Key Witch

by Robert Tacoma

  “Hold your horses, I got the key right here.” He pulled himself up on the boat and gave the key a try in the trunk lock and stepped back.

  ♦

  The light hurt his eyes at first, but he was so happy to see Lydia’s face he almost cried.

  “Brad!”

  Lydia reached in and tried to hug him and pull him out of the trunk at the same time. Consuelo and Toby took his legs and by the time Taco Bob got on the boat they had Brad sitting on the deck. He was a little out of it, but smiling even before they got the gag off him.

  Consuelo worked freeing his hands and feet while Lydia sat down next to her best friend, put her arms around him, and cried. Things were looking up for Brad. He grabbed Consuelo and hugged both sisters as hard as he could.

  “You ladies don’t know how glad I am to see you!”

  Toby looked over at Taco Bob.

  “I reckon this here must be what y’all was looking for then.”

  Taco Bob gave him a big smile.

  “Sure looks like it.”

  ♦

  Toby obviously didn’t get many visitors and was wound up, wanting to talk.

  “I think I seen that blonde gal before, jogging around the island.”

  Consuelo was trying to check Brad for broken bones while he and Lydia were busy with the hugging and crying thing.

  “Don’t doubt it, Toby. She’s off running miles about everyday. Her and her sisters bought the old Key West Manor Hotel.”

  “You don’t say? You know, that’s something all them yankees coming down here got wrong.”

  “How’s that?”

  “My granddaddy told me the real deal on that. Said them drunk yankee tourists got so worked up about that fella Hemingway being in Key West, they can’t keep a story straight. Not only got it mixed up about what bar he drank at, they got it wrong about the hotel he stayed at when he first came here.”

  The two sisters were helping a limping Brad walk towards Taco Bob’s truck. Consuelo gave a look over her shoulder that said it was time to go.

  “Them yankees got it wrong all right, Ol’ Papa stayed at the Manor. It was the fella he’d hired to do a portrait was the one staying at the hotel down the street. Granddaddy said the Manor ain’t got a widow walk cause a hurricane blowed it off while the crazy painter fella was on it.”

  “That’s mighty interesting, Toby. I got to go, thanks for your help, partner.”

  “No problem! I gotta tell you the best part, though. Supposed to be some ghost shows up there at the hotel every time there’s a hurricane coming. Ain’t that rich?”

  The old crabber went to laughing and coughing while Taco Bob hurried to catch up with the others. He decided not to tell the sisters about the Hemingway story. They had enough to deal with trying to run that place by themselves. He didn’t want to scare them with any stories of ghosts in their hotel.

  ♦

  My Josephine was so tired, maybe that’s why she was looking at me strange. She looked under the bed real carefully and smiled big when she found the ripe mango I’d put there. She said we’d save it for later and hugged me to her chest on the bed. I can take a lot of that kind of treatment.

  ∨ Key Witch ∧

  17

  Hotel

  The wind kept it up like a tired child who wouldn’t go to sleep. The stars came out briefly and sang to it. The moon told it a story. After the sun came in and ran everyone off, the wind finally calmed down and slept.

  The drive back to the hotel was uneventful as drives in near-hurricane conditions go. It was slow going and a tight fit in the truck with Taco Bob driving, Consuelo next to him, and Lydia and Brad huddled against the far door. Lydia kept fussing over Brad while filling him in on the high points of the quarantine.

  Taco Bob wanted to ask Lydia about this dream she’d had. He’d been pretty skeptical, but finding a real, mostly alive biologist in the trunk of the car at Toby’s had his curiosity up. Especially since he knew a little about lucid dreaming himself.

  But he was too busy at the time to start any serious conversations. In spite of the concentration it took to drive through the wind and rain in the dark, he was very aware of the young woman pressed against his side. He’d noticed her quietly looking at him, and when he hit a bump her hand landed on his leg, and stayed. When her fingertips started moving in a slow circular motion he had to remove the hand or end up in a ditch.

  “Uh, Consuelo, I’m trying to drive here. Maybe you could try the radio, find us some news on this storm.”

