by Tom Lowe
“No! He wasn’t here!”
“Where was he that night?”
“I don’t know!”
“Was he with Alexandria when she was killed?”
“Honest to God, I don’t know. He liked the younger girls, you know, the ones who wanted to get into the modeling biz—the younger teens. He paid me to find ‘em for him. Still does. His wife, ex-wife now, found him with one of them and she threatened to file for divorce. Russo was scared shitless she’d wipe him out. So he used me for an alibi...lots of times.”
“Did Russo kill Alexandria?”
“I don’t know! God as my witness, that’s the fuckin’ truth!”
O’Brien lowered the gun and pulled out his knife.
“What are you gonna do?” asked Conti, trying to crawl backwards.
O’Brien opened the toolbox, cut a piece of rope and pushed a high-back chair toward Conti. “Sit down and put your hands behind your back. Do it!” Conti exhaled like a bull and did as ordered. O’Brien tied Conti’s hands to the back of the chair and
then he cut the phone cord, dropped a cell phone to the marble floor and smashed it with his heel.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” yelled Conti. “I could die, my ass tied up here before anybody finds me. The maid doesn’t come until Saturday.”
O’Brien leaned down in front of Conti and said in a voice above a whisper, “If you somehow manage to free yourself, if you call Russo and warn him, I’ll come back here. If I do, they’ll find you lying on the sand in the morning with the gulls picking food out of your nasty teeth. Now you stay real quiet, like a good boy, and I’ll call maintenance in the morning and tell them I heard noises coming from 1795. They’ll run up, find you and cut you loose. Otherwise it’s waiting for the maid. You could be stinking by then.”
“I’ll hunt you down for this, motherfucker. I swear to God I will!”
“No you won’t.” O’Brien ripped off a piece of duct tape from a roll in the tool box, pressed it to Conti’s mouth and said, “I’ll lock the door on my way out.”
FORTY-FIVE
Driving back down Collins Avenue, O’Brien called Lauren Miles’ cell. It took her half dozen rings to answer. There was background noise that O’Brien could tell was coming from a bar or restaurant. He said, “Thanks again for your time this afternoon.”
“No problem. Are you calling to meet me for a drink? That would be nice…maybe for old times sake. I’m at Friday’s with a few girlfriends.”
“Wish I could. I’ve got another stop to make. I’d be really late.”
“No problem, tomorrow’s Saturday—a day for sleeping…sleeping in. When’s the last time you had a sleep over, Sean?”
O’Brien could hear slur in her voice, the sexual attraction in her delivery. “Does this mean the lab can’t examine the paper I left you?”
She was quiet a moment and said, “You dropped it off at the end of the day. Everyone in the lab had left. I’m getting a tech in tomorrow. He owes me a favor.”
“Every hour cuts into what’s left Charlie William’s time.”
“What if we can’t pick up enough from the paper to make an ID?”
“Let’s see what the paper reveals.”
She sighed, hiccupped. “Ok. Are you doing anything in the meantime?”
“I have to make a few stops. One is to question Jonathan Russo.”
“You need backup?” She made another slight hiccup.
“I’m fine, thanks. Please let me know if you can get someone in the lab tomorrow, bye.” O’Brien disconnected and called information. “Connect me to Joe’s Stone Crab Restaurant.”
Three rings later a male voice said, “Joe’s Stone Crab.”
“You offer take-out?”
“Yes sir. What’ll it be?”
“Got any live crabs?”
“They’re all live ‘till they hit the pot.”
“Good. I want to order the largest one you have. But don’t cook it.”
“No problem. But most people want us to cook it for ‘em.”
“Not tonight.”
The man paused. “Okay, you’re in luck. Got a bunch off the boat earlier today, and I saw one of ‘em as big around as a dinner plate.”
“Good. Keep that one for me.”
“What’s the name?”
“Ralph Jones.”
O’Brien drove another few blocks and pulled into a Walgreen’s store. He bought the largest woman’s purse he could find and then drove toward Club Paradise.
#
THE STRIP CLUB catered to high rollers, sports figures, and celebrities passing through South Beach. O’Brien took a seat at a table in the corner and watched a nude
dancer on the stage. She was a statuesque brunette, exceptional body, and high cheekbones that looked sculpted.
A dozen women worked the floor. A waitress approached his table. “Hi, I’m Liz. What can I get for you?”
“Coffee, thanks. Would you ask the girl on stage to drop by after she finishes?”
“No problem, handsome.” The waitress smiled and moved on to another table.
O’Brien looked around the room. There were dozens of businessmen, ties down, alcohol causing them to lose their inhibitions and money. Two tables away from him a shapely blonde climbed on the lap of an NBA player O’Brien recognized from the Miami Heat. She gyrated, looking like a toy balancing on his leg, her feet not touching the floor.
“Hi, I hear you requested me.”
The woman who was nude on the stage a few minutes ago now stood next to O’Brien’s table in a cocktail dress. She had long raven hair, eyes like emeralds, and flawless skin. He smiled. “I did. Thanks for coming over.”
“Liz is right, you’re cute.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Barbie, what’s your name?”
“Ken.”
