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

by Christopher Pinto

  “I’ve tried it. It dulls my senses. I want to taste everything, enjoy the aromas of flowers and foods. Cigarettes just don’t do it for me.”

  “I’m hip,” I said, and crushed out the butt in the sand.

  She started right in with, “I heard what happened with you and Chief Roberts last night.”

  “Already?”

  “News travels fast in the Keys. I’ll bet you didn’t know Chief Roberts and my father used to be friends.”

  That seemed queer at first, but then I remembered Hawthorn’s parties and his imports to go with them. “I wouldn’t have guessed he was friends with Mr. Hawthorn. He seems like a pretty dirty guy.”

  “Maybe ‘friends’ is too strong a word. Roberts did jobs for my father, years ago.”

  “Like importing party favors from Havana?”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” She took a drink of her Mai Tai, never taking her eyes off me. She was back-dropped by the ocean, a palm tree and a Tiki torch. If I had a camera I could have shot one of those advertisements for a mystical island get-away. “He brought in the liquor, the drugs, the prostitutes…did you know he owns a brothel in Key West?”

  “I heard a rumor. I also heard it’s a private club, not a brothel.”

  “Oh, it’s a brothel,” she said with disgust. “They have nude shows there, and afterwards the members get to pick which performer they want to bring upstairs.”

  “You’ve been there, have you?” I said playfully.

  She scowled. “No, of course not. But I have had to…” she sighed and looked down. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, as you’re a police officer and now that Roberts is out of the picture there’s nothing stopping you from doing something about it.”

  “About what?”

  “This is a Resort, Bill, and we try to cater to everyone’s wishes.” She left it at that. I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant.

  “So you send people to Key West when they want a little action, is that it?”

  “Yes,” she said and looked down at her drink again. She made little swirling motions with the swizzle stick. “And sometimes, we bring them…here.”

  I got a lump in my throat that made it hard to swallow anything just then. I tried to take a shot of the cocktail but Mai Tais are for sipping and it didn’t go down so smooth. Hookers at a hotel wasn’t anything new. I just didn’t even think about it at such a class place as this. I shouldn’t have been surprised…you couldn’t spit without hitting a call girl in the lobby of the Plaza hotel on a Saturday night, but I was a little surprised anyway…and surprised she was telling me.

  “You’re right, you shouldn’t be telling me all this. Why are you?”

  “I wanted you to know now that Roberts is out of the picture, I’m confident we’ll be able to discontinue these services. You see, Roberts knew something about my father that he nor dad would ever tell me. Something from his past, from before he met my mother. It must have been something devastating because Roberts was able to lord it over my father for years. Whatever it was, as long as we continued to supply clients for Roberts’ businesses, he swore never to tell his story. Those places will no doubt be shut down soon, and the arrangement will come to an end.”

  “Florida politics, just like in the dime novels,” I muttered. “If Roberts thinks it will get him off the hook, he’ll squeal his head off, you know that, right?”

  “Dad says there’s nothing to worry about, so I’m not worried.” The appetizer showed up with a second round of drinks and we ordered dinner. She got the surf and turf, I ordered Chicken Teriyaki. I actually had enough steak for one week.

  “Melinda, how much about me have you told your old man?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, a few things. Why?”

  “He found me in the lobby bar earlier. Talked with me a bit.”

  “Really?” She seemed excited. “Well, it’s nice to see he’s getting out a little.”

  “He thinks we should get hitched.” Melinda’s eyes widened so big they looked like a couple of saucers with a dollop of coffee in the middle. Then she bust out laughing, and so did I.

  She said, “And what, I should move to New York City and spend the rest of my life working at a Manhattan Tiki Bar while you’re out arresting criminals?”

  “No, actually he wants me to move down here and help you run Tiki Island.”

  She got a little serious then. “I don’t need any help running Tiki Island.”

  “I don’t think he meant you did. He’s just looking out for you, kiddo.”

  “Well, I suppose he doesn’t realize that you’re already involved with someone else.”

