by David Banner
I could feel a distance forming between us with every word. But Randy knew something, and I needed to know what that was. "They killed an innocent woman. For nothing, they just shot her in the chest and left her to die."
Randy looked at me silently, his eyes focusing on mine. Silence fell all around us with only the sound of the water on the shore and the birds in the air to keep my focus. "This is a dangerous world, son. Ya need to be sure you know where you're heading before you go walking into it."
"I have no choice, Randy. They have two women held hostage, and I'm responsible for them both. I can't let them die."
"Okay ..." he said, walking toward me. "But keep in mind, this is a bad idea."
"I'm used to bad ideas."
"Head over to The Spanish Reef Hotel. That’s where you'll find the answers you're looking for. But tread lightly and don't go talkin' too loud, you don't wanna draw the wrong kind of attention."
"Okay," I said. "Thanks."
"Hey, Brandon," Randy said as I walked away. "Just wanted to say you're a good kid. In case I don't see you tomorrow."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
T HE SPANISH REEF HOTEL WAS A SMALL PLACE. A quaint two-story thing that looked like it had been around for some time. Thick palms surrounded almost every inch of the property making it nearly impossible to see from the road which explains why I drove past the place two times before noticing the small, blue and white sign.
Trying my hardest to heed Randy's advice and not draw too much attention to myself, I parked my car one street over along the water and decided to walk to the property. It was a quiet place with only a few cars parked outside of the rooms, but it was well kept. Not like some of the struggling small hotels I had seen back in Miami. The grounds were well cared for, the grass kept low and trimmed, and small rock gardens sat at the far edges of the property. It wasn't hard to see why people loved this sort of thing. It really did look like a place you could escape to if you were trying to get away from it all.
"Hi," I said, passing a housekeeper.
She smiled but didn't speak. Maybe she was just trying to keep a low profile as though she had been instructed not to disturb the guests. Or maybe it had something to do with Randy’s warning of not making too much noise. Whatever that meant.
"I'm looking for the manager," I said in a low voice, sliding a small room key off her cart and putting it in my pocket.
Again, she smiled, only this time she beckoned for me to follow her around a corner and through a breezeway. She stayed in front of me, turning back every few feet to make sure I was still there. Eventually the breezeway opened up into a small garden. In the middle sat a small wooden bench that the housekeeper pointed to and smiled.
I shook my head and sat down, watching her disappear behind a row of purple flowers. I was surrounded by buildings on all four sides. They were built in a square around this small area. It reminded me of those old-school Holiday Inn's that used to litter the interstate whenever my family would take trips to Tennessee to visit my grandparents. But instead of vibrant greens, The Spanish Reef Hotel was covered mostly in hues of blue and white.
A short time later, from around the row of purple flowers emerged three figures. Two of them were similar looking young men with close-cropped hair. The other, an elderly woman carrying a cane and walking with a limp. In the beginning, I wasn't sure if they were the management I asked for, or if they were just guests of the hotel.
But with each step it became more and more evident they were coming right for me. Neither of the men taking their eyes off me as the distance between us grew smaller and smaller. Quickly, I pulled the phone from my pocket and sent a location ping to Micah's phone, then stood from the small bench and extended my hand to one of the young men. "Hello. My name is Brandon Waters."
"Hello, Brandon Waters," he replied, keeping his hands crossed behind his back.
Right," I said, putting my own hands at my sides. "I was wondering if you could help me with something. I found this key under my bed and I think it belonged to a woman I was seeing. I was wondering if you could tell me about any time she may have spent here."
The young man outstretched his palm, motioning for me to place the key in his hand. "It isn't really our policy to give away information on our guests without their consent," he said.
There was something in his voice that let me know he wanted me to leave. He didn't speak with the same southern drawl that most of the residents of Anna Maria Island did. Nor did he have the Gulf Coast twang I had come to appreciate over the last few months.
"What is this woman's name?" the lady asked in a decidedly more southern accent.
"Sharon Rhodes," I said.
"Sharon Rhodes had a husband. And you're not him," the young man said.
"They were divorced. We had been seeing one another for some time."
"Had?" the old woman asked.
"Yes. She was recently found dead. I've just been under a little stress trying to figure out what happened."
"My ... that is distressing." She shook her head. "Such a pretty girl. What a shame."
"Yes. So, as you can imagine I'm trying to find out everything I can about her last few days."
"Wouldn't that be better left for the police?" the young man said.
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't give it," he said, sliding the key into his shirt pocket.
"Right ..."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Waters. I don't think you're going to find any information here. We're a small, discreet hotel. Most of our guests value privacy and chose our hotel due to its’ low profile so we try not to get involved with our guests, it's the way of the industry. You understand."
"I just figured with her being a frequent visitor ..."
"That's odd," the young man said as the older woman turned her back to me and began walking toward a small table. "You seemed so unsure of her actions only a few moments ago. Now you refer to her as a frequent visitor."
From behind the flowers appeared the housekeeper I followed earlier. In her hand she held a tray with a large pitcher of lemonade and a few glasses, she placed it on the table and walked away. The old woman poured a single glass, then walked to me and smiled.
