Drunk on a Plane

by Zane Mitchell

  “What?” I asked, looking from one to the other. “What’s that mean?”

  Eddie lifted his brows. “It means that it can’t be returned. We’ve literally got no way of knowing who the rightful owner is.”

  “You’re kidding? Someone’s just out that money? Fuck, I’d be crying right now.”

  Al nodded as he plucked the silver piece of metal out of Eddie’s hand. “Unfortunately, that’s exactly what the case is.”

  “So, what do we do with the key?” I asked.

  Al looked backwards at the guys. “Well, the guys and I were talking about it, and you know what they say. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  I lifted a brow. “But no one really possesses it.”

  “Someone does,” said Al. He handed the piece of metal to me. “Jimmie gave it to you.”

  “To me!” My eyes widened as I took the key.

  Al closed his eyes and tipped his head forward. “Yup.”

  “You think I should keep the last one?”

  The guys all nodded. “We do,” said Tony. “You’re the one that got Artie out of the predicament he was in, and you solved the case. We think it’s kind of like a finder’s fee and a private eye fee all rolled into one.”

  My eyes were wide. “Well, how much is it worth?”

  Al winced. “Well, that’s the bad news. Unfortunately with today’s Bitcoin rate, it’s not worth near what it was in December, that’s for sure.”

  “Okay? So, what’s it worth now?”

  “Oh, just a cool six point nine million dollars.”

  “Six point nine…” I felt the breath leaving my body and my head began to spin. “…million…”

  Laughter filled the room.

  “What’s so funny?” boomed a familiar voice on the other side of the room.

  I could barely see Artie as he entered the room.

  “Artie!” said Al. “Good to see you! How’re you feeling?”

  “Feeling so much better now that I know that Ozzy Messina is where he belongs… behind bars!”

  “We’re all thankful for that!” said Tony. “I can’t believe everything that kid put you through, Artie. The nerve!”

  Artie shook his head. “I only hired the little shit because I was trying to help his father out. I knew Ozzy was kind of a problem, but I thought I could give him a professional job and maybe he’d gain some confidence. Apparently he got a little too confident.”

  “That’s for sure!” agreed Al.

  “But, if it wasn’t for the two of you, I’d be dead right now.” Artie laid a hand on both Al’s and my shoulders.

  “It was really all Drunk,” said Al. “He’s one hell of a great detective.”

  I smiled at Al. No one had ever called me a great anything, let alone a great detective. Hearing it come from Al felt good. “Thanks, Al.”

  “Al’s right,” said Artie. “I’m so impressed with what a great cop you turned out to be. You know, I need someone like that here at the Seacoast Majestic.”

  Tony nodded. “Yeah. Especially now, with Ozzy headed off to the big house on international theft and murder charges.”

  Al grinned from ear to ear. “Yup, a head of security position just opened up.”

  “Yes, it did,” agreed Artie, nodding his head. He held one of his thick, squishy hands out for me shake. “And I’d like to offer you the job.”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I said, my mouth agape.

  Artie laughed. “I can’t get the fuck out of here, I own the place!”

  The men roared.

  “What do you say, Drunk?” asked Tony.

  I looked at Al.

  He was grinning at me like a proud father. “I would love for my partner to stay. What do you say, Drunk?”

  I didn’t know what to say. My head was still spinning. Six point nine million dollars and a job offer as a head of security at a Caribbean island resort, all in exchange for not going back to Pam and winter in the States?

  In little more than a breathy whisper, I finally responded, “How can I say no to that?”

  “You can’t,” said Al. “That’s why you say yes.”

  I smiled at the guys. “Then I guess I’ll have to say, yes!”

  Hey there, it’s Zane…

  I’m the author of this book. I’ve got a huge favor to ask of you. If you even remotely enjoyed Drunk, Al, and their predicament, I’d be honored if you left a review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be much - or it can be a lot, whatever floats your boat.

