Frankenskeeters

by Mary Miller

  CONTENTS

  GREEN FLASH

  CHOKOLOSKEE

  RED RIGHT RETURN

  SUBTERRANEAN DISNEY

  OUT FROM UNDER

  CABEZA DE RATON

  SWAMPLAND

  IMMOKALEE’S RELEASE

  BETWEEN A PLACE AND A HARD ROCK

  DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

  RICOCHET

  FEDS

  DEDICATION

  Frankenskeeters!

  A Lightning Capital Mystery

  Mary Miller

  Murder, Mystery and Madness

  Florida Style

  St. Petersburg, Florida USA

  Frankenskeeters!

  A Lightning Capital Mystery

  Copyright © 2018 by Mary Miller

  Cover Design: Adam Turkel

  altamontrecords.com

  All rights reserved.

  Contact : frankenskeeters.com and thelightningcapital.com

  Find us on Facebook at Frankenskeeters

  Although the author and publisher have exhaustively researched all sources to ensure accuracy and completeness of information in this book, we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein.

  Any slights of people or organizations are unintentional.

  First Edition 2018

  Acknowledgments

  Captain Bill Miller, Chris Miller, Eric Enfield, Ruth McCullough, Yarrow Ries, Susan McNeal, Jeannette Foye, Susan Walsh, Wendy Wesley, Sue Stanczyk, Judy Sivigny, Richard N. Watts, Denise Gleuck, Rita Hagberg

  Green Flash

  Johnnie swims to the Viking Sportfish’s ladder and gives her hand to Rico. He lifts her aboard, wraps her in a beach towel and pulls her close.

  "Permission to come aboard, Captain?" she asks. She throws her head back and shakes the saltwater from her long blonde hair.

  “Granted!” Rico says. He kisses her neck; hands her an icy margarita and toasts: “To another Florida sunset!”

  Mother nature gazes down at the Gulf of Mexico; her own personal salt-rimmed margarita. She strokes the horizon, licks the salt from her fingertips and winks. A green flash sparks and rips across the horizon.

  “Look!” Johnnie gasps. “The Green flash!”

  Rico smiles and pulls her closer.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

  “First time Johnnie?”

  Rico’s Jamaican blue eyes tease and he kisses her. Their margaritas forgotten; he leads her to his cabin down below.

  Two lovers shoreside are locked in their own sunset embrace. Their union unleashes a new breed of mosquito no DEET can destroy. The Frankenskeeter.

  ✽✽✽

  CHOKOLOSKEE

  Auntie Gladys raises the red flag on her roadside mailbox and stands back to admire her latest shrub topiary: a fist raised, middle finger extended, shooting a bird. She walks to the Smallwood store; its oyster marl parking lot empty but for a few trucks with out-of-state plates and Cartier’s van.

  It’s just past the slap hour and mosquitos have lessened, likely sleeping off their morning gorge on fishermen and tourists. Gladys decides to see who’s fishing on the dock.

  “Catching anything?” she asks two earnest fishermen.

  “Nothing yet,” says the sunburnt one. His new Cabela’s shirt sticks to his back as he struggles to untangle his line from the salt-laden mangroves.

  The Seminole matron scans the dock’s pilings for bait fish; settles her ample self onto a worn bench and gazes out across oyster beds. This dock was made for clandestine trades, not fishing. A while back, a sack of white heron plumes brought rifles and rum.

  “What’re you using for bait?” asks Gladys.

  “My lucky Purple Demon,” boasts the hopeful tourist. “It crushes the striped bass back home.”

  Aunt Gladys pretends to be impressed.

  “Going for the inshore slam?” Gladys asks, teasing him about the Florida dream trio of snook, reds and trout.

  The man swears as his lure snags an oyster cluster and Gladys pushes herself up from the bench; knowing this duo will be lucky to land a trash can slam of pinfish, catfish and lowly grunt.

  Gladys sways, her arms flail and she passes out on the rough planks.

  “Somebody call 911,” the fishermen shout as she begins to thrash.

  The store's screen door slams and Cartier rushes to Gladys’ side.

