“I don’t think so, no,” she said.
“Then the deal stands. You look into Burrows and tell me everything you can dig up about him. I’ll find Roman.”
I may not be able to tell Buddy I found Burrows alive and well, but I would make damn sure I had a good story.
“You’re still going to help me?”
“Yeah. I’ll start looking again first thing tomorrow.”
Wanda took my hand again. This time it felt like a genuine act of affection.
She leaned forward out of her chair and gave me a big hug.
It would have been a nice moment if I hadn’t spoiled things by groaning in pain.
“You poor thing!” she said, letting me go.
“It’s late. Why don’t we get you up to your room?” she said, gingerly touching the most popular bruise on my cheek with her free hand.
“That sounds like a very good idea,” I told her.
My knee was still weak from the blow Goliath had delivered, so Wanda put my arm over her shoulders again and helped me up.
The band finished off “Love and Marriage” to a standing ovation. The Club was rapidly filling up, making navigation with a bad leg difficult, so Wanda and I waited out the applause.
“Gracias! Gracias!” said Ricardo. “I want to introduce our other singer, give a big Bombay Club welcome to James Morrison!”
Morrison took the stage in a fresh tuxedo and Wanda and I joined in the next round of applause. Morrison grabbed the microphone, pulled it close and looked out at the crowd. He made eye contact with someone at nearly every table as the applause died down.
“I have a special song I’d like to do,” he said. “A song for a buddy of mine, out there in the Club with you tonight.”
He loosened his bow tie, letting the two ends fall to his chest.
Why do singers even wear bow ties if they’re just going to untie them?
Morrison finished the ritual by undoing the top button on his shirt. He turned around to face Ricardo and the rest of the band.
Buddy started strumming his guitar, the Big Bopper blew a low note on his horn and the band broke into a Mariachi-infused introduction to a song that sounded both familiar and unplaceable. Morrison was tapping his heel and swaying his hips as the rhythm started to pick up. When he sang “Wise men say,” I realized Morrison was covering “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Ricardo’s band played the notes faster, and steeped it with a Latin flavor that gave the song more passion, but it was still the King.
I read once that going to a Doors concert was an entirely different experience than listening to the music at home or in your car. That the band, and Jim Morrison in particular, created an energy that the audience just absorbed as they listened. It had always sounded like it was the drugs to me.
But hearing this song, now, a song I’d played a thousand times, performed by this band and sung by this singer...it made me feel like I was experiencing it for the first time.
Wanda moved closer and whispered into my ear.
“Can that gimp leg of yours hold up to a spin around the dance floor?”
“As long as I’m leaning on you,” I answered.
Most of the audience had resumed their seats. The wild dancers from earlier had retired to a small corner of the floor, shrouded in shadows, where they held each other and moved like water with the music.
I followed Wanda to our own corner. She held me tight around the waist. I put one arm above her shoulder for support, and the other around her back to hold her close. She led.
And I stopped paying attention to the music. Wonderful as it was.
Wanda burrowed her face into my neck, her whiskers soft and warm. It felt like a cat snuggling in against me for a nap. We moved and I could feel the fabric of my shirt slide against her breasts. I could smell her perfume for the first time. It was subtle, barely noticeable, and it presented itself in occasional whispers that I inhaled in gulps.
Morrison was winding it down. He raised the microphone stand into the air, holding it above his head as he sang. The words struck me. Especially the last line, because it was something I was already thinking about Wanda as we danced. I couldn’t help falling in love...
Morrison’s whole body was practically trembling as he dragged out the final words.
The music stopped. We stopped moving.
The band got another standing ovation.
Morrison handed the mike to Ricardo and stepped to the edge of the stage.
“Thank you again! Las Puertas will be back after a quick break.”
The lights on the band went dark and the house lights came up. I found myself looking down into Wanda’s eyes, still holding her or, more accurately, being held up by her.
“I hope that’s a .45 in your pocket, not that you’re just glad to see me,” I said.
Wanda blushed and rewarded me with a very girlish giggle. “It’s a .357. If I’d known I’d be pressing myself against you this evening I would have strapped it somewhere else.”
Morrison had come up beside us and caught her comment.
“I’m not sure you should be pressing anything against the man in black here, Sheriff.”
Wanda kept looking up into my eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like a man who can pull off black leather pants.”
“I used to wear black leather pants all the time,” he told her.
“Morrison?”
“Floyd?”
“That was an incredible performance.”
Wanda and I were still holding each other with our eyes, but I could sense him inflate slightly with the compliment.
“You’re welcome!” he said.
“Thanks. Now go away. We’re busy.”
Morrison muttered something about ingrates.
“Let’s get you up to your room,” Wanda said.
* * *
Out on the dance floor I’d forgotten all about my various pains and aches. Getting back into the hotel, up the elevator and to my room, even with Wanda’s support, brought them all back.
