Boogie Beach
Page 18
“Hey.”
“Welcome back, honey. Where did you go?”
“I… I dunno, Tici.” She looked at the porch, realizing she sat on the steps, slumped against the railing. “I was heading out, but then I don’t remember.”
Tici glanced sideways at Brad and the two of them squatted down on the steps, faces reorganizing, concern yielding to gentleness.
“I think you need to come back inside,” Brad said, holding his hand out, palm up.
“OK.”
They exchanged looks over her head.
“Let’s get you something to eat, and,” Tici sniffed, “how about a shower?”
“OK.”
“Good girl,” Brad said, the edges of his voice crumbling. He cleared his throat.
At the far end of the porch, lost in the camellia blooms, a spirit sighed.
Sipping the cooled coffee, she felt, again, like not doing a damned thing with those piles of photos and letters mocking her from the dining room table.
Screw that mountain of dishes in the kitchen, too.
She rubbed her face, craving to unsee the prompts. A whimper caught the corners of her mind. The soft pleading eyes of her dogs, Piper’s head bumping her knees, tugged her upright. This was a call to action she could handle.
“Let’s go, doggos. These piles will be here tomorrow. They are the permanence.”
I’ve got to get a grip on my life.
This assessment intruded twenty times a day. The standby platitude, you are grieving, you are OK, you have time, this is normal, swam forward, and she let it settle once more, with diminishing healing.
Piper and Rocco finished the perimeter and joined her for butt scratchies. Their goofy dog grins were two pegs propping up a heart broken by a world that hurt, insisted she keep going, but held no mercy.
I guess that’s part of it. I want to stop and be still in this pain, but the world is grinding and grinning, ginning the deal forever. My life’s circle has a vanished chunk. To me, it’s everything. I’m not spinning; I can’t.
She rubbed the dog’s heads, unseeing, hating the chaos theory of life. It resembled a spaghetti monster of circles. The intertwining made no sense. Life, bound into a squirming, wanton craving to continue, a clot of parasitic worms.
In the macro, that need is the essence of life. But calling it normal empowers it with licentiousness that has no sensitivity to the individual’s circle… to my fucking circle.
The result? A broken curve that used to be a whole life.
Juggler extraordinaire. Now, I’m sidelined with a blown knee and it’s raining plates.
“This is normal,” soothed Standby Platitude, determined to de-wrinkle, keep it smooth, all actions explainable.
“There’s bourbon in the cupboard,” offered Sad Heart, who stopped giving a shit about smooth the moment she saw a soul take the off-ramp.
I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
Piper pushed his gigantic head against her knee.
He doesn’t know, but he knows. What an exceptional dog.
Kissing the top of Piper’s nose, she murmured, “not today, heart. Today we will wash dogs, the sheets, and my sins. But, we won’t look at those photos and letters. Those are for tomorrow.”
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* * *
Lightning snaked along the horizon, highlighting the dancers on the yacht’s spacious deck in strobed motion. Glasses, cutlery, and plates whipped off the stern in the rising wind, a death spiral into a sea sick of plastic. Unseen below the cresting seas, mer men sharpened their blades, their faces a composite of anger and disgust.
* * *
On the starboard gunwale, a woman materialized. Exotic and curvy, her skin a coppery chocolate framed by twisting curls, she moved toward the stern. After selecting a glass of wine from the tray, she stood on the periphery, watching the drunken gyrations punctuated by an occasional stumble when the ship hit a pronounced swell.
* * *
“Who are you, Sweetheart?” A man in shorts and an expensive fishing shirt, looking surprised, eased next to her.
* * *
“Friends call me Gigi,” she replied, sipping and steadfast in the sea’s motion.
* * *
“I didn’t see you board?”
* * *
“Oh, I just arrived.” Her tone, unamused, accompanied a slight lift of an eyebrow.
* * *
“Well, you’re on my ship, so perhaps you might enlighten me?”
* * *
“Are you aware you’re leaving a wake of plastic and trash? Is defiling my sea your normal?”
* * *
“Who’d you say brought you?”
* * *
“I didn’t, but it’s irrelevant; I’m not staying.”
* * *
Gigi finished her drink, leaned over the ship’s rail, and nodded.
* * *
Along the smooth sides of the yacht, mer men placed hands, suctioning up the fiberglass composite, pulling themselves from the sea. As their tails left the brine, Gigi waved a vague hand; with a shimmer, scaled legs replaced them.