  I’d love to see this book reach more readers, and one way to do that is to have a whole bunch of feedback from readers like you that liked it.

  Leaving reviews also tells me that you want more books in the series or want to read more about certain characters. Or, I guess, conversely, if you didn’t like it, it tells me to either try harder or not to give up my day job.

  So, thanks in advance. I appreciate the time you took to read my book, and I wish you nothing but the best!

  Zane

  Manny’s Cool and Deadly Recipe

  1 oz Spiced Rum

  1 oz Jamaican Rum

  1/2 oz Triple Sec

  2 oz Pineapple Juice

  1 oz Orange Juice

  3/4 oz Grenadine

  Mix all ingredients together and pour over ice in a tall glass. Garnish with a pineapple slice and a maraschino cherry. Enjoy!

  For a printable version, click here.

  SNEAK PEEK - Drunk on a Boat

  The Misadventures of a Drunk in Paradise: Book 2

  1

  “Drunk.”

  Facedown, I felt movement. The earth was shaking.

  “Drunk, wake up.”

  A shrill sound blared in the distance, as if a sonic weapon designed to burst my eardrums and implode my skull had been deployed.

  The shaking intensified. I gripped the surface beneath me tightly, afraid I was about to fall off the face of the planet. Panic surged through my body. My limbs were heavy, and my eyelids felt bolted down and unable to budge. A finger jabbed into the fleshy part of my shoulder, the skin-to-skin contact giving me the distinct impression that I wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  “Drunk!”

  Was that a voice I heard?

  “Hmm…” I groaned.

  “Wake up. Your phone’s ringing.”

  There went that damn sonic blaring again, drilling into my eardrums and making my temples throb. Even when the noise stopped, my ears rang with its distant echo.

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was turned inside out. My tongue was thick and heavy. I gagged a little.

  “Should I answer it?” The voice was low, but feminine.

  Rolling onto my back, I swiped a puddle of drool from the corner of my mouth. My foot slid sideways until I found a cool spot between the sheets. Spread-eagle, I stretched my arms out over my head. My hand touched a pillow.

  I was in a bed.

  A very comfortable bed.

  But despite the bed’s plushy comfort, the claws of death still knifed into my skull.

  I pulled the pillow to my side and curled into it.

  “Five more minutes,” I mumbled around my lead tongue. Even to my own ears, the words were a garbled incoherent mess.

  “It’s Artie.”

  I shifted again, trying to find a way to lie that didn’t press against my bladder. This time my foot made contact with someone else’s bare leg. There was someone in bed with me!

  The cogs in my mind suddenly clicked into place, and my eyes popped open.

  Bright morning rays of sunshine streamed in from my open window, searing my retinas like death rays of torture. Squinting and throwing a hand up, I turned to look at the face behind the voice.

  A woman lay in bed next to me. Young and fresh-faced with big brown eyes and a wild mess of curly brown hair, she had the better part of my bedsheet wrapped around her bare, voluptuous breasts.

  I grinned groggily at the familiar face. “Mornin’, Mack.”

  She responded wi
th an easy smile, “Good morning, Drunk.” She handed me my phone as it rang again. “Your phone’s ringing. It’s Artie. Hey, listen, I’m gonna use your shower. Do you mind? I have to get to work before Mari fires my ass for being late again.”

  I ignored the ringing phone and stared at her through squinty eyes. “Work? What? It’s too early for work.”

  The husky undertones of her laughter softened the shrill sound my phone continued to emit. “It’s not too early for work. It’s almost eight.” She eyed the ringing phone. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “What? No! Don’t go!” I yelled at her as she climbed out of bed, stealing my bedsheet right off of me, leaving me naked and now fully awakened. Mack was leaving? How was the night over already? It felt like it had just begun. “Oh, come on! No morning kisses?”

  Pressed up against the bathroom’s doorjamb, Mack shot me a sexy little pout. “Nope, no morning kisses.”