“Really? Is your name really Ken?”
“Is yours Barbie?”
“I like my name. Most people think it’s fake. Most people think my boobs are fake, too. But they’re real.”
“I saw that.”
“Want to see some more?”
“No, thanks.”
She looked disappointed. “I thought you wanted a dance.”
“What I wanted was to see you. Please, sit down.” She sat and O’Brien said, “Tell me about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your dreams. What you want to do with your life.”
“Are you a producer or something?”
“No, just curious.”
“I just started college…Miami-Dade Community College. I do this job to help pay the expenses. And I’d eventually like to teach third grade.”
“Why third grade?”
“My favorite teacher, Miss Stafford, taught third grade. But most importantly, I really love kids. I think I can make a positive difference in their lives. That might sound like hot air coming from someone like me, a nobody, a stripper, but it’s true.”
O’Brien smiled. “I believe you, and I believe you’ll get there, if you want to bad enough. Look, Barbie, have you ever been to Club Oz?”
“No, and I hear it’s thirty dollars just to get in the door.”
“How’d you like to go?”
“Are you like for real?”
“It’s a long story. You can help get me to the front of the line and in the door.”
“I don’t know. What if—”
“When do you get out of here?”
“My shift ends in an hour?”
“Can you go now? I’m not some nut. I need to see a man in Club Oz.”
“Who, the wizard?” She laughed at her joke. Perfect smile and teeth.
“I’ll pay you three hundred dollars just to go in the place. From there, stay if you want, or you can call a cab.”
“Well, as you saw, I do like to dance. What are you going to do?”
“Visit with and old acquaintance.”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“
Trust me—the dress you’re wearing is fine.”
“Okay, I guess. But I still have an hour on my shift.”
“Tell them you’re sick.”
“I can tell them I started my period early. That way I can say I’ll take the dress and dry clean it. But I don’t want them to see me leaving with you. They’ll think I’m doing free-lance hooking. That’s where I draw the line.”
“I’ll meet you outside. I’m driving a Jeep.”
“I’ll be right out, but I’m gonna call my girlfriend, give her a description of you and tell her where I’m going. I’ll tell her if I don’t call by midnight to call the police.”
“Good idea,” O’Brien said with a smile.
Outside, O’Brien unlocked his Jeep and made sure his Glock was where he’d left it. He started the engine and pulled to the front entrance to Club Paradise. Barbie had brushed her long, dark hair, applied lip-gloss and a little make-up. O’Brien watched her
walk like a runway model. She was a stunning woman, hourglass figure zipped into the red dress with a slit all the way up the right leg to her brown thigh. The low-cut dress accentuated her ample cleavage. Her breasts recoiled as she walked on her platform high heels. She walked right past him a good forty yards, turned a corner and disappeared.
“Smart kid,” mumbled O’Brien.
He drove in the direction he last saw her, slowly turning the corner, and then he saw her standing in the shadows of a thick palm tree. He stopped the Jeep. She looked around quickly and climbed in the front seat. “I’ve never ridden in a Jeep before. Can we put the top down? I like to go topless.”
O’Brien laughed, his own laughter sounding oddly foreign. He’d forgotten what he felt like. “Sure, we can put the top down.” He unzipped the top and rolled it back.
They drove down Ocean Drive, the wind whipping Barbie’s hair, her breasts threatening to bounce out of the dress.
“I like it!” she said. “Kinda crazy date, but I like it!”
“And the night’s just began,” O’Brien pulled away and headed towards Joe’s Stone Crab.
FORTY-SIX
Joe’s Stone Crab parking lot was almost filled, even at 11:00 P.M. on a Friday night. O’Brien pulled off Washington Avenue and parked.
Barbie used both hands to push her hair out of her face. “What a wild ride. I love stone crabs! I can smell the garlic out here. And I’m starvin’.”
“I’m getting take-out,” said O’Brien. “Wait here. I called in the order.”
O’Brien walked to the carry-out window and said, “I ordered a single live crab.”
A perspiring cashier wiped his hands on a towel. “What’s the name?
“Ralph Jones.”
“I’ll get it for you Mr. Jones.”
“Do you have a box, maybe something Styrofoam for me to carry it?”
“Sure.” The assistant manager returned with a Styrofoam box, a picture of a red stone crab on the side. O’Brien lifted the top. “The claws are banded.”
“Yeah, most people like it that way. A stone crab can take a finger off. It’s got the most powerful claws of any crab in this part of the world. Almost two-thousand pounds of pressure per square inch.”
“Good, could you cut the bands off?”
“Sure. The man got a pair of scissors and cut the rubber bands off the two massive front claws. “Don’t leave him in the box too long, he’ll cut right through.”
“Thanks.” O’Brien paid and walked back to the Jeep.
Barbie watched O’Brien approach and asked, “Did you get anything to drink, maybe a Coke or something?”
“Barbie, do you like sushi?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No way am I eating any raw fish.”
“Then you wouldn’t like raw crab,” O’Brien set the box between the seats.
“How raw do they serve it?” she asked, picking up the box.
“If you open that, I’ll call you Pandora.”
