Drunk on a Plane

by Zane Mitchell

  “Not a clue.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why is it interesting?”

  “Why would this man be in your room if you didn’t know him?”

  I shrugged. “I could give you a list of reasons. Maybe he was looking for cash or drugs to steal. Maybe he wanted a passport. Maybe he was drunk and thought it was his room. Who knows why criminals do the things they do, Sergeant?”

  “Which is exactly why you should come with me and check out the room,” he said. “I’m afraid all of your possessions have been stolen, Mr. Drunk.”

  “Stolen?”

  He nodded. “The killer must have run off with your entire suitcase. Your room is nearly empty.”

  “I didn’t come with much.” I realized how ridiculous I sounded. Flying all the way to a beach resort without luggage? The man was going to think it was a setup.

  “Surely you had a suitcase…”

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story.”

  “Maybe you’ll have to enlighten me?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “My ex packed the suitcase, okay? I was just trying to get away from her as fast as I could.”

  Sergeant Gibson’s face was stone-cold. The best poker face I’d ever seen. The man would rake it in big-time with the guys. “You know what else is interesting to me, Mr. Drunk?”

  I lifted my hat and ran a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “What else is interesting to you Sergeant Gibson?”

  “It is interesting to me that you claim not to know the dead man in your room, and yet we found one of your business cards in his pocket, Officer Drunk.”

  The words Officer Drunk hung in the air like the nauseating stench of a skunk’s spray. I felt the oxygen leaving my lungs as Al looked up at me. The business card. I’d just been kicked in the esophagus when I’d handed that over to an annoying seatmate whom I’d just wanted to shut up. I hadn’t been at my peak brain function when I’d done that. And I surely hadn’t been in my peak brain function when I’d decided to lie to the island police.

  Fuck.

  Fuckity fuck fuck fucked, in fact.

  I needed to talk to that witness. I needed to look at the security tapes. I needed to ensure that the crime scene was being handled appropriately. DNA samples needed collected. Bloody footprints. Bullet retrieval. Anything. I needed to handle the investigation!

  But this wasn’t my investigation, and it wasn’t my jurisdiction. Hell, this wasn’t even my country!

  “Officer Drunk?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know the guy. But it’s my motel room. It’s very likely he found one of my business cards in my room and pocketed it.”

  “Why would he do that, Officer Drunk?”

  I threw my hands out on either side of myself. I was out of answers. “You got me.”

  “Officer Drunk, I’d like you to come down to the station and answer a few questions for me.”

  My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “Sergeant,” piped up Al, clapping me on the arm. “Drunk here is, well… drunk. He’s intoxicated. We’ve been down at the bar for several hours drinking. He’s hardly eaten anything all day. He spent the entire day on an airplane and is exhausted. He doesn’t know anything about the dead man in his room, but he’ll be happy to come down to your police station tomorrow or the next day, when he’s had a minute to come to terms with what’s happened and clean himself up. Maybe by then, you’ll have had an opportunity to interview the witnesses and check your surveillance systems.”

  I looked down at Al, my mouth agape. I could kiss the man. Right there on his bald, liver-spotted scalp.

  Sergeant Gibson looked at me intently. “You are not to leave the island until we have spoken.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge,” I said, giving him a little salute. “I’ll come visit you soon. I promise.”

  13

  Al accompanied me back to the resort’s lobby to buy myself a shirt. In fact, I bought several new things in Angelita’s Bay Boutique, the resort’s clothing store. A fifty-dollar package of Calvin Klein men’s underwear, because they didn’t sell Jockeys or Fruit of the Looms, a pair of swim trunks, a new pair of shorts, and two tank tops. Then I popped into the gift shop to see what they had in the way of toothbrushes and toothpaste and the like, as all my gear was in my motel room, and my motel room was being swarmed by island officials.

  When I was done, Al looked up at me. “What now? You don’t have a room to stay in.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure the resort will find me something.”

  “Eh?” He cupped his ear towards me.

  “I’m sure they’ll find me a new room,” I hollered.

