1 Margarita Nights

by Phyllis Smallman

  I dug out the cigarettes I’d bought with the barbecue at the Firepit. At least there was still one copy of the video and when I got Andy sane I still had a faint hope of finding a way out of this mess. Casablanca. What in hell did that mean? Had he dropped the video in the mail for foreign parts? A better idea was to get a map of Florida and see if there was a town called Casablanca. Or what about a store or a nightclub named Casablanca?

  “Andy,” I called softly. He looked at me. “Have you seen Jimmy?”

  He shook his head.

  “When did you last see him?”

  He gave a soft shrug. “’Bout a week ago.” His eyes went back to the action on the television, his teeth chewing at the edge of his thumb. “Not since?”

  He pursed his lips as he thought, as if the effort to remember something that only happened a week ago caused him pain. “Dunno.” “Try. It’s important.”

  “When he dropped off the tape,” he got out at last.

  “Last Sunday?” I asked. “Only . . . that’s when he dropped off my copy.”

  “Don’t know what day,” Andy replied.

  “If Jimmy wanted to hide, where do you think he’d go?” His head swung towards me. “Why would he hide?” “Suppose he owed someone big money.”

  His body relaxed a bit. “He’d just take the Suncoaster on a trip until Dr. Travis paid up.”

  “What if they’d already taken the Suncoaster away?”

  “Did someone take the Suncoaster? I thought you said Jimmy had taken it on a cruise.”

  Keeping my lies straight was heavy-going. “Yes, but I think he’s in trouble. The boat isn’t the best place for him. Where do you think he should go?”

  He shrugged. “Jimmy knows lots of people. He’ll do all right. Don’t worry about him.” The television called. “What does Casablanca mean?” I asked.

  He looked back at me. He smiled, a small teasing lift of the lips. “Don’t you remember?” he asked.

  “Should I?” His eyes were already on the TV.

  “If you don’t want me to go to your apartment, why don’t I go to the Tiger Discount down the street and get you some clean clothes?” How much credit did I have left on my card? If they kept it, I would be embarrassed, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “Okay,” he agreed.

  “I’ll take those clothes with me,” I pointed into the bathroom, “And slip by my place and give them a wash.”

  I hurried into the bathroom to get his clothes while his forehead furrowed as he listened to his voices. The minute I picked up the bundle of clothes I knew I’d gotten a bonus, I could feel the outline of a key under my hand.

  Quickly, before he could object, I rushed to the door. “Back soon with clean clothes and pizza.” With no clothes, he was forced to stay. If he ran out naked, the police would pick him up for sure. Either way it worked for me.

  I went to the Roach Motel, a creepy place even during broad daylight. Inside Andy’s place it didn’t get any better: dark and gloomy and smelling of Andy’s unwashed body and stale food.

  It was really just one large room with a futon, a couple of wrecked chairs, a two-burner stovetop and a small refrigerator. A short stub wall with some cabinets below acted as an eating counter between the two spaces. Not a lot different from my place, but at least I had a proper bedroom.

  To the left was a windowless bathroom. I flicked on the overhead, sending a roach scuttling across the floor for cover. The lid of the violet toilet tank was gone, the pink sink was cracked and the floor was missing half the tiles. There was no tub, only a tiny metal shower stall across one corner that dripped rust. I backed out the door.

  By the window overlooking the parking lot, a television was fixed, high up on the wall. Underneath, on a battered folding TV tray, was a VCR with a wedding picture sitting on top of it, Jimmy and me with Marley and Andy on either side of us, smiling like we’d just won the lotto.

  Six tapes were piled beside the photo. I knew I wouldn’t find Jimmy’s tape but I was hoping I might find a copy of Casablanca. I stuffed them in my bag to take with me. Perhaps Jimmy’s tape was spliced onto the end of one of them. I’d just have to go through them and see. I stuck my fingers in the tape holder. Empty.

  I went through the few cupboards and drawers quickly. I didn’t find any more videos or the anti-psychotic drugs I was also searching for. I had a desperate plan to crush them and put them into his food but either Andy’s prescription had run out or he’d flushed them. It was a stupid idea anyway.

  I eased back the curtains and carefully studied the few cars parked outside, all looking like they belonged there, which was to say they looked like my green wreck. There wasn’t an SUV among them. The parking lot in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped motel was as desolate and ugly as always.

  At the discount store, I rushed around and picked up a couple of pairs of underwear, a navy jogging suit, toothpaste and a toothbrush, comb and deodorant. I held my breath as the anemic clerk slid my card through the register. Wonder of wonders, it worked. Bring on the debt.

  At my place, I quickly stuffed Andy’s clothes in the washer.

  Then I ran up the stairs and popped in the first video, pressing the fast-forward and watching Mel Gibson and Danny Glover do their thing at triple speed. There was nothing on the tape that shouldn’t have been there.

  I listened to my messages. Two creditors, Ruth Ann, several friends and the bank manager . . . why did I even bother having a phone? There was also a message from Evan. Jimmy’s parents were having a memorial service for him on Thursday morning at ten o’clock. Evan said he’d pick me up. Calling my friend a murderer hadn’t broken the bond—a stronger relationship than I’d realized and something to be grateful for.