I fumbled with the key card to my room. Wanda took it from me and slid it into the lock. “Why don’t you let me go in first,” I suggested, thinking about all the unexpected visitors I’d had.
Wanda just held me tight against her hip and said, “I’m sure your room can’t be that messy.”
She swung open the door and led me in. Too late, I remembered that after my shower I’d left my dirty underwear lying in the hall outside the bathroom.
Wanda flicked on the light and stopped just short of my shorts.
“I have to tell you, Floyd, I had you figured for a tighty-whitey kind of guy. Is that French silk?”
I blushed.
Wanda loosened her grip a bit and I broke free to pick up the underwear and attempt to generally tidy up all the other items I’d left out.
Wanda used the opportunity to open the closet and examine my wardrobe.
“For a guy, you sure have a lot of clothes.”
She flipped through the hangers, pulled out one of my favorite jumpsuits, and held it up high, eyebrow raised.
“Tell me about this one,” she said.
The suit was a one-piece, all white, with a deep V neck that dropped to just below the sternum. Brown leather fobs with three silver chains apiece held the V neck together, keeping the suit from falling off my shoulders. A tasseled brown leather belt rode the hips and the suit had a stiff, 9-inch folded collar that rose to just above the bottoms of my ears.
Looking at it, I realized Vernon’s purple jumpsuit was almost identical.
“It’s a replica of Elvis’s Chain Suit,” I said. “He wore it during his August 1970 shows. There’s a red scarf in there somewhere that you drape inside the chains, under the shirt. Gi
ves the neckline a more dramatic flair.”
Wanda hung it back up respectfully.
“I like it! You’ll have to model it for me.”
“Love to,” I said.
Wanda helped me sit down on the side of the bed and knelt down to help me out of the heavy shoes.
“Thanks, Wanda,” I said.
“Why don’t you take that shirt off and I’ll take a look at your ribs.”
“A sheriff and a doctor?” I started undoing the buttons.
Wanda reached up to help me get the shirt down off my arms and shoulders.
“You don’t spend time with circus people without setting a few broken bones or taping up some sprains,” she said, gently probing my side.
“Ow!”
“Sorry. With everything you’ve been through, you’re going to be sore here for a month or more, but I don’t think you’ve gotten any worse.”
Wanda pulled my shirt out of my pants, giving her a close up view of my belt buckle.
“Nice,” she commented. “Kind of big, isn’t it?”
“That one belonged to Elvis. Well, he ordered it anyway, never got a chance to wear it. He disappeared before he could pick it up.”
“I like it,” she said, undoing the clasp.
“Shouldn’t you be taking off something at this point?” I asked.
Wanda stopped mid-unbuckle.
“I was just trying to make you more comfortable,” she said innocently. “Would taking off my own clothes make you feel more comfortable, Floyd?”
“This is a trick question, isn’t it?” I asked.
Wanda stood, yanking my belt out of its loops.
“Maybe. Let me fluff up that pillow for you so you can lie down.”
Wanda went around the side of the bed and pulled down the spread. I inched my way back and laid my head down on a very soft pillow.
Wanda sat next to me. She placed one hand on my bare chest.
“How’s that?” she asked.
I put my hand on her shoulder and pulled her toward me. She resisted, a little, the kind that means “yes, but I won’t make it too easy for you.”
Wanda leaned forward, careful not to put too much pressure on my ribs. I felt the tickle of the soft curly fur on her face before I felt her lips brush mine. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it held the promise of one.
I pulled her closer again, this time our lips came into full contact and I could feel the wetness of her tongue as they parted.
Wanda lost her balance and the hand on my chest pushed a little too hard.
At my howl, Wanda jerked back, raising her hands in the air.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry, Floyd!” she said, looking at me in concern.
Then she started to laugh, lowering her hands to her side.
“Don’t worry about it. Kiss was worth the pain,” I said.
That made her laugh more. Then she leaned forward again and used a finger to smooth some hair that had gotten out of place at my temple.
“I’m glad,” she said.
“Why don’t you come back here and we can try that again?”
Instead of leaning back in for another smooch, she stood up and straightened out her clothes a bit.
“Why don’t I go get some ice for your ribs. Then I’ll come back and we can play doctor. That sound okay?”
“Whatever you say, Sheriff.”
Wanda grinned and shook her head.
“I’m acting like I’m thirteen,” she said. “Where’s the ice bucket?”
“Bathroom.”
Wanda went into the bathroom, turned on the light, and came back out with the small plastic tub.
“Do you need anything else while I’m getting the ice?” she asked.
“Just for you to hurry back.”
“I will.”
Wanda pocketed the room key and opened the hotel room door, pausing to look back at me and wink. Another nervous laugh, and the door was closing behind her.
I put both hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. And I know what you’re thinking. Making out with a woman who has more facial hair than me shouldn’t seem like such a great time, but that kiss...well, that kiss was something.
I was still thinking about it when I closed my eyes, just for a second.
