Murder on Tiki Island: A Noir Paranormal Mystery In The Florida Keys (Detective Bill Riggins Mysteries)

by Christopher Pinto

  “Yep, two weeks with nothing to do but enjoy the good life.”

  “Some guys have all the luck,” he said, and poured the drinks. We toasted, we drank. Fast Freddie told me about some of the mods she made to the cab, including cop tires and a beefed up suspension. Jerry talked about football like he always did. I didn’t say much. The events of the day were swirling around in my head like water in a drain. Images of Princeton’s pale white face marked with purple bruises popped up. Snapshots of the Captain’s evil grin bearing down on me replaced them. The Captain backed me up, the vacation was official, and I knew what the cap knew about Tolaski so I was safe, but somehow I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being set up for a fall.

  “Crazy,” I said out loud.

  Freddie and Jerry stared at me; apparently they were in the middle of a conversation of which I had heard none.

  “It’s only crazy if you believe all the hype,” Jerry said. Good, a nice generic statement to weasel out with.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I returned.

  “Of course I’m right! Just think of the kids,” he continued. More generic I-don’t-know-what. I nodded and finished off my second Jack. Slowly, with the help of the alcohol, I let the images in my mind wander off and got back into the conversation. A few more customers came in, calling away Jerry’s attention, leaving Freddie and me alone to talk. She started.

  “So what’s your plan? Are you hanging around the burg or taking off?”

  “No idea, I hadn’t even thought of it yet. I guess I’ll just hang around and see what turns up.”

  “You’re nuts. I’ve known you for three years, and you’ve never taken a real vacation. Why not live it up a little? Go to the mountains or something.”

  “The mountains are colder than here.”

  “Then go to Florida, the weather’s perfect down there this time of year. I know, I used to go all the time, at least twice a year.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Ha, well a bad breakup, that’s what. It’s no fun for a chick like me to go down there alone. A young looker like you on the other hand, you’d have a ball, Riggins. Plenty of sun, plenty of booze and plenty of dames looking to have some fun before heading back to Smalltown, Idaho.” She finished her beer and looked at me for a response. The two double Jack Daniels I had must have been clouding my mind, for suddenly a trip to the tropics sounded kinda kool. I’d never been to Florida, never even seen a palm tree in person, except for the ones at the Tiki Bar at the Plaza. And I did like the Tiki Bar down at the Plaza, so what the hell?

  “Maybe I will, doll. Maybe I will. You gonna drive me?”

  “Can’t, Riggins. Girl’s gotta make a living, and you can’t afford to pay me for two weeks straight.”

  “Good point.” Jerry walked back up just then, and threw in his two cents.

  “Did I hear you kids rapping about Florida?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “Thinking about it.”

  “If you want to go to the Keys, I can give you the hook up,” he said, with a bigger smile than usual. “My brother runs a little resort down there. A little private island off of Key West. Neat place, the whole joint is made up to look like a Hawaiian village. I’ll bet you dimes to donuts he can get you a room for free, if he’s not booked up.”

  “Free? Free is great. That clinches it, if you can get me the free room, I’m all in.” It had to have been the booze doing the talking for me now. Had to be.

  Fast Freddie stood up and said, “Well there you go, Riggins! What could be better than a mostly free vacation? You deserve it. You’ve been working your tail off without a break.” She leaned over and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and said more quietly, “Have a great time down there, hun. Really live it up. I’ll be here when you get back, with the engine warmed up.” Damn, that chick was already warming up my engine. Again, the booze talking. “Later Jerry,” she said, and slid out the front door.

  Jerry watched her wiggle as she left; even after the door shut he stared in her direction, as if he were imagining her still there. After a few seconds he shook it off and started wiping down the bar.

  “Man, that chick is a real looker,” he said, not looking at me. “So, are you two an item or what?”

  “Huh? Her? Hell no, we’re just friends.”

  “Really, just friends, not like, eh ‘bosom buddies’ or something like that,” he said, smiling again. “I mean, I see you two hangin’ around togedder for years, right?”

  “Ha, yeah, sure. I wish. But no, nothing like that.”

