by Dancer, Jack
Yeah, how ‘bout a €120 million lottery ticket weird. God, I want to tell her about the ticket so badly I can hardly stand it, but I can't. Not now, especially with everything taking on a whole new dimension, as it seems to be. I've got to wait and see how it plays out with these two guys looking for us.
Just then Monica's cell rings. She retrieves it, looks at it, looks at me, and mouths, "Nanette."
"What in the world does she want?” I whisper, perturbed.
"I don't know,” she says but answers anyway, "Hey, what's up? You're kidding? Looking for us? What for?” Monica says rolling her eyes at me.
Well, that didn't take long I'm thinking, looking out at the harbor and considering the boat idea.
"Okay, thanks for the heads up. I'll see you at lunch,” Monica says into the phone before flipping it shut and turning to me.
"So why are they looking for us?" I ask.
"They didn't say, just that it was police business. They talked with Randy. Nanette never saw them. She'd already checked out. Randy called her because he couldn't find us, and he didn't have my number. Randy said they didn't even look like police or act like police. Said they weren't in uniform, and they were real pushy and insistent and even refused to show identification. He told 'em he didn't know where we were, said they'd left in a huff but they said they'd be back and if he saw us, to tell us not to go anywhere."
"Pretty poor pretenders at policing sounds like," I say.
"Yeah, arrogant."
"What the hell do they want with us? I don't get it. We didn't do anything wrong. We certainly didn't cause that man's . . ."
"Paulo Marti," she reminds me.
"Right, Paulo Marti's death. What could they possibly want with us?" Though I've got a pretty good idea it's the ticket they want.
"Whatever it is, it can't be good. Their methods clearly show that. Pretending to be police? Harassing hotel guests? Wait a minute," she says suddenly turning pale, "what if they're the ones who caused Marti's death. I mean the doctor and these two guys of hers?"
"But, why would they want us?"
"Because we can identify them? I don't know," she says.
"If that were the case why would they let us go in the first place? Besides, there were a lot of people who could identify them, including the conductor. No, I don't think that's it."
"Doesn't make sense."
"Libica's the only one who knows about our involvement, and that we'd skipped out,” I say.
"Yeah, with her help. Plenty of people knew we were there."
"But, could they identify us? Clothed I mean?"
"Oh, Christ, Tucker, don't remind me," she says and we both get a chuckle.
"Not exactly a Polaroid moment you'd want to share was it?"
"Oh, shit, Tucker. Remember the guy taking photos?"
"Yeah, I do. But remember also, the little doctor ordered her boys to get those photos."
"I wonder if they ever did?" she says.
"Holy crap. I hope they weren't showing those around the hotel. Nanette didn't mention that did she?"
"No. Oh, my God, can you imagine?"
"I think if they had been, Randy would have said something to Nanette don't you think?"
"Oh, Tucker this is really getting weird. What are we going to do? You think we should go to the police?"
"And turn ourselves in? We didn't do anything that we should turn ourselves in."
"Well, maybe we should report these two guys who're looking for us."
"Report 'em for what? Looking for us?"
"Yeah, even the papers said the guy's death wasn't suspicious, not being investigated. I don't get it,” she says.
"Me neither. The whole thing was so weird, Libica jumping into the fray like she did. Then offering to shield us from the Perpignan police. And now her two cohorts're down here looking for us. I don't know; there's something really wrong with this whole thing."
"What should we do?"
"What did you tell Nanette? Did you tell her about the train incident?"
"No."
"Did you tell anybody? Terry?"
"No. I didn't tell anyone about it. We agreed we'd keep it between us, remember?"
"Sure I do. I'm just asking."
"Did you tell anyone about it? Like Ebba maybe?"
"Hell no. Not Ebba especially. She already had plenty of suspicions about us without me telling her about a dead guy crashing into our compartment and falling across your naked body. You think I'm crazy?” I laugh.
