Drunk Driving

by Zane Mitchell

  Al poked his finger in the air as if to punctuate his rightness. “Yup. That’s her alright. I wonder if she has any idea that she’s on full display in the hallway of that club.”

  “You’ve gotta believe she knows the picture exists if she posed for it.”

  “But she might not know it’s hanging up in the employee hallway of a strip club.”

  “I’d wager she does. In fact, I’d even bet that she knows a little something about the operation they’ve got going on there.”

  “Think we should ask her what she knows?” asked Al.

  My head bobbed. “I don’t think it would hurt. What other leads do we have to follow at this point?” I pulled out my phone and dialed the number the billboard advertised in two-foot-tall print.

  Within minutes, Al and I had a four o’clock showing scheduled with Ms. Monica Arndt for an oceanfront three-bed, two-bath vacation condo.

  13

  The three-bedroom vacation condo was on the ground floor of an eight-story nearly-all-glass building fronting the beach. Palm trees and other island vegetation provided privacy for a pool and a tennis court just off the main parking lot. Little cabanas dotted the long run of sand between the condo and the beach, and whitecapped waves rolled right up to the shoreline, filling the air with the calming sound of breaking waves.

  Al and I sat on a cedar bench in front of the building while we waited for Monica Arndt to show up. At exactly one minute to four, a pearl-white Jag tore into the parking lot and came to a screeching halt in a spot marked for the building manager. A twenty-something willowy brunette emerged from the car, wearing neck-breaking high-heels, a slim-fitting turquoise pencil skirt, and a white sleeveless blouse. She strode towards us assuredly.

  “Hello! Are you here to look at the condo?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, jumping to my feet. I reached back to tug Al to his feet too and then I reached out to shake the woman’s hand. “Are you Monica?”

  She gave us a wide smile. “I am. And you are?”

  Pumping her hand, I said, “I’m Calvin. And this is my partner Hobbs.”

  “Oh, your partner. How sweet,” she said, giving both of us a handshake. “You know, we have a lot of LGBTQ couples here in the condo. I think you’ll find it to be a very welcoming community.” She smiled then. “A bit of a May-December romance, too, I see. My boyfriend is twenty-five years older than me, so I completely get it.”

  I looked down at Al and smiled before putting my arm around his shoulder. “Hobbs and I sure appreciate your openness, Monica.”

  “Of course! Now, why don’t you follow me, and I’ll show you the place.” Monica’s smile looked like it might burst her face, but the second she turned her back to us, Al kicked me in the shin.

  Grimacing, I doubled over to rub the sting from my leg. “Owww!”

  Monica kept walking but turned her head to look at me curiously.

  I stood up and laughed it off, swatting the air. “Hobbs, sweetie. Really! Save a little of that enthusiasm for later.” I shot him a wink.

  Monica put her key into the door at the end of the hallway. “You two are just so adorable.” She opened the door and gave a sweeping gesture. “Go on in, please.”

  The furnished condo was pretty basic and smelled a bit stale. Like whoever had lived there before had either had a pet or had smoked, and they’d used some kind of chemical air freshener to hide either one or both of those facts. We spent about ten minutes moving from room to room behind Monica, pretending to be interested. When we got to the end of the tour, and I still hadn’t come up with a way to infuse any questions about Club Cobalt into the conversation, I finally just had to come right out with it.

  “You know, Monica, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  Monica smiled. “I get that a lot, actually. I think it’s all the billboards around the island.”

  I frowned and cupped my chin with my thumb and middle finger, tapping my index finger against my nose. Shaking my head, I disagreed, “No, no, no. I don’t think it’s that.” And then I sucked in my breath and pointed to her. “I’ve got it. Have you ever been to Club Cobalt?”

  Almost instantly, the smile dissolved off Monica’s face. “Club Cobalt?” She cleared her throat. “You mean in the District?”

  “Yeah. You know the place?”

  “Well, it’s a small island and I’m a realtor. I know most places.”

  I smiled at her. “Oh, of course. How long have you been a realtor?”

  Monica’s green eyes shifted over to Al, who was just casually strolling through the kitchen once again with his arms pinned behind his back and kind of pretending not to be paying attention. “Umm, just the last two, two and a half years or so.”

  “Wow, that’s all? You’ve really done well for yourself in such a short amount of time.”

  “I’ve done alright,” she agreed, unsure of where the conversation was going.

  I wagged a finger then. “You know, I think I just remembered why I’m putting your face and Club Cobalt together. They have kind of a wall of fame there. In their back hallway. You’ve got your picture hanging up. Framed,” I added.

  She swallowed hard and turned to look out the sliding doors to the beach. She winced, like the light hurt her eyes, but in reality, the light wasn’t that bright. “Umm, no, I think you’ve got the wrong person.” She let out a nervous giggle.

  “Really? You never did any modeling for them?”

  “Modeling? No, I—” She ran her fingers through the underside of her hair and then tossed it back over her shoulder.

  “But you’ve been there before,” I said.

  “I mean, maybe when I was younger, but that was forever ago.”