  Al nodded, his mouth set in a straight line. “They better. I’ll see to it. Come on. I know the owner.” He curled two fingers, beckoning me to follow.

  As I tugged one of my new tank tops on over my hat, Al shuffled slowly towards the front desk, where we waited in line while a late arrival checked in. When that man had gone, it was our turn. Al took the lead.

  A thick woman behind the counter whose clothes stretched tightly across her chest, adjusted her glasses. “Good evening, Mr. Becker, how may I help you?”

  “Yes, Anita, I’d like to speak to Artie Balladares, please.”

  “Mr. Balladares? Sir, is there anything I can help you with?” She said it loudly. I could tell she was used to talking to Al.

  “I appreciate the offer, but no, I’d like to speak to Artie, please. Tell him Al Becker wants to speak to him.”

  “Yes, Mr. Becker.”

  The woman disappeared through a door. Seconds later, she came out with a scrawny kid of no more than twenty-two or twenty-three following her. He had disheveled brown hair and baby-smooth skin, making me wonder if he was even old enough for his first shave yet.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake,” groaned Al the second he caught sight of the kid.

  “You know that kid?”

  “That’s Ozzy Messina. This kid’s a joke.”

  “Who is he?”

  Before Al could respond, Ozzy stood in front of us. He wore a rumpled grey pinstriped suit that looked to be his father’s, about two sizes too big, with a pair of oversized sunglasses hanging out of the front pocket. “Mr. Becker, what can I do for you tonight?”

  “I want to speak to Artie Balladares.”

  “Mr. Balladares is dealing with an emergency situation at the moment and is unavailable. What can I do for you?”

  Al looked at me curiously.

  “Artie’s not available right now,” I said loudly.

  Al pointed at me. “This is my friend. His name is Daniel Drunk and his room is not up to resort standards. I’d like him to get a new room. An upgrade.”

  Ozzy looked at me then, tugging on the lapel of his oversized suit. “I’m sorry that your room isn’t up to resort standards, Mister…”

  “Drunk.”

  His eyes widened, and a slow smile poured across his baby face. “Your last name is Drunk? How cool is that?”

  “Mildly cool, I guess,” I said with an unamused half-grimace.

  “Are you from the US?”

  I nodded.

  That seemed to relax him. The responsible adult facade he’d been trying to portray disappeared, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “What’s the problem? Is it the cleaning? I can get someone over there…”

  “It’s not the cleaning,” interrupted Al. “It’s the dead body on the floor that’s the problem.”

  Ozzy stopped smiling. “You’re room two seventy-seven?”

  I nodded.

  His body stiffened. “Oh my God. There’s a dead body in your room!”

  “I hear you were the one that found him?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I, uh—” He held a hand up to his mouth, like just speaking about it was conjuring up nauseating images in his head.

  “Are you security?”

  Al backhanded my arm and then pointed at the kid. “Ozzy’s the head of security.”

  Oh for fuck’s sake
. This kid was the head of resort security? I wanted to palm my forehead, but I resisted. I was going to have to take matters into my own hands. “So, Ozzy. Can I call you Ozzy?”

  Ozzy’s mouth gaped a little and he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Call me Ozzy. I mean, that’s what the guys call me. Mr. Balladares says I should have guests call me Mr. Messina, but ya know, that’s… Mr. Messina’s my dad. So, uh, yeah, Ozzy’s fine.”

  I glanced over at Al.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Riiight,” I drawled. “So, it was the maid that contacted you about the shooting?”

  Al hitched his thumb backwards at me. “Drunk’s a cop in the States.”

  Ozzy’s eyes widened. “Shut up. That’s so cool.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, already annoyed by the kid. “So you talked to the maid. What’s her name?”

  “Oh, um, yeah. Her name’s Cami, er, Camila. Camila Vergado, she goes by Cami around here.”

  “So, can you tell me exactly what Ms. Vergado told you?”

  Ozzy looked around. The two women working the desk were intently pretending not to be eavesdropping on the conversation. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Would you like to step into my office?”

  “Of course.”

