Crimson Blood

by Douglas Pratt

  She told me the room number and slid a key card across the desk to me. “Do you need help with your bag?”

  “No, I got it.”

  “The elevators are down that hall there. We have our restaurant, Swampers, open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We also have the 360 Grille open for dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I walked past the bar and found the elevator. Pressing the sixth floor button, I wondered what I was doing, or what I was going to do. Lauren left me almost no clues about her, and short of an area code and the license plate on the Charger, I had no other reason to be in this town. With no place to really start, I would poke around until I annoyed someone.

  The Presidential Suite appeared less presidential than it’s name declared. Although, there was a jukebox which I found odd. The balconies over looked a large pool that would be some kids’ dream vacation. The Tennessee River flowed in the background with several boats trolling along while their drivers cast lines out for fish.

  Unlocking Lauren’s phone, I tried to call the number in her phone again. The call went straight to voice mail.

  I sent Lauren’s picture to my phone, then I put her phone and the two million dollars in the safe, but not before taking one bundle apart. Pocketing a small wad of hundreds, I figured I could drop Lauren’s money instead of my own.

  The sun was dropping quickly, and I hadn’t eaten. I had no real plan of action, so dinner seemed like a smart move.

  The hotel restaurant seemed to have a good atmosphere, and the young hostess seated me near the bar.

  A twenty something kid came by the table with a little gold name tag that said he was Cole. “Can I get you a drink, man?” he asked with a smile.

  Peering up at the bar selection, I decided to ignore the nurse’s orders. In my experience, alcohol never hurt a situation. “I’ll take the Jack Daniels Single Barrel on the rocks, and a water.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said with a big grin.

  My phone rang.

  “Hey, it’s Leo,” I heard when I answered.

  “Hey, get the girls home?”

  “Yeah,” Leo chuckled. “You left an impression on Sara. She talked about you all the way home.”

  “I hope she’s alright then.”

  “She’s gonna be fine. She was bragging about it to Kristi.” That must have been the other girl that I never met.

  Leo continued, “I’m actually calling because your friends are back.”

  “The Charger?”

  “Yes, complete with two murderous thugs.”

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “I figured they might return. So I camped out and waited down the street. Lo and behold, they show back up. They are sitting at the other end of the street watching your house.”

  “Really?”

  Leo said, “I think they underestimate your intelligence.”

  “Can you get their license plate number?”

  “Nope, they are facing me.”

  “Maybe you could follow them if they leave.”

  Leo asked, “Would you rather I question them for you?”

  “I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

  “Wait,” Leo interjected. “They are doing something.”

  He paused. I waited for an explanation.

  “They are going into your house.”

  “Okay, let them get inside, and call the police.”

  Leo laughed. “Where is the fun in that? I’ll call you back.”

  He hung up. I shook my head.

  Cole returned to my table with Jack, and I ordered the shrimp and grits. I sat patiently waiting on Leo to call back. I couldn’t really worry too much. Leo was a former Marine who now works in private security, meaning he could be someone’s bodyguard or he could be paid to break someone’s legs. Don’t misunderstand me. Leo has a sense of honor, loyalty, and above all, a moral compass. He won’t hurt someone that doesn’t deserve being hurt.

  I was on my second glass of whiskey when my shrimp and grits arrived. Still, Leo hadn’t called back. Not knowing what time frame Leo would need to do whatever it was he planned, I figured I would let him do what he did best. No point in worrying, so I took a bite.

  The shrimp and grits were delicious. It is a meal that I find can be made a variety of ways leaving room for error. This dish was good. I finished eating and ordered a Bananas Fosters Bread Pudding and a shot of Frangelico.

  My phone rang again, and I snatched it off the table.

  “Jackson Morgan,” Leo said.

  “What?”

  “One of the guys in your house is named Jackson Morgan. The other one got away.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Uh,” Leo said slowly, “he wasn’t very cooperative. He’s not answering questions anymore.”

  “I see.”

  “And the other guy got out of the house, but he’s not going to be looking for you for a while.”

  I winced at a thought. “How is my house?”

  “Uh,” he continued, “you might want to reconsider a kitchen remodel.”

  “Awesome,” I muttered.

  “If it helps, the liquor cabinet is intact.”

  “Good, that would make me sad.”

  “Gotta call the cleaners,” Leo said and hung up.

  After dinner, I returned to my room. The mysterious phone number still went directly to voice mail. I was beginning to think the phone was off permanently. Jackson Morgan also garnered no results on Google or Facebook. Perhaps, there should be a social media platform for hit men and thugs.

  5

  Lauren was at a dance club when we met. Taking a chance, I decided to see what kind of night life the area had. The concierge was at the front desk, and she was willing to point out three or four options for dancing and night life. A place downtown called Straight Up was “the” place. She pointed out another club in Muscle Shoals called Swizzle.

  “It’s pretty popular too. It can get sketchy though.”

  “Did I see there is a college here?” I asked.

  “Yes, UNA. University of North Alabama.”