  “Sure.”

  There was plenty of static, excited voices talking fast in Spanish, music, and finally a CNN weather update from a Miami station. The news was good. Hurricane Zenobia was turning west, away from Florida. The forecasters had it losing strength crossing the Gulf of Mexico, then hitting a sparsely populated area just south of Brownsville, Texas.

  ♦

  They decided the best way to get things straightened out was for Brad to go to the airport and meet the CDC people from Atlanta. Since they still had some time until the plane was due, they’d have Taco Bob drop them at the hotel so they could re-group in the lobby and tell Brad the rest of the story.

  “I’m pretty impressed with the way you ladies handled those two hoods. Just what did you do with them, Consuelo?”

  Consuelo got into telling the tale. This made driving easier for Taco Bob.

  “I took the fancy dresser, Louie, out to the sewage treatment plant. Held him up over the rankest tank and told him to tell me why he shouldn’t get tied off in there for a few hours.

  “Started telling me all kinds of stuff about his partner, who at the time had the spacious Caddy trunk all to himself. He starts telling me about Gustov poisoning the birds at the beach with rat poison. Tells me he thinks the big tough guy is afraid of birds and won’t admit it. I get an idea. I stop by their little motel room real quick since it’s on the way.

  “You ever hear the story about that parking lot at Searstown? Supposedly, that area was a popular marsh spot for the seabirds for like, forever. They paved it over for the lot, and generations of birds keep coming back there anyway. Something in their genes I guess.

  “Anyway, I got some big nails and rope out of the toolbox. Hammered the nails down in the asphalt and tied dear Gus out there spread eagle. Mashed up two big bags of corn chips I’d grabbed out of their room and sprinkled him really good. I kept the gag in his mouth so he wouldn’t scare the birds while they pecked.” Consuelo looked pleased with herself.

  “So what did you do with Louie then?”

  “Oh, I tied him off in the sewage tank anyway. His screams made a really cool echo in the wind. Anyway, it’ll be getting light out before long, so I imagine they’ll both be found in a few hours. I doubt we’ll be hearing any more from them though. From what we learned about their boss, they’ll most likely be in a hurry to get out of town, the state, and probably the country.”

  Brad looked relieved to hear this.

  ♦

  When Taco Bob stopped the truck in front of the hotel, there was an ambulance parked in the dark just down the street. Lydia looked at her sister.

  “Where’d that ambulance come from?”

  “Beats me.”

  Brad reached over and shook hands with Taco Bob. “Thanks so much for your help.”

  “Hey, no problem. Glad to do it.”

  Brad got out with Lydia next. “Thanks, Taco Bob. You’ll have to come by for dinner sometime.” She was holding Brad’s hand, heading for the front door of the hotel. “Consuelo, be a dear and give him a hug for me, will you?”

  Taco Bob stiffened as Consuelo threw her arms around him. He expected a bone-crusher, but got the softest, most sensuous embrace of his life. Two bright eyes looked up out of the blonde hair.

  “Thanks, Taco Bob.” Consuelo scooted across the seat and was out the door, giving a little wave as she headed for the hotel. “See you soon!”

  Taco Bob watched her slip into the hotel, then shook him
self out and took it on home.

  ♦

  When she opened the front door of the hotel, Consuelo was thinking about asking Taco Bob to take her fishing sometime, and wondering if he had a girlfriend. She almost rear-ended Brad and Lydia standing just inside.

  “No one moves, or the skinny one gets it!”

  Everyone was staring at the wired, dumpy-looking guy standing there with a gun pointed at Sara. She was sitting on a couch in the lobby next to a very unhappy Josephine. Brad and Lydia not moving in front of her. Wait for a diversion from one of her sisters? Or do a roll, come up and launch off the other couch, make a grab for the gun and the guy’s eyes? Oh well, no time like the present.

  Consuelo was about to spring when the guy fired a shot just over Brad’s head.

  “You! Blondie! On the floor! Sit on your hands! Now!”

  So much for that plan. Guy was twitching around like a speed freak. Better do what the jerk says, don’t want to get somebody shot. Just sit and remember the training. Patience.

