Bird Brained (Rachel Porter Mysteries)

by Jessica Speart

  I was caught by surprise as an angry shriek tore from Fidel’s throat. The cat lunged at me, getting within inches of my leg. The rest of Langer’s menagerie instantly picked up on Fidel’s cry, the air bristling with their angry roars. My own temper flew into overdrive, though there was no way for me to be sure that Langer’s finger had actually hit the control button.

  A smirk raced across the man’s lips. “It’s always difficult to know if an animal is going to attack. Don’t you find that to be the case with wild things, Agent Porter?”

  Too bad those shock collars didn’t come in his size. I turned and stalked to the front of the house, Langer watching in amusement as I loaded Carrera’s flamingo inside the trunk of my car.

  “You be sure and file that report with the Game and Freshwater Fish Commission as soon as you get back to the office, Agent Porter. After all, I wouldn’t want to think you were slacking off on your job.” Langer laughed, pleased with his joke.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. It’s you that I’m concerned about,” I lightly replied.

  “And just why is that?”

  “Because someday, when you least expect it, Fidel is going to turn around and rip out your throat.”

  Langer’s silent stare followed me out the gate and down the road, burning two holes in my back. I felt as if I’d just played a game of Russian roulette—except that in Langer’s case, all the chambers were loaded.

  Carrera stared at the lifeless flamingo that lay at his feet. “I thought you’d come back with that bastard in cuffs, Porter! I want his goddamn ass in jail!” His burgundy silk pajamas appeared to have come alive, vibrating on a body that shook in rage.

  “Look, Tony, I did what I could. I gave Langer a warning and told him I’d be filing an official report with the state Game and Fish Commission. As far as any penalties go, that’s up to them. The only thing I can do is try to push the case with one of their agents.”

  “Maybe that’ll make you feel better, but we both know how much good it’ll do,” he fumed.

  Carrera must have realized he’d been minus his toupee after I’d left for Langer’s. He fiddled with it now, setting it askew on top of his head. “Nobody gives a damn about my birds. Who do I gotta know to get some kind of justice around here? The goddamn governor?”

  After meeting Langer, I wasn’t sure even that would do any good. “Just keep your birds off Langer’s property,” I advised. “That way, if he does anything else we’ll have a strong case.”

  I had no doubt that a psychotic like Langer would be yanking Tony’s chain with another gruesome prank in the not-too-distant future.

  “If that sonuvabitch even thinks of hurting any more of my birds, I’m gonna kill him. I swear it!” Carrera poured himself another drink and downed it in one noisy gulp. The heat of the day had reached its zenith, infusing the air like a pot on slow boil. Anything with sense was lying low in a siesta, making me wonder where Carrera and I fit in.

  Tony threw Poopsie a piece of ice but the dog refused to move from under the lounge, having discovered that Carrera’s rear end supplied a good dose of shade.

  “Okay, Tony. I did my part. Now I want a favor in return.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tony murmured. His eyes fluttered closed, worn out from too many Bloody Marys, the morning’s emotional upheaval, and the overbearing sun. “I’ll think about dropping my lawsuit against you.”

  “That’s a given, Carrera. We had an agreement. You don’t honor it and you’ll be sunning yourself tied to the grille of my car,” I warned. “This has to do with something else.”

  Tony cocked open an eye, instantly suspicious. “Uh, uh. I don’t owe you any favors, Porter. You want something, you go get yourself another patsy. I don’t believe in this public service crap.”

  I plowed straight ahead. “Alberto Dominguez was murdered last night. I discovered his body right after I learned he was back to trafficking in illegal birds. Do you have any idea who he was tied in with?”

  Tony rolled the waist of his pajama bottoms down, exposing enough hairy flesh to have driven a female gorilla wild. Dipping his fingers into the pitcher of Bloody Marys, he removed an ice cube and slowly slid it back and forth across his bare stomach, leaving a melted track of tomato juice and vodka in its wake.

  “All you bring me back is a dead bird and you think I owe you? Get ouddah here.” Tony popped the tainted remains of the cube into his mouth and noisily sucked on it.

  “Come on, Tony; I saved your life,” I reasoned. “You’d be dead now if it weren’t for me.”