  “Where do the college kids go?”

  “Depends,” she said. “Frat boys like The Brewhouse. Craft beers and such. Girls like Straight Up, so there are always guys there too. When it gets later, they tend to go to Swizzle. It’s open till 2 a.m.”

  “Are there other places?”

  “Most are beer joints. A couple of vape lounges that sell drinks now. Swampers, here, is geared for the older crowd.”

  I took that as a hint that I might be the older crowd.

  “Is it easier to drive or take a taxi downtown?”

  “You can do either. We can even drive you downtown if you would like. Then you can get a cab back.”

  “That sounds great.”

  The bellman was my driver, and he showed me to a van emblazoned with the hotel’s logo. He was much younger than the concierge at the front desk.

  “Is Straight Up the place to meet girls?”

  “Yeah, that’s where most people go. And Swizzle. Some go to Eight Ball. They have pool tables and music. Lots of drugs there, though.”

  “Do you go out much?”

  “Me,” he seemed surprised. “No, I don’t drink.”

  “How sad,” I mumbled.

  The drive from the hotel to the downtown bar took less than ten minutes. The main street that ran through downtown was Court Street. Straight Up was on the west side of the street. Most of the shops on Court Street closed at five or six in the afternoon. There were a couple of restaurants open besides Straight Up.

  The bellman dropped me off at the front door. I tipped him $10 for the ride.

  The facade of the building was covered in what looked like wood paneling. It was an odd look that was compounded by a giant metal martini glass adorning the wall. I walked in the front door to see the crowds beginning to fill the bar. The building itself was narrow, maybe 100 feet wide, but it was deep. A long bar was built i
nto the wall on one side. The second and third floors that the building originally had were removed. The walls and roof were reinforced with steel bars, and two tiers were built to overlook the main floor. A dance floor and DJ table were laid out on the main floor.

  The clientele was young. Most around Lauren’s age. Young girls in their early 20’s buzzed about the room while college boys strutted about the place.

  I moved to the bar and ordered a Jack Daniels. The bartender was old compared to the crowd.

  “I’m looking for someone,” I said to him when he set my whiskey down.

  “Yeah, who’s that?”

  I showed him the picture of Lauren. “It’s my little sister,” I lied.

  He looked at the picture. “I don’t know. I see a lot of girls in here.”

  “I was hoping you might recognize her. You been here long?”

  “About four months. What happened to her?”

  “She met a boy and dropped off the radar. I’m real worried about her.”

  “Man, I don’t know. You could ask Michelle.” He pointed to a waitress carrying a tray of drinks. “She might know her.”

  “Thanks,” I paid for my Jack Daniels and left a twenty for his time.

  When Michelle came back to the bar with an empty tray, I stepped over to her.

  “Excuse me, can I ask you something?”

  She gritted her teeth and prepared to be hit on by another guy. Her demeanor tightened. She was preparing to turn me down.

  “I’m looking for my sister,” I said showing her the picture.

  She relaxed, taking another look at the picture. “She looks familiar, but I don’t know her.”

  “How familiar?” I asked.

  “I see a lot of people, but I have a good eye for faces. I don’t think she’s been in here in months.”

  “You don’t remember anything about her do you? Was she with anyone?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a guy. Maybe not. I don’t really remember.”

  “Listen, she’s gone missing. I’m just trying to see if anyone’s seen her.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I just don’t remember.”

  I thanked her and let her get back to work. I sat at the bar and sipped the Jack. My head was hurting still, and I was feeling tired. I looked at my watch: 9:37. The feeling that was overwhelming the headache and the exhaustion was loneliness. Not a depressing kind of loneliness. I missed someone. I had been alone for over a year since Lisa and I broke up, and I thought I had adjusted to that. Then in just an hour, I meet Lauren and see endless possibilities.

  I drank down the whiskey in a gulp and flagged the bartender for another. “You drink fast,” a voice said.

  I looked to my left and saw a girl who was barely 21. Her blond hair hung straight over her bare shoulders framing her round face. She wore a halter top that accentuated her curves.

  “Sometimes drinking fast is the only way to go.”

  “What are you drinking?” she asked when the highball of Jack was placed in front of me.

  “Jack Daniels Single Barrel.”

  “I’ve never had that. Usually just Jack and Coke.”

  I pushed the whiskey in front of her. “Here you go,” I said as I flagged the bartender for another.

  She tossed back the whiskey like a shot.

  “Whoa, sweetie. Drinking fast is okay, but single barrel whiskey isn’t the same thing as Jagermeister. It should be savored a little.”

  She smiled. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Would you like another one?”

  She nodded. Her eyes stayed locked on mine.

  We sat together and drank the whiskey. She drank the whiskey slower, but didn’t get the nuances of it.

  “What are you doing after you leave here?” she asked coyly.

  “Probably going back to my hotel.”

  “Oh, you’re from out of town?”

  “Yes.”

  She gulped down her Jack. She ordered two more for us.

  “My treat,” she said.