  “But you want her, don’t you.”

  “Who wouldn’t, she’s as hot as hell. But no, no dice in that game.”

  “So you’re sure, ’cuz I was kinda thinking of asking her out, you know, if you two don’t have anything in the works or nothin’.”

  At that I had to laugh, not that I didn’t think Jerry could land a dame as smokin’ as Freddie, but because I knew the score.

  “Whatya laughin’ at, wise ass?”

  “Nothing, Jerry, it’s not you…it’s just that you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “You don’t think I’d have a shot at her?”

  Nope. Not in a million years.

  “Sorry Jerry. I’m going to have to say no, I don’t.”

  “Why not? You think she’s out of my class?”

  Still laughing I said, “No Jerry. Because her cab’s an automatic.”

  “Huh? I don’t follow you.”

  “I mean you don’t have a shot because Freddie doesn’t drive stick, are you hip?”

  The smile left Jerry’s face and was replaced by a twisted sort of scowl.

  “That’s a damned shame for the male sex,” he said, “a damned, rotten shame.”

  +++

  Jerry called his brother down in the Keys and made all the arrangements for my stay. It was Friday, and the joint was booked up through Monday, so I got me a room starting Monday night with an open-ended stay. I thanked Jerry and headed back out into the cold, across the street to my building.

  The wind bit me hard as I crossed over, turning my face into an ice cube. A thousand pin-pricks of cold pain stabbed at my cheeks and nose, and as I opened the front door to my apartment building, I realized I was absolutely thrilled that in a couple of days I’d be in the land of palm trees and sunshine. And warm weather.

  The elevator ride up to the twelfth floor seemed to take longer than usual. I couldn’t wait to get home, to pack, to call for train tickets; it seemed all of a sudden this vacation seemed real, and it seemed like a hell of a good idea to go. I was actually looking forward to this time off, and couldn’t wait to get started.

  When I got inside my apartment, the first thing I did was go to the closet to grab a suitcase. It was then I realized just how long it’d been since I took a vacation.

  “I ain’t got a suitcase,” I said out loud. “Ain’t that somthin’.”

  A few minutes later I was back out in the cold, walking down to the Bank. I withdrew three hundred clams for the trip, and made my way down to the Five and Ten on the corner. There I picked up a nice new suitcase, plus a matching hanging suit bag and a tin of Oreos to take on the ride down. I thought a minute, and decided to grab a pair of boat shoes, swimming trunks and a new pair of sunglasses. Man, was I a tourist or what?

  I threw all the junk in the big suitcase and headed home. It was only a block, but that bitter, early winter cold made if feel like a mile. Sure, I knew the temperature would go back into the forties and fifties by next week, but at twenty-eight degrees today, all I could think of was sipping a Mai Tai under that palm tree.

  I was back home by four-thirty. I tossed Miles Davis’ Birth of the Cool on the hi-fi and started making calls. The first call was to Union Station, to get a train ticket to Key West. Then I’d call Shirley, the girl who cleaned the apartment once a week to let her know I was taking off. Next I’d call Fast Freddie and let her know what time to get me for the train. Last, I’d call Jerry, and thank h
im one last time for the room. All set.

  The first call was a disaster.

  “Sorry sir, but we don’t have a train that goes to Key West.”

  “What are you talking about? What about the Overseas Railway? I swear I remember hearing about it when I was a kid.”

  “Yes sir, sorry to say the Overseas Railway was destroyed in a storm, back in 1935.”

  “1935?” How could I have missed that?

  “Yes sir. It’s the Overseas Highway now; you can take a train to Miami, rent a car and drive down to the Keys, or fly.”

  “Well, OK, I guess. How long is the train ride?”

  “About thirty hours, sir, from here to the last stop in Florida.”

  “Ok, and how much is it?”

  “Eleven-fifty sir, one way.”

