by Karl Tutt
I handed her a fifty. She kissed me on the cheek and we exited the booth. I gave her a nice showy hug when we got back to the floor. I finished my beer. Large nodded to me when I left and grunted something that might have been, “Have a good evening.”
It was close to ten when I left KAMALA, just in time for my rendezvous with Sunny. I knocked on the door and she answered with a glass of ruby cabernet in each hand.
“So what do you think, my earnest young scholar? Did your research go well?”
I filled her in on everything I had, but frankly, it wasn’t much. I could see the wheels turning in that mind honed by grad school at UVA. Psychology, of course, the perfect match for a woman who spends half of her life listening to the problems of drunks.
“I agree that there isn’t a lot, but some of the details are interesting. Who the hell are M’s girls? And the tattoo with the dagger and the snake? Did you notice it on any of the other girls? Anthony? Or could it be Angelo? I remember you telling me that story from Wrightsville Beach. So now he’s in Miami? You need to talk to Frank. He’s got contacts all over the state. If it isn’t about his almost pro basketball career, it’s about cops who owe him some way or another. I’ll bet he knows someone up there.”
“Oh hell, yes. And I will talk to the mysterious Miss Julianne. Tracy says those girls are very superstitious. I am sure she won’t share any private information, but I need a direction right now. I feel like I’m wandering in some sort of labyrinth and I don’t have a ball of string.”
“I don’t worry much about you, T.K. You always seem to figure it out. My Ghostcatcher.” I frowned and she laughed.
We’d finished one glass and started on another. Sunny sat down next to me on the sofa and leaned close. She put a cool fingertip to my cheek. “So you like those young ones, do you?”
“Well, they’re nice to look at. But the truth is I much prefer a more mature woman. A good wine doesn’t reach its full potential until it ages just a bit, and a girl doesn’t come into her glory until she becomes a woman. You, my love, are a woman, full bodied, ripe with wisdom and wit. Just the thing for this beat up ex-college professor.”
She batted her eyes like Greta Garbo and brushed my ear with her lips. “Oh, my darling, you say the sweetest things,” she trilled. Then she put her glass down and bounded into my lap. “If you will follow me, my dear, I will show you how a mature woman can tear your ass up.”
She did.
Chapter 7
Sunny slept in. I was on KAMALA by nine. I straightened up down below, read a day old “USA Today” and made a pot of strong coffee. At ten-fifty, I heard her shoes on the dock. I looked out of the companionway.
“A little small, but pretty nifty,” she said.
Brandy wore a pair of blue denim bellbottoms with brocade that started on the hips and ran down to the hem. A turquoise peasant blouse hung loosely on her shoulders covering her arms to the wrists. It bulged in all of the right places, but I had to rely on my imagination for the details. The black ribbon was tied around her neck. A Mexican silver medallion with a relief of an Aztec god glimmered in the bright sun. The red hair was disheveled, and blew in the breeze like copper glory. She slipped off her Birkenstocks and stepped on board, painted toenails playing with the light. It was a bit of Janis Joplin, but there was no bottle of Southern Comfort. She seemed sober.
“Yeah, I like it,” she said, “we end up on those huge power yachts most of the time, but they just don’t share the aesthetics of a well-found sloop. The damned things remind me of fancy overgrown bathtubs. Daddy had an old Bristol 41.1 up in Michigan, named her LADY ESTHER after my mom. I was damned near raised on it in the summers. She was a beauty. Long gone, now.”
“I’ll take you sailing sometime,” I said.
“Only if I can wear all my clothes,” she said and winked. “And where’s my coffee?”
I asked her if she wanted to come below. She shook her head. I made her a cup of Columbian roast and offered cream and sugar. She shook her head again.
“So I guess you want to hear the story of my life? It’s the stripper’s curse. How did a nice girl like you end up in a place like this and all that shit? I’ll give you the short version. I wanted to come south to school. Too damned much snow for me in Michigan. I ended up at UCF in Orlando. Daddy was a contractor, did okay, but I had to work my way through school. You won’t believe it, but little miss naked here was Snow White at Disney World for a couple of seasons. Not too bad a gig,except I had to wear this black wig. Damned near suffocated on those hot days. Dad was older, passed away when I was a sophomore, Mom followed not long after. I finally got my degree in Art History. Hell, who wants an Art History major?’