“That’s a pretty name,” she said lifting the top off. “Ohmygod! That’s a live crab! He’s huge!” She slammed the top back on the box. O’Brien started the engine.
She said, “Why do you have a crab in a box?”
“It’s going into a purse next.”
She looked at her small purse, shook her head. “No way! That ugly thing is not going in my purse.”
“Not yours, the one in back. Would you mind getting it? Should be on the floorboard.”
She turned and reached in the back. “This is heavy. What do you have in here?”
“Open it,” said O’Brien.
“I’m almost afraid to. Do you have a snake in this one?” Barbie slowly opened the purse and looked inside. “Are you some kind sick person? What are these handcuffs and this tape recorder doing in a purse?”
“Storage.” He took the purse from her lap, opened it, lifted the top off the Styrofoam box, slid the crab in the purse, and fastened it.
“What on earth are you doing? Why are you putting that poor crab in the purse?”
“When you travel to Oz, get a grip and hold on tight.”
#
O’BRIEN MANAGED TO FIND a parking spot two blocks down from Oz on Washington Avenue. He said, “Okay, it’s show time.”
Barbie said, “Are you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“I know this is a really weird date thingy, but you said you’d pay me. Can I get it before we go in? It’s not that I don’t like trust you. You seem like a very nice guy, too.”
O’Brien smiled, “You’re right.” He opened his wallet and counted out the money. She folded it, dropping the cash in her purse.
“I need you to carry this purse, too.” O’Brien said.
“What if that crab jumps out? Besides, don’t you think it would look weird for a girl to carry two purses?”
“Barbie, no one’s going to be looking at your purse or purses. Now, here’s the plan. The line is too long for us to wait. So I want you to walk to the front of it, I’ll be right behind you, and tell muscular fellow in black that you really need to go to the ladies’ room. Weak bladder and all of that. When he agrees, tell him your boyfriend is an old friend of Sergio Conti’s, and Sergio wanted him to see the club but he couldn’t call personally because he got tied up.”
“What’s the guy’s name again?”
“Sergio Conti.”
She whispered it, closed her eyes a second and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
As O’Brien walked with Barbie down Washington Avenue, two Hispanic men in a convertible Lexus rode by, reggae music loud, and one yelled, “What a fuckin’ ass!”
The line to get into Oz stretched far beyond the velvet ropes in shiny gold-colored stanchion hooks. O’Brien followed Barbie walking by the tanned bodies that had spent much of the day on the beach, now freshly showered and dressed in whites and colors of the Caribbean. O’Brien smelled the perfumes mixed with a hint of marijuana.
“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Barbie. “It’s the best club on South Beach.”
“Just keep walking.”
“Everybody’s staring at us.”
“They’re staring at you. Nobody sees me.”
“The crab is moving in the purse. I can feel it. So help me, Ken, if that’s your real name—if this thing sticks one of its claws out and pinches my butt, I’m going to scream loud enough for them to hear me in the Port of Miami.”
“Just keep smiling and walking,” said O’Brien.
As they approached the head of the line, Barbie smiled, waved a perfectly manicured finger to the doorman and stepped to him. He looked at her swelling breasts. Barbie worked everything she had in the dress to subtle perfection. The doorman nodded, looked behind her to O’Brien who smiled, and he waved them through the door.
They entered the corridor of lights, opening to a massive room filed with hundreds of gyrating people on the dance floor and others tucked away in nearby smoked glass VIP rooms. Barbie turned to O’Brien and said, “So this is O
z.”
FORTY-SEVEN
The deejay shouted into the sound system, “You’re not in Kansas anymore people! It’s time to party like you’re in Oz!” The deejay stood behind an elevated platform spinning his body like an orchestra maestro conducting the last seconds leading into a crescendo.
O’Brien and Barbie walked past a waterfall lit with blue lights. They followed a winding yellow acrylic floor that disappeared around a huge artificial tree. From where O’Brien stood, he counted six bars. The light system sent a rainbow palette of colors over the entire cavernous club in a wave pattern. Stylized images of a lion, scarecrow, tin man, and dueling witches, dressed in black and white morphed behind a fifty-foot curved Plexiglas screen near the ceiling.
On the second level, O’Brien could see a dozen or more VIP rooms looking down on the dance floor. Silhouetted figures moved behind the smoky-colored glass resembling shadows on the blinds.
A fashion model moonlighting as a cocktail hostess walked by with a tray of drinks. O’Brien asked, “How do we get up there?” He pointed to the VIP rooms.
“See the hostess over there in the black dress.” The waitress pointed to a woman standing behind a lime green podium near a bubble glass elevator.
O’Brien and Barbie approached the podium, stepping on a tiger-striped woven rug near the base of the dais. The woman in the short black dress wore a wireless earpiece and gray microphone. O’Brien said, “We’d like a VIP suite.”
“The name, sir.”
“Conti.”
Barbie looked at O’Brien and smiled.
“Would you like to leave a credit card imprint to reserve it?” asked the hostess.
“It’s early. I bet you have a few available. Matter of fact, I’m tall enough to see one that is vacant up there.” O’Brien pointed to a dark suite.