  Al stopped walking and looked at her. “Little lady, you don’t know what forever ago means until you get to be my age. Then when you say something was forever ago, you mean it.”

  She kind of giggled. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure. Well, it was quite a while ago. When I was into the whole bar scene thing. But that’s not me anymore.”

  I frowned. “Well, you can’t possibly be that old. What are you? Twenty-three or twenty-four?”

  She cleared her throat. “Twenty-four.”

  I pointed at her with a flourish. “See! There you go. You’ve only been of legal island drinking age for the last three years. That’s not been that long ago, now has it? Shoot, I’m surprised you’ve even outgrown it already. I mean, I didn’t outgrow the bar scene until I was—well, how old am I again?”

  “Thirty-five,” said Al.

  “Right. I guess until I was thirty-five years old, then.” I chuckled.

  She giggled nervously and then tried to turn the conversation back to business. “Well, Calvin, would you and Hobbs like to see another place, or are you interested in this one?”

  I ignored her question and kept talking. “Although, you know I guess I could see how you might be over the bar scene by now if you’d started going out earlier than twenty-one. Some people do. You know, I have heard that Club Cobalt allows underage girls in.”

  A hand went to her throat. “Well, I wouldn’t know—”

  “You wouldn’t? You never went there when you were underage?”

  “I mean, I might have—that was forev—” Her eyes darted over to Al, and she seemed to change her mind about her choice of words. “That was years ago. I really don’t recall.” She glanced back at me again. “Now, if you’re ready to go—”

  But I felt like I’d already crossed a line that I couldn’t uncross. At this point, I felt like I should just cut to the chase. “Can I just be real with you Monica?”

  “Real?”

  “Yes. You know, cut through this whole song and dance.” I sighed. What did I have to lose at this point? She was already getting annoyed with me. I could see it in her face. “Look. My little sister is missing. She had this in her room.” I showed her the invitation to Club Cobalt. “I need to know what happened to her. And if they’re letting in minors, then she could
’ve gone in there and gotten herself into some trouble. All I want is to find her. I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble.” I held up her picture. “This is her. Her name is Jordan.”

  With her breath hitched in her throat, Monica stared at me, wide-eyed for a long second. Then she glanced over at Al, who had stopped pacing and was now looking at her pleadingly.

  “Please, Ms. Arndt. Anything you know and would be willing to share can only help us find her. Jordan’s only sixteen years old. Her friends and family want her back.”

  But Monica’s face, once bright and shiny, was now dark. She’d gone to a difference place in her mind, and I wasn’t quite sure how to get her back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another showing on the other side of the island. I have to be going.” With a stiffened spine, she strode over to the front door and opened it, giving the air a sweep with her free hand.

  Al tightened his lips and left the condo first. I followed behind him slowly. “Please, Monica. We need your help. If you know anything—”

  “I don’t,” she snapped, unable to even look at me now.

  As Al and I walked down the hallway, I could hear her keys jingling in the lock behind us. We walked out of the building first, followed by Monica.

  I turned and opened my mouth, preparing to offer her my name and number if she thought of anything that might help us, but before I could even get a word out, she breezed past us in a mad dash back to her Jag. Al and I both stared after her as she climbed in and tore out of the parking lot.

  “Well, that didn’t go as I’d hoped,” I said with a frown.

  “Was it just me, or did she seem like she was hiding something?”

  I nodded. “Oh, she definitely seemed like she was hiding something. Kind of like the people at Club Cobalt acted when I started asking questions about Jordan.”

  “She seemed scared to me. Something is going on in that club. I think we gotta get back in there and have a look around. Whaddaya say?”

  “But how? They just kicked me out. There’s no way they’re going to let me back in there to snoop around.”

  Al grinned as he started walking towards the Jeep. “You know anything about plumbing, kid?”

  14

  The next morning, after my usual jog, I sought out Giselle Marrero. I wanted to make sure that she hadn’t heard anything from Jordan before Al and I followed through on our plan for the day. I found her planting flowers in planter boxes down at the clubhouse by the beach.

  “Giselle! Hey, you got a second?” I hollered at her.

  She turned around and gave me a gloved wave. “Hey, Drunk. Have you found Jordan yet?”

  My shoulders slumped. Those five words told me everything I needed to know. Jordan was still missing. “No, I haven’t. I was hoping you’d heard from her.”

  “No. I haven’t, and trust me, I’ve still been trying.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Have you found anything yet?”

  “Some,” I said, nodding. “I’m fairly confident she didn’t leave the island.”

  Giselle nodded. “I told you.”

  “Yeah. And she’s not in jail.”

  “You called the cops!” Giselle eyes sprang open. “Oh my God, Drunk. I told you you couldn’t call the cops!”

  I held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll. I have a contact at the PIRPF, she’s a friend of mine. She just did me a favor. I didn’t like report Jordan missing or anything.”

  “But what if she passes that on?”

  “Relax. She’s not going to pass it on. I told you, she’s a friend of mine. I can trust her to keep things tight.”

  With her gloved palm to her forehead, Giselle spun around so that her back was to me and she was facing the front of the resort clubhouse.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she grumbled in a low voice.