  “I never turn down a drink from a beautiful woman.”

  She grinned.

  “Are you from Florence?” I asked her.

  “No, I go to school here. I’m from Jasper, Alabama. It’s a little town south of here, almost to Birmingham.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Marketing. What do you do for a living?”

  “Mostly drink,” I said.

  She clinked her glass to mine and turned it up. I shrugged. I doubted I could instill the savoring techniques of proper whiskey tasting in one night.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Marriott?”

  She leaned in close to me, putting her mouth near my ear. “Would you like some company?”

  “You are so sweet, but I don’t even know your name.”

  “Lindsay,” she breathed in my ear.

  “You do know I’m twice your age.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to have fun.”

  “I’m Max,” I said.

  “Like Mad Max?” she asked.

  “Less post-apocalyptic.”

  Lindsay pressed against me. “Come on, Max. Let’s play.”

  I tossed back the whiskey ignoring any flavor notes and slid off the bar stool.

  6

  A knocking on the door woke me up.

  “Housekeeping,” came a voice on the other side.

  I didn’t put a “Do not disturb” sign up last night. I rolled over and noticed my bed was empty. I jumped out of bed and dashed naked to stop the housekeepers from entering.

  “Not right now, please!” I shouted when I got closer to the door.

  A muffled response came that I took as understanding.

  I walked back into the bedroom. Lindsay must have left earlier. The clock on the side table said it was almost eleven. I wasn’t sure what time we finally fell asleep, but Lindsay was full of energy and somewhat insatiable.

  A note was scrawled on the hotel note pad. Her phone number and the words “Call me later” were written in bold letters. She drew a rather good picture of a couple engaging in an exciting position.

  I went straight for the shower. While my headache had receded, I was still very aware that it was there. With the water streaming from the shower and getting hot, I called down to room service for a pot of coffee.

  The shower was big enough for four people. I stepped in and was surprised we didn’t end up in here last night. Pushing that out of my mind, I let the hot water wash over me.

  Ten minutes later, I was dressed and opening the door for Room Service. Cole stood in the hallway pushing a cart with a pot of coffee and a mug.

  “Cole,” I said. “You’re pulling double duty?”

  “Yeah, man,” he said bobbing his head. His hair moussed and styled so that it never moved. “Gotta work to play.”

  He rolled the cart in the suite and set the coffee on the table.

  “Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” I said handing him a twenty dollar bill.

  “Thanks,” he said deftly slipping the bill into his pocket. “Call if you need anything else.”

  I poured a cup of coffee and walked onto the balcony. The autumn morning was warm. The trees still green, a not so uncommon occurrence in the south. We’ve seen days in November consistently hitting eighty degrees. The pool below was empty. Not quite warm enough to be in it. Although I spotted a bikini clad woman laying out on a chaise lounge and soaking up the sun.

  I sat in the wrought iron chair and watched the morning while sipping on the coffee. I’ve never been an early riser. Personally, I find early mornings to be reprehensible. So I don’t often get up and enjoy a cup of coffee on an early morning. I know, it’s after eleven, it’s not early. But it’s still morning.

  The question that kept running through my brain was what was I doing here. Lauren seemed like an amazing girl, but I didn’t really know her. I don’t even know her last name. Maybe
not even her first name. She was a riddle.

  The answer to the question was easy. Her eyes. They sparkled with life when she asked me to run away with her.

  She was definitely running, too. But from what? From who?

  Jackson Morgan. I was pretty sure he and his buddy, who clobbered me in the alley, killed her. I didn’t like that, and I was going to find out why. I’m not very good at much, but I do know how to get to the bottom of something. I just stir up the pot and see what floats up first.

  I finished my coffee, placing the pot and the cup on the tray so that housekeeping could easily remove it.

  I unplugged my phone from the charger. I had two messages and a missed call from Leo. They were both from around seven. That’s the problem with former military, they still bounce out of bed for Reveille. The only time I’ve ever known Leo to stay in bed past six in the morning is if he’s not alone. He thinks he’s being rude if he gets up first.

  I called him back.

  “Let me guess,” he said when he answered. “You just woke up.”

  “Not just. I had some coffee first.”

  “Late night?”

  “Very,” I answered. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I wanted to tell you that I cleaned up the mess at your house.”

  “I dread to think what my insurance company is going to say.”

  Leo chuckled. “I think if you get the right adjuster it will be okay.”

  “Yeah, so anything else?”

  “I have an address for Jackson Morgan for you.”

  “How did you get it?” I asked.

  “I have my sources,” he said. Leo has a great number of military and law enforcement contacts everywhere. His former military service and current career as a security consultant has garnered him friends in all levels of bureaucracy.

  “It’s on his driver’s license,” Leo finally answered.

  I wrote down the address as he dictated it. It was in Sheffield, Alabama. I saw a sign for it yesterday on the other side of the river.

  “Just to reassure you though,” Leo said. “I did run his name through a friend of mine. He has several arrests but no convictions. Mostly assault charges. Seems he has a good lawyer.”