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

by Christopher Pinto

“So then you knew about Bachman’s side business before you ever got here.”

  “No,” I said, “I only found out through you. And that’s what I want to ask you about. Namely, did Bachman have a safe that you know of? Maybe someplace he’d keep some dirt on some people as a little insurance policy.”

  Roberts eyes got real big and his whole face lit up. He smiled so wide he nearly dropped the cigarette out of his mouth. Then, as if it were molten lava boiling up and blowing from a volcano, he let out the loudest, heartiest, most menacing laugh I’d ever heard in my life. He laughed and laughed at me so hard his face turned red; he smacked his hands on his legs and did the whole routine like a cartoon character.

  “What the hell’s so funny? You gone batty or something?”

  Through his guffaws he managed to shout, “Boy! You are somethin’ else! Did he have dirt? Oh hell, that Yankee had dirt on every man or woman of any worth from Mallory Square to Hialeah! Dirt! Ha HA!” he went on, laughing and hooting like a kid. Finally I had enough. I reached through the bars and got his shirt with both hands, and pulled him hard against the iron. His faced smacked up against the cold bars and he stopped laughing real quick, his smile replaced by a look of terror and fear.

  “Now you listen to me, fat man, if you don’t come clean I’ll smack your face against this iron until it’s nothing but a bloody pulp, and don’t think for a second that scarecrow out there will come to your aid. So quit being smart and tell me what you know. Got it?”

  Tears were forming in his fat little eyes. With his lips pressed sideways against a bar he said “Yefs.”

  “Good.” I eased up a little, just enough for him to breath. “Now, Did Bachman have a safe?”

  “Yeah, yeah he did. But I don’t know where he hid it. He mentioned goin’ to put stuff in the safe. That’s how I know.”

  “Did he give you any clue where it might be? Come on, give!” I said and pulled him up tighter.

  “No, no never…just that once, he said he had to put something in, and he left the Island. So I figure it ain’t on the Island.”

  “Is it in the whorehouse?”

  “No, no I know every inch of that place, it ain’t there.”

  “You said he’s got dirt on everyone. Anyone you know of who might have wanted to kill him over it on Tiki Island?”

  “Aw, hell, I don’t know…My first guess would be old man Hawthorn, if he wasn’t so feeble. Him or that crazy girl of his.”

  “Crazy girl?”

  “Yeah, his daughter, you know her, she practically ran the place when Bachman was out doing the dirty work. He kept them both in line with the dirt he had on them. That’s why they never got rid of him.”

  “You mean all that stuff about wild parties back in the twenties? Who would care about that now?”

  “Twenties?” he laughed, “Hell no boy, I mean about the rackets they been pushing for years. The whores, the drugs, the gambling, Bachman had evidence that would take both of them down if they ever cut him loose.”

  “Wait, dirt on both of them? What are you talking about? Bachman was the one running the hookers and party favors through Tiki Island.”

  Again he let loose such a sincere laugh that I had to let him go. He fell back and laughed and laughed, so hard he could hardly talk.

  “Come on clown, knock it off and tell me what you’re talking about.”

  He finally calmed down and managed to squeak out, “You really don’t know? Bachman didn’t run nothin’, boy. He was the front man. Old man Hawthorn ran the show until he started going batshit crazy, then his daughter took over. Melinda Hawthorn is the brains behind the show at Tiki Island. Bachman was doin’ her dirty work, just like I used to do Hawthorn’s dirty work back in the old days. Ha HA! That chick’s dirtier than that whore you been runnin’ around with. Oh, an by the way city boy, that little girl Jessica has been on Melinda Hawthorn’s payroll for a long time, in more ways than one if you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t want to know. My blood was boiling, my head getting hot. “You’re lying, you fat bastard. You’re a dirty, rotten two-bit liar.”

  “You…don’t tell me you…Well I’ll be damned, you been dippin’ you’re ladle in that honey pot too? Hot damn, boy, you get around! Well say, have you had them two together yet? I hear they make a great double-team.”

  Without thinking I ripped the .45 out of my holster and pointed it straight at Roberts’ head. “Shut your trap Roberts or I’ll make pudding out of your skull.”