  I’d come to learn a thing or two about women during the course of my life. I wouldn’t say I knew everything about them—I mean, hell, women don’t even know everything about women—but I definitely knew a thing or two about them. When they say nothing in that tone of voice, it most definitely does not mean what the word implies. In reality, it means something and you have to play detective.

  I sighed. I wasn’t a fan of this game. With my hands on my hips, I looked around. Manny at the swim-up bar gave me a little heads-up nod. I nodded back. Trinity, one of the snack bar girls, was sitting on one of Manny’s barstools, chatting with him. I gave her a little wave. She smiled and waved back. I had to get on with this. There were far too many people watching me chat with Giselle. I didn’t want any rumors getting started.

  I walked around her so that I faced her. “Okay, let’s have it. You’re upset because I went to my friend at the police department?”

  She lifted a noncommittal shoulder. “Sorta.”

  “Sorta?”

  She nodded.

  I didn’t have much experience dealing with teenagers, but I was quickly discovering that I didn’t like it. “What does sorta mean? You either are or aren’t mad at me. Which is it?”

  She sighed. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just—scared, I guess.”

  “Scared of what?”

  She shrugged and made that little sound in the back of her throat that implied I don’t know.

  “Okay, fine. Are you scared that we might not find Jordan?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  “Is that all you’re scared of?”

  She was quiet for a really long, drawn-out second before she finally shook her head.

  “Okay. Help me out here, Giselle. I have to find your friend, and guessing games aren’t helping. If there’s more to the story that you’re not telling me, I need to know.”

  She looked up at me. Her dark eyes were full of something. If it was fear or anxiety or sadness, I couldn’t tell.

  “Please, Giselle. Whatever it is, you don’t have to worry. I won’t tell your mom. I won’t tell the cops. I won’t judge. Okay?”

  With her breath dammed up behind firmly pressed lips, her head bobbed.

  “Good. Okay, so what’s the big deal about me going to my friend who’s a cop? Why does that matter so much to you?”

  “Because they made us promise,” she whispered, her eyes throwing cautious glances around the pool area.

  “Who made you promise?”

  Wide-eyed, Giselle shook her head. It was obvious she was afraid of something. Or someone. I had a sudden sneaking suspicion that there was more to the story of Jordan’s disappearance. And for the first time since she’d shown up on my doorstep, I wondered what Giselle and Jordan had gotten themselves involved in.

  “It’s a really long story.”

  “Fine. Tell me. I have the time.”

  She looked around. “This isn’t the best place to talk. My mom has spies everywhere. Can we go back to your cottage?”

  As much as I didn’t like that idea, I knew Giselle was right. Her mother actually did have spies everywhere. We couldn’t talk like this out in the open. “Fine. Can you take a quick break?”

  She pulled out her phone and looked at the time. “I get a fifteen-minute break in a half hour.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll meet you at my place in a half an hour.” I pointed a finger at her. “And don’t let anyone see you heading over there.”

  * * *

  I really wanted to invite Al over to my place for the meeting with Giselle—for two reasons. One, so I wouldn’t have to repeat everything she told me, and two, so I had a witness to Giselle’s visit lest anyone think any funny business was going on between us. But because Giselle was so skittish the way it was, I thought inviting him in on the conversation might just scare her away or prevent her from being completely honest. I’d just have to remember everything she said so I could fill him in later.

  When she knocked on my cottage door a half an hour later, I poked my head outside and scanned the road in both directions. “Did anyone see you c
oming over here?”

  Looking over her shoulder, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, well, have a seat. You want something to drink?”

  I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Dr Pepper and a Milky Way bar from one of my kitchen cupboards. Breakfast of champions. Walking back in the living room, I held up the soda.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  Shrugging, I unscrewed the cap and took a big guzzle and then sat down across from her. “Alright. You said it’s a long story, so we better get started. I’ve got plans in an hour, and you only have a fifteen-minute break.”

  She cleared her throat and nodded. “Well, something happened a couple of weeks ago that might kind of explain where Jordan is.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, leaning forward and frowning. “Lemme get this straight. You might kinda know where Jordan is and you didn’t think to tell me this before?”

  She shrugged. Her cheeks were pink. “I don’t exactly know where she is, but maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Giselle! Why wouldn’t you have told me this when you first came over here? You could’ve saved me a bunch of time.”

  “I’m sorry, Drunk. It doesn’t exactly sound very good. I was embarrassed.”

  I fought the urge to palm my forehead. “Fine. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Okay, well, a couple weeks ago when school was just getting out for the summer, Jordan and I were hanging out at one of our friends’ beach houses. They were having this really big end-of-the-year party,” she began. “Jordan and I were sitting outside when this really, really nice red sports car drove up and this girl got out. She was blond and beautiful and she was wearing this killer dress, and she just looked—I don’t know—really, really cool. Jordan and I both made it a point to sort of accidentally bump into her before the end of the night so we could find out who she was.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Crystal. At least, that’s what she told us her name was. I don’t know if that’s her real name or not.”