  “No, Auntie won’t have that,” says Cartier. “She’s old school Seminole medicine. She’s just having one of her spells.” He turns her to her side. “Give her some air.”

  “Purple demons,” murmurs Gladys, staring blankly. In her fugue, a swell of mosquitos bursts through the mangroves to surround her. The shrieking horde descends and begins to feed. Gladys screams, and curls into a fetal position.

  “Auntie, can you hear me,” Cartier asks. She doesn’t answer until the suffocating, violet-eyed swarm lifts.

  She gasps for air and sits bolt upright.

  “Give her room, she’s coming out of it,” says Cartier and holds her up.

  “You’re OK now, Auntie.”

  She grabs him by the shoulders.

  “They’re coming,” cries Auntie Gladys. “The purple demons. We’ve got to stop them.”

  ✽✽✽

  RED RIGHT RETURN

  Johnnie walks the long dock, in the shadow of the 58’ Viking Sportfish. She hears Rico first; then sees his bronzed, lean body. She tilts her sunglasses to watch him gather the cast net, section by section. The net’s lead weights rap like gunshots on the Nola Devine’s gleaming white deck. Johnnie takes off her heels and steps aboard as a light breeze flutters the colorful burgees high on the boat’s tuna tower. Her sun-streaked hair swirls across her face.

  “Morning Johnnie!” Rico drops the net and pulls her in tight for a kiss.

  “You’re looking good! He steps back to admire her. “Fundraising breakfast?”

  “That’s me: more green for GulfWatch,” she laughs and trails her fingers along the custom fishing rods. She swats at a mosquito on her thigh.

  “The mosquito index is up again. Seems high for this time of year,” she says.

  “Double the normal numbers,” agrees Rico and climbs the tuna tower to raise his Rico Fishing Charters’ banner.

  “That newborn giraffe over at Adventure Africa? They say she died from mosquito bites.”

  “God, no! Another attack?” she brushes a mosquito from her neck and looks toward the island.

  “Do you see them?” asks Johnnie.

  Rico sights his binoculars towards Johnnie’s house; the Egmont Key lighthouse keeper’s quarters.

  “Pop’s Boston Whaler is leaving the island right now. Looks like he's got all your relatives and all their luggage. What’s the plan?”

  “They fly out of Orlando tonight, after Disney. While they’re in the Magic Kingdom; I’ll get a private tour of EPCOT’s underground from my pal Horatio.”

  “Subterranean Disney?” Rico laughs.

  “It’ll be another bonus incentive I can offer GulfWatch’s top donors.”

  Pop sounds the air horn as the Whaler, draped with porcelain legs and orange life jackets, edges alongside the dock. Pop tosses the bowline to Rico. The crowded skiff yaws dockside and threatens to capsize as Johnnie’s relatives jump to the dock.

  Pop heaves himself out of the skiff and grumbles, “Damn mosquitos!” He brushes them from his arm. “Midday?! They’re the only thing more irritating than relatives.”

  “Thanks Pop, I appreciate the ferry service,” says Johnnie.

  “You kids go hit the head,” he orders. “The limo will be here any minute.”

  Wells was nothing if not on time. A limo driver by default; the hot-tempered red-head lost his mind and two years in Count
y jail when he found his lover in bed with another man. The man attacked Wells, who stood his ground and shot him dead. Wells drives for Johnnie on his gravy time, between morning drop off and evening pickups of sure-bet poker player passengers on the Seminole Tribe’s Casino Cruise.

  Wells lowers the limo’s tinted windows and winks at Johnnie. He holds the doors open for Pop and the rest of Johnnie’s sunburnt relatives. A gush of ice-cold AC cuts through the steamy Florida morning.

  “Thanks Wells, I owe you one,” says Johnnie as she settles in and closes her door.

  ✽✽✽

  SUBTERRANEAN DISNEY

  In the shelter of a doorway; the Disney trombone player, Horatio ‘Ho Ho’ Gonzalez smokes a Hav-a-Tampa. The door’s red and white sign warns No Entry. Cast Members Only. The staccato chatter of frogs grows louder, as heavy rain clouds hang low in the pewter sky. Johnnie steps from the limo and Ho Ho wraps her in a hug.