  “Involved?” What a Gaddamned heel I am, really. “I’m not involved with…oh, you mean Ms. Rutledge.” Damn, I’d forgotten all about Jessica that fast.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know what…I’m not sure as to what extent I’m involved with Jessica,” I said honestly. “I mean, I’m on vacation. She knows it. She knows that I leave in a week and there’s very little chance I’ll ever see her again.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t mind,” Melinda said, and I wasn’t sure how to take that. I didn’t want to get into it with her so I just shut my trap. The fastest way to ruining a good time with a chick is to challenge her opinion of a chick she’s probably jealous of.

  “I just want to have a little fun,” I said. “Like you said, next week I’ll be back to walking the icy-cold streets of the city, chasing down pushers and pimps, finding junkies frozen to death in back alleys, sitting in my dreary, brown office banging away at a twenty-year-old typewriter without a palm tree in sight. I just want to make the best of things while I’m here.”

  Melinda was getting a little tipsy, the first time I’d seen her that way. “And that’s what we’re here for, Bill. That’s why Tiki Island exists. It’s a fantasy world, a little slice of paradise at the end of the Earth. Staying here for two weeks is great. Living here forever isn’t perfect, but it beats the rum out of what you just described.”

  “Yeah,” I said under my breath, realizing Melinda was making a sort of half-baked pitch for me staying. “But it would only be worth staying here if I had the right woman to stay with,” I added, playing along.

  “And what do you consider the right woman?” she asked, leaning in. If we weren’t a table apart I’d have kissed her right then.

  “Oh, I don’t know, someone interesting, tall, tan, young and lovely, with big brown eyes and a beautiful face. Someone with a great smile that makes me melt every time she flashes it. Someone with brains and wit and a fantastic frame to go with it.”

  Melinda slowly rose from the chair with the jungle movements of a hungry tiger. She walked up beside me and looked down at me with an evil grin.

  “Are you making a play for me, Mr. Riggins?” she said coyly. I got up from my chair with much less grace.

  “Maybe,” I said, and as I brought my hands around her back I drew her in and kissed her, harder and more passionately than I ever kissed a woman before, even Jessica...

  And Jessica’s face floated on my mind, her bright smile, her flowing blond hair, her crystal blue eyes, and I as I pulled away from Melinda’s burning lips I said to my own surprise, “I can’t.” And I walked off the beach, leaving her there alone.

  +++

  I paced the room like a madman, drinking Bourbon and trying to figure out what the hell to do. I got myself in a real mess. Two gorgeous dolls, and I wanted them both. But I couldn’t have either without turning my whole life upside-down. I was a cop, I’d always been a cop and the idea of spending my days counting guest towels and checking room receipts sounded as ridiculous as leaving the city to live in the Keys. Maybe my life as a cop was dreary and cold, maybe I came across the dregs of the Earth every day but dammit, that’s who I was and I liked it.

  Didn’t I?

  Could I live in this place for the rest of my days, happily making love to Melinda and drinking rum and eating fine food like I was on vacation ev
ery day? Or could I take Jessica away from this place, away from her torments and bring her to live in my world? Would she survive in the city, or would it kill her?

  I flipped it over so many times I forgot I was supposed to be enjoying myself. I took another shot of Jack and made up my mind. I’d go see Jessica, tonight, damn her work, I had to see her, had to see if she felt the same way I did. I had to know if she’d come back to New York with me.

  I called down to the concierge and ordered a private boat to bring me to Key West. I was there by midnight. I jumped in the Chevy and roared down Truman to Duval. The La Concha was close and I parked.

  I flashed my badge at the front desk. “I’m looking for one of your employees, Jessica Rutledge. She’s not in any trouble but it’s important.”

  “I don’t know anyone here by that name,” the girl answered, “just a minute sir.” She picked up the phone and said something I couldn’t hear. I man in a tan suit walked up behind me.

  “Can I be of some service, sir?”

