Bad Day in a Banana Hammock

by Stuart R. West

  “You’ll live. Now before my brother rudely interrupted…first things, first. The phone?” She held her hand out, palm up.

  “What phone?”

  “Martin, I don’t know if you’re playing dumb or are just dumb. I saw you with a phone. And I know you have my brother’s phone. Hand it over.”

  He groused while digging into his jacket pocket. “Fine.” He tumped it into her hand, not a happy camper.

  “Thank you. I’ll get the money for you. We’ll meet back here in an hour. Deal?”

  “Wait…what money?”

  “Quiet, Zach! The grown-ups are talking. Sound good, Martin?”

  Snurf. “Sounds good.”

  “Oh. Since you consider yourself somewhat of an insurance expert, I’ll just hold onto your little gun as a little bit of insurance of my own.” She waggled it about. The heft of it felt good, the grip conforming nicely to her hand.

  “Now, wait a minute, lil…Mrs. LeFevre, that ain’t part of the deal!” Martin reached for the pistol. Zach latched onto his wrist, pulled it back.

  “Too bad. Business can be cutthroat. See you in an hour. Ta ta for now.” Zora wanted to make a bad-ass exit, one to rival her entrance, she really did. But once the thrill was gone, the baby made its presence known. Strongly. Took her three tries to lift out of the car. But damned if she was about to ask for the big, bad male contingent’s help. “Let’s go, Zach.”

  “What’s going on, sis? I don’t know about your bringing that gun. They kinda freak me out.”

  “Just come on, already. We haven’t got much time. I’ll fill you in on the way to the bank.”

  “Whatever you say.” Zach sprang away from the detective’s car in a ridiculous slow-mo jog, hands jotting up and down. Something he probably learned from all those episodes of Baywatch he rotted his teen brain on. Then he ran back. Leaned down into Martin’s window.

  “Um, dude, sorry I bloodied your nose and all. Do you have my pants by any chance?”

  “Your pants? What in hell?” Old school style, Martin started cranking his window up by the handle.

  Zach clumped a hand down on the window’s edge. “They’re really good pants, dude. Tear-away specials I had made. Really want ‘em back.”

  “No, I don’t have your damn pants! Get off my car!”

  “Sorry, mister. But, really, you gotta do something about your weight. Not only is it a disgrace to your body, but you’re a walking heart attack. If I were you, I’d turn that mass into muscle. Yeah!” He poked Martin’s belly. Martin stared back in disbelief, cranky. Zora didn’t blame him, not really. “Just watch your sugars, breads, carbs…start working out and—”

  “Come on, Zach!”

  *

  “Your pants, Zach? Honestly!”

  “I like my pants. They’re great pants.” Zach hitched up the excess baggage on Phillip’s pant leg and sighed over his lost love. “Awesome pants.”

  “Forget your damn pants for a minute!”

  “Mommy!”

  Her kids had been so abnormally quiet, Zora’d almost forgotten they were along for the ride. Eavesdropping, little detectives in the making. “Sorry, Justin. Mommy won’t cuss again.” Yeah, right. “I’m just a little stressed out right now.”

  She wheeled the minivan into the bank’s drive-thru lane. “I mean it, Zach. Phillip’s gonna hit the ceiling when he notices the money gone. You’ve got to pay it back this time.”

  “Hey, no prob, sis. My word’s as good as gold.”

  “Uncle Zach’s got a gold sack, Uncle—”

  “Stop it now, Justin!”

  Zach and Justin exchanged a smirk, the kind usually reserved for playgrounds. Exactly where Zora felt like she was playing on.

  “Just pay it back.”

  “So…this detective’s gonna give up the name of his employer for two grand?”

  “More or less.”

  Zach kicked his feet up on the dash. “Then we’re done. Thanks, sis. I knew you’d come through.”

  “Hardly done. I’ve learned not to bet on long-shots. And get your feet off the dash!”

  Clump.

  Zora drove onto Shawnee Mission Parkway, maneuvering between the cars zipping in and out of the lanes, everyone in a frantic hurry. Business as usual. But one car in particular didn’t seem so usual, one that caught her eye. Three car-lengths back. Carefully staying that distance. A black Caddy.

  She adjusted the mirror, quietly said, “I think we’ve got company.”

