by Karl Tutt
“Okay, smart boy. You damned professors think you got it all figured out. Fuck that shit. I ain’t goin’ down yet, but if I got to, I’m gonna take your sorry ass with me.”
I knew there was a shell in the chamber. A gentle pull on the trigger and my head would be in bits and pieces. The sweat dripped off his brow and mingled with mine. The blood ran in my mouth and slimed my throat. I began to shake.
A voice thundered behind me. “Drop it, Bama. It’s over. Don’t add murder to the list of charges. Don’t make me do this. You might even beat it. Decorated cop and all that shit. Lay the weapon on the sidewalk.” Bama kept the barrel pressed into my face and turned. Then he smiled.
“You won’t, Frank,” he said sweetly. “We go back too far. You owe me, Buddy. Don’t forget that damned junkie in the alley. I had your back. Now you’ve got mine. M’s got de money. Nice little hideaway in the Bahamas for you, Alicia and the kids. No more scraping and listening to the bullshit politicians. Think about it, Buddy.”
“Come on, Bama. Drop it.” There was mournful lilt in his voice. The broken linebacker looked at me and laughed.
“I think this world gonna get along fine with one less candy assed professor.” He pushed the steel harder into my face. There was an explosion. Blood and brains rained down into my matted hair and ran into my eyes. Bama’s hand went slack and his eyes rolled. His huge body came crashing down on mine. I gasped for breath and wrestled myself from under the bleeding hulk.
Frank’s arm dropped. He stepped over to the body and placed his foot on Bama’s wrist. Then he kicked the Glock away. He knelt over the body and checked the pulse at the neck. He was crying.
“Get the hell out of here,” he said, “I’ll take care of this shit.”
Chris helped me into the car and Sunny hit the gas. We were back at the anchorage in a matter of minutes. We piled into the Avon and Chris dropped us at KAMALA. The Universal rumbled. We motored back to the ICW. As we turned south, I saw the red running lights of a Coast Guard Patrol Boat plowing gracefully fifty yards off our stern.
Chapter 21
Sunny took Angel below. She doused a towel and washed Angel’s body from head to toe, removing the siren’s makeup. Then she dressed her in an old pair of pajamas. She cut the ribbon from her neck and threw it into the trash. The puncture wounds glared at us. The sleeve of the fabric covered the hellish tattoo. They sat on the settee, Sunny with her arm around Angel’s shoulders. She cried and Sunny whispered in her ear. Angel shook for a moment and wailed, but the noise grew distant and then it was gone. She lay down with her head in Sunny’s lap. Sunny gently lifted the bangs off her forehead and stroked her brow. In a minute Angel was asleep. Her face was that of the little girl we had held and tried so desperately to protect.
Fritz and Chris sat wordlessly in the cockpit, scanning the water for any sign of pursuit. Fritz had pulled out the Sig and Chris cradled my Taurus 38. God forbid that we’d need them. I pushed the diesel up to 2800 RPM. It gave us only another half-knot, but KAMALA somehow knew we needed to move. We entered Biscayne Bay and continued down Hawk Channel. The night was peaceful. The phosphorus rose against the hull and sparkled in the moonlight. I heard a couple of dolphins sound beside the boat. “Good luck,” I thought. I hoped it was more than just an old sailor’s superstition. We ran throughout the night. I heard Angel’s deep sighs and the frightened words of some hideous nightmare, but Sunny was there. She cooed and petted the lost child. Angel clung to her and slept.
About ten we were all exhausted. We ducked behind Rodrigues Key and anchored. The Coast Guard Patrol had disappeared around 3 A.M. We didn’t want to use the VHF in case someone was monitoring transmissions, but Fritz called his favorite Lieutenant on the cell and thanked him for the escort. He assured us he could be back on point within two hours or less if necessary.
We all slept for a couple of hours. Sunny stayed with Angel, refusing Fritz’s offer to take the watch over his damaged daughter. Soon we were under way again. The breeze had freshened from the southeast. Chris hoisted the main. We unfurled the jib and sailed on a close reach toward Key West. We left Boot Key to starboard about sunset and continued down the channel. I half expected a Donzi with triple 200 HP outboards and a half-dozen thugs with Uzi’s to pull up beside us and pepper our hull with a spray of fire, but it didn’t happen. I silently thanked the Lieutenant for the coasties’ presence in the early morning hours of our escape.