* * *
“Thank you for the wine. I’m afraid I can’t stay for the afterparty.”
* * *
To his gape-mouthed stare, she winked and faded as a mer man disemboweled him with a razor-sharp shell blade, guts cascading across the pristine white deck, followed by the thud of life leaving.
* * *
Shrieks filled the night, the splash of the departing mer an inadequate finale.
The paddleboard nosed onto the beach; broad callused feet stepped into the swirling surf, a spinning caress that tickled his ankles as he lifted the big board with ease and marched toward the bicycle tucked under the pier’s pilings.
* * *
“Smooth ride?” I eased away from the heavy timber holding up my pier and bar, The Boogie, and grinned.
* * *
“The passage rocks, Keeper, but the world? Not so much.”
* * *
“Drink?”
* * *
“You know I’m not a fan of alchemy.”
* * *
“Come on, I brought a pineapple; I’ll make you a smoothie.”
* * *
“Deal.”
* * *
Guru leaned his board up next to the bike and both faded from view. If taken piece by piece, he wasn’t a traditional hottie, but Guru exuded an aura that was irresistible. Long copper colored dreads, full of sand, dirt, twigs, or other flotsam, smooth light brown skin, green eyes the color of ripe limes, and sculpted lips that warmed up the root chakra in a bolt of sexual bliss. He wore board shorts that were too tight and showed off an impressive set of glutes, a serious package, and thick, powerful legs. Stocky, but not heavy, Guru emanated masculine power. I liked him, just not that way.
* * *
As he followed up the long steps to the pier, I felt a light swat across my ass.
* * *
“Are you slowing up, Keeper?”
* * *
Was I? No way, I ran these stairs every day. I shot him a side eye and took in the smirk.
* * *
“Funny guy, you had me for a moment, Guru. Brief.”
* * *
We laughed, and I laid my palm on the ornate wooden ship’s door, visible only to those with a magical signature. It swung open, and I entered, Guru’s wide feet padding across the decking behind me.
* * *
For the uninitiated, which encompasses most of humanity, learning the backstory might help. Boogie Beach, a sleepy Florida beach town, lay south of Daytona, with decent surfing and a low key vibe. My bar, The Boogie, or Boogey as my magical patrons called it, had the distinction of being on the line between reality and extraordinary, which mean
t I ran a pub on the doorway to all worlds. Shifters, witches, the fae, wizards, merpeople, the Greek dudes, you name it. If it liked to drink, it showed up and I could see it, which was my entire skill set.
* * *
By that, I meant I couldn’t magic my way out of a tough spot. I had my wits and deep well of dumb luck. Last October, the order of the worlds changed, leaving me wielding an outsized amount of power for a bartender. While it’s an honor to belong to both worlds, an upended world order required adjustments from everyone. Some are slow learners.
* * *
The pineapple flipped in the air, and I snatched it, drawing my big knife. The knobby skin sliced away in long strips. With the flat blade, I pushed the top and tail to the side.
* * *
“May I?”
* * *
The leafy top and bottom of the fruit vanished into the bag he wore at his waist. Guru being Guru, he’d plant and nurture them by nightfall.
* * *
I chopped, including the core, because this was Guru and I didn’t need a lecture on waste. Fruit, ice, and the juice of three limes landed in my blender, followed by two bananas.
* * *
Guru munched the lime rinds while I mixed the smoothie, pouring it into a huge beach cup with a lid.
* * *
“What did you see that drew your concern?” I asked.
* * *
This was new, as of last October. Before, asking for information from a magical led to punishment because their world disdained the human one. Forging new relationships based on mutual respect took time. We were learning, an uneven work in progress.
* * *
I held his eyes, and he nodded.
* * *
“So weird. Unlearning, I mean.”
* * *
“Yup.”
* * *
“The sea is sicker,” he added. “I spoke with several mer people and they have concerns.”
* * *
“Last week you said it was the forest.”
* * *
“The mother is not healthy, Patra. This is not going away.”
* * *
“Since October, the world’s vibe is better, Guru.”
* * *
“Yes, but it’s a bandage. The infection is untreated.”
* * *
His eyes blazed herbaceous fire, and I stepped back one step. How insane it is to be peers with, well, to be real, with a demigod? I mean, what the actual, right? These people smite. Jeez.
* * *
“Making the human world recognize that magic is real, and that gods are multiple is problematic for many countries, Guru. I’m working on bringing them into the Triune.”