  And Styles had also called. His message said he’d be in touch. A simple statement but scary: a relentless drip, drip of fear.

  Back at the motel I rapped on the door with a knuckle and called “Andy” in the most cheerful voice I owned. “It’s Sherri.” Only then did I put the key in the lock. I turned the handle slowly and pushed open the door with the tips of my fingers.

  I didn’t want to startle him and I wanted to have lots of time if he was going to do something crazy.

  Andy was curled up in bed, pillows piled behind his head, watching Stagecoach with John Wayne. God bless AMC. His fingers were picking at the sheet and his foot jigged up and down, making the whole surface of the bed tremble.

  “If I had a dollar for every movie we’ve watched together, I could pay off at least one of my credit cards,” I told him. I went to the second bed and dropped my load of plastic bags.

  “I slept,” Andy said.

  “Don’t you usually?”

  “Not much.”

  “I’ve got pizza and some goodies for you.” I pulled the clothes I’d bought out of a bag and threw a pair of boxers at him. “It always comes down to the same thing with men doesn’t? Doing their wash and bringing them food?”

  “That and wild erotic sex.” His comeback delighted me.

  “Do you know the difference between erotic sex and perverted sex?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, erotic is when you use a feather and perverted is when you use the whole chicken.”

  He laughed.

  Hee-haw, things were looking up.

  He wiggled into the shorts under the blanket and said, “Jimmy says he noticed your hooters first, then your ass and then your sense of humor. I noticed your sense of humor right away.”

  “You’ve always been a gentleman, Mr. Crown.”

  I stretched out on the second bed and watched him eat his pizza and somewhere between the cheese and pepperoni I fell asleep. I woke in the dim light from the silent television. Andy was leaning over me, staring into my face.

  Chapter 34

  I nearly wet myself. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” I whimpered.

  “It’s Sherri . . . it’s Sherri.” He turned away.

  My heart was going like a pile driver. I
swung off the bed, eyes fixed on Andy, ready for any sudden moves on his part as I edged towards the door, my bag clutched to my chest. “Can’t sleep anymore.” I dug the room key out of the pocket of my jeans and put it on the table by the door. “I’ll be back,” I promised, not knowing if it was true. “Stay here, Andy.” His eyes never left the silent television.

  A maid, dressed in jeans and a tee advertising Spanky’s bar, was using her key to open the door of a service cupboard to start her rounds. What would Andy do if she knocked on the door or, heaven forbid, if she used a passkey to enter?

  “Just skip number twenty-one today, okay? My friend is ill.”

  “Sure, honey,” she said.

  At my apartment a white card was stuck in the edge of the door, a calling card from Detective Styles. He must have come for me at the crack of dawn. If he had intended to arrest me would he leave a card? I looked over my shoulder for the patrol car waiting to pick me up. Nothing. I turned over the card. He’d written, “My office—ten o’clock.”

  Yeah, right. Talking to Styles only made my situation worse. I flipped it onto my pile of mail. If Styles wanted me, he’d have to come and get me. I wasn’t going near him voluntarily. I headed for the shower, Ruth Ann’s daughter to the end. Ruth Ann thought being clean would make any situation better and as I stood toweling off my hair I decided that in this small thing, she was right. In nearly fifty years of living and trying, she was bound to get one thing right even by blind luck.

  I called Marley.

  “I haven’t been able to talk to the doctor,” she told me.

  “The first time I got the answering service and then I got his nurse. She won’t even acknowledge that Andy is a patient of Dr. Steadman’s and she says the doctor won’t talk to me.”

  “At least they know there’s a problem. I’m going to try calling him.”

  “Watch your tongue, Sherri.”

  “In case I annoy him?”

  “I know your temper.”

  “If he’s not going to help with you being polite then my being nasty won’t make the situation worse.”

  “Just try the sugar before you pour acid on him.”

  “If I ever get near him.”

  “Call me when you can. Oh, I forgot, you’re the one that doesn’t have a cell phone. Why don’t you stop by and pick up mine?”

  “Now there’s a good idea. For the first time in my life I actually want one.”

  “I have a patient waiting for me. Come by and pick this up, I’ll leave it at the desk, and if you need support tonight I’m there, although to tell you the truth this situation scares the hell out of me.”

  “Me too.” I was with him less than twenty-four hours but even that had been too much. I wasn’t sure I could face him again but did I have any other choice? I remembered something else. “I picked up some tapes from Andy’s. If I drop them off at the desk, will you go through them tonight and see if there’s anything on them about Jimmy?”

  “Sure,” agreed Marley. “Anything else?”

  “Since you asked, how’s your love life?”

  “Better than yours.”

  “Oh god, I’m not going to end up in something disgusting in pink satin, am I?”

  “Never! I’m thinking blue,” she said and hung up.

  I dialed Peter’s number. “I hate to ask you this but can we have a couple more nights? I’ll pay. Well, eventually I’ll pay. I just can’t pay you right now.”

  “Take what you need, Sherri.” He didn’t even offer to take it out in trade. “Thanks, Peter.”