  “Oh Jesus Christ, man,” he said hysterically, crawling backwards away from me. “Put that thing away, boy, don’t go losin’ yo’ head!”

  “You’re about to lose yours, you Gaddamn sonofabitch,” I said and cocked the gun. Roberts started screaming his fool head off for help, and I stashed the rod just before Ickabod rounded the corner.

  “What’s the trouble, Officer Riggins?” he asked, his hand on the butt of his revolver.

  “Nothing buddy, I was just finishing up with him. Roberts,” I said to the puddle of puss on the floor, “I’ll be seeing you again before I leave. Next time I won’t be so pleasant.”

  +++

  The V8 roared as I stomped on the gas and headed back south. The Caddy ground up the macadam like sausage and in what seemed like no time I was sitting in front of a familiar little gray shack on the edge of the Gulf. It was only a little after five but the sun had sunk into the distant clouds, giving everything an eerie pink sort of dull glow. Even the gray shack looked pinkish in the late afternoon haze.

  I sat in the car with the windows down and the top up, letting the words Roberts spewed gnaw at my guts. Melinda? Running the vice operation? It was impossible. It didn’t fit. I saw how she reacted when she caught that hooker waiting for me, how disgusted she looked when she talked about Bachman. And Jessica in on it too? And what was that bastard insinuating, that Jessica and Melinda were…no, it was too crazy, just didn’t make any sense.

  Then Fast Freddie’s face popped into my head, and what she said about ‘girls like her’ in Key West, and an image of her pressing herself intimately close to Jessica floated by my mind and all of a sudden things didn’t seem so crazy after all. Could it be? Was any of it true, or did Roberts just say those things because he knew they’d get my goat?

  There was only one person who I could trust. One guy who didn’t give a damned what anyone knew, or what they thought, and had nothing to lose by giving me the truth, and that was Captain Reams.

  I rolled up the windows and headed for the little Bait and Tackle shop on the dock.

  +++

  The decorations for the Halloween festivities were up and looking spookily grand, but Melinda couldn’t take any pleasure from them. Although Halloween had always been her favorite holiday for as long as she could remember, she knew this one was going to bad, very bad. Too many indicators were pointing toward catastrophe. Eliot had taken a sudden downturn late in the afternoon, going into a strange sort of catatonic trance, emerging for only a few seconds at a time to blurt out insane prophesies of his own demise. Jessica was still in the infirmary, trying to fight back from near-death herself. William had left on his wild trek to find the truth behind Bachman’s death, a truth Melinda wasn’t so sure she wanted anyone, including herself, to face. And at five p.m. the teletype came over from the weather service: The tropical storm had strengthened into a force two hurricane, and was hovering over the Gulf gaining even more strength. What was worse, its pattern and direction were completely random. It could go north and hit the panhandle of Florida, it could go south-west and run into Mexico, or – and this was extremely rare and improbable yet still possible – it could hook around, backtrack and run smack into the central Florida Keys again, this time attacking from the west. If it did, it would hit Tiki Island dead-on, something that had never happened in Melinda’s time on the Island.

  Melinda knew the main buildings could withstand winds up to one hundred and twenty miles per hour. Anything more wo
uld threaten the glass and roof. At one hundred and forty, the roof would be ripped from the anchors and interiors would be destroyed by wind and rain. Anything over one hundred and fifty sustained for over an hour would flatten the buildings.

  The teletype estimated winds at one hundred and ten miles per hour and gaining.

  She couldn’t take the chance. She had to take action before it was too late. She sent the word out to the Island’s staff to meet at six-thirty in the Bali Hai Ballroom on the third floor for instructions. Then she went to the infirmary to see Jessica.

  “My God, you look…” She cut herself off from saying ‘horrible’ as she realized she was saying it out loud. She fought to hold back the hot tears as she gently held Jessica’s hand. “What happened?”

  “They came again,” Jessica said weakly. “This time they were pretty mad. They…” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, feeling that heavy lump in her throat that came from nearly drowning. “They want him, Melinda. They want him bad. Even my Mother couldn’t hold them off this time from getting to me. They tried…they tried to get me to join them, in the water. To help them. I fought them off. I don’t know how I survived. I don’t think I could do it again.”