  I made the reservation to pick up the ticket Saturday morning, then got the operator back on the phone. A few clicks and whirs later I was connected to Miami Beach information in Florida. After just a few minutes I was able to get the number of a dealership that rented cars, and ordered a convertible to meet me at the Miami station Sunday evening. The train wouldn’t pull into Miami until after five on Sunday, and it was a four to five hour drive to Key West, so I called and made a reservation for Sunday night at the new Fontainebleau in Miami Beach. Sure it was pricey, but I was staying at an island resort for free. What the hell, I could splurge a little.

  I phoned Freddie and told her to pick me up at eight-thirty a.m. She said no sweat, and as she hung up I heard a couple of girls giggling in the background. Damn, was I jealous.

  It was still early, only a little after six when the phone calls and preparations were done. I was all packed, ready to go. I was getting hungry and realized if I had anything in the fridge, it would have to go. There wasn’t much – some bacon, a few eggs, pint of milk, and a couple of apples. I decided to finish off the eggs and bacon in the morning, ate an apple, and took the other one with me when I walked back over to Jerry’s.

  The north wind came ripping around the block on two wheels, screeching like a banshee. I swear it almost took my head off.

  “Frigggggin’ freezin’ out there!” I said to Jerry as I came busting through the door. The bar was in full swing now, the dinner crowd filling seats and booths, the two waitresses that worked the night shift slipping easily between tables carrying giant trays of drinks and chow. I pulled up to the bar at my usual spot, blowing warm air on my hands.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you for two weeks,” said Jerry, already pouring the double Bourbon.

  “I got hungry,” I said back, “And since I’m on vacation, how about one of your famous plank steaks, medium rare with a side of fries.”

  “You’re the boss, Riggins. I’ll pick out a good one for you myself.”

  For some reason, and I still don’t know why, that was one of the best steaks I ever downed in my life. Maybe it was because I really, really was on vacation. Maybe it was the addition of about six ounces of whisky that accompanied it. Maybe it was that the prettier of the two waitresses, Diane, brought it to me with a wink. Whatever it was, that steak made me feel like a million bucks. By this time tomorrow I’d be on my way to Miami. By this time Monday, I’d be in paradise.

  “You digging the steak, Riggins?” Jerry asked.

  “It’s tops, Jerry, one of the best I ever had.”

  “Secret recipe. We started putting a little steak sauce on them while cooking. Ya know, to cover up the taste of the cheap meat.”

  Yeah, well ok, maybe that was all it was after all.

  At eight o’clock the little jazz quartet started playing in the far corner. When I started coming to Jerry’s three years ago, they played standards, usually with an easy, swingy style. Now they were into the Modern Jazz movement, progressive jazz, playing more sophisticated numbers; occasionally they’d even throw in some bop or Latin styles, at least until Jerry would give them the fisheye. Then they’d count off something smooth and mid-tempo like ‘As Time Goes By’ or ‘Once in a While’ with a West Coast feel. They were a bunch of krazy beatnik jazzers, but they needed the bread and knew how to please the guy who was signing the paychecks.

  Tonight they added a fifth element to the quartet, a vibraphone which gave the little combo a kool depth. The bells blended in nicely with the piano, base, drums and saxophone that made the core of the group. They started off with a medium-tempo version of At Last, with the vibes and piano taking the lead and the saxman falling back. The sax came in on the bridge, really decorating the melody. The guy’s fingers moved so fast you couldn’t see them. If a butterfly made music, that’s what it would have sounded like.

  I was enjoying the riffs so intently that I didn’t even hear Jerry call my name.

  “Riggins, Riggins!”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Phone.”

  “Phone? Who is it?”

  “Guy named LaRue.”

  This can’t be good, I thought. “Can I take it in your office? It’s work.”

  “Sure,” he said, pushed a button on the phone and hung up the receiver. “Line two.”

  “Thanks.” I slid off the bar stool, steadied myself against the Jack, and eased my way back to the office. “LaRue? It’s Riggins.”

  “Sorry to bother you on your vacation, Riggins, but we have a problem.” My heart sank. Everything was set to go on my trip. A call from the squad could only mean something was about to screw it up. “Let me have it.”

  “Almost the minute we released Princeton to the hospital, someone tried to ice him.”

  “Damn. Did he make it?”

