by Karl Tutt
We went out toward A1A. Frank was unusually silent. I felt like a jumper on the ledge of a high rise. My guts churned and I realized I was staring into the face of death. Not mine, but Brandy’s.
The parking lot at the Seven Mile Grill was filled, but Frank found a spot to the side of the building. It’s a locals’ favorite, but a big tourist draw. It sits on the west side of A1A looking like a roadside dive. It is, but the fried seafood and the sandwiches are served in heaven if St. Peter was any kind of a fisherman. I went in first. I scanned the tables for a glimpse of her, but nothing. Frank followed and took a seat at the far end of the bar. He pulled a straw Panama down over his eyes and slumped. I asked for a Yuengling draft. The mug was frosty and inviting. When the waitress came back I told her I was meeting someone and described Brandy. She shook her head. I finally ordered a grouper sandwich with fries and slaw. I continued to scan the arrivals, but still no redhead. At two, we left.
“We waited long enough,” he said.
Still not much conversation in the car. When I asked him about the body in Miami, he said curtly, “Bama will fill you in. You’re gonna like him. Sonovabitch saved my life. We were in rookie school together. Couple of crack heads knocked over a liquor store. He and his partner came with the backup. I made a stupid rookie mistake. Rushed into a blind alley without checking things out. The bastard came out of a darkened doorway. Jumped me. Had the knife to my throat, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I was staring dead into the eyes of a real short career. Bama pulled his Glock and put a 45 slug right in his temple. Now I’m breathing instead of watching my blood wash down a dirty alley. Hope I’m gonna get the chance to return the favor someday.”
It was a good story and Frank wasn’t one to exaggerate.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Miami police station. The officer at the desk seemed to know Frank and he waved us on to an office at the end of a long hall. Bama was on the phone, an Alabama drawl about inadmissible evidence. He smiled and pointed to two ancient wooden chairs. He put the phone down and towered up out of his seat. Bama was every bit the all pro linebacker Frank had described. His hand swallowed mine. My 6’2” was dwarfed by at least 6’7” and 250 pounds of lean, sheer muscle. He had a mop of blond hair that had just been styled and a tailored brown linen suit that looked like a month’s pay on a cop’s salary. A three hundred dollar pair of snakeskin loafers covered feet the size of violin cases. When he spoke, it was Rhett Butler out of “Gone with the Wind”. Strong, powerful, but with a wry humor that rumbled with every word. He even had the mustache. He watched as I admired the team photo on the wall.
“It wasn’t like Nick Saban,” he said, “but we were 7-3 and contending for the SEC Championship. Big bowl game on the line, maybe the Sugar or the Cotton. Auburn was tough. You know in those days we damned sure played hurt. No pansies in the Crimson Tide locker room. I’d been banged up against Tennessee, but hell, it was business as usual. We was leading 17-14 at halftime. Had to stop that opening drive. That damned guard hit me like a freight train and the fullback plowed over me. Shit, I heard it snap like a fresh branch. Looked down and the bone was sticking through the flesh just below my knee. Made me kind of sick. They brought out the stretcher and that was all she wrote. Still Honorable Mention All-American. You got no knees, don’t make a damn. Now I’m a cop.” He gave up a laugh, but it seemed to rattle around in his throat with a hollow sound.
“Anyway, back to business. Greens keeper found her in a pond at one of the local golf courses. Gators had gotten to her. There wasn’t much of her that wasn’t chewed. The thing that tipped us off was the tat. Just like Frank said. Dagger with a snake coiled around it. “Tread” on one side, “Die” on the other and a small M below the art. Damn good thing the golf guy saw her. A few more hours and there wouldn’t be any of her left to identify. They had shaved her head. Some sort of shitty statement, I guess. We got her quick. That sort of thing is bad for business. Them rich duffers can be awfully picky about course maintenance.” I forced a smile.
“You sure you up to this, Fleming? Make a grown man sick to his stomach. I promise you that.” Frank looked at me and I nodded. He pushed his chair away from the desk and led us to the parking lot. We piled into his Marquis and a few turns later we were parked in front of a gray cinderblock building with Miami Dade Morgue emblazoned next to the entrance.