She laughed too. "I don't think anyone would believe a story like that anyway. I can hardly believe it myself."
"What did you tell Nanette?"
"You heard me. I told her I had no idea who they were or why they'd want to talk to us."
"What about that we've moved out of the Fira?"
"I didn't mention it. I said we're somewhere in the Ramblas walking around playing tourists."
"And what did she say?"
"Not to go back to the hotel. She said Randy said these guys looked like they weren't the good guys, and it might be better if we just stayed away for a while."
"I wonder if they have anything to do with Terry and Ebba? Did you ask if they ever got back to the hotel?"
"Yeah, she said still no one's seen or heard from them."
"This whole thing's really beginning to stink. Terry and Ebba disappear, and now these guys show up looking for us. You think it's connected?” I ask her.
"I can't see how."
"Neither can I. What exactly happened between you and Ebba in the car? When you jumped out I mean."
"Do we have to go there, Tucker?"
"Come on. You never actually told me."
"Okay fine. Ebba started interrogating me about what you, and I were really doing on the train. No, she was accusing me of fucking you. I got pissed and said, yeah, I fucked him, and I fucked him good. Something like that."
"Oh, Christ."
"Then, when the car stopped for a red light, I got out and slammed the door behind me and walked off. I was pissed, and I wasn't going to stay there and take all that shit from her.”
"They just drove off?"
"Yeah. I looked back once and saw the car start and stop then start again and drive off. I just kept walking until I flagged down a cab and came back to the hotel. That's when I went into Scruples and ran into Pat, then James and Lisa came in, and Lisa took Pat off with her. But, you know all that,” she says irritably.
"I didn't know you'd run across Pat and James and Lisa in Scruples."
"No, I guess I didn't mention that to you. What difference does it make?"
"None. None at all," I say not wanting to get her worked up again. "What'd you do after Scruples? Just go to your room?"
"Jesus, Tucker. Is this an interrogation?"
"No honey," I say trying to calm her, "I just thought there might be some clues that maybe you didn't happen to notice, that's all."
"Clues about what?"
"I don't know. I'm groping. It's just all so bloody weird."
"Well, I'll tell you what I did. I stopped by Nanette's room on my way back to mine."
That got my attention.
"And?"
"And, nothing. She was all decked out in her dominatrix costume . . ."
"What?" I feign surprise.
"Yeah, Nanette's a domme and a damn good looking one too I have to admit."
"So, did you?"
She slapped my arm playfully, smiling, "No, you pervert. I was not her plaything if that's what you mean. At least not that night," she says obviously teasing me. "But, someone was."
"Someone was what?" I ask with some trepidation.
"Someone was her submissive. The bed was all torn apart and there was a chair in the middle of the room. Come to think of it there was even a small wet spot on the carpet, near the chair. She must have gotten someone off."
"Was there a whip?" I ask.
She looks at me funny, suspiciously. "No, but there was a studded dog co
llar and a leash on the floor."
Uh oh.
"Why are you turning red, Tucker? Is this embarrassing you? Wait. Do you have a confession to make here, Tucker?"
Holy crap. She knows.
"Confession? Why would I . . . you're not suggesting it was me in her room are you?"
"I don't know, was it?" She's eyeing me very suspiciously now.
Should I confess? I know she knows and if I don't fess up I'll probably never win her trust again, and it seems I'm already losing it. I love this woman, I think. At least, I'm pretty sure. So, if I lie and I'm caught, I'm dead for sure, and if I tell her the truth, will she believe it wasn't my choice? That I was mugged and raped! I doubt it. So, I'm screwed either way. I'm caught in a fuck-22.
Every instinct in my body is screaming DENY! DENY! Even if she catches you in bed with the other woman, DENY IT ALL THE WAY. Women always want to believe you. If you can give them even a smidgen of doubt, you've got a chance. That's mano-a-mano credo # 1.