  “He got lucky. The bullet brushed by his leg. No lasting damage. Riggins, I think he’s really had enough. He kept yammering about living in the country, working as a carpenter, building things. I think he really can go legit.”

  “Everyone deserves one chance,” I said, meaning it.

  “That is, if he lasts long enough to get out of the city. We need to keep him here for a few days, a week maybe. Someplace safe. Any ideas?”

  I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was guilt for rearranging the guy’s face just to get a name that might not amount to anything anyway. Maybe it was the booze. The booze was doing a lot of my talking lately, and I didn’t like it. Whatever the cause, I said, “You can stash him at my place. I’m leaving tomorrow in the A.M.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll bring him by in about an hour.”

  “What? No, not tonight! Bring him around tomorrow.”

  “Where’s he supposed to stay tonight?”

  “You and your wife have an extra room, ain’t ya?”

  “Cut the comedy, Riggins, Eileen would never let a pusher stay in our house overnight.”

  “Then lock him up. He can’t stay here tonight, sorry kid. Bring him around tomorrow. There’s an extra key in my desk drawer. And if anything’s missing when I get back, you’re paying for it.” I hung up before he got a chance to answer. I was already on my vacation, and nothing was going to interrupt it. No police work for two weeks, period. Captain’s orders.

  I walked back out to the lounge and re-established myself at the bar. The combo was swinging Shiny Stockings, and Jerry had another double Bourbon on deck.

  “Everything kosher?” he asked, lighting my smoke.

  “It will be tomorrow,” I said, and sat back to enjoy the show.

  At around midnight the band took a break and the sax player took a stool next to mine.

  “Eve’nin Riggins,” he said in his low, gravely voice. “Diggin’ the riffs? Or just shootin’ the breeze?”

  “Hey Rillo,” I said offering a smoke. He took it. Rillo was what the downtowners called a ‘high yellow’…a light skinned black man with blondish hair. Call him that to his face and he had a nice eight inch Stiletto blade that he’d show you up close and personal. He wasn’t a big guy, thin and only about five foot seven, but you didn’t want to get on his bad side. A cool cat, Rillo was, as long as you didn’t cross him or insult his musi
c.

  “Yeah I came in to get some chow and take in the tunes. Sounding tops tonight kid, I’m diggin’ the bells player.”

  “He’s a ringer, a classical cat from the N-Y Phillo. Thought a Vibraphone would make a nice edition to the gig. He needed to stretch his legs a little, wanted in for a few ticks. Cat ain’t bust, he can swing.”

  “I’m hip. Drink?”

  “Sure man,” he said, then turned to Jerry and said, “Razorback, black on a sling, light, uptight and outta site” then lit his stick with a high-flame Zippo.

  Now I can usually talk jive with the best of these guys, but they were coming up with new stuff so fast it was hard to keep up. I was still stuck on saying things like “all reet” from my younger days. This time I was stumped.

  “Razorback, black on a sling?”

  “Yeah man, you don’t dig?”

  “Not without a shovel. Give.”

  “Man, you the detective. You can’t figure that fine piece of hip prose out?”

  I thought a minute. It didn’t come to me. “I’ve been liquored up since five o’clock. Just lay it on me.”

  Rillo laughed and took a drag. He blew the smoke out slow. It seemed to disappear, blend in with his brown tweed suit and nicotine-yellowed tie. “Razorback…sharp, right? Sharp like a knife. Or a saw. A saw that cuts. Or like a shark that bites.”

  It hit me. This guy was a little crazy, but there was a certain logic to his prose. “Cut..shark…Cutty Sark.”

  “Bones,” he said. Bones meant ‘right’. He continued, “black, bleak, bland.”

  “Plain, neat,” I said.

  “Bones again, baby. Now, on a sling…”

  “Wait,” I said, “I got it. On a sling, light, uptight and outta sight…you want it in a tall, highball glass. A single shot, not a double, and you want the bartender to give you the second shot when no one’s looking because if the bandleader catches you getting too drunk, you’re in the can. Am I green?”

  “Give that man a cigar,” he smiled, and drank down the tall glass with the single shot of Cutty Sark that magically appeared on the bar in front of him.