  “Who are you kidding, Porter?” Tony chewed on the cube like a frenzied beaver. “You said it yourself—you nearly gave me a heart attack. Remember? I heard ya.”

  “Listen up, Carrera: if you know who Alberto was involved with, I want the information right now. Otherwise, you know I can make your life difficult.” I’d about had it with Tony’s misplaced sense of self-righteousness. Evidently, Poopsie felt the same way. The dog popped up and ran off after a squirrel, knocking over Carrera’s drink, which spilled on his chest.

  Tony groaned in frustration. “How the hell should I know who Dominguez was involved with? The guy was a lowlife scam artist who’d do anything for a buck.”

  “Unlike your own legitimate dealings?” I sweetly inquired.

  “Damned straight,” Tony huffed. “I’m the fucking American Express Gold Card when it comes to wildlife dealers.”

  As far as I was concerned, his gold card was about to be revoked. “You know, it would be a shame if some of your paperwork were to accidentally be misplaced. I bet it would slow down your shipments for weeks. Who knows? Your clients might even end up taking their business elsewhere.”

  Carrera threw up his hands in horror. “Am I hearing you right, Porter? Is this blackmail you’re threatening me with?”

  I looked at him without saying a word.

  “This is exactly why people hate the government, Porter. It’s enough to make law-abiding citizens join militias. You’ll have only yourself to blame when our system of free enterprise folds.”

  “I’ll learn to live with it. Besides, I know you too well, Tony,” I chuckled. “You’d rather become legit than wear camouflage.”

  Carrera played with the gold chain around his neck. “All right, Porter. But you don’t know who you got this from, and you promise to leave me alone. Right?”

  “You got it, Tony,” I vowed, keeping my fingers crossed.

  Carrera leaned in toward me. “Alberto was in tight with the neighbors I got on the other side of me, here.” Tony motioned to the house on the right with his thumb. “Dominguez was over there all the time. It was almost like he was living with them, if ya know what I mean.” Carrera gave me a wink.

  “And who are those neighbors?”

  Tony brought his voice down lower. “That’s Elena Vallardes and her brother, Ramon. Two wacko Cubans, wouldn’t ya know. I’m not sure what the brother does, but she’s some kinda pretty boy photographer. I’m damned if those two aren’t dealing a sideline in birds, though. I mean, I’ll be sitting out here minding my own business, when a bunch of damn parrots start squawking it up to high hell over there, driving me crazy. Just when I think I’ve reached my limit, it’ll become nice and quiet. Then after a coupla months, like clockwork, it starts all over again.”

  “Maybe you should be a little neighborly, especially if you’re in the same line of business. Call and introduce yourself,” I suggested.

  “I’ve been neighborly enough!” Carrera sniffed. “I told ’em outright I didn’t give a shit whether or not they had a license for their fucking birds. I just warned them they better do something about the damn noise.”

  Ever the diplomat. “How did they respond?” I asked.

  Tony removed his pajama top and rubbed his hands back and forth over his stomach. “Hey, whadda ya think? Maybe this Bloody Mary stuff has some of that UV protection crap in it. Now that would be the way to market sunscreen. ‘Buy Tony’s Bloody Mary mix: The only
drink that makes you feel good both inside and out!’ I could become a millionaire and get outta the lousy animal trade.” Carrera giggled. “Of course, then what would you do, huh, Porter? Without me, you’d be sitting on your ass all day, not having any fun.”

  “Yeah, Tony. You’re my salvation,” I replied.

  He’d begun to resemble a human barbecue. The Bloody Mary mix had started cooking on his stomach, giving his skin a nicely baked orange glaze.

  “You were telling me about your neighbors. How did the Vallardes react when you approached them about the noise?”

  Tony spat on the ground. “That Cuban bitch told me it was a flock of Quaker parrots nesting in their trees that was causing the racket, and that I should mind my own damn business. Hell, she treated me like I was the one didn’t belong here, instead of it being the other way around. I think Miss Elena Vallardes has gone and forgot that it was her ass that got off the damn boat!”

  I waited until Tony calmed down. “So, what do you think is really going on over there?”