  "Miss you too, Ho Ho,” says Johnnie. “How’s the embouchure? The better to kiss your wife with?”

  “Alicia likes it,” the horn player nods; a glint of gold in his smile. “But she says the cigar’s gotta’ go.”

  The wind picks up and thunder rumbles.

  “Thinking of bringing the rich and famous down into the utilidors?" asks Ho Ho. "I bet they've never seen underground Disney."

  “I need a new sideshow for GulfWatch fundraising. Our big money donors love their perks.”

  “I hear ya…but the bowels of the mouse house?” He shakes his head and stubs out the cigar.

  “There’s big bucks below, believe me,” says Johnnie. She shivers as lightning strikes and the sky darkens.

  “That one was close,” Ho Ho smooths the hair at the nape of his neck.

  “The rain she come,” warns the Ybor City native. “Let’s get!”

  He pulls open the heavy stairwell door. Johnnie hesitates at the top of the stairs and shudders as lightning cracks nearby.

  “Down we go. Ladies first,” he insists. “Watch your step.”

  Wind whistles through the stairwell and slams the heavy metal door behind them. Thunder rumbles above and the stairwell lights begin to flicker and fade. Johnnie and Ho Ho reach the lowest steps when the lights go out. Johnnie trips and falls.

  “Son of a” … she curses and tries to stand.

  "Johnnie what's happening to you?" Ho Ho shouts and tries to swipe on his phone's flashlight.

  Lightning flashes and Johnnie sees her foot is trapped by the crumpled body of a man.

  She tugs at her leg. "Get him off of me!"

  "Is he alive?" asks Ho Ho and shines his flashlight on the man. "He's not moving."

  Something buzzes past Ho Ho's face and knocks his phone to the floor.

  "What is that shrieking sound?" screams Johnnie and covers her ears.

  "Something's coming!"

  The tunnel pulses with a hateful drone as a swarm of purple-eyed mosquitos descends and begins to feed. Johnnie slaps at the hungry horde, but there's no escape.

  “I can’t breathe!” she screams.

  Ho Ho tries to run, but slips on the slick floors.

  Johnnie covers her ears and doubles over from the pressure as the torrent of mosquitos blows past. A shockwave throws her to the floor. She tries to crawl towards the exit, but slips and falls back onto the injured man.

  "What is this stuff?" she cries and brushes a sticky, purple goo from her arms.

  The mosquito swarm swoops upwards and clogs the stairwell. As the injured man struggles to raise his head, the emergency lights kick in. Blood flows from his forehead and jagged scars radiate from eyes. Johnnie ducks as a second swarm of mutant mosquitos crowds the stairwell.

  “They’re trying to escape from the tunnel!” yells Ho Ho.

  "We're trapped," Johnnie shouts. “There's gotta be another exit, right, Ho Ho? Get us outta’ here, before they turn on us!”

  "There's another exit 100 yards from here. If we go now, maybe we can outrun them."

  The injured man moans and rolls to his back. His torn wife-beater undershirt reveals muscled shoulders branded with blackened rectangular scars. His shirt is soaked with the saliva-like purple gel.

  “He's alive!" yells Johnnie. "We can’t leave him.”

  Lightning crashes and a heavy thudding sound reverberate through the tunnel as the swarm begins to slam against the exit door above.

  “Help me stand him up,” says Johnnie.

  When Ho Ho grabs the man by his wrist; the man’s hand snaps off like a glove. His prosthetic arm clatters to the floor.

  “What the …” swears Ho Ho. “We've gotta move him before those mutants come back for us!"

  The whining drone grows to a roar as Ho Ho begins to lift the man. Johnnie picks up his cold silicon hand and they drag him through the sticky slime towards a flickering Exit sign.

  “Hurry! Take that stairwell on your left,” shouts Ho Ho.

  Lightning crashes above and the droning swarm begins to shriek. The tunnel's emergency lights go out. Ho Ho drags the injured man up the dark stairwell. Johnnie holds open the heavy door and Ho Ho heaves the man up the final steps and into the storm.

  ✽✽✽

  OUT FROM UNDER

  Wells waits nearby with the limo idling. He sees Johnnie and Ho Ho burst through the doors.

