held up with a black canvas belt, olive green Keen sandals like a fisherman might wear, and a hat – an Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat.
38
Alibi Hunting
Troy Bodean strolled in and tipped his hat, first toward Becky, and then Alain.
“In case you two lovebirds were wondering,” he said in a steady voice, “I checked LeFleur out, and he’s got a rock-solid alibi for the whole time period that Tayler was most likely murdered.”
“He has an alibi?” Becky asked.
“Yup,” Troy said, “on video, sittin’ at a bar, sippin’ on a cosmo, or maybe an appletini or whatever the hell they drink at the…”
He stopped short, and Alain couldn’t quite make out the inflection in his voice.
“But that ain’t what matters right now,” the man in the hat continued. “What I need to know, Becky, is do you have an alibi?”
“I don’t need a frickin’ alibi,” she huffed, “cause I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah?” he said. “Well there’re two bad guys on the way over here right now, and best I can figure, they think you’ve got the paintin’.”
“I don’t,” she said. “But wait… who the hell is on the way over here?”
“Coupla art dealers who deal in stuff that ain’t exactly above board.”
“And why do they think I have it?”
“Somethin’ about a G.P.S. unit with your address on it,” he said, raising his hands, palms upward, “and they’re likely gettin’ close. So, I really need to know what the hell is goin’ on.”
“Look, Troy,” she said, “I have no idea. I don’t have the painting…”
He stared hard at her. Alain started to speak, but Troy lifted a hand to stop him without looking over at him.
“And?” he asked quietly.
“And I sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with Tayler’s death,” she said as tears began to well in her eyes.
“Becky,” Troy said quietly, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask… where were you the night Tayler was killed? Where were you on Wednesday, August sixteenth?”
Becky stood up. She walked over to the TV and picked up a lanyard laying on the stand next to it. She tossed it to Troy.
He caught it and flipped over the card hanging on it so he could read it. It was a pass of some sort. In bold letters, it read:
U.S.A. Ninja Challenge Contestant
Becky Patton
8-16-17
10:21:31P
M
“I was competing,” she said, “in a taped competition like that. Once you check in, you can’t leave or they disqualify you. I went to stand in line after we all left the club.”
“Club One?” Troy asked.
“Yeah,” she said with an arched eyebrow, “how’d you know that?”
“I have my ways,” Troy said. “Anyway, they checked you in that late at night?”
“Yeah,” she said, “it’s all filmed at night so the lights and such are more exciting. Hell, I didn’t get on the course until four in the morning.”
He did a little mental math between the tie-stamped video he’d seen of the whole group at Club One and the time stamp on her pass. If she’d stayed there all night – he was sure there would be alibis to that effect – she was in the clear.
“Then why is your address on a rental car G.P.S.?”
“I have no idea.”
“Wait,” Alain said, “how could it be her address? Wouldn’t it just have a street address?”
Troy scratched his dark, stubbled chin. “I s’pose you’re right.”
“What do we do now?” Becky asked.
“Sit tight,” Troy said, holding up one hand. “Alain, you stay here with her. I’m gonna go down to the lobby and run a little surveillance. It could be that these goons don’t know anything other than the street name. Close this door and don’t open it for anyone. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”
“Right,” Alain said.
“I’m serious,” Troy said as he walked out. “Nobody. We don’t know who’s behind this, but it’s somebody that Tayler and Samantha both opened their doors for—”
“Wait,” Alain said, “… so you never found Samantha?”
“Nope,” Troy said, “not yet. But don’t worry kid, I will soon enough.”
With that Troy closed the door.
“Dayum,” Becky said, “shit’s gettin’ real.”
Alain nodded but didn’t say anything. He’d arrived there pretty sure Becky had been guilty of something, but now he had no idea what had really happened to Tayler or the painting.
From out of nowhere, Becky punched him in the shoulder.
“Hey,” he yelped, “what the heck was that for?”
“I can’t believe you’d think I had anything to do with all this.”
“Sorry.”
“You owe me.”
“Dinner and a movie?”
“Nah,” she said, “you gotta pay my way into next month’s challenge.”
Alain couldn’t help a little grin pushing up the corner of his mouth.
“Deal.”
39
I’m Walking’ Here
Troy Bodean casually walked out of the lobby at the Mariner Grove apartment building. He was immediately shocked to see a tall, buxom blonde sidling down East President street dressed in a pale blue sequined cowgirl getup. She was followed by a cowboy, an American Indian, a construction worker, a leather-clad biker dude, a soldier in camo… and a cop. Troy couldn’t help but smile. It was Charles Fry – aka Lady Bareback, the owner of Club One – and the Village People… or at least some reasonable facsimiles of the popular 70s singing group.
“Well, well, now boys,” – Lady Bareback stopped and made a big show of looking Troy up and down – “look at this tall drink of water we found.”
She was smiling from ear to ear and grabbed Troy in a grip that was stronger than he’d expected.
“How you doin’, baby?” she asked.
“I’m good, real good,” Troy said as he untangled himself from her arms, “how ‘bout you? What brings you out to this part o’ town… dressed like… that?”
She pointed over her shoulder. A large yellow and black sign with Scrabble-esque letters proclaimed Waffle House.
“Me ‘n the boys caught an Uber out here after the show for some late night breakfast,” she laughed, “cures all that ills you, ya know?”