"That Gulf air can get warm this time of day. Have some lemonade, won't you?" she said, before disappearing into the office, taking one of the young men with her.
There was no way this was going to end well, I knew that lemonade would probably knock me out, and I knew that if I tried to make a run for it, I'd likely end up with a bullet in the back of my head.
"I'm not very thirsty," I said.
"I insist."
"Very well," I said, lifting the cold glass to my lips, and letting the sweet tangy liquid tickle my mouth. It was only a few seconds later the world around me started to get blurry. The last thing I remember was seeing the old woman's smiling face looking directly at me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"W HY ARE YOU HERE ..." THE YOUNG MAN'S VOICE PULLED ME FROM MY DRUG-INDUCED SLEEP.
"I told you," I said, my voice slurring through the haze. "My name is Bran—"
"No! I already know who you are. Most of Florida knows who you are, Mr. Waters. Tell me why you're here."
As my surroundings came into focus, I realized I was in what looked like the hotel’s laundry room with my hands and feet tied to a chair. My toes dragged the edge of a long pan filled with about three inches of water, with me at one end, and him at the other.
"I'm just trying to figure out what happened to my girlfriend."
"Why did I never hear Sharon mention your name. Why didn't she ever bring you here?" he asked, stirring his index finger through the warm water.
"I don't know. I’m trying to figure out what happened to her. I meant no harm."
"It's salt water," he said, pulling a taser from his pocket. "From the gulf. I collected it while you were … resting."
"Please ... I won't return. I was just—"
"You were just w
hat? Lying to me?"
"I'm not lying," I said.
"An interesting fact about salt water. You would think the salt molecules would interfere with the flow of electric current, but actually, they enhance it. It’s a beautiful thing. The bubbling water, it almost looks like champagne. You can even smell it."
There was a twinkle in his eye, like he had been looking forward to this moment ever since he saw me. A menacing grin spread across his face as he powered up the small taser in his hand. Electric-blue energy sparked between the small silver probes and I couldn't help being puzzled by how truly happy he looked.
Even after my parents disappeared, and my brother and I spent time living the transient lifestyle that kept us mostly on the streets, I had never encountered people as vile as the ones I seemed to be meeting now. Sure, there had been drug dealers, prostitutes, and even hang members. But for the most part they left Micah and I alone. We didn't bother them, and they didn't bother us. And yes, there had been violence, it was something they saw as necessity. I had seen a lot in my youth, but torcher for the sake of personal enjoyment, was something I had yet to run across.
"Just let me leave," I said.
"Why would I do that?" the young man said, gliding the taser across the top of the water and pressing the button.
Electricity filled the water, colliding with my feet at the speed of light. Pain and shock ricocheted through my entire body. My spine snapped up as straight as an arrow, and my jaw slammed shut, clamping my tongue between my teeth.
Blood poured out of my mouth, running down the side of my face. I wrenched in pain. I couldn't think, couldn't move. The shock felt like it lasted forever, like I was never going to break free of its grasp, then suddenly, it stopped.
I collapsed forward, held in the chair by my bound hands and legs. Blood fell from my chin in large, red droplets, falling into the water like pouring rain, mixing with the salt water at my feet.
"Isn't this fun?" the twisted young man said.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Well now, that's interesting. Most people in your situation would be begging for their lives, and here you are trying to get to know me better."
"I just want to know the name of the person I'm going to kill."
"Yes!" He practically leapt across the room, clapping his hands, and smiling like some evil leprechaun. "You don't know how long I have been waiting for a game! Jacob. My name is Jacob!"
"Hello, Jacob."
"Hello yourself, Mr. Waters," he said, practically giddy with excitement. "Tell me how this is going to go. Should I loosen your straps? Should I accidentally leave a knife within reach? Or ..." he said, lowering his tone, and pressing his lips to my ear. "Should I just kill you where you sit? How would you like for me to do it?"
"How did you kill Sharon Rhodes?"
"Sharon Rhodes ..." he said, looking a little puzzled. "Why would I kill Sharon Rhodes? She was one of my grandmother's best sales girls. You really are clueless, aren't you?"
"Well, if you didn't kill her, then who did?" I asked, blood still dripping from my mouth.
"Think about it, Mr. Waters. Who would have the most to gain from our sales girls going missing?"
"Girls? I thought it was just Sharon."
"Sharon was one among many." He sighed. "But most don't make the news, not with their profession and all. It seems the public only cares if pretty, young moms go missing. And if the public doesn't care, then the police don't care. It's sad, but it's the way of the world, Mr. Waters."
"Then tell me, who's responsible."
"I'm bored with this game. You're no fun."
"He's never been much fun," Micah's voice echoed through the small laundry room. "Me on the other hand, well I'm just a fucking hoot-and-a-half."
I turned to see Micah emerge from the shadows holding a long silver pipe. With a quick turn, and a drop to one knee, the pipe slammed against Jacob's back sending him falling to the ground. Micah ran to his side, pulled the taser from his hand and punched him hard, straight in the jaw.