  I left a message with Dr. Steadman’s nurse. “Andy is at the Pelican Motel, right next to the Kit Kat Klub on Tamiami Trail. Unit twenty-one. Would you ask the doctor to come by please? Andy’s in real bad shape. I’m afraid he might become violent.” Even saying it felt like a betrayal. If all else failed, was I willing to say Andy had attacked me to get him committed? It was an idea I was toying with. Betraying a friend to save my own ass didn’t sit well with me, but what was a stay in a mental ward compared to death by electric chair?

  “I’ll pass on your message,” the nurse told me. It sounded like it hurt her to say it, but then this was probably more than she should be saying—admitting that Andy was a patient— and breaking some kind of medical oath. Being mean-spirited, I wasn’t real grateful for this small favor.

  I went to pick up the damn cell phone.

  Dr. Zampa was handing a file to the receptionist. He frowned.

  “Hi, Sherri,” Carla said and reached under the counter for the cell phone. “Marley’s with a patient.”

  “We should talk,” Dr. Zampa said and marched away. I guessed he expected me to follow.

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he said as he closed the door behind me.

  His office was small and he was between me and the exit. I told myself not to annoy him. “What idea would that be?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with Jimmy’s death.”

  “Tell it to the police.”

  “There’s a cop that plays golf out at Windimere. He told Rollins, who spread it around, that Jimmy’s death was no accident.”

  He waited for me to confirm it. I waited for him to get to the point.

  He sighed heavily. “Look, Jimmy and my wife were friends. That’s all. I didn’t like you coming around the house and suggesting anything more. I didn’t like you upsetting my wife.” “How did you like Jimmy buying into Windimere?” His jaw tightened.

  “How much was it going to cost him to get a piece of it?” His lips thinned.

  “Maybe I should tell the cops just how upset you were about Jimmy and your wife.”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  “How much?”

  “Jimmy was going to put up three-quarters of a million. We all had to give up some of our shares so he could buy in.” “Why? Why was everyone willing to let Jimmy buy in?”

  “Because we’re bleeding to death out there. We need money to stay afloat until we can start building houses.”

  “Where was Jimmy getting that kind of money?”

  “He said he was in a land deal. The money would be available within three months.”

  Harry’s Diner was just across the road from Dr. Zampa’s office.

  A bonus. I went for coffee and stepped through the door as Harry was yelling through the passway at Val, “Fill those sugar containers.” He started to turn away as she sauntered towards me, ignoring him. “And come and get this box of napkins.”

  She rolled her eyes to heaven. “Maybe I should just shove a broom up my ass and sweep the floor while I’m at it.”

  “I heard that,” Harry yelled.

  Not only was this the best java in town, it also had the best comedy act.

  A handsome gray-haired man came up beside me as Val handed me the takeout. “Hi, Sherri,” he said. Blank.

  “I’m Hayward Lynch. Clay introduced us at the Sunset.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry about that. I’m normally real good with names and faces but my brain is on holiday at the moment.”

  “A beautiful woman doesn’t remember me.” He placed his hand over his heart, “I’m shattered.” He smiled to show he’d survive.

  “Do all Clay’s friends hang out here?”

  “They do if they want to have lunch with Clay.”

  “Are you in real estate too?”

  “Gridiron Developments. Have you heard of it?” There was something in his eyes, swift and fleeting, like the shadow of clouds skimming across water on a windy day. I was conscious of how closely he watched me. It must be important to his ego that I recognize the name. “Yes, of course,” I lied.

  I was tempted to wait for Clay but it wasn’t the time or place for a warm reunion. “Look, I’ve got to run. Andy is waiting. Say hi to Clay for me.”

  I was nearly back to the motel when the penny dropped. Gridiron Developments owned the property behind the box stores—the company that didn’t like eagles getting in their way.


  Chapter 35

  I got my courage back, well most of it anyway, telling myself it was just the sudden waking up and finding Andy looming over me that freaked me out. Embarrassed now by my reaction, I was determined to banish my doubts, telling myself over and over, “Andy would never hurt you.” With the “be nice” voice of civilization screaming down the voice of self-preservation, I headed back over the bridge to the mainland.

  I called Ruth Ann while I waited in the takeout line at the Chicken Roast. “Where’ve you been, honey? I’ve tried and tried to get you.”

  “I know, Mom, I’ve just been busy with things.”

  “Oh my, this has hit you hard, hasn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You called me Mom. That means you’re really upset. Do you want to come home for a bit?”

  I started to laugh. “No, Mom. At the moment I’m spending my time with Andy. He’s going through a bad patch.”

  “Oh, Sherri, darling, I don’t like that. That boy just isn’t right in the head. He’s liable to do any crazy thing.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Now you don’t know that. It isn’t safe.” She’d once seen Andy in full flight and she’d never quite forgotten the sight. I think her Baptist background whispered of demon possession and she more than half believed those old superstitions. “There’s no telling what he might do.”

  Frayed nerves hyped my uncertain temper. “Yeah, just like there’s no telling what a drunk might do. But that never stopped you from bringing them home and holding on, did it?”

  There was silence at the other end.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been sleeping too well. That was out of line.”