“I hear that,” Troy said, “I take it you had a Village People tribute show last night? Sorry I missed it.”
“Baby,” she said, swinging her arms around toward the group of men… er… maybe-men, standing in a semi-circle behind her, “they’re here all week from Cincinnati. They’ve brought in so much money already, we might keep ‘em here for another go.”
She laughed boisterously, and the Village People joined in.
“Hell,” she continued, “They almost beat your one-night haul!”
Troy laughed and felt the redness begin to flush in his cheeks.
“How about you, sugar?” Lady Bareback arched an eyebrow. “What you doin’ down here hauntin’ the student section?”
“Remember the thing I was looking into when I came by the other night?”
“Sure do, baby.”
“Yeah,” Troy said, inhaling, “well it’s about that… kinda.”
“I hope you found what you were lookin’ for,” she said conspiratorially, “and if you didn’t…”
As she spoke, a silver Honda Civic slowed to a crawl in front of the Mariner Grove apartment building.
Troy didn’t hear the rest of what she said. As the car slid past, he immediately recognized the man in the passenger’s seat – it was T.D. – the brute who’d fouled up the bathroom back at the industrial park with Troy hanging out in the ceiling above him. In the driver’s seat, he guessed, must be Eddie Vargo.
They’d likely made it down here following the G.P.S. coordinates they’d been talking about in the rental Civic. Troy worked hard not to make eye contact, but was pretty sure they didn’t know what he looked like.
As they drove past, Troy saw them both turning their heads left and right surveying the surrounding area… desperately trying to figure out the driver of the rental car’s reason for entering this location in the G.P.S.
Eddie Vargo was shouting at T.D., who was shrugging in apparent confusion. They had no idea what they were looking for… This made Troy feel safer about Becky Patton and Alain Montgomery being holed up in the apartment nearby. But as soon as that thought passed, the silver car eased to a stop in front of the modern looking Mariner Grove building.
“Dangit,” Troy muttered.
“What is it, sugar?” Lady Bareback asked, apparently realizing Troy was no longer paying any attention to her.”
“Big trouble in little China,” Troy muttered, and nodded ever so slightly toward the car. It had parked on the curb and it’s flashers indicated they weren’t going anywhere for a while. Though Troy thought it highly unlikely they would find Becky and Alain, and even less likely they would realize the two were connected to the painting thief they were after, he still felt a chill run up his spine.
The doors of the car opened and T.D. lumbered out. He jogged around to the driver’s side and helped Eddie limp out of the car. Troy could barely make out what they were saying to each other, but their intent soon became clear as Eddie pulled a small pistol from the glove compartment and tucked it into his belt beneath his Hawaiian shirt. Fanning it out to hide the pistol, he walked nonchalantly toward the front door of the building. T.D. crossed his arms under his massive chest and leaned back against the car.
“Dangit,” Troy said. “Gotta figure something out to get these jokers outta here.”
“Baby,” – Lady Bareback stuck her lips out in a kiss-face – “let me take care of this.”
She turned toward the Village People – specifically, the policeman – and sniffed. “Gimme five minutes,” she said, “then come over and start the shakedown.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the cop said in a convincingly stern tone. “Savannah’s finest, on the job.”
Troy cocked his head and watched as she sashayed seductively across the street toward the car. A yellow taxi screeched to a stop as she crossed.
Without missing a beat, and in a man’s voice, she said, “Hey, watch it,” and slammed her palms down on the hood of the cab. “I’m walkin’ here.”
Troy and The Village People couldn’t help but laugh…
some of them even clapped at her perfect performance of the famous, supposedly ad-libbed scene from Midnight Cowboy. Smoothing her hair and adjusting her purse, Lady Bareback clicked her way across the street and walked around the car next to T.D.
Troy couldn’t hear any of the conversation, but it became clear she was pretending to offer a… service… to T.D. The big man was clearly flustered, and jerked his head toward the building, but Eddie had disappeared inside the lobby.
Shaking his head, he held up his hands, and all Troy could hear him saying, was “No, no, no.”
40
Layin’ It On Thick
Lady Bareback was laying it on thick. She leaned over and her bosom – in truth, a perfectly positioned, well-padded push-up bra – spilled out of her sequined bikini top. She began fanning herself with her hand as if she was hot.
Troy watched in awe as T.D. began rocking side-to-side and licking his lips. He badly wished he could hear the conversation. And then, it happened: T.D. reached out and opened the passenger door to the Honda. He held out his arm and waved her into the car. Obligingly, Lady Bareback clicked the few steps on the sidewalk and ducked into the car. T.D. looked nervously left and right, jingled the keys, hurried back around to the driver’s side, and slumped into the car.
“That’s my cue, gentlemen,” the Village People’s police officer said, sniffing behind his perfect 70s mustache. “Watch and learn.”
“You go get ‘em, girl,” the American Indian said as he smacked the cop on the butt.
As he walked away, Troy found himself in awe at how the scene played out.
The cop – er, the Village People cop – walked up to the driver’s side window and rapped his knuckle on the glass. Troy saw T.D. jerk his head away from the beautiful blonde lady-of-the-evening he’d just accepted into his car, and upon seeing the cop, mouth the words, “oh, shit.”
Some of the other performers had seen this too and began to laugh. They all edged closer to the scene, being careful not to be noticed… which was a little difficult for the Village People to do. As they neared, Troy could now make out some of what was being said.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 86