The uniform at the desk smiled as we entered. “Mornin’ Miss Clovia. I got some honored guests, southern kinsmen from the Keys. They come to visit one of our new tenants. Unidentified Vic 37442. Came in early this morning.” She pushed a form and a pen in his direction. He signed and we headed down the hall. The doors were gray metal and the air was stale and cold. An invisible cloud of disinfectant clung to my clothes and crept into my nostrils. Bama knocked on a door with a number on it and an attendant peeked out of a small window. There was a buzz and it clicked open. A man in scrubs led us to a cabinet with a dozen large chrome drawers in stacks of three. He checked the number on the form and grasped the handle of the middle one in the last row.
She was covered from head to toe in a white sheet. The chill got to me as I heard the rollers grate on the metal slides. Scrubs pulled the sheet back from her face. The last few strands of the red hair were the first things I saw. They hung like the last shreds of a shroud. Then her face. The perfect skin had huge punctures in dozens of places and her head was misshapen, partially crushed. Chunks of flesh were missing, but I knew it was her.
“Sorry Boss, but we need to see her right forearm,” Bama said. The attendant reached up under the sheet and pulled it out. It hung from her shoulder by a string of muscle, but most of it was gone. A ghost of the tattoo glared at us.
“It’s Brandy. I can tell by your face, Dr. Fleming. Sorry. I told you make a grown man sick. There’s the bathroom if you need it.”
I did. My guts swirled and the bile came rushing out of my mouth and my nostrils. I wiped my face with a wet towel. Then I washed my mouth with cold water. But the taste mocked me and cursed me like the vile corpse I had identified. A lifeless thing I had known as a living, breathing woman.
On the way out, I filled out some forms and provided my driver’s license. I listed myself as “friend” on the official notification. Someone would still have to claim the body. I hoped it wouldn’t be me.
We drove back to the station. Frank thanked Bama, said he’d be in touch. His hand engulfed mine again and we were headed south.
My mind twisted and spun. What hideous thing was trailing me? Who else would I touch and bring that Pale Rider galloping to sentence them to a bloody gallows? I thought about Martin, Alexis . . . now Brandy. Was their blood on my hands?
The rational mind said no, but some malevolent thing was lurking, creeping, chilling my spine.
Frank kept quiet . . . he knew.
Chapter 11
“You okay. Can you talk?” Frank said. “T.K., you got to get this crap out of your mind. You are not responsible for the death of this kid. She made some bad choices. We know that much. You had seen her twice. She was going to talk to you. Might have been more, but maybe she wanted your advice on grad studies. Was having trouble with a boyfriend. How the hell do you know? Now you’re thinking she was going to reveal some conspiracy to ship nuclear weapons to jihadists. Give yourself a break. Tell your guilty conscience to shove it.”
I wanted to do just that. I didn’t even know Brandy, knew only what she’d told me about her past. Her passions, her real dreams were a mystery to me. She was a kid with a beautiful body and maybe a longing to be some kind of star. I remembered the 70’s song by Sly and the Family Stone, but it sold a lie in a soulful package. Everyone is not a star, no matter how much Facebook and the media want to sell it. Most of us simply have to live our lives, savor those things that make us strong and reject those that don’t. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Frank interrupted my fifty cent philosophical rambling.
“Anyway,” he said, “I g
ot some information that may prove useful. Hard to believe, but they had a slow night in Miami. Medical Examiner did the autopsy this morning. Cause of death seemed pretty obvious, but there was some interesting stuff in her body. Toxicology’s not complete, but the Doc thinks she had ingested a huge dose of laudanum.”
“Laudanum? I haven’t heard that term since my junior year in college. I know it’s controlled now, but the stuff was legal and highly popular in the 1800’s. The legendary romantic poets, Percy Bysshe Shelly, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Edgar Allan Poe were all heavy users. It’s a liquid combination of alcohol and opium. Highly addictive. Most scholars think Coleridge’s mystical poem “Kubla Khan” was written while he was in some sort of altered state.”
“Yeah,” Frank said, “now it’s called tincture of opiate. Hell, you can mix the stuff with cheap vodka in your basement. The forensics guy thinks maybe there was a trace of ecstasy in it. Have the final results in a couple of days.”
My mind flashed to ‘the usual.’ Was that the Bluegoo, the murky drink Brandy had ordered at the Glove? I told Frank.