  “I’m looking for Jessica Rutledge, she’s working a banquet tonight.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have anyone on staff by that name.”

  “Are you the manager?”

  “Yes. I would know.”

  “Look, she’s about twenty-five, five-foot-six, slim build, busty, blonde hair, blue eyes.”

  “I’m sorry sir but you just described half of our staff.”

  Of course. “Are you having any banquets tonight?”

  “We’re having a private affair in the ballroom.”

  “Let me have a look, maybe I can spot her,” I said, and began to walk towards the ballroom. The manager, a pretty big guy, gently held me back.

  “Sir, please, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to disturb the guests. It’s a private party, and they are a very secretive organization who demands total privacy. You can understand, can’t you?”

  Damn! This guy was good. I could have flashed my badge again but he’d see it was NYPD and would know I had no jurisdiction here. “What time does the party let out?”

  “The room is booked until one a.m.” he said. You’re welcome to wait in the lobby, and see if your friend comes out.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “I think I’ll just come back.” I left the lobby and sat in the car. A million images flew through my brain, from Melinda to Jessica to ghosts to skeletons. Then one stuck: the image of Jessica onstage in a stag show with other women, and suddenly I wanted to see what kind of place Roberts really had been running. If it was still open tonight, that is.

  I turned the car around and headed down to the other end of town. It wasn’t too hard finding the place; private club or not it still looked like a sex house. Blacked-out windows, cars parked behind a fence, faint sound of burlesque music coming from within.

  I parked the car and walked up to the font door. Just for fun I knocked three times like the old days. The door opened with a gorilla of a bouncer behind it.

  “This is a private club,” he said in a gruff, growling voice.

  “I’m a friend of Chief Roberts. They sent me over from Tiki Island.”

  “Who sent you?”

  I thought fast…it wouldn’t be Melinda, no she wouldn’t have her name associated with this place. Not Hawthorn, he hardly saw anyone. “Rutger Bachman,” I said, and he opened the door full

  “Any friend of Roberts is a friend of mine. What’s your label, Mister?”

  “LaRue,” I lied. First name I thought of.

  “Come on inside, Mr. LaRue. The show’s about to start.”

  The gorilla-like goon in the faded tux led me through the lobby of a Victorian-era parlor complete with antique sofas, loveseats and armoires. Everything looked to be recently upholstered with red and purple velvet and gold trim. I could hear the band playing clearly now, not too loud but strong jazz from a bari sax, piano and drums. At the end of the parlor was a heavy door. He swung it open and pushed me through. Smoke hung thick in the air and the smell of it mixed with perfume and stale liquor almost made me heave. The place was packed with about thirty men, half of which had luscious-looking dames sitting with them, flirting, teasing. The other half looked either drunk or mean, or both. The band consisted of three cats that looked like they stepped out of the ’30s, complete with wide-brim fedoras and suspenders. They rattled out “Love for Sale” and I got a bad feeling in my gut. A fat guy sitting with a hot young redhead laughed hard and got up from his table. He kissed her square on the lips and she laughed too, and the two of them headed out through the heavy door.

  They were right. This was a brothel.

  The music stopped and a long, lanky guy in a monkey suit took center stage. He adjusted a mic and cleared his throat. Then in a deep voice made for radio he said, “Welcome gentleman to the Low Key Club. Is everyone having a good time?” Plenty of greasy hoots and hollers came from the crowd.

  “Good. Then get ready for the night’s main event, our world famous Femina Exotica!” He led the applause and got off the stage. The band struck up with something dark and low, ominous sounding and exotic. The stage went dark except for a pinlight center. The show began.

  The pinlight grew to about a two-foot spot, and as the music swayed movement could be seen in the light…movement of women, first an arm, then an ankle, then a thigh; this went on for a few minutes so that the crowd could realize there were at least seven different women crowded onto the stage. The music swelled slightly and the big tease turned more erotic as breasts began appearing in the spot. Then the spot began to grow, and we could see more of the ladies, touching, caressing each other, kissing passionately. The crowd which was at first quiet was now gasping, clapping, shouting. The spotlight grew to encompass the stage, and the tease was over. Seven women intertwined, kissing, licking, devouring each other in a sensual orgy that had the crowd going wild with excitement. Moans and groans from the stage added to the fantasy.