  “That’s a good girl! You two, on the couch here! Blondie stays on the floor, scoot up against the wall, little girl.”

  Eyes on this guy are crazy. There, he’s sniffing like he’s been doing coke.

  “That’s good, Blondie. You’re a cute little thing, but I got a feeling you were about to do something very bad there a minute ago. I want - ”

  “What’s going on here?”

  Lydia sitting on the couch interrupted the jerk. Four people on the couch. Brad looked confused, Lydia and Josey looked pissed, Sara looked sick. This sucked.

  Guy turned and pointed the gun, looked like a 45, at Lydia.

  “You, shut your mouth! I got the gun, which means I’m in charge here. Understand?” Guy was sure wired, kept sweeping the gun at everyone, especially Consuelo. “And I want some straight answers here, no more of this stuttering or ‘I don’t know’ bullshit I been getting from these two.” The eyes on the couch had all gone to highly pissed. “First question: Is this Dr. Brad Mulberry?”

  A door slammed in back of the hotel and Jeremy came in the lobby looking at a horse racing program and scratching his belly.

  “Hey, has anyone seen my…Oops.”

  “On the floor, fatso! Now! Face down, arms out!”

  Consuelo started coming off the floor when the gun swung back her way. Guy definitely looked like he would put a bullet in her head. Back down. Patience.

  ♦

  Joey Two Thumbs was not enjoying his trip to Key West. Things had been going so well back in Miami. Nice little job for the drug company had come at a good time. One of his main sources of income – shaking down crooked politicians and lobbyists – was in serious decline since some hot-shot newspaper columnist/novelist had too many of the politicians in Miami playing nice. Used to be you could hardly swing a dead cat in that town without hitting at least a commissioner on the take.

  The first draw on payment from the drug company had just been made the way he liked it – on time and in cash. And there was a little bonus with the payment. Some pills and powder that went really well with twelve year old single malt Scotch. A couple of class whores to complete the nights entertainment were on their way. Then the phone rang.

  The big moron who worked for Joey said he might have a problem, then hung up. Finally got somebody to answer the fucking phone at the motel. Offered money and then a pistol whipping, but the guy wouldn’t go check on the room. Asswipe at the motel just knew no one could get in or out of Key West, so he got with the smart mouth. Guy hadn’t planned on Joey Thumbs.

  Guy about shit when Joey walked in the motel office a few hours later. A couple of shots with the 45 into the guy’s computer made sure there wasn’t going to be any more smart mouth. Told everything he knew then, which wasn’t much. Just that Gus and Louie might have left with three young women he recognized as the new owners of the Key West Manor Hotel. Joey was pretty wound up after the ride down through the Keys so he slapped the motel guy around anyway, just to work off some stress. Hey, just because your world is going to shit is no reason not to be concerned with your health. He planned to relieve a lot more stress when he found Gus and Louie.

  So then he’d driven the ambulance over to the hotel. Ambulance was a stroke of luck. Drove the Caddy down through the Keys trying to figure how he was going to get through the fucking quarantine roadblock when he got to Key West. Pulled over along the road to take a piss and here comes the answer. Step out in the road, get your hands up waving around, and if you have a chrome 45, you get a free ambulance complete with driver. This one even came with a patient zonked out in back, a big one. Got right through the stupid roadblock, no problemo. Actually, things had gone fairly smooth, up until these little broads decided to be a pain in the ass.

  “So is this Dr. Brad Mulberry or not? Don’t be fucking me around here, people. My doctor says I need to take it easy on the stress, so if you don’t cooperate here, I may just have to shoot someone. Fuck it, I think I will anyway.”

  A quick pinch of that fine powder for each nostril, then draw a bead on the little blond. Somebody’s coming in the door. Now what?

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  Joey couldn’t believe it. The fucking ambulance driver and patient. Jesus H. Fucking Christ but that patient is big. Driver had a big lump on his forehead.

  “I really hate to bother you folks, you’re obviously mighty busy and all. I was just hoping we could get the keys back to our ambulance parked out front.”