"It wasn't my fault! I swear to God. She tackled me in the hallway. I was on my way to go to the restaurant when she leaped out of her room and tackled me and dragged me to her bed and handcuffed and blindfolded me, and . . . You gotta believe me! I swear to God!"
She just stands there, looking at me, with enough scorn and disdain you'd think I was a puddle of piss.
I'm dying here.
Then, without a word, she turns and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I hear the toilet lid slap as she raises it. A moment later, she starts laughing so loud and so hard I'm not even sure it's laughter. Maybe she's screaming? Crying? I'm not sure, but it sounds like laughter, and it goes on and on.
Some minutes later, it stops and then the next thing I hear is the toilet flushing and the water from the basin turn on. She's washing. Then the door opens, and she walks out with absolutely no expression. She walks up to me, looks into my eyes and suddenly, without warning breaks out in hilarious laughter again.
"It's true! I swear to God, honey. It's true." And I start laughing too, and now we're both laughing.
"She had you on a leash with the studded dog collar?" she asks. "Let me see your neck."
"I was handcuffed and blindfolded."
"What did she make you do?"
"Let's not go there, okay? It wasn't a pleasant experience if you want to know the truth."
"What did she make you do? Tell me."
"Lay across her lap while she spanked me."
More hilarity.
"And you didn't like that?"
"It was humiliating."
"But, did you like it?"
"What sort of question is that?" I protest.
"Okay, let me rephrase. Did you get off?"
"Well, yeah, eventually she let me off her lap."
"No you idiot. Did you get off?"
"Oh . . . well . . . involuntarily . . . maybe. What difference does that make? I was raped for Christ's sake!"
"A man cannot be raped, Tucker. Don't you remember; we had this discussion?"
"Well, I've got news for you. That's not entirely true. At least not as far as Nanette goes."
"Maybe it was the circumstances more than it was Nanette. Maybe the whole BDSM thing is just the thing for you. You might not've been looking for it, but it found you, and you obviously got off on it. Am I right, Tucker? You liked it didn't you?"
"Hell no . . . Well . . . Maybe . . . a little . . . it was different, I gotta admit. But, is it something I'd want to do again? I don't think so."
"Maybe you'd be more comfortable as the dominant. You think that might make a difference?"
"I don't know. I doubt it. I've never had any inkling of going there."
"But, how do you know if you haven't tried it? You apparently had an orgasmic time of it as Nanette's submissive."
"I told you, that was completely involuntary. Why are you asking me all this? You have something in mind?"
"Maybe."
Holy shit.
"So, let me ask you. What exactly did you do in Nanette's room last night? Were you her submissive?" I ask her, turning the tables.
"Maybe."
Holy shit.
"Maybe you'd like to be my submissive?" I ask.
"Maybe."
Holy shit again.
"Well, if we're going there I'm gonna need some lessons."
"No, you won't. I told you on the train a man's natural inclination is to dominate. All you have to be is yourself - at least your natural, uninhibited self. It might take a little practice, but I'm sure you can do it."
"So, do you want to start now?" I ask.
"No. I want to find out why those two guys are looking for us. I want to know what they want from us."
"If that's the case, call Nanette and ask if she’ll call Randy to look around the hotel and see if he can spot 'em, without them spot'n him spot'n them, of course. If he sees them, ask where they are exactly. I'll walk over to the Fira and take some photographs and we can email the hotel, maybe even the police. We'll tell 'em these two guys are stalking and harassing hotel guests.
"We need to do this. We need to get ahead of them somehow. Right now, we don't know anything except these guys are looking for us, and I doubt it's to tell us we won the . . .” I catch myself. Dumbass, I'm thinking.
"Lottery?"
"Yeah, the lottery,” I blanch while getting my camera bag and sunglasses.
How'd she come up with that? Natural word to complete the sentence, I suppose. Maybe she's good at game shows.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got a cell phone the other day. I figured it'd probably be a good thing to have for the rest of the trip; you know, just in case,” I say while scribbling the number on the hotel's writing pad.