We sailed all night and just after sunrise we pulled into Land’s End. Fritz gathered Angel and headed down the dock to NO DECISIONS. He protested when Sunny tried to go with him. “She’s my baby. It will be okay. I’ll call you if I need you.”
Chris stayed on board. I tried to get him to stay for a few days, but he said he had to get back to work. Sunny promised to take him to Miami the next day in the old Saab. She picked him up the next morning. They deflated the old Avon, dismounted the outboard and threw them in the back seat. They were off.
I was worried about Frank. “I’ll take care of this,” he had said. But how the hell was he going to do that? A dead cop, a pimp who was connected, a detective out of his jurisdiction. It all added up to one hell of a lot of trouble. I hoped he had the friends he thought he had. I called his office, but the sergeant told me rather curtly that he was on personal leave, strictly incognito, and would be until further notice. I left a number, but I knew he had it.
I walked down the dock to gather my Miami Herald. The headlines shouted through the window in 24 point type. “OFFICER SHOT. DRUG LORD ARRESTED.” The sub-head read “Key West Detective Cracks Case.” I put four quarters in the slot and snatched the paper. Back on KAMALA, I spread the pages on the table, poured a shot of Jameson, and began to read.
Key West Detective Frank Beamon had traced a drug business operating out of a chain of gentlemen’s clubs up and down the east coast. Members of the Miami Police force had been involved in the cover and distribution of a liquid opium derivative. The owner of The Gilded Lady, one Mustapha Maxim, had been apprehended with several containers of the illegal substance in the trunk of a limo registered in his name. He was arrested, but spent less than twenty-four hours in jail. Bail was set at $500,000, but it was posted almost immediately. He was, however, restricted to his residence on Ocean Boulevard. Apparently, the FBI had also been investigating Mr. Mustapha Maxim for income tax evasion. It promised to be a long slog for our simian friend. The shooting of the police officer, Thomas T. Baker, was still under investigation. However, preliminary findings indicated that the Key West detective had fired in self-defense. Police were looking for a white male, six feet tall, with black hair and brown eyes, Angelo Joseph Antonelli, in connection with the inquiry. There was a composite police sketch of Angelo. It actually looked a lot like him. The article ended with the standard plea for pertinent information from the public.
Except for the part about Frank, it sounded good to me. Maybe they could convict the bastard M and put him in a place where he couldn’t get to us. At the very least, it would keep him busy for quite a while. I could still feel the cold barrel of Bama’s Glock shoved halfway up my nose. Too damned close. It made my guts churn.
Sunny got back from Miami late in the afternoon. The two of us sat in the cockpit and savored a cabernet I’d been saving for a special occasion. This was it. The Musketeers had been lucky and we knew it. Angel was going back to rehab. Fritz had put the Sig away. Chris was safe in Miami.
Sunny inched over to me and put her hand on my neck. “Too many people, too much excitement,” she whispered. “Maybe time for some serious relaxation, Ghostcatcher.” I hated that word, but coming from her it didn’t sound half bad. She placed her brown leg over mine and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
“Too warm up here,” she said. “I’ll bet it’s cooler below, but we might have to take something off to get really comfortable.”
I liked that idea a lot.
Chapter 22
Buffett’s Roundtable had reconvened at the
Parrot. Whipsaw, Miss Julianne, Louis, Tracy, and some of the other reprobates that made Key West the weird place it was. Even Fritz had showed up. Everyone was eager to hear the whole tale. I kept my mouth shut and let Fritz take the lead. He was honest, but a lot of the details went missing. I wasn’t about to supply them. Fritz told the table that Angel was back in rehab. She was good physically and her attitude was positive. Sunny was working the bar. Jack was thrilled to see her back. Beer sales had been off while she was out of town and the laughter quotient was down considerably.
Every day the Miami Herald had new information. A different photo of Frank was featured in every article. He’d become a somewhat dubious local hero. I still hadn’t heard anything from him, but I knew I would when he was ready. There were file photos of Bama and a sidebar about his commendations and fall from grace. The evidence was piling up. Another public servant and defender of the peace gone bad.