But Jacob was stronger than he looked. With a swift kick to the gut he sent Micah flying, his body slamming hard into a large silver washing machine. Jacob jumped to his feet, picked up the large pipe, and reared back over Micah's head.
"Micah!" I screamed.
Micah looked up, then rolled to the right, positioning himself behind a tall pipe. Jacob ran toward him swinging the pipe and laughing hysterically. Micah jumped to his feet, ran over to a row of dryers, and in a move I had seen him do many times in our childhood he leapt into the air, grabbed the thick exhaust pipe, and swung around.
His feet collided hard with Jacob’s face which sent him falling backward and screaming in pain. Micah landed on his feet next to the man and gave him another hard punch to the jaw. Blood shot from Jacob’s nose, splattering across Micah's face, and pooled on the floor.
Micah ran over, untied me, and pulled my still shock-ridden and weak body to the door. "They're drug dealers ..." I said. "But they didn't kill Sharon Rhodes."
"I know," Micah said. "I think I know who did."
Micah turned back and ran to Jacob. And with one swift motion lifted the small tub of water and poured it over him. "Never come near me or my brother again," he said, firing up the taser and causing Jacob’s body to convulse in shock.
"C'mon," Micah said. Lifting my arm over his shoulder and pulling me to my feet. "We've got to get out of here."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"I SEE YOU GOT MY TEXT," I SAID.
"How's your tongue?" Micah asked as we drive away from the small hotel.
"Fine. I just bit into it a little bit."
"Do you think that guy will come for us?"
"Probably," I said. "I doubt that old lady will be happy with the way we left that kid."
"So, did you get any information?"
"Not really," I said. "Just the old lady who runs The Spanish Reef hotel is a drug dealer and that her and her grandson aren't the ones who killed Sharon Rhodes."
"Sharon Rhodes was having an affair with someone very powerful."
"Who?"
"I'm not sure," Micah said. "Maybe another drug dealer, maybe a cop. I don't know. I was with this one lady at the soccer game. After I got her to talk she told me that Sharon had been doing a little talking lately. She was with some guy who was supposed to leave his wife or something, but he pulled out at the last minute."
"How'd you get her to talk?"
"We just ... went to her car," Micah said.
"Right."
"We needed the information, man."
"It's fine. Whatever," I said. "Did she say anything else?"
"Just that Sharon was going to take the relationship public if this guy didn't give in to the things he promised her."
"I guess that's why she was so afraid when she came to me."
"She didn't say anything else. No clues?" Micha asked.
"No. Nothing. Just that she was afraid and that she couldn't ..."
"Couldn't what?"
"That she couldn't go back to that house because she was afraid she was being watched."
"Her house?" Micah asked.
"Yeah ... but I don't think it was actually hers. I think she was just living there."
"So, whoever this guy is, he’s been renting a house for his sidepiece or whatever."
"Yeah. I guess so."
"Why didn't you say this sooner?"
"I don't know. I forgot about it. I really hadn't realized it was all connected."
"Right!" Micah said. "But how is it all connected?"
"I don't know. But we need to figure it out."
"Did she say where the house was?"
"She said something about watching him play golf from the window."
"Well," Micah said. "Then it has to be Key Royale. It's the only club on the island. I guess we should start there."
"Yeah. I guess so. But let's not drive. Each one of those houses is backed by a waterway, if we wait until night
fall we might go unnoticed."
"Right. But we still need to figure out which house it is."
"She mentioned looking out at the ninth hole. We'll just go from there."
"Sounds like a plan!" Micah said.
We drove back to our house with the shimmering Gulf waters at our side. So much had happened in these last few days that I was having trouble focusing on any one thing. I thought about Rachel, about what she must be thinking right now. If she was wondering what was taking me so long and why I hadn't come to rescue her yet.
I thought about Sharon Rhodes and the decoy agent from the party. Two innocent lives lost for nothing. All in the name of street violence and drug trade. How could I have let this happen to me? I had been so careful my whole life to shield my little brother from these kinds of things, and now here we were, right in the middle of everything I swore he'd never see.
"I'm sorry," I said, sitting on a kitchen stool.
"For what?" Micah raised one eyebrow.
"For getting you involved in this massive cluster-fuck. I know you just wanted to have a normal life. To open the bar, and spend your days on the sand, enjoying the sun on your back."
"No, Brandon," he said. "That's your dream. Your dream for me. Yeah, I want to be happy, everyone does. And yeah, I'd like some days where I didn't have to do anything but drink Corona and look at beautiful girls. But that's not reality, big brother."
"I just want you to have the life you want."
"I do have the life I want." He smiled. "I'm with my you, I'm with my family, and I'm living the kind of life even the movies couldn't write. I have the white sand under my feet and the warm water on my skin. And I have adventure and danger too. Believe me, big brother. I'm happy."
"But all of this is so dangerous."
"Driving a car can be dangerous if you don't do it right. You can't account for every little chance at something going wrong. You can't walk on egg shells and never do anything because you're afraid of what might happen. What kind of life is that?"