  Tony poured himself another drink. “Personally, from the noise, I’d say they’re making their money incubating eggs, hatching ’em, and selling the suckers.”

  So Carrera’s next door neighbor was the very same Elena tied in with Dominguez and Weed! Hanging around Coral Gables was beginning to change my view of the suburbs as a quiet and boring place.

  “Just do your best to keep your flamingos from flying over that wall,” I reminded Carrera as I got up to leave. “I can vouch for the fact that Langer has some nasty cats at his place.”

  Tony puffed out his well-done chest. “Just let the bastard try something and I’m telling ya, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Letting Langer and Tony have a go at each other could have its advantages. It would certainly lighten my workload, and help make the animal kingdom a safer place for its inhabitants.

  I gave him a small nod. “By all means, knock yourself out.”

  Seven

  The pungent smell of dead flamingo clung to the interior of my Ford as I drove to the Vallardes’s palatial estate. My Tempo chug-chugged alongside a wall that encompassed a plot of land the size of Carrera’s and Langer’s combined. When I finally arrived at the entrance, I was faced with the standard locked gate. I’d already made up a story to slip inside, only to discover I could have saved myself the trouble. The wrought-iron entrance swung open without demanding my name, license plate number, or shoe size.

  Hello Cinderella, I thought, catching a gander of the villa that lay sprawled before me. Ten thousand square feet of pure Mediterranean, high-falutin’ fantasy was encircled by an army of palm trees of every species and size. The main residence was a two-storied white stucco affair topped with a fashionable red-tiled roof, and flanked by two massive wings snaking out on either side. The place appeared large enough to hold a small army.

  I parked between two tasteful sports cars of Continental vintage. The burgundy Porsche Turbo and convertible hunter green Jaguar XJ made my poor Tempo look shabbier than ever, so I jumped back into my car and parked it farther away—knowing how I’d feel if someone stuck me between Cindy Crawford and Sharon Stone.

  By the time I walked up to the front door, a South Beach stud was waiting to let me in. I did a double take at the hunk of beefcake dressed in minuscule bathing briefs that would have made a Speedo look large. His only other attire was a shiny gold Rolex, flashing the time on his wrist. He returned my once-over, tapping an impatient bare foot on the elegant marble floor.

  “It’s about time you decided to make an appearance. Elena’s been waiting for you to show—although I can’t believe you’re what the agency sent. I can tell you, she’s not going to be happy,” snapped the resident doorman.

  I was too focused on his pumped-up pecs and washboard abs to reply. Speedo responded by rolling his eyes, turning on his heels and sashaying inside. I followed the bouncing buns, figuring if he hadn’t asked who I was, that wasn’t my problem. Any way I got in was fine by me.

  My entrance was greeted by two gigantic statues on either side of the hall, their ceramic pedestals sculpted into large, foamy waves on which a pair of happy dolphins cheerfully balanced on their tails. That was just the beginning of the Vallardes’s ceramic animal kingdom. Giraffes, tigers, and zebras all stood captured in brightly glazed splendor as I made my way down the hall. Even a large red-and-green parrot had been caught midwing, as if ready to take flight, its Plexiglas base burping rose-colored Lawrence Welk bubbles.

  My escort could have been a statue himself, so perfectly formed Michelangelo would have cried. I vowed to find more time to work out—even if it was in my next life. I glanced into room after room as we passed through the house, seeing a general theme to the decor. It was as if a troop of leopards had decided to commit mass suicide all over the place. Couches and chairs were covered in synthetic faux leopard, as were throw pillows, room carpets, and drapes. A bathroom even offered leopard-print towels.

  But the crowning moment was when we tramped up to the second floor, passing a bedroom whose door was flung wide open. I stopped and stared in open-mouthed wonder as my attendant continued to sway down the hall.

  An enormous bed lay nestled in a frame shaped like a huge pink conch shell, a leopard-skin fur tossed across its length. But even more bizarre was the lifelike leopard that sat guarding the room. The cat gazed dreamily off into space, its neck encased in a jewel-studded collar that Cartier would have killed for. But there was something odd about the feline. I moved in closer for a better look, only to realize the cat was no fake but the real thing, taxidermied into a lifeless figurine.