I laughed and nodded for her to go on.
“I figured grad school, but I didn’t have the money and Snow White was getting a little old. Kids can only sneeze on you so many times before it gets a little crawly. That’s when I met Mario. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was a pimp. It was his job to locate local talent for entertainments they don’t exactly offer at Disney World. He spent some money on me, treated me like a lady, even suggested he had a way for me to pay for grad school. I’m not stupid. I knew there was more to it, but I wanted that degree and I figured there were going to be some sacrifices involved. The dancing was easy. The hell with the men. I like girls. I mean I really like girls. And it was fun in a way to put the guys on, make them think I was hot for the stuff they offered. The money was great. Sometimes I’d make a grand a night. So I had this plan. Work three years, max. Save the money. I could get my degree all paid for by the time I was twenty-five. It all made perfect sense, but then there was M and the Bluegoo. Things went bad. It’s time to end it for me and for the girls that have dreams that won’t come true. At least like this. ”
She pulled up her sleeve and the snake almost hissed. There was something ugly and threatening in the beady eyes and the dagger with the cryptic inscription on either side. I wanted to hear more, maybe ask how Angel was involved in all of this. But she raised her palm.
“I gotta go. I know they’re watching me. Great coffee. Going to see my sister in Marathon on Thursday. Meet me at the Seven Mile Grill. Noon. No cops, just you. I’ll fill in the blanks and you guys can get to work. Then I think it’s time for me to disappear. Maybe somewhere back north where nobody knows me.”
Brandy got up before I could speak. She was halfway down the dock before I could pick up the empty cup. Thursday seemed a long way away.
Chapter 8
That afternoon I made some calls. I couldn’t get Miss Julianne. Then I remembered that Whip and the Wreckers had a gig at some festival up in Islamorada. Maybe she had gone with him. I left a message for her to call as soon as possible.
Frank was at the station. I told him about my lap dance and my upcoming meeting with Brandy. He had already questioned her, but the results had been predictable. No info.
“Yeah,” he said, “some people just won’t talk to cops. I didn’t see the tattoo, but it sounds interesting. M’s girls? What the hell is that? I got a buddy in Miami. Bama Baker. Works vice. Knows everything about everyone who hustles in the big city. He and I have a lot in common, but for him it was football. Could’ve been an All-Pro linebacker, but he tore up his knees his senior year, all for the glory of the Crimson Tide. We go back a long way. I’ll call him, see what he’s got.”
That evening the phone rang. It was Miss Julianne. She had gone with Whip for the gig. I could meet her at Turtle Kraals the next evening. Whip was playing, but we could talk before the blues got hot. Come around seven, she told me.
It was Tuesday. I’d put off seeing Fritz as long as I could. I didn’t have much and I was uncomfortable with what I had. I decided it wouldn’t do any good to tell him about Brandy. I didn’t have anything solid that wouldn’t make him worry even more. Still I owed him. I knocked on the hull around nine. He opened the companionway and a cloud of gray smoke polluted the morning.
&nb
sp; “Come on aboard, Cap.”
I sat down in the cockpit trying to escape the smell of the stale butts that seeped from below.
“I was just about to come down to your boat. I heard from her,” he said.
“Angel? Is she okay? Where is she?”
“She wouldn’t tell me much. Only that she was out of town for a few days. She’s in Stuart. Said she was with some friends. She’ll be in Miami next week. She didn’t sound too good, but I think she’s safe for now. Said she’d be ready to talk about it when she gets home. I asked her what that meant, but she clammed up quick. She wouldn’t say anything else. I got a bad felling, T.K. Something in her voice. She’s scared of somebody or something.”
I shook my head and thought for a moment. I didn’t like the way the information meshed with what I had heard from Brandy. Both of them were frightened.
“Fritz, I don’t like this. We need to call Frank. Let him know where she is, call off the search, but let Frank’s buddy Bama know she is headed that way. Maybe he can do something to protect her. Maybe we ought to go get her. When do you expect to hear from her again?”