“Well, Laudanum is consumed in liquid form, could have some food dye, maybe even some Blue Curacao to add color. There were no needle marks on her arms, between her toes, none of the usual junkie alarms. No signs of any struggle. Bama thinks she was stoked when she went in the pond. If she was drinking the stuff, it would only show up in her blood. Another thing. Kind of interesting. When you and I both saw her, she was wearing that black ribbon tied around her neck. I figured it was some sort of stripper’s fashion statement. The Doc found two tiny punctures near the jugular, but it didn’t look like any kind of injection. Skin was a little puffy, but no real idea what they are. Maybe more when the report is complete. In the meantime, I guess I better find out what ‘the usual’ is.”
“At least we know Angel is somewhere and she’s safe,” I said.
“I wouldn’t bet on safe. She knows what Brandy knew. The tattoo, Bluegoo, an unexplained and maybe unplanned trip out of town during a murder. Too many questions, coincidences that don’t add up. We need to track her down. If not in Stuart, when the kid gets to Miami. Bama can locate her, bring her in. We find out what she knows.”
I was glad Fritz couldn’t hear Frank’s words. Good or bad, Angel was his baby. I wouldn’t want to be the guy who tried to hurt her if Fritz found out. I felt like I had to fill him in on the news from Miami. I stopped behind NO DECISIONS. The lights were on below and I thought I heard the light buzz of the printer. I knocked on the cabin.
“I’m glad to see you, Cap. I been thinking. I need a favor, a big one. I want to be there. First tell me what you got.”
I told Fritz about my trip with Frank. Bama, the pond, the identification of the body. His jaw set like General MacArthur and he shook his head. The muscles in his arms exploded and shrank as he sucked in a series of short breaths.
“Nice kid. I had dinner at their apartment a couple of times. Pretty, polite, gentle, just trying to make a decent buck. She made a damned good Stromboli and they shaved her head. Worst thing you can do to a woman. It’s her glory, her identity. Bastards, pricks, savages.”
For a moment I thought he was going to cry, but Fritz doesn’t cry. He sinks deep into himself, licks his wounds, then grabs something by the throat.
“That settles it, Cap. I gotta go. I don’t want to ask, but I got to. I need you.”
I wasn’t sure what all this meant, but I knew I couldn’t say no.
“Okay, buddy. Where we going?”
“Back to Miami. We stay off of the highway. No hotels. We go on the boat. I got an engine over heating. NO DECISIONS can’t leave the dock. We take KAMALA. We’ll be there when Angel hits town. Find her and bring her home. If we need to hide out we can pull into any one of a dozen anchorages between here and there. I’m sorry to bring you into this shit, but I need someone I can trust. A Ghostcatcher. That’s you.”
Ghostcatcher. Who the hell had come up with that crap? And what did it mean? That I’d become some sort of demon who left a wake of poison and mutilation in his wake?
Maybe Fritz didn’t want to bring me into this “shit”, as he called it. Unfortunately, I was already knee deep and the stench clung to me, sucking my blood like a hellish leech. It was murder again and I was the reluctant point man. The plan sounded off-center, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. We had Bama in Miami. According to Frank, he knew the places and the thugs involved in any kind of vice in the city. He was good man in a tight situation. Hell, he had saved Frank’s life. We might even be safer on the boat than traveling by land. I had my old 38 on board, even though I’d never fired it. I knew Fritz kept a Sig Sauer 45 with a thirteen shot clip. We weren’t exactly Stallone and Schwarzenegger, but I didn’t think we’d need to be. Find Angel. Snatch her, and hit the water. It was even a bit romantic. We were a couple of pirates. I was Errol Flynn and Fritz was my first mate. It sounded simple. It wasn’t.
Chapter 12
The next morning Sunny showed up for her pre-swim caffeine fix. She looked a little bleary-eyed. When I told her about the body and my discussion with Fritz, her back straightened and her eyes cleared. The wheels turned and that keen intelligence kicked into high gear.
“So we‘ll cast off the lines in the morning, probably anchor somewhere around Key Largo and go on into Miami the next day. Pick up a slip at the Miami Beach Marina. We’ll be within walking distance of South Beach, probably rent a car. I think we’ll need it.”