  “What?” Zach straightened up, looked behind him.

  “Mom, what company’s coming over? Not that boring guy from Dad’s work again, I hope. Anybody but him.”

  “Quiet, Nikki. Zach, your fireman buddy said your mystery woman had a black Cadillac, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think they’ve been tailing us since the bank.”

  “Why’d I ever get out of bed this morning?” Zach drew a hand down his scraggly cheek, nestling into a woe-is-me state-of-mind.

  “Really, Zach? Would you rather be back in bed with your buddy?”

  “Good point.”

  “Okay, just hold on tight. Everyone strapped in?”

  “Yes, Mom…I’m not a baby.”

  At a stoplight, Zora looked back. Tinted windows hid the Caddy’s driver. Sunlight gleamed off the car’s freshly washed exterior. She revved the engine. Looked left, then right. No cops. One final car zooming through a yellow light on the cross street.

  She floored the gas pedal. The minivan’s tires screeched, then propelled the van through the light. Behind her, a horn blared.

  “Mom, you ran a red light!”

  “Whoops. Sorry, kids.”

  Zora cut the wheel right, pulling in front of a Town Car, missing it by inches. The driver saluted her with a choice finger.

  “Mommy, he gave you the finger!”

  “Shame on him!”

  One arm over the seat, Zach watched their pursuer. “He’s catching up!”

  “Who, Mommy? What’s happening?”

  “Part of the adventure, Justin.” The Caddy kicked out of stealth mode. Speeding up now, closing the gap. Yep, definitely following them. Not a good thing.

  “Come on, Zora, step on it! This is, like, the slowest car chase I’ve ever been in.”

  “Like you’ve been in a lotta car chases, Zach. Shut up. Let me drive.”

  Zach turned a white shade of fear. “Zora…what if he catches us? Go faster!”

  “I’ve got my kids in the car. I’m not gonna go all speedway.” With a speed limit of 45 MPH, she was already pushing it at 55.

  The Caddy whipped right, bypassing the cars in the other lanes. Catching up fast, throwing caution to the wind. Serious business on his mind.

  “Crappity, crap, crap!” Zora needed an edge, some way to shake him. How?

  “Mom, is that guy chasing us?” Nikki, staring out the back window, ran her words together. Showing signs of life for the first time today.

  Justin shrieked. Scared or excited, Zora couldn’t tell. Weird kid at times.

  “Nothing to worry about, kids. Mom’s got it under control.”

  The speedometer inched up to 60…65. Be bad if a cop pulled them over. Worse, though, if their mysterious pursuer caught them. Not on her watch, not with her kids on board.

  “Hang on, kids! Just like your videogames. Fun!”

  Justin continued his one-note shriek, not so much in fun mode.

  Zora leaned into it, cranked the steering wheel. The minivan charged back into the left lane. Passed one car, then another. Ahead of her, a yellow van poked along in her lane, almost at a stand-still. Behind them, the Caddy drew closer, its grill shining, full of silver teeth. Zora wrenched the steering wheel hard.

  Krink.

  She nicked the van’s bumper. Lost control of the wheel. Panicking, Zora over-corrected, sending the minivan thrashing across two lanes. They lurched right, Nikki tumbling into Justin, finally cutting his screaming off.

  “Mommy, ge
t her off me!”

  “Kinda busy, Justin!”

  Zora wrangled the van into one lane. Punched it. Not far behind them, the Caddy passed the yellow van, the driver now laying on his horn. Staying glued to Zora. She floored the pedal, leaving everyone else far behind. Except for the damn Caddy. 70, 75…80…

  Down the road, a stoplight flicked to yellow, then red. Cars crossed through the intersection. Her timing had to be spot-on. She twisted the wheel, dropping them back into the far left lane. The Caddy mirrored her.

  “Arragghhh!”

  “Mom, Justin just puked!”

  “Terrific!”

  The stoplight swam up. Still red. And still lots of cars passing through the intersection.

  Nearer and nearer…

  300 feet to the light, 200 feet… The cross traffic didn’t slow. Neither did Zora.

  “Everyone, hang on! One more bit of fun!” I hope.

  A Volkswagen entered the intersection ahead of her, a final straggler. Taking a turtle’s sweet time. On-target for a t-boning.