  I felt a tug on my elbow and turned to find the Speedo stud by my side.

  “Forget it, nature girl. You’re definitely not Elena’s type.”

  That was just fine with me. My guide led me toward a room with a hot salsa beat pumping out the door, into a photographic wonderland. Lights popped and flashed in a series of miniexplosions, the eruptions originating from silver umbrellas locked on stands that reached for the sky. The whir of an angry hornet turned into a camera, its click a succession of rapid-fire bursts.

  “That’s it, darling. Give me the bad-boy look this time, just the way I like!” purred a voice as smoky as a five-alarm fire.

  Elena stood center stage in a clingy, one-piece leopard-print jumpsuit. Its plunging décolletage was capped by two heaving mounds of flesh, compliments of one industrial-strength bra. An electric mane of hair, bright as the yellow brick road, tumbled down her back. But her face was the main attraction. More precisely, a pair of full lips pursed in a perpetual pout that could easily have been X-rated. This entire package was precariously held up on a pair of fiery red, four-and-one-half-inch stiletto heels.

  I was torn between paying homage to sensible Nikes, and taking a flying leap to tackle the woman for her shoes. There was no doubt that high heels did what no sneakers could. I watched Elena move with attitude, balanced on a pair of stilts which threw out her butt and emphasized her breasts, while giving her the calves of an Olympic sprinter. She was the kind of woman I’d always sworn I never wanted to be. At the moment, I would have given almost anything to look something like her.

  “Ooh! That’s so hot, Ricardo. Now give me a little more smolder,” she growled. Elena emphasized the point with a slow gyration of her hips.

  I shifted my attention to the muscled Adonis whose expression hadn’t changed one iota since I’d walked in.

  “Yes! That’s it! Perfect!” exulted the crushed-velvet voice. “Now break loose, darling. Give me 100 percent undisguised lust.” Elena wriggled and pouted like an unsatisfied lover.

  Adonis remained 100 percent undisguised stone. A subtle shift of the hips and tilt of the head was about as far as Ricardo seemed willing to go.

  “That was wonderful!” Elena raved. “Take a two-minute break. You’ve earned it.”

  Elena’s expression instantly changed to one of annoyance as she turned and grabbed a look at me.

>   “You call this a model? What are you, cuckoo?” she seethed. “Get someone else out here and tell them they’d better make it fast!”

  Speedo hopped to it, running out of the room on the double.

  Elena’s critique topped off an already prize-winning morning. I couldn’t decide which was worse—dealing with a slug like Carrera, facing off against a military psychotic, or duking it out with a high-heeled, unmitigated bitch.

  “I’m not a model,” I said, my secret fantasy totally shot and my ego badly bruised.

  “Good. At least we’re both in agreement on that,” she snapped.

  Elena tossed her mane and began to swish away as my self-esteem clicked in. Checking my mental mirror to reaffirm that I looked damned good, I brought Elena’s exit to a halt by stepping in front of her, pushing out my own chest, and giving my Nikes some bad-girl, kick-ass attitude.

  “I’m a federal agent here on official business. I have some questions, and I’m going to need a few minutes of your time.” I purposefully left out the key words, “U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  Elena’s eyes narrowed, zooming in on me like a telescopic lens. “Official business? What do you possibly want with me?”

  I rolled the dice, hoping to hit a pair of sixes. “I understand you were a friend of Alberto Dominguez.”

  The phrase hung in the air like the crackle of fire. Adonis sauntered back onto the set, ready for more hard-core emoting. But Elena hadn’t noticed, her brow furrowed as she contemplated her next move. I didn’t want to allow her too much time to think.

  “This is important, or I wouldn’t be out here wasting my time,” I said, pressing the point home.

  Elena removed the camera from around her neck and thrust it into the hands of a waiting assistant.

  “We’re taking a fifteen-minute break. Then it’s everyone back to work with no more screwing around,” she barked at her coterie of workers.

  Adonis checked out a series of subliminal poses in front of a full-length mirror as Elena stormed out of the room without another word. I followed hot on her sky-high heels down the steps, along the hall, and out the back door, into a tropical jungle showcasing the most ostentatious pool this side of Beverly Hills.