“So that’s the plan? You’ve got to be kidding me, T.K. You guys just blow into Miami, find Angel, sneak her off to KAMALA and disappear like Arabs in the desert. You’ve lost your mind. A girl is dead. She had a direct connection to Fritz’s daughter. You don’t really know where Angel is, who’s with her, how much danger she might be in. Suppose she doesn’t want to go. She may have some very ugly friends.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve got the Taurus revolver.”
“Yeah, you’ve got the five shot 38. I’d be surprised if you knew which end to point, much less the will to shoot anyone. Face it, Buddy, you’re a lover, not a fighter. Fritz . . . maybe that’s another story, but it sounds like a sure prescription for major disaster. I can see you guys in prison orange. Kidnapping, maybe assault with a deadly weapon. And that’s the least of it.”
“It’s the best we got, Sunny.”
“Come on, T.K. Why not let the cops handle it. You’ve got Frank and that Bama buddy of his. They’re the pros. They can shoot people and get away with it. Be reasonable.”
“Even if I could, Fritz won’t. He’s my friend and he needs me. He’s not in a good place. At the very least, maybe I can keep him from doing something stupid.”
“You gonna do that by being stupid, too?”
She was right, as usual, but it didn’t change anything.
“I guess I am.”
She looked at me and sighed.
“I can’t talk you out of this. I see that. It’s so damned crazy that it might just work. Okay, my knight errant. If you and Sancho Panza are going off to chase windmills, I’m Dulcinea and I’m going.”
“What?” I stared at her and shook my head.
“I said I’m going. At least I can be the voice of reason that nobody listens to. I can sail a boat and I can drive a car. Besides, a woman understands. I could be some help with Angel. And I know someone.”
“You know someone? What does that mean?”
“You gotta trust me, T.K. I’ll tell you about it when we’re underway. Skeletons in the closet and all that. Right now I need to talk to Jack at the Parrot, get a few days off. Should be okay. He owes me. Then I need to throw some things together, help you guys provision. If I know you, you guys will leave with peanuts and beer. We got to do better than that. I’ll handle it and we can be out of here early. You and Fritz check the boat. I’ll get the groceries. See you back here around seven.”
She left before I could open my mouth. Arguing with Sunny w
hen she’s made up her mind is like wrestling a gorilla. You know you’re going to lose, and you might end up covered in hair and snot.
I put a shot of Jameson in my coffee and called Fritz. He didn’t like it any more than I did, but we were on a mission. And that was the point. We spent the rest of the afternoon checking boat systems. We motored over to the fuel dock and topped off, checked our water tank, Coast Guard equipment, and gave everything a good look. KAMALA was ready to go. I hoped we were.
Fritz went back to the old Grampian to gather his things. I wanted to let Frank know we were leaving. I caught him at the station.
“Damn it, T.K. I got to agree with Sunny. Don’t jump the gun. Let us do what we get paid for. I’m on it. Bama’s on it. We’ll have something in a few days. Patience, my friend.”
“Even if I had any, Fritz doesn’t. It’s his daughter. He’s got to do something and I’ve got to help him. I don’t want Sunny in harm’s way, but she insists on going. It’s done. Hell, she might be able to help.”
It just didn’t seem like a good idea to tell Frank about the 38 or the nine. I was ready to go and I didn’t need a repeat of Sunny’s lecture from a cop, even Frank.
“Okay, I’ll call Bama and tell him you guys are on the way. I won’t mention any plan. Just gathering some information that might soothe an aching father’s heart. Yeah, and one other thing. I did a little research. Another girl. They found the body in Lake Okeechobee not too far form Stuart. Same M.O. Head shaved, doped up, gators had ravaged her. She hadn’t been raped, but her body showed signs of excessive sexual activity. Don’t know about a tattoo. Her left arm was completely gone. In the belly of some reptile, no doubt. I’m surprised Bama didn’t pick it up, but I’m sure he’s covered up in his own shit.”
“I’ll give him a call when we get to the marina. Maybe he can help us locate Angel.”
“Jesus, T.K. Be safe.”
Sunny showed up as promised with enough food and beer to lower the waterline a couple of inches. We stowed everything and turned in early. Tomorrow would be a long day.