  “Slow down, Mom! The light’s red!”

  “Crap, Zora!” Zach thrust white-knuckled hands against the dash, digging in for impact.

  100 feet from the intersection…

  Move, you slow-ass Volkswagen!

  Zora roared into the intersection. She cranked the wheel, one hard tug. The VW’s driver finally sped up, barely bypassing her swinging tail-end. Then Zora slammed on the brakes.

  Rrrrrrrrrrr….shzzzzzz…

  The minivan spun, a half loop. Rubber marked their trail. The two right wheels lifted off the ground, clopped back down.

  “Whoa!” Zach’s head banged into the ceiling. Nikki screamed. The van fishtailed. The steering wheel took on a life of its own, spinning left, then spinning right. Zora grabbed the wheel, taming it. They shimmied, then shot off down the intersecting road like a rocket.

  The Caddy driver was less fortunate. As was the VW. In her mirror, Zora watched the Caddy fail to make the turn. It spun out, its back-end slamming into the side of the Bug. Smoke signals of distress went up from the Volkswagen’s engine.

  Slowing down to 70, Zora barreled over a dip in the road. Up they went, then down, a hellish rollercoaster. Zach grunted, his teeth audibly snapping down. Zora gripped the steering wheel tight, her hands shaking. Steady, nice and steady…

  Another check of the mirror. No sign of the Caddy. No pursuing cops.

  60…55…a nice snail’s pace of 45…

  Zora let out a long breath, hadn’t realized she’d been holding it.

  “Everyone okay?”

  “Mom, I’m scared! And Justin’s all gross!”

  “You okay, Justin?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Samantha! How’s she, Nikki?”

  “She slept through it all, Mom! What’re we doing?”

  Good question. Things were getting dangerous. She couldn’t take her kids with her any longer. But what to do with them? The answer seemed clear, one she didn’t like.

  “Well, kids…we’ve got one more stop to make…then I guess you’re going to see your grandparents.”

  “Yay!”

  Zach stared at her, white as bone and eyes big as golf balls. Then he pitched forward, heaving onto Phillip’s shoes.

  Dammit.

  “Uncle Zach blew chunks, Uncle Zach blew chunks, Uncle…”

  *

  On the way back to Fireman Freddie’s place, Zora rolled all the windows down. Smelled like a boy’s locker room inside the van. And the kids let Zora know about it, too, time and time again. Getting rid of them for the day was sounding more enticing by the minute.

  “Hush, kids, I’m not real happy about the smell either.” She glared at her brother.

  “Sorry, sis.” He avoided looking her in the eye. He knew better. “Hey…” His voice raspy, he cleared his throat, spoke up. “We’re, like, twenty minutes late. You think Martin will still be there?”

  “Yeah. Guy like him won’t walk away from two grand.”

  When Zora pulled into Freddie’s lot, the neighborhood kids were no longer playing outside, but everything else remained the same. Martin’s Hybrid sat in the same spot, the engine still idling. No sense in breaking with tradition, Zora reclaimed her earlier parking spot.

  “Wait here. Don’t do anything stupid. Try not to get sick again.” She said that to her brother, not her kids.

  Cash envelope in hand, gun in purse, she waddled toward the Hybrid.

  Martin was dozing behind the wheel, his double-chins planted on his chest.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Your Prince Charming has arrived.”

  Martin didn’t move. In fact, he didn’t snore, either, something Zora had no doubt he excelled at.

  “Martin?”

  Nothing.

  Wary, she reached inside the open window. Shook his shoulder. Slowly he tipped, fell onto the console. Blood spattered the shirt barely containing his belly.

  Oh, dammit. Damn, damn, damn…

  Gut-shot.

  Stay cool, girl. Think.

  Carefully, she grabbed his wrist. Felt for a pulse. Nada. Deader than Elvis.

  Call the cops or not to, that is the question…

  Under any other circumstance, she would. Would have in the past, damn straight. But this would be doubly as bad for her brother. Possibly even her. And she couldn’t clear Zach if implicated in a double murder.

  Plus, she had her kids in the van, had to get them to safety. First priority.

  Other than getting Phillip his damn dinner on time tonight. She probably needed to call him…

  The phone! Martin’s employer’s phone!