  The fantasy. Jessica said it was all a show.

  She lied.

  This was no show. This was showing off.

  The women on stage weren’t just acting the part. They were showing off their skills to the crowd, vying for the attention of the wealthiest clients picked from hotels all over the Keys. Their actions were real, as real as would be in the rooms upstairs. Tongues against soft flesh. Lips caressing. Fingers sliding into places that had the room boiling. The moans, groans, the shrieks may have been elaborated, but the causes were real.

  I shut down places like this three times in the last four years in New York. Not because I’m a prude. This kind of thing might disgust some people but not me. I don’t care one way or another how people get their kicks behind closed doors. It’s everything else that goes with it that I can’t stand. Behind the show are girls down on the their luck, or strung out and hungry for a fix. There are pimps that control the girls with a heavy hand across the mouth and the threat of more. There are crooked cops, like Roberts, and politicians backing them, all to make a buck. And in some cases there are girls who are kidnapped and forced into the business. Very few women work in joints like this and stay clean. Most wind up dead of an overdose or killed by their pimps before they hit thirty.

  The writhing bodies on the stage had the men so worked up that some were already leaving with the girls they had. The music came to a head, and with a cymbal-crash the lights went dark and the crowd erupted with applause that shook the walls and rattled glasses on the bar. The houselights came up dim, and the band started in with the slow, soft sounds they were shooting before. This time it was a dragging, sultry version of Night Train as the girls from the stage came into the room one by one, wearing shear robes and leaving little to the imagination. I was near the back and liked it that way, as I was in no mood to have to turn down a dame.

  I finished my highball and settled up with the waiter. I saw all I needed to see. So I thought.

  All seven girls came out into the reddish dull light, sitting with men who waved them over. In the low light they all loo
ked the same; blondes looked like redheads, brunettes looked like redheads, redheads looked like darker redheads. They were all built, all curvy in the right places and it showed through the robes. Almost immediately three went off through the heavy door with men.

  I got up and was about to leave. I threw a buck down on the table for the waiter and as I did, my back was turned to the door. It was then I heard the voice, the voice that made me almost crumble back down in the chair. The voice was behind me, going through the door.

  “Come on sugar,” the voice said, “My name is Ginger, but you can call me Ginny.”

  Click.

  1935

  Eliot Hawthorn was disgusted with himself, but felt incredibly free and pleasured at the same time. He’d never actually cheated on Vivian, not once, not by his definition, not even when young drunken girls presented themselves to him in the late hours of his Island parties. He always stayed true to her (in his way) until now, and now he wondered why he ever bothered.

  This was the fourth time he had seen Rose since he met her in July. Now in late August, he began to set a new plan into motion.

  “I’m not who you think I am, Rose. My name is Eliot Hawthorn, and I live on a private Island just off Sugarloaf key. I’m married, but I don’t care about that anymore.”

  “Why ya’ll telling me this? I don’t need to know yo’ business, sugar.”

  “Because I want you to come to the Island with me. I want to make love to you right under my wife’s nose.”

  “Why ya’ll wanna do that?”

  “I have my reasons. I’ll pay you double what you normally make in a day to come with me tonight, and stay in my boathouse. You’re not to come out, and you are especially not to come up to the mansion. You’ll stay there and I’ll come for you when I want you. I’ll have a boat take you back tomorrow night. Do this and I will reward you handsomely. But don’t breathe a word of it to anyone, especially my name, or the repercussions will be deadly. Do you understand?”

  Rose did understand and was frightened. She was frightened for herself, that she might accidentally say something to the wrong person, as she was known to have a big mouth. And she was frightened for her daughter, that if anything should happen to her, her daughter would have no one to turn to.