* * *
“Hmm, I don’t envy you the task. Messy love-addled dark-ages dwellers. Humans are enamored with the most specious bullshit.”
* * *
“That’s an oversimplification.”
* * *
He stared at me, swallowing while my heart managed two beats out of every three, then barked a laugh. “Perhaps. You are a credit to your race, Keeper.”
* * *
My race. Well, I’m a race of one, so it’s not as though I burst out of a crowded field. Still, it’s indicative of magicals to see me as human. After that October night on the beach, you’d think word might spread, but old habits, and they’re on both sides, died hard.
* * *
“Keeper, I used to believe the simple elimination of humans was the answer,” Guru raised an eyebrow.
* * *
“Extinction of any species creates cascading reactions on the earth, Guru. It’s a finesse issue, not a get pissed and go nuclear one.”
* * *
“You plant a seedling of hope, waiting for growth,” Guru snorted. “Time does not give two shits, Patra. It is relentless.”
* * *
I nodded, looking up as Pook and Bingo, my pelican shifter regulars, stomped through the door, pushing and shoving each other.
* * *
“Boys.” I tapped fish ales and passed them across the bar. “There are ten thousand lady pelicans on our little section of the Halifax River. I’m confident there’s enough ‘come hither’ for everyone.”
* * *
“But I saw her first,” Pook grumbled.
* * *
“I shagged her first,” Bingo grinned. “I win.”
* * *
Eyes rolling, I glanced through the wall. Thanks to a spell, it’s transparent and allowed me to see into the bar on the non-magical side. The lunch rush finished, Charlie, my best bartender, had twenty tourists and a handful of locals well on their way to lubrication. Still, I’m the Manager, so I palm through to my office and out to the human bar.
* * *
Last fall Charlie and I had a run in of sorts, he made it clear he’d like to bone his boss, but I’m holding that at bay for now. While it would take my edge off, which I could use, I’ve got a heaping plate to juggle and adding workplace romance is a pain my ass didn’t need.
* * *
Am I getting old? Shit, I hope not.
* * *
I wandered through The Boogie, chatted with a couple locals, nudged the dishwasher to get Charlie more glassware and took a mental inventory of the liquor. By the looks of it, I needed more of that obnoxious cotton candy vodka, a case each of Jameson and Ketel One, and two cases of Jack Daniels.
* * *
“Crystal Head Aurora supplies holding?”
* * *
Charlie nodded. “Haven’t seen him in a week.”
* * *
‘Him’ referred to Jonesy, a rich guy with a huge boat, a swanky condo, and bottomless cash. My kind of regular. His vodka was pricey, and he drank it like it was Titos. Another win.
* * *
“Is he traveling?”
* * *
“If so, he didn’t mention it, and that’s not his style. The man loves talking up his next big deal.”
* * *
True. Jonesy was a first order braggart. I suppose if you made a fat pile of jack and felt insecure, braggadocio is your A-game. My guess was he had package issues. Still, he’s in here like clockwork, so his absence was odd.
* * *
Phone in hand, I tapped the number.
* * *
“Boogie Beach Police Department.”
* * *
“This is Patra, Manager at The Boogie. One of my regulars has been a no-show for a week. Any chance y’all can do a wellness check?”
* * *
“Yes, Ma’am. Who is the individual?”
* * *
“Westminster Jones. He’s at The Gables and keeps a yacht at Three Eagles Marina.”
* * *
“We’ll send a car around to check.”
* * *
“Thanks. Remember, we’re having our police appreciation event next week.”
* * *
“Posters are up everywhere, Patra. That’s the best event for us the entire year, takes the edge off Bike Week.”
* * *
Bike Week was king. Nine days of non-stop party, crazy drinking, and tons of music. It’s a dead president’s pump of epic proportions for beach businesses, and we made bank; enough to set the year. The rest of the months ranged from break-even to decent. Bike Week brought mad cash.
* * *
I disconnected and grinned. My ulterior motives were in full swing. If seafood bribery helped, dropping a grand on a mess of shrimp and beer was a reasonable exchange. I had it bad for a cop who didn’t know I was alive. We’d see.
* * *
A couple hours later, my phone rang.
* * *
“Patra, you didn’t hear it from me,” the dispatcher confided, “but your gut was right on the wellness check. Mr. Jones was found deceased on his boat.”
* * *
“Oh, no! I’m sorry to hear this. Jonesy was an interesting man.”
* * *