  The last thing Zora wanted to do was pat Martin down, dead or alive. Plus there was the whole issue of contaminating a crime scene. Leaving her DNA behind. Of course her DNA was already all over the car from her previous visit. As was Zach’s.

  Hell with it.

  She tapped Martin’s jacket pockets first, his favorite phone hidey-hole. Nothing. Grimacing, she dug hands into his pants pockets, avoiding the blood as best she could. A tin of chewing tobacco, lint, change. Trying to roll him over to get to his rear pockets took the wind out of her sails. Especially with baby on board. Martin’s body wobbled back and forth as she pushed. Finally the heft of his belly took over, dragging him to the floorboard. A lot of work, no pay-off. Empty back-pockets. She scurried around to the passenger side, checked the glove-box, the floor, the back seat. Fast food wrappers and empty cigarette packages, Martin’s memorial.

  Not good.

  Apparently, Martin never even left the parking lot. If he had, he’d have the phone with him. Money meant everything to a guy like him. Unless, of course, the killer snatched the phone. Which made sense, too. A scary kind of sense. Scary because the killer had been brazen enough to kill Martin in broad daylight, possibly in front of a yard full of kids.

  Definitely have to get my kids to safety. Even if I dread taking them to my parents as much as being locked up. Well, not quite. But almost.

  “How’d it go, sis?”

  Unlike her brother, she’d learned how to perfect a poker face. “Could’ve been better.”

  Zach lowered his voice. “What happened?”

  “Remember how we were worried about being late?” Zach nodded. “Well…we can now refer to the detective as the late Bob Martin.” Casually, she swung around to see if little ears were listening. Fully enamored with their hand-held electronics.

  “Oh…man…oh, man…”

  “Open the door this time, Zach. Lean out. Don’t get any on the car.”

  Chapter Five

  Zach couldn’t believe it. Another dead body. Not his day. And things were about to get worse. Visiting his parents.

  “So, what happened to Martin, sis? I mean, I know what happened to him. Duh. But what do you really think hap—”

  “Little ears, Zach!” Zora tugged on her ear, a reminder. “We’ll talk about it after we drop the kids off.”

  Za
ch examined his phone, anything to take his mind off their impending parental show-down.

  “You happen to make any phone calls during your, ah…outing last night, Zach?”

  “I’m checking…nope, but apparently I recorded something. Hang on…I’ll play it on speaker phone…”

  A rustling sound, similar to airplane turbulence. Voices, only Zach’s identifiable. Although damn slurred. So embarrassing. And a woman’s voice in the background, hushed but whiskey deep. Sexy in a way. Fit the woman from what he could remember of her.

  “…yur the hottest thang since jaleeponies…heh, no wait…jalopies…no…yur so hot, you could melt—”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Zach, turn off the speaker!”

  “What? Why? Might be a clue here.”

  “Turn it off and give it to me!” Zora released a hand from the steering wheel, held it out to him. With the speaker off, she cupped it to her ear.

  “Mommy, no phone while you drive!”

  “I know, Justin, but this is a special exception. Now, hush.”

  Zach scooted over, shoulder to shoulder with his sister, and listened. More come-on lines, apparently to the mysterious Cat. Even drugged, at the top of his game. Something banged. Footsteps? A key jangled. A door opened and shut.

  “…come on feel th’ noiseee! Girrrlzzz rock yur boysssss…” Zach smiled, pumped a fist. Roofied or not, he could still kill his dancing anthem.

  Zora sighed, held the phone away from her ear while Zach started the song over again.

  “What?”

  “You’re singing some stupid rock song. Repeatedly!”

  “Yeah! That’s my jam! My song!”

  “Zach, you can’t sing. Um…I’m almost afraid to ask, but…were you dancing for your abductor?”

  He scratched his head, closed his eyes. Searching the dusty attic of his muddled mind. A memory unfolded and swirled into focus…

  *

  “…feel the noiseeeeeee! Yeah, baby! Thash…what I’m talkin…bout…”

  Zach ended big, the only way he knew how, and tore off his pants. Embellished it with a pelvic thrust. “Bam!”

  Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, Cat caught his pants. Smiled. “Very nice.”

  “Hey…nice is my…whaddaya call it? Middle name.” Zach checked his phone. Wanted to make sure he recorded his performance.