  Joey couldn’t believe this shit.

  “Fuck no you can’t have the keys! And who the fuck are you anyway? I see you here in the light, you got the right uniform, but you don’t look like no ambulance driver to me!”

  “Name’s George, and this here mountain of a man is my partner, Lenny. Folks like to call us the Dalton Gang.”

  ♦

  George Dalton wasn’t having one of his better trips to Key West. Things had started off well enough, all the excitement with the hurricane coming had been the perfect opportunity for him and his partner to practice their specialty: prison escape.

  In their long and storied careers in crime, the Daltons always seemed to supplement their inevitable felonious shortcoming with generous amounts of bad luck. Which gave them ample time in closed environments with a segment of society where escape strategies are almost a religion. It turned out to be the one thing they were good at, amazingly good at.

  On the way from Miami’s Krome Avenue Correctional to Homestead, George had an idea. Earlier they’d dropped the prison shrink off in the swamps and taken his clothes and car. Hurricane news on the radio gave George the idea. They started looking for a fire station.

  Since Lenny was more than just a few bricks shy of a load, George had always tried to take care of his childlike but formidable partner. In a business where size quite often did matter, George would usually let the big man take care of things like politely tying up paramedics and firefighters while he checked out their clothes lockers. He selected a spiffy uniform for himself and a nice shiny red and blue ambulance for the drive down to Key West to settle an old score. The only thing they could find close to Lenny’s size was a hospital gown.

  “This sure is a swell ride we got, George! Can you turn on the siren again? Please, George?”

  “I told you we only turn that on for emergencies! Like when that old lady pulled out in front of us back in Key Largo!”

  “Yeah! Boy, that was some fun, huh George? I sure hope she can swim! When we going to eat? I shore am hungry, George.”

  Everything was going great, except there weren’t any restaurants open as they were driving down through the Keys, so Lenny ate all the drugs in the ambulance instead. George couldn’t believe it.

  Then the big lummox says he don’t feel so good and finally ends up in back passed out. Then there’s this guy standing in the road. Pretty embarrassing for a couple of hardened criminals to get car-jacked.

  After they got through the roadblock at th
e Key West bridge, the crazy car-jack fucker has him pull over, whacks him with a big gun, rolls a still unconscious Lenny out the back, and takes off with their ambulance. This sucked mightly, since the ambulance was an important part of George’s plan to kill a certain somebody. They’d tried about everything in the past, from machine guns to rockets, but this was proving to be a hard man to kill.

  The game plan this time was serious stuff. They weren’t screwing around, no sir. Once in Key West, they planned to go straight to the Navy Base and see if they couldn’t find a nice nuclear warhead that would fit in the back of the ambulance. Then go find Taco Bob, tie him to the bomb and blow the fucker up but good. There were some details that needed to be worked out on his plan, but George figured if you were going to be a successful criminal you had to learn to think on your feet.

  But walking around Key West in the rain and wind looking for their ambulance was definitely not part of the plan. At least Lenny had sobered up some, and they’d found their ride outside this hotel, but now it looked like he was about to get shot by this crazy car-jacker.

  “Really, mister. We don’t mean no harm, at least to nobody here. You just hand over the keys to our ambulance, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Fuck that! You two beat it. Now!”

  George motioned to his towering partner.

  “Lenny here is mighty cranky since he ain’t had nothing to eat today but drugs. You folks ever hear of us, or what this man does when he’s cranky?” Everyone shook their head no, except the little man on the floor who just stared with his mouth open. “Nobody heard of us? Shit. Well, Lenny, kill that couch.” The big man reached over and grabbed the empty couch next to the little blond on the floor, picked it up off the ground and ripped it in half.

  Everyone stared in disbelief. Except the man with the big silver gun, who turned and shot George in the chest.

  ♦

  Lenny was having a great time in Key West. Escaping always gave him an even better appetite than usual, but all those drugs made him forget about being hungry, at least for a while. He’d never been so high before since George usually didn’t let him take drugs in prison because they were bad for you, and because they could be traded for good healthy stuff like cigarettes and porn.