  Melinda couldn’t hold back a minute longer. She broke down and the tears came, gushing all at once like a fountain. “I can’t lose him, Jessica, I can’t.”

  “Then I think you’ve got to get him off the Island. It’s the only way.”

  “He’ll never leave.”

  “Force him. Knock him out with the juice and take him to Miami. Or farther.”

  “I can’t do that to him, he’ll hate me for the rest of his life.”

  “Well, sugar, then he’ll have to meet his fate, won’t he,” Jessica said and let out a moan of pain.

  “Where’s it hurt, Jess?” Melinda asked tenderly,

  “Everywhere. I’m all beat up.”

  Melinda squeezed her hand a little harder, then reached down and gently kissed her on the forehead. She looked around the room. They were alone. “Would you like me to give you something…you know, for the pain?”

  Jessica took in a deep breath and let it out slow. “No. I don’t want it. I’m done with the stuff. I’m staying clean now.”

  “For William?”

  “Yeah, and for me.”

  +++

  I banged on the door four times and yelled Reams’ name five before I heard stirring inside the shack. I heard a loud bang and a lot of clanging followed up by some expletives, and the door creaked open on its rusty, antique hinges.

  “Detective! Aye, what brings you to me humble abode on this dreary eve?”

  He sounded more like a pirate than a Floridian now, and the bottle of Meyer’s Rum in his hand gave away the reason.

  “I wanted to talk to you some more, if that’s ok.”

  “Sure, sure, come in an’ take a load off. Have a drink. Where’s your lady friend?”

  “Not with me. I think maybe there were a few things you may not have wanted to say in front of her.”

  He squinted one eye and twisted up his face as in deep thought. The crags and caverns of the face could have told a thousand stories. “Aye, you’re a sharp tack, I suppose. There be a few things I may have left out. Come inside, we’ll talk.”

  I walked in and sat at the familiar spool table. Reams finished off his bottle and pulled a new one from the shelf, then poured two cups, one for me, one for him. “What is it you want to be knowin’, Detective?”

  “Well for one, I’m pretty sure you know Ms. Rutledge, even though you didn’t let on.”

  He dropped his eyes to the table. “Do you know how I know her, Mr. Riggins?”

  I paused only a second before saying, “From a brothel in Key West, I’d imagine.”

  With his eyes still to the table he said, “Yes sir, I’d imagine that’s true. I’d been…with her…on a couple of occasions. A fine woman, she is.”

  “Yeah.” My guts twisted just a little. “She also works over at Tiki Island Resort. You know anything about that?”

  “No, not beyond the obvious. She entertained clients.”

  “She ever entertain Hawthorn?”

  He took a long gulp of rum and refilled his glass. “Oh, I don’t know that for certain. Mr. Hawthorn always had a soft spot for the blondes. I suppose it’s possible, especially after his second wife passed on. She was a brunette, you know. He never had much of liking for brunettes. Back in the old days, back in the twenties and thirties before he turned the Island into a hotel, he’d have his wild parties, and bring up girls from Havana, as I said before. Mr. Riggins, you asked me plain out last time you was here, had I ever heard tales of rape or murder at those parties. I laughed it off and said no. But it was because I didn’t want to say anything in front of the young lady.”

  My guts twisted some more, and I took a long swig of the strong rum myself. “What did you hear, Captain?”

  “Some of those girls them brought up from Cuba. Some of them had some nasty things done to them. On a few occasions I ran the boats down to get them, and the day after the party I brought them back. A few had been banged up pretty bad, Mr. Riggins. Bruises on their faces. Rope burns on their wrists. Occasionally, deep cuts or broken limbs. They were given fine medical care and an extra hundred dollars to shut them up. A hundred dollars was a lot of dinners and clothes in Cuba in those days, I’d imagine.”

  “A hundred bucks is a lot today.”

  “Yeah. Well, on a few of those boat trips, a girl or two less ended up on the return trip.”