“She said she’d call me before she left for Miami, but not to worry if her cell was turned off.”
If you need someone to man the helm in a hurricane, Fritz is ready and able. But he isn’t much for words. He dropped his head. I heard him sucking his lungs full of salt air. When he began, I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or himself, but it didn’t matter. The words rumbled out of him from a dark place he really didn’t want to go.
“I understand computers. You input the data, cross reference it, and retrieve the results. They don’t have conflicting emotions. They don’t talk back. You just tell them what to do and they do it. To be honest, I felt a sense of relief when Alisse left. I never understood her, her moods, the things she found important. I never knew why she might want me. When we had Angel, she was excited, but it didn’t last long. Suddenly Alisse was gone and I was left with a three year old girl. I didn’t know how to tie a ribbon in her hair. I didn’t understand why she cried when the older girls wouldn’t play with her. I wasn’t sure what color looked best on her. I was embarrassed when she got her first period. But I loved her and she knew it. I thought it was enough. I did the best I could, or at least I think I did. I guess this is what it’s come to. Maybe it’s my last chance to make it okay.”
I hoped not, but maybe it was.
We called Frank from NO DECISION. Fritz talked to him. I could hear Frank’s voice on the speaker phone. He didn’t seem surprised or irritated.
“I’m just glad she’s safe, Fritz. And T.K., call or come by the station when you get a chance. No big deal. Just filling in some blanks.” I thought I caught a certain tone, but maybe it was just the bulldog trying to find a bone to sink his teeth into.
Chapter 9
Wednesday is a big night in Key West, but it seems like they all are. Turtle Kraals was full of boisterous diners sucking down the lobster and crab and alcoholic beverages of all sizes, colors, and shapes. Some of them were already primed for a hotel bed and a handful of aspirin. The Wreckers were set up on the small stage in the corner, but the blues had not arrived yet. Miss Julianne and Whip were tucked into a table in the back. He waved as I came in. His suit was deep purple, black silk shirt and a neon white tie. The two toned patent leather shoes matched.
“Perfessor, I know you’re here to see the lovely Miss Julianne. Nevertheless, I am truly honored by your esteemed presence. I have already instructed Grace to bring you the coldest Ice House in the cooler. She has assured me she will comply.”
Grace arrived immediately with a frosty bottle and a smile to warm the heart of any aspiring alcoholic.
“And now I will entrust you to the company of this lady and the wisdom she may choose to share. Duty calls and The Wreckers must be rallied to action.” He put two fingers to the fedora and adjusted the sunglasses. The musical mayhem would start soon.
Miss Julianne wore a costume I’d seen her in before. Her hair hung loosely in black waves. The peasant blouse matched, cut a bit too low, but obscured by a huge silver medallion that swung between her breasts. The skirt was floor length, deep burgundy, and sandals swayed on her feet. Every finger was ringed with some form of silver or gold and more than a few precious stones the colors of the rainbow.
I had known Miss Julianne for a couple of years, and despite her unusual nature, she had always been warm. A gentle hug and a brush of her lips on the cheek usually greeted me. But tonight she leaned back in her chair, her arms and her legs crossed. The pose was almost defensive.
“I know why you are here, T.K. It’s about the girls. Let me warn you. They trust me. They come to me for all sorts of counsel. I know many things that I cannot reveal. We, too, honor professional confidentiality. I will not break that bond.”
“I wouldn’t expect it. I’m just trying to understand some things. I’ve known Angel since she was a child. I’ve got to do something if I can. Any information would be helpful. You can tell me it’s none of my business any time you want. I know that part of you and I admire it.”
The compliment was sincere and it seemed to loosen her up a bit. She leaned slightly forward, waiting. I knew it was time for me to offer something. I began to talk. I told her about my meeting with Frank and the visit to The Velvet Glove. She seemed assured. She put her hand across the table and touched my forearm.