  “Rawck! No morning kisses. No morning kisses. Rawck!” The screechy echo radiated out from my bedroom window, effectively shooting a piercing dagger through my temples.

  I blanched.

  Mack giggled. “Sorry, Drunk. We both have to work today. You wanna hang out later, though?”

  “Later? Oh, come on, Mack,” I begged. I propped myself up on my elbow and patted the empty spot next to me. “You know what they say. There’s no time like the present.”

  Smiling, she tipped her head backwards. The long tendrils of her curls reached down to sweep the curve of her backside. “Yeah, well, my aunt Doris always says better late than never.”

  I chuckled. “Okay, well, one, Aunt Doris is wrong. And two, I’m pretty sure the saying is better late than pregnant.”

  Mack rolled her eyes at me. “Oh my God. You wanna hang out later or not?”

  My phone made the familiar shrieking sound again.

  Every vein that delivered blood to my brain throbbed in unison.

  Fuck! I needed to change that damn ringtone!

  My bottom lip plumped out, expressing my disappointment that we weren’t going to lie in bed all morning until the throbbing in my head subsided and I was ready to have another go of it. “Of course I wanna hang out later.”

  “Hang out later, hang out later. Rawck!” went the echo.

  The sexy sound of Mack’s laughter trailed behind her until I heard the bathroom door click closed.

  “Ugh,” I groaned, grabbing Mack’s pillow off the other side of the bed and launching it blindly at my open bedroom window. “Shut up already!”

  “Shut up already. Shut up already. Rawck!”

  My phone trilled once more.

  I clamped a hand on either side of my head and squeezed in an attempt to keep my head from rupturing and spewing splushy, vomit-inducing sludge across the room. Surely the resort cleaning staff wouldn’t want to come clean up a mess like that.

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. The morning was not off to a great start. Slowly, I let out the breath, swiped the little green phone symbol, and put the phone to my ear. “Yeah, Artie, what’s up?”

  Pressing my thumb into my other ear, I almost couldn’t hear the echo across the room: “What’s up, what’s up, what’s up.”

  “Drunk, sorry to wake you so early. I know you probably had a late night, but listen, I need you to come in. We’ve, uh, got a bit of a situation.”

  I pulled the thumb out of my ear and ground the pads of my fingers into my eyes. I could hear the sound of the water turning on in the bathroom. “Hey, Artie, I got company this morning. Can’t we do this later?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important enough to warrant you coming in.”

  I had no interest in going into work at this hour. All Little Drunk and I wanted to do was to go join Mack in the shower, knock off a quick one, and then crawl back into bed and ooze into unconsciousness. “Right now?” I pressed.

  “Right now, right now. Rawck!”

  I’d had enough. I bolted up in bed, sending a searing pain through my skull. My eyes met those of a yellow-bellied, blue-bodied, green-headed, zebra-faced parrot. “Shut the hell up!”

  “Drunk?” Artie bellowed into the phone.

  The parrot bobbed back and forth in the window, doing a little dance on the sill. “Shut the hell up, shut the hell up. Rawck!”

  “Not you, Artie.” I grabbed my own pillow off the bed and flung it at the parrot.

  The bird ducked as my pillow sailed over its head and out the window. “Rawck!”

  “It’s this fucking parrot. Ever since you moved me into this cottage, it won’t leave me alone.”

  “Oh. That’s Earnestine.”

  “Earnestine? Fucking thing has a name?”

  “Yeah. Hey, Drunk, how long before you can get here?”

  I scratched my head and looked around. My quilt was twisted into a ball at the foot of the bed. Clothes were strewn all over the room. Empty shot glasses and tequila bottles lined my nightstand, and condom wrappers littered the floor. My head pounded—a memento of the wild night before. But oh, had it been worth it. My first night with Mack was everything I had hoped it would be and more.

  It had been epic.

  A real killer of a party.