  My guts were twisting pretty good now. “What do you think happened to them?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said and looked out a cruddy window toward the Gulf. The sun was almost gone now, and the sky was a strange purplish gold, like something in a bible painting. “But I hear rumors.”

  “Spill it.”

  “Some say those girls went off to be sold to white slavers across the country, over in Portland and Seattle. Some say they left the Island and made their way up to Miami, to stay in America. And then others said –” Before he could finish a gust of wind came up out of nowhere and shook the shack. The windows and doors rattled and the plank floor rumbled under my chair. I jumped in surprise. Reams just sat there and took another drink.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked in a much squeakier voice than I would have liked.

  “The sea is angry, Mr. Riggins. I’m afraid we haven’t seen the last of that storm.”

  “Great. You can’t imagine how much I love tropical storms.”

  He smiled and said, “Wait ’till you experience a hurricane for yer very first time.” Then he laughed and finished off his rum. He refilled his dented tin cup and offered me some more. I accepted.

  “Finish what you were about to say, Captain. Others said what?”

  He sighed heavy and tilted his head back, closing his eyes as if to remember. He ran his large, battered hand through his wavy salt and pepper hair, and wiped his face. “Some say they were killed, Mr. Riggins. Killed for sport, used as sex slaves for deviants in private rooms at the parties, tortured and beaten and congressed until the life spilt out of them. But they were just stories, just rambling and rumors started by the rabble Keys folk who were jealous they couldn’t attend the parties. There was never a dust of proof on any of it, but it was certain that some of those girls never made it back to Cuba on my boat.”

  My brain was swirling like the storm out on the horizon. Deviant sex parties? Murdered hookers? “Captain, who did they say did the killing?”

  “Well,” he said with a smirk, “As I said they was just rumors.”

  “Who, Captain?”

  He looked me in the eye, and I knew that he believed the story he was telling me, not as a rumor, but as an absolute truth. “Mr. Hawthorn, I’d imagine.”

  “And how did you hear this?”

  Another deep sigh. “I heard from a very drunk, very anguished young man named Roberts, a very long time ago.”
r />   Eliot, early afternoon

  His mind was filled with the decaying, black memories of his past, memories that eroded his sanity and predicted the grim fate that he knew awaited him, soon. Eliot sat on the veranda of his top-floor suite, staring out at the Gulf as he had so many times in his life. But this time the tranquility of the crystalline waves gave him no solace, the cool, gentle breeze gave him no peace. Although the early afternoon sun shown intensely from behind the Resort and lit up the ocean like a floor of diamonds, far across the horizon to the west he saw the darkness, the absolute storm that blotted out the western sky and sent black tendrils of death swirling from its center, like an ink-stained octopus gathering its strength for an attack. In that darkness he saw death, the death of hundreds of others, and his own.

  A shiver ran down the old man’s spine as he contemplated his fate. “A pistol,” he said quietly to the wind, “in the garden. But then Melinda would find me so,” he muttered, “No, that won’t do.”

  A gust of wind came up, nearly taking his hat. A gull screamed as it glided by. “Pills, that might work,” he whispered. “Anything but them. I can’t let them take me. I can’t face that torture.”

  A woman’s voice came softly, eerily from behind him. “But you will,” she said. But no one was there.

  Eliot cried.

  Jessica, late afternoon

  The thunder was miles away, but she could hear the low rumble as clearly as if it were the low tones of a bassist thumping out a jazz rhythm on the room’s small radio. The doctor was gone, evacuated with the last of the guests and crew. She was alone in the bright white infirmary, just her, the white sheets, and the thunder. Melinda had tried to make her leave the Island but she insisted on staying, insisted on riding out the storm where she felt safest – with Melinda, and Riggins.

  Jessica knew what was coming.

  And she knew there was no escape from it this time.

  She carefully rose and walked slowly to the window. It opened on the east side of the Island and gave her no view of the Gulf. To the east the sky was bright, with only a few puffy white clouds hanging on the light blue canvas. But the Island was deserted. No one swam in the warm waters, no children played on the beach. No sounds of exotic music floated up from the bar. The Island seemed almost…dead.