Chapter Nineteen
It was morning by the time I woke up. I was under the covers in my Elvis pajamas. They aren’t PJs that Elvis wore or replicas, or anything like that. These PJs are officially licensed, commercially available pajamas that happened to have a picture of Elvis from Blue Hawaii strumming a ukulele all over them.
“Wanda?” I called out.
No answer.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and pulled off the covers. My ribs warned me to take it slow.
Once I was out of bed I noticed the plastic ice bucket on the table by the window. My Black Outfit was neatly draped over the back of the chair next to the table. On the table was a note.
I picked it up and immediately noticed the perfume. Wanda’s. Until last night I hadn’t consciously been aware of it. Now even the hint of it brought to mind the feel of her as we danced, and the promise in that one, brief kiss.
I opened the note, revealing curly script that matched Wanda’s chin ringlets.
Floyd, I came back with the ice and you were asleep. My womanly pride will never recover. You can make up for it by buying me breakfast at Mel’s. Be there at 8:00. I’ll bring whatever I dig up on Burrows.
(By the way, love the PJs!)
It hadn’t dawned on me that Wanda must have put on my pajamas until I finished reading the note. I felt suddenly, belatedly embarrassed. But my thoughts turned to breakfast and Wanda, and how to apologize for dozing off before she returned with the ice.
I looked at the note one more time and went to the closet. I don’t normally wear the Chain Suit unless I’m going to need a lot of mobility, but Wanda liked it, so I pulled it out and put it on. What I hadn’t told her is that this was jumpsuit made for action. By 1970, Elvis had dedicated a great deal of time to martial arts and incorporated many of the moves into his act. The Chain Suit was really just a heavily modified karate uniform, giving the wearer a full range of arm and leg motion.
By the time I was dressed it was already 7:40. Just enough time left to make it over to Mel’s. I adjusted the chains, tied on the red scarf, and opened the hotel room door.
Standing outside it was a six-foot-six Viking in full armor, holding a huge spear. He looked as though he had been just about to knock.
“Ah! Detective Flooytje! I have found you!”
“I’m kind of in a hurry, Colonel,” I said, looking for a way around him and not finding one.
“Nej!”
The Colonel reached between the pelts covering his groin. I was relieved when he pulled out a bottle.
“First rate Beerenburg! Imported from Friesland! We need to talk business!”
The Colonel pushed me back into the room at spear and Beerenburg point. I’d cleaned up before leaving on the off chance I might have company, though a Viking wasn’t exactly the kind of company I had in mind.
“Okay, what can I do for you, Colonel?” I asked. “I really am in a hurry.”
He set the bottle down on the table, next to the bucket full of melted ice, and reached into the furs around his groin again. This time he pulled out two small cups made from stag horn.
“First we drink!” he replied. “You pour!”
He was still holding onto his spear, so I decided the greater act of valor was to go along with his command to drink, despite where the cups had been retrieved from.
I poured a finger of the Beerenburg for each of us, but a tsking sound from the giant Dane promp
ted me to pour it deeper.
The Colonel handed me my drink, then raised his high. “To success!” He drank it in one gulp.
I took a sip and nearly gagged on the burning liquid.
“Colonel...”
“Drink! Drink! No business until we drink!”
I sighed and swallowed the turpentine-like liqueur.
“Ugh. Okay, Colonel. What can I do for you?”
The Colonel’s face had turned serious. The transformation from gregarious drinking smile to grimacing business frown was both sudden and jarring, like an old silent movie with a few frames missing.
“I no longer need you on the case. My dear Mamma has come home.”
“I was never on the case...”
“I agreed to pay you $50 a day, no expenses. Your other job pays those! But you did such a good job, I will make it $75,” he said.
“I don’t think you understand, Colonel.”
“Ach! You are a shrewd and wise businessman Detective Flooytje! A clever Dane, eh? Very well. One hundred dollars a day. And I will pay you cash now!”
The Colonel reached into the groin pelts and pulled out a large roll of twenties.
“Colonel—”
“Detective! Do you think cash runs through my veins? Fine! I will give you two hundred dollars a day! But the case is over. You will stop looking for my dear Mamma now, yes?”
The Colonel looked at me expectantly. He had over $400 in twenties peeled off of his roll.
It was already 7:50. I was going to be late for breakfast no matter what I did, but better to be less late than more late.
“I’m off the case, Colonel. I won’t investigate one lead more,” I promised.
The Colonel’s mustached face abruptly shifted again, this time to a mask of relief.
“Thank you, Detective Flooytje! You are a great and noble detective I think!”
He pounded his fist on the table, bouncing the bottle of Beerenburg into the air. He grabbed it before it could land, and poured us each two more fingers of kerosene.
“We will drink to our mutually assured success, yes?”
“If it will get you out of my hotel room—Skål!”
“Haha! Yes! Skål!”
We both gulped down the firewater, and for the first time I didn’t quite gag.
Elvis Sightings (An Elvis Sightings Mystery) Page 19