“They don’t tell me everything,” she said, “but I watch, I listen, and I learn more than they intend. Many of them are frightened. They don’t want to be who they are or become what they’ve seen. It is sad, indeed, to observe a woman who has invested everything in her looks and charms move to that place where these things fade. They find themselves left with nothing. Then they become the targets of the predators. They drown in booze or dope and become less than human. I try to encourage them to find some skill that will give them confidence and independence when the run is over. Some of them listen, but they come because I do not judge and I do not tell.”
“Do you know Brandy? She only agreed to talk to me because we are friends and she trusts you.”
I saw something I’d never seen from Miss Julianne. A single crystal tear formed at the corner of her eye and crept down her cheek.
“Yes,” she said quietly, “I knew her.”
Her shoulders slumped. The words were plaintive and distant.
“Knew?” I said.
“It is not your fault, T.K. You are doing what creates your essence.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She came to me on Monday evening. She told me of your meeting. She asked me to read her Tarot cards. I saw it clearly. They do not lie. She has moved on. Her spirit may be with us as we speak.”
“Moved on? Left town?”
“I suspect she is dead. You need not go to Marathon tomorrow. She will not make your appointment.”
I sat. I shook my head. Something vicious poured into me. How could Miss Julianne know something like that? I had just seen Brandy, the epitome of youth, energy, and sexuality. She was dead? It was like a bad episode from Serling’s “Twilight Zone”.
“If it’s true, what did you mean it’s not my fault? I’ve done nothing to endanger that girl.”
“Brandy was right. There are too many ears at the Glove. You saw the tattoo, the snake and dagger. The words Tread and Die, with the M at the bottom. That is the mark. Brandy wouldn’t talk about it even to me, but she was terrified of something. I could sense it in her mind, body and spirit. That’s why she asked for the reading. I do not claim to predict the future, but the cards spoke. I told her to be cautious and avoid any she did not know. I fear she did not take my advice.”
I had heard all I wanted. I thanked her and left the rest of the beer on the table. It was too late to call Frank. Sunny was working. I walked.
The faces on Duval leered and the laughter seemed like the howl of demons. Was she dead? Was it because she’d tal
ked to me? She’d told me nothing. What was threatening about a meeting for lunch in Marathon? I stopped into Captain Tony’s hoping the rock’n’roll would pound my brain into senselessness. The Out of Hand Band was playing. Local favorites. The guitar player had a birth defect. His right arm was shorter and the appendage at the end was stunted and malformed. He didn’t care and neither did the music. He made love to that Stratocaster and the guitar alternately screamed and cooed at his beck and call. One girl in white shorts and a diaphanous top slung her ass and shook her breasts on the dance floor until she was surrounded by appreciative gawkers. Her boyfriend looked baffled, but kept up the ruse. The crowd shook and juked to every backbeat and swilled the cold beer. It was vintage Key West.
The Ice House felt good going down, but it didn’t work. On the way back to KAMALA, I had the clammy feeling that Miss Julianne was right.
Chapter 10
I called Frank at eight the next morning. He listened. Didn’t say much, but I could feel his skepticism seeping through the phone. Still, he did that thing that the bulldog does so well.
“Let me get on this right away. I’ll make some calls, get back to you as soon as possible.”
I made some coffee and sweetened it with a dollop of Jameson. A couple of pieces of toast with butter and honey got my blood circulating. I had to go to Marathon even though Miss Julianne said Brandy wouldn’t show. I had already arranged to borrow Sunny’s old Saab convertible. I needed to leave Key West by eleven or so. At 10:30 the phone rang.
“I was real lucky,” Frank said. “Miss Velvet hasn’t seen Brandy in a couple of days. There is no sister in Marathon, at least one that I can locate. My buddy, Bama Baker in Miami, has an unidentified vic. Fits Brandy’s description, at least what’s left of her. I figure we drive up to Marathon, wait for her to meet you. If she doesn’t show, we’ll head to Miami, call on Bama. The girl had no relatives of record. If it’s her, do you think you’re up to a positive ID of the victim? It won’t be pretty.”
I mumbled something he took for yes. I called Sunny and left a message that I wouldn’t need the car. In fifteen minutes Frank’s unmarked was waiting at the end of the dock.