  I glanced back at the time. It wasn’t even eight yet. I was pretty sure Mack and I had crawled into bed a little after two, but the festivities in my cottage had gone on well into the morning. I was guessing I hadn’t gotten to sleep until after four or maybe even five. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t even remember falling asleep.

  “Artie, it’s not even eight yet, and I gotta work tonight. Can’t whatever it is wait?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’ve got a woman here who’s demanding to see you. She’s kinda making a scene, Drunk.”

  I slumped forward in bed and ran a hand through my thick, unruly hair. If I had to guess, it was Alicia. Or maybe it was Gigi; I could see her being a vindictive one. Or maybe Mari had discovered I’d gone through her girls at the same speed I’d binge-watched Breaking Bad, and she’d run to Artie to tattle. I let my head fall into my free hand and groaned. They’d all been over eighteen and willing participants. I hadn’t had to coerce a single one of them.

  Charmed them, yes.

  Coerced them, no.

  Fuck.

  “Hey, listen, Artie, I can explain…”

  “No need to explain, Drunk. Just get in here ASAP.”

  Something in Artie’s voice had me curious now. “Come on, man. You’re not even gonna gimme a heads-up?”

  There was a pause.

  I could hear a woman screeching in the background. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but it was too muffled to hear it well.

  The phone crackled and then became suddenly hollow-sounding, as if Artie had wrapped his giant mitts around the receiver. “If I tell you, you’re not going to want to come,” he whispered breathily into the phone. His raspy voice made him sound like a stalker straight out of a suspense thriller flick.

  I sighed. It wasn’t like I needed this job anyway. After the $6.9 million windfall I’d received a few weeks prior, I was set for life. The head of security job at the Seacoast Majestic was as laid-back as jobs came, and in all reality, I was mainly doing it for shits and giggles, and so I had a reason to hide out on a tropical island instead of returning to the States and having to come face-to-face with my cheating ex-fiancée again. But if Artie wanted to fire me over sleeping with the help, he sure as hell was welcome to fire me. I’d get over it.

  I groaned. “I need a shower.”

  “Fine. Shower and then come in.”

  “Have a Dr. Pepper waiting for me, will ya?” I was going to need some caffeine if I was going to be worth a shit for the day.

  “A Dr. Pepper?”

  “Yeah, and a candy bar.” I had saved the man’s life, after all. The least he owed me was a damn soda and a candy bar.

  “A Dr. Pepper and a candy bar?” repeated Artie like he was writing it down. “What ki
nd of candy bar?”

  “I don’t care. Nothing with coconut. I fucking hate coconut.”

  “I fucking hate coconut. I fucking hate coconut. Rawck!”

  Drunk on a Boat

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  About Zane

  I grew up on a sheep farm in the Midwest. I was an only child, raised on Indiana Jones, Star Wars, and the Dukes of Hazzard. My dad was a fresh-water fish biologist and worked on the Missouri River. My mom was a teacher when I was young, and then became the principal of my school around the time I started taking an interest in beer. My grandpa, much like Al in my Drunk in Paradise series, actually owned a Case IH dealership, and I thought the world of him and my grandma.

  I've been married twice. I'd say the first was a mistake, but that marriage gave me my four kids. Marriage numero dos came with two pre-made kids. So yeah, we're paying for Christmas presents for six and college for three. So buy my next book, please. I'd say that was a joke, but jeez. College is expensive.

  In a former life, I was a newspaper columnist, and I actually went to journalism school but eventually dropped out. I did go back to school and eventually got a teaching degree, but let's face facts. I sucked at being a teacher. I was just as much of a kid as the kids were.

  The love of my life and I live in the Midwest. We go about our boring lives just like you do. We parent lots of teenagers and twenty-something-year-olds. We watch superhero movies and Dateline on TV. We're a little obsessive in our love for the Kansas City Chiefs. We take yearly visits to the Caribbean because hey, tax deductible. And now, I write books - sort of a life long dream, to be honest.