The judge had revoked the bail of Mr. Mustapha Maxim, but he had vanished. His bank accounts were empty and it was reported by an anonymous source that he kept large amounts of cash on hand. There was still no trace of Angelo. The police had searched the mansion at South Beach and found several milk jugs of a “mysterious illegal substance.” There were also ten IV bags of blood stored in the refrigerator, but analysis had not been completed. One of the tabloids had flashed the headline, “Vampire Cult Operating in Miami.” From what I knew, it was fairly accurate. The Gilded Lady was closed pending further investigation and an unnamed witness had come forward with information pertaining to the case. I figured they’d have M shortly unless he was in Venezuela enjoying the good life.
I got an email from Chris saying he was returning to Key West and Land’s End on the first of the month. I offered to help him move FOXES’ LAIR when he was ready.
Everything was back to normal, or so I thought.
On the way back to the dock, I stopped by the post office to retrieve the circulars and miscellaneous junk mail that usually cluttered my box. There was a small padded manila envelope with my name and address printed in a child’s scrawl.
When I got back to KAMALA, I deposited the junk in the garbage and slit open the envelope. It contained a CD case with a note in the same childish script. “Thought you might like this.”
I pushed the power button on the Jensen and slid the disc into the slot. It was an old jazz standard from the late thirties, still popular. My mother played it when I was a boy. Maybe Peggy Lee, I thought, trilling, “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places.”
My guts churned.
I thought about calling Sunny and Fritz, but I didn’t want to worry them needlessly. Besides, I needed to think. I poured a double shot of Jameson and sat in the darkness. My mind tumbled frantically until sleep finally overtook me.
Chapter 23
The phone rang early the next morning. Sunny’s words were slurred.
“No swim this morning. Not feeling well. Need you. Come by the apartment as soon as you get the chance. Love you no matter what.” I heard the phone slam into its cradle. She was gone.
Sunny was usually as healthy as the proverbial horse. Maybe a cold once in a while. I’d never known her to drink in the morning. No drugs. She never missed her swim and after leaving the Parrot around two, she always slept until ten or so. It was eight-thirty, much too early for her to be stirring. Still, if she was sick, maybe something had interrupted her sleep. Some kind of sinus crap had been going around. She might have picked it up at the bar. But I was uneasy. It was just too much unlike her and I didn’t like the words. “Love you no matter what.” What the hell did she mean by that?
I sat for a minute and took another sip of coffee. It was getting cold and so was I. The tune from the CD clawed at the corners of my mind. I shook my head violently and threw the dregs of my cup overboard. My ten speed was propped up against the piling. I could be there in fifteen minutes. She needed me. That was the only thing that mattered. I didn’t want to overreact and I didn’t want to be downright stupid, but something ugly was gnawing at me.
I went below and got the 38 from its hideout in the hanging locker. I popped open the cylinder and checked the five rounds. The shiny brass gleamed in the morning sun. I pulled back the hammer and locked it. Then I eased it back into position. Everything seemed fully functional. I tucked it into the small holster and secured it to my belt. I pulled it around to the small of my back. Then I slipped into a well worn nylon jacket, zipping it at the waist so it would ride low and stay closed.
Sunny was right. I’m no gun slinger, but I thought I could point and fire if I had to. God, I hoped I wouldn’t.
Chapter 24
I parked the bike on the sidewalk and mounted the steps to Sunny’s door. I was about to knock when the hinges squeaked. I saw Angelo’s face peering through the crack. There was a fresh scratch mark running over his cheek. He was grinning.
“You’ll want to step inside slowly and quietly. Your girl’s in the kitchen.”
He had no weapon, but his chest was bowed up. He was hoping I’d make a false move.
Sunny was duct taped to a ladder back chair. There was a pair of panties stuffed in her mouth. She looked up with wild glassy eyes tearing at the corners and pleading. A large glass of blue liquid sat on the table next to her. An indigo trail dribbled down her chin. M was standing next to her with the chrome barrel of a Beretta nine millimeter pressed into her cheek.
“Frisk him.”
Angelo stared at M and shook his head.
“No need,” he said.
“Frisk him, stupid.” M’s voice was loud and commanding.