“In case of what?”
“In case you need to call me. I dunno. When you find out from Randy exactly where these guys are, call me. If he doesn't find 'em let me know that too. Wait, didn't you say you're having lunch with Nanette?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"I'm supposed to meet her in an hour."
"You think you can call her now, while I'm on my way over there? Maybe ask Randy to call me directly?"
"Okay. But, be careful, Tucker. All this stuff makes me really nervous," she says wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close.
Finally, some affection.
"It'll be okay. Just get out of here and have lunch with Nanette. I think maybe we ought to change hotels. Get a room where we're not listed on the registry."
"Christ, Tucker, we just got here."
"I know. I don't like it either but when these guys don’t find us at the Fira, all they have to do is start calling hotels and ask for Tucker Blue's room, and we're screwed," I say.
“God, these guys are screwing up what could've finally turn out to be a nice vacation,” she says.
“You mean now that Ebba and Terry are out of the picture?”
“That was pretty selfish wasn’t it?” she says.
“Well, I can’t say I’m not with you on that. I guess we’re just gonna have to see how things pan out. Maybe, we’ll get lucky and the girls are shacked up somewhere.”
“For the remainder of our stay, would be good.”
“Wouldn’t break my heart,” I say.
“I'll have lunch with Nanette, and you can call me and let me know what you find out, and if we need to relocate. Thing is, I like this room. Can you get us one as nice?"
"Sure honey. I'll try to get one even better. Maybe I'll stop off somewhere and get a couple of masks and whips."
"You really want to whip me, Tucker?"
"Okay, I'll get handcuffs. How's that?"
"I could ask Nanette if we could stay over with her for a night or two? I'm sure she's got all the toys we'd need. How about that?"
Yikes. "Let's hold off on that until I find out about these two guys. We can go from there. Besides, I'm not sure I'd feel real safe around Nanette. Are you going to tell her you know ab
out last night?"
"What makes you think we haven't already talked about it?"
"Holy shit. Does this mean it'll be a threesome?"
"Is that what you want?"
"I think maybe we've got enough on our plates right now, don’t you think?"
"I love it when you talk epicurean erotica."
"God, and I thought I had it bad. You women make us guys look like pussies."
"No. We know what those look like."
Oh, God. There's a lot more to this woman than I would've guessed. At least, it looks like telling the truth about last night just might have gotten me out of my fix after all. The scary thing now is: What'd it get me into?
"So, everything should be okay," I say, "Just don't answer the room phone if it rings. Oh, give me your cell phone number, so I can call you if I need to.” I punch the number into my cell. The other cell is with me in my coat pocket, just in case she gets nosey and starts going through my stuff.
I put my arms around her and pull her close and kiss her. "Don't worry. Everything'll be okay. Maybe it's nothing. Just be sure to call Nanette and see if Randy can't get me a heads-up on where these guys are around the hotel. Once I find something I'll call you," I say walking out the door.
"All right. Be careful, Tucker."
What the hell am I doing? Calling Joe Fernandez and getting some help, that's what.
thirty-one
14:15 Hours, Wednesday, 3 September.
The Hilton Hotel.
Exiting the elevator and walking through the hotel's lobby, I notice Consuela at the reception desk helping a customer. Passing by I'm close enough to overhear her saying to the gentleman, "I hope you enjoy your stay, Señor Johnson and if there's anything I can do to make your stay more pleasurable, please call on me. My name is, Consuelo.”
And here I'd thought . . . Oh, never mind what I thought. She's just doing her job and from the smile breaking across this guy's face, she's doing it well.
Outside the hotel I pull out my new iPhone and go to the GPS location feature and bring up the map with my current location. I dial in the Fira Palace for directions, and an arrow appears on the map with a route highlighted from here to there. I'm walking.