  Al and I waited as Ozzy made his way back through the resort offices to let us through a doorway just beyond the front desk. The offices weren’t as nicely painted as the lobby. The rugs were worn and the paint scarred in places.

  “Right this way.” Ozzy opened a door at the end of a hallway. It was little more than a shoebox tucked into the end of the hallway as an afterthought. The pale blue walls were bare. Not a single diploma or certificate from a training program. No pictures of a girlfriend. No personal effects at all. Not even a framed photo of a dog on the desk. A computer desk was shoved up against the far wall, and another desk was in the middle of the office, with an armless rolling chair separating the two. Ozzy gestured to the two wooden chairs parked in front of his desk. The desk was littered with file folders and pieces of paper. “Please have a seat, gentlemen.”

  Ozzy sat behind his desk, pulling his tie in the way that he’d seen other grown men do in the past, I was sure. I could tell he felt important bringing us back to his office. Like he’d proven something about his capabilities just by having four walls and a door he could call his own.

  I didn’t waste any time. “So, tell me what you know, Ozzy.”

  Ozzy’s head bobbed. “Right. Well, Cami came to see me. It was probably about an hour ago. She said she was heading home for the night when she heard gunshots. Only seconds later, she saw two men take off on foot.”

  I pulled a business card from the little holder on Ozzy’s desk and caught a glimmer of a smile cross his face, until I turned the card over and began to jot down notes on the back of it. “Did she see what the men looked like?”

  He held a hand up over his head. “Umm, she said they were tall. You know, like this, and, uh, kinda big.” He held a hand out on either side of himself. “You know, like wide and stuff.”

  I looked at Ozzy. “Wide and stuff?”

  He lifted his brows. “Oh, you want technical terms. Right? Umm, large build.”

  “Was she able to tell race or ethnicity?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t ask her.”

  “How about distinguishing features?”

  He pursed his lips before answering. “Yeah, I didn’t ask about that either.”

  “You didn’t ask?” I wanted to reach across the table and swat Ozzy Messina’s unpubertized face. “Where is Ms. Vergado right now? I’d like to speak with her.”

  “She said she had to go home.”

  “Go home? And you let her? You didn’t think to make her wait to talk to the authorities?”

  Ozzy swallowed hard. His eyes flicked back and forth between Al’s and mine. “You think I should have asked her to wait? I just didn’t think that was right. The poor woman was traumatized. I mean, I was traumatized too, just by looking at that dead b…” He sucked his lips between his teeth and then held a hand up to cover his mouth. He held a finger up and nodded, as if to say hold on, I’ve got it under control. “Anyway, she didn’t say much else. She just told me she heard shots, she saw two big guys take off in a run, and that was it. I’m sure the island cops will get more out of her when they talk to her.”

  I could tell Ozzy would prove useless. The kid didn’t know his ass from a hole in the sand. I looked at Al. “It’s getting late, Al. Let’s just get me a room and call it a night.”

  Al and I stood up.

  Ozzy stood up too. “Oh, I can take care of that. I’ll get you a new room made up right away, and I’ll send someone to your room to get your luggage.”

  I grunted. I didn’t like the idea that I was going to have to wait to get a new room made up. I was exhausted and just wanted to buy a Snickers bar and a Dr. Pepper in the gift shop and call it a night. “I don’t have any luggage.”

  Ozzy looked surprised. “You don’t have any luggage? What about your clothes, sir?”

  “It’s Drunk, not sir, and this is all I need for clothes.” I lifted the handled boutique bag.

  “Right. Well, then, I’ll just see about getting you another room. Follow me.”

  Al touched Ozzy’s arm before he could lead us out of the office. “I want to talk to Artie Balladares about Drunk’s room.”

  “Mr. Balladares is dealing with the events in room two seventy-seven.”

  Al lowered his chin. “I don’t care. Get him over here. Now.”