I raised my arms and spread my legs. Angelo did a quick pat down, but his hands didn’t go all the way around my back. M pointed to the chair pulled back from the table. I sat down, careful not to bump the Taurus against the slats of the wooden back.
Sunny’s right eye was blackened. There was an open cut over her left. It trickled blood mixed with sweat. Flecks of pink and traces of spit covered her face. Her blouse was torn down the front exposing one breast. I could see crimson bite marks just above the nipple. She was naked below the waist. Her legs were red and already purple around the thighs. There was a plastic bag of fresh blood on the table. I could see the marks left by the needle in her jugular.
They had shaved her head. A pile of beautiful golden brown locks draped her lap. Bits of the rest were scattered on the floor and the table. Her scalp was scraped and raw where they’d yanked bits of the hair out by the roots. A pair of open scissors had been thrown on the tile. Mustapha’s silk suit, usually immaculate, was disheveled and stained. Still he looked cool and in control in a primitive way. His eyes creeped out of his skull, gleaming in deep set darkness. The thin mouth was curled up into a frightening sneer. Seeing him standing beside her confirmed my earlier observation. His left arm was shorter than the other, but both were thick and cruel. She had fought, but the battle was over. She had lost.
“Your lady was a bit difficult. Sorry, but we had to convince her that our intentions were entirely dishonorable.” M laughed at his own sick joke.
Angelo spoke. “You should have left well enough alone, Fleming. We were running a nice little game. The chick Angel. Another tramp. Not even a good lay. Wasn’t worth your time. We were almost finished with her. Another couple of weeks and she wouldn’t have bothered anyone anymore. Just like that damned roommate of hers. Brandy got the religion, gonna fix everything and see that the monsters were locked back in their stinking dens. Too damned bad it didn’t happen. Poor baby just didn’t make it.” He shook his head in mock sadness and made a clicking sound with his tongue.
Mustapha still had the Beretta to Sunny’s head. I couldn’t reach the Taurus in time to stop his trigger finger. If I went for Angelo, Sunny would be dead before I took a step. I looked at her one more time. My smart, tough, lovely lady, defiled by a couple of demented bastards. Her face twitched and she focused for one instant on my eyes. There was someth
ing there. A defiance. A final stand.
“In case you’re wondering, we didn’t fuck her yet. We’re gonna give you a little treat, Doc,” M snarled. “Angelo’s gonna cram it up your sweet lady’s ass and you’re gonna get to watch. Then you’re both gonna disappear without a trace. A little trip out to the Gulf Stream and a swim with a cinder block or two chained to your neck. The fish’ll love it. I’ll deal with that bitch, Angel, later.”
In an instant, dark things crawled into my mind. Death seemed to be lurking. No, it was here. I flashed to the body of Brandy, the chunks of flesh missing from her face. Her eyes were open and she was staring at me, accusing, begging for one more chance to suck the breath of a girl full of ambition, energy and a lust for life. But the grisly end was almost here. I would be responsible for two more deaths, Sunny’s . . . and mine.
Angelo rubbed his crotch and slowly walked toward her. The eyes were closed, her chin collapsed on her chest. I thought she had passed out. M yanked the duct tape from her legs. She didn’t flinch as the adhesive snatched at her skin. Angelo had dropped his zipper and cradled his cock in his hand. He stepped up to her and lifted her head. Then he slapped her face. He was going to hurt her one more time, but she didn’t stir.
My gut was empty. I was frozen to the chair. They could kill me, but I wasn’t going to watch this final abomination.
“Come on, Baby,’ Angelo cooed, “I want you awake so you can enjoy the rush.” He pointed to the scratch mark on his cheek. “You’re gonna pay for this.”
“I’m gonna shove this fat cock up where the sun don’t shine. You’re gonna squeal like a pig and beg for more.”
Her left foot came up, toes pointed, and penetrated deep into his balls. He screeched and fell to his knees. My hand went to my back. I grabbed the butt of the 38 and fired a wild shot. It hit M in the right shoulder. He dropped the Beretta and clutched the silk fabric of his coat. A circle of red immediately surrounded the hole. He growled and reached for Sunny’s neck. I focused the barrel on his forehead and dared him to move. I kicked the Beretta under the refrigerator. Angelo writhed on the floor.