  “Johnnie, what happened to you?” he asks.

  The injured man groans as the swarm's shrieking grows louder. The building’s door bulges and begins to split from its frame. A purple glow oozes from within.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” pleads Johnnie. “Help us get him to the car.”

  Ho Ho and Wells load the injured man into the limo and Johnnie slams the door.

  “Get us out of here! Drive!”

  Wells throws the limo in gear as the swarm busts down the door. The shrieking cloud of mosquitos blankets the building with a purplish glow.

  “Go!” screams Johnnie. She looks through the window at the angry swarm. Purple slime pelts the car and blood splatters the windows as they plow through mosquitos. Wells switches the windshield wipers to high and guns the engine, leaving the theme park behind them. The shriek fades to a distant drone.

  In the backseat, the injured man falls into Johnnie’s lap. She shakes him and props him upright.

  “Help me keep him conscious Ho Ho.”

  Ho Ho straps a seatbelt across the man who startles, rubs his head and mumbles, “Where am I? Where’s my damn hand?”

  Johnnie pulls the hand from her purse. The man snatches it and snaps it on to his prosthetic arm.

  "Who are you? Where am I?" he asks.

  Johnnie explains. “You hit your head in the tunnels. We barely escaped. Wells, can you see them? Are they following us?”

  “We’re ahead of them Johnnie,” answers Wells.

  The injured man wipes purple slime from his face. “What is this stuff?” he asks.

  “The mutant mosquitos attacked and they slimed us. We’re safe…for now.”

  “Auntie warned this would happen,” he says as he searches his pockets. He pulls out a small package and shoves it into Johnnie’s hand. He begins to slur and slide down the seat.

  “Get this to Auntie! This may be the only way to stop them,” he mumbles and collapses.

  “What is it Johnnie?” asks Ho Ho.

  Johnnie opens the package.

  “It’s some kind of souvenir seed packet.”

  "How is that supposed to help us?" Ho Ho says and grabs the man’s phone from the seat.

  “He’s gotta’ have this Auntie woman’s number in his phone. It sounds like she can help us with these mutants.”

  He attempts to open the phone’s contacts but the phone is locked. Johnnie holds the man’s withered right hand and presses his fingertips on the phone’s screen. There’s no response.

  “It won’t unlock,” she says and presses the silicone fingers of his prosthetic hand to the screen.

  “Got it! Let me scroll through his call log. Here it is
: Auntie Gladys” she says, and calls the number.

  ✽✽✽

  CABEZA DE RATON

  In the shadow of the mouse head power pole, at a corner table at the La Cabeza de Raton Cuban Restaurant; Auntie Gladys waits. A waitress tops off her sweet tea.

  “She’s never late; Miss Gladys. Is everything OK?”

  Auntie Gladys’ phone rings.

  “Hello?” says Johnnie. “Is this Auntie? We need your help. You don’t know me but…. we’ve been attacked. Some kind of mutant mosquitos. A man we helped escape told us to call you. He hit his head and I’m trying to keep him conscious. He says you can stop these monsters.”

  “Where are you?” asks Auntie.

  “West of EPCOT. The swarm is a few miles behind us.”

  “The Frankenskeeters. I thought we’d have more time,” says Auntie.

  “Frankenskeeters? Is that what’s after us?” Johnnie asks.

  “They’re after all of us,” says Auntie Gladys. “The man with you…He’s tall with scars around his eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “His name is Flash. Is Kalee with him?”

  “I don't know. He was alone.”

  “My niece Kalee. Flash was supposed to meet with her. You didn’t see her?”

  “No, there was no one else.”

  “Are any of you bleeding?”

  “He has a big gash in his forehead. We’re covered with bites and a sticky purple slime.”

  “Their saliva - wipe it off immediately. It’s toxic. Don’t let it get into your mouth or any wounds,” instructs Auntie. “Whatever you do – don’t scratch! Not until you’ve cleaned off that purple slime. Meet me at La Cabeza de Raton on World Drive. I’ll be in the parking lot. Kalee is supposed to meet me here and I can’t leave without her. Hurry, you may not have much time.”