  14

  We met Artie in his office. It was on the main floor, just behind the front desk. His office was much nicer and more orderly than Ozzy’s. It was at least twice as big, with an executive’s desk stained in a cherry finish and polished to a shine. He had photos of his family on the walls and in frames on the desk. The office had been meticulously decorated to match the theme of the lobby. A faux ship’s wheel hung on the wall next to a grand portrait of seagulls flying over a ship named the Seacoast Majestic. In the painting, the ship was being tossed by a big frothy wave, and the dark charcoals, greys, and navy blues suggested it was riding out a storm.

  Artie Balladares was a large man. So large that large might be a bit of a misnomer. Elephants were large. Whales were large. Artie Balladares was immense. If the Big and Tall section at JCPenney’s had a daddy, that was where Artie Balladares shopped for his clothing. He wore a white Panama Jack safari hat with a black band, and beneath it, his pudgy red face sweated profusely. A handkerchief wasn’t enough to blot the man’s sweat. He had to use a bar towel instead, which unintentionally made the room smell like the men’s locker room at the gym.

  Despite the fact that Artie’s office was twice as large as Ozzy’s, squeezing Artie, myself, Ozzy, and Al into the room suddenly made me feel claustrophobic. Like Artie was hogging all the air for himself. Of course, the stench of four men’s body odors didn’t help either.

  “Hi, Artie,” said Al, like he wasn’t having any issues with his air supply.

  “Welcome back, Al. Glad to have you here for keeps.” He spoke loudly, like either he’d been around Al before or his size made his voice naturally come out more forcefully. He looked at me. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Drunk. He’s from the States. We flew in together.”

  Artie held out a hand. “Drunk?”

  I nodded and shook his sweat-stained hand. He squeezed my hand hard, and our fingers squished together like a pair of mating octopuses.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m told you’re our guest in room two seventy-seven?”

  “Yeah. I only got here a few hours ago. I went down to have drinks with Al, and while I was gone, all of that happened. I assure you, Mr. Balladares, whatever happened in that room was one hundred percent not my doing.”

  “Drunk’s a cop in the States,” said Al.

  “Oh, a law enforcement agent. Nice.” He smiled. “And I believe you. It was probably a robbery gone bad. Unfortunately, we’ve
got some crime issues here on the island. No worries. We’ll get you a new room. Won’t we, Ozzy?”

  Ozzy’s mouth gaped. “I was going to get him a new room, but he asked to—”

  “I want him to have the vacant cottage down by me,” said Al. “Vic’s old place.”

  “You want him to have Vic’s old place?” said Artie, his eyes wide. “That’s quite an upgrade.”

  “He’s a friend,” said Al. “And he’s been through a lot. His fiancée dumped him. He’s supposed to be on his honeymoon, and there’s a dead body in his room. Cut the guy a break?”

  Hearing my life in a nutshell, I suddenly felt the low rumblings of the pity party parade marching down my street. I felt like I should be carrying the flag, or at the very least marching along with a baton.

  “Oh, uh, rough break about the fiancée,” said Artie.

  “I can assure you, it’s better this way.”

  “Right.” He glanced at Al.

  “Oh, come on, Artie. I’ll pay the difference if I have to,” said Al.

  Artie mopped up more of his sweat as he considered Al’s request. Finally he let out a heavy breath in a wheeze. “Oh, I’ll take care of it. It’s fine. Ozzy, make up Vic’s old place for Drunk, will you please? The whole thing. On the house. Hit his card with a refund.” He shook his head and wagged a finger. “The things I do for you, Al.”

  Al leaned across the desk and patted Artie’s meaty arm. “You’re doing the right thing Artie.”

  “It’ll take a bit to get it ready,” said Ozzy. “Thirty minutes or so.”

  Al smiled. “Not a problem. Evie’s already got supper on the table back at the cottage. Ring my room when it’s ready, will ya?”

  15

  Tuesday, February 20, 2018

  I woke up the next afternoon on Al’s sofa. Despite the murderous events that had unfolded the night before, the combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and Mrs. Al’s cooking had lulled me into a food coma. So when the front desk had called to tell me that my new room was ready and I’d not felt like moving, Al had thrown a blanket on me and said, “Evie and I are going to bed. You can sleep here tonight, kid.”