“Can you charge it to the room?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Then send up a mini-pizza and a chef’s salad too.”
“No problem,” said Brad.
“And a shrimp cocktail.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thanks.”
Uri Bishop had been good to me. In his room I found four more expensive suits, shoes and a dresser full of shirts, socks underwear, etc. I was set for a few days.
My tour of the Woolf’s attic had left me a little hot and sticky, so I peeled myself out of Bishop’s suit with the idea I’d grab a quick shower. I called down to Brad and instructed him to tell room service to let themselves in with the grub. I also told him to charge a twenty-dollar tip to the room. Brad kept insisting I was very good.
I stood in the shower a long time letting the hot spray have its way with me. My muscles were tired, body ached. My brain had shorted out. I thought I heard the door open and figured room service had arrived with my banquet. I dried myself leisurely so they’d have a chance to leave. I heard the door close and almost left the bathroom when I heard a woman’s voice calling to me.
Or rather, calling to Bishop.
“Uri, darling, I’m back.”
Shit.
“Uri? Come on out of there when you’re finished,” she said.
The voice sounded familiar. I wrapped a towel around myself ready to run or pounce or scream.
I walked out.
She was stretched naked on the bed. The TV remote in her hand. She was flipping around, waiting for Bishop. Her hair was thick and brown, cut short above shoulders. Her huge breasts shifted as she squirmed to get a pillow under her head. Her skin was a deep olive-brown except for a trio of white triangles around her nipples and pubic hair from what must have been the world’s skimpiest bikini.
It was Nania Woolf.
She thumbed off the TV and looked at me for the first. Her eyes grew big, and her mouth fell open. We stared at one another for a long second.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “You’re supposed to be dead by now.”
SEVEN
Nania covered herself strategically—she left that tit hanging out to distract me. But the .38 was already in my hand and aimed at her steady as a rock.
“First your husband, then Pfieffer, then whoever the hell I saw you with a couple weeks ago, and now a hired assassin? You just sleep with anyone, don’t you?”
“Not you, I assume. I’m probably too old for your particular tastes.”
“You’ve made being a tramp an Olympic sport.”
“Just to get this straight, it is varsity squad cheerleaders you like, right?”
I grinned despite my anger. I could clutch my chest and fake a heart attack now for a punchline, but she probably wouldn’t get it. Instead, I said, “Here’s my guess. You’re all naked because you’ve got a gun under that pillow instead of a check. Uri wasn’t going to get laid. You were going to kill him.”
Nania sighed, a sing-song note descending, and she stared out the sliding glass door that opened onto the balcony, which gave us a spectacular view of the Gulf that neither of us could appreciate at the moment. I imagined her pause was so she could improvise new lines. Hard to switch gears when the “Kill Your Hit Man” routine bombs.
“Can’t fool the expert fool,” she said. Her hand slipped from beneath the sheet, one of those small .22s in her palm. As close as she would have had Uri, it would’ve killed him. She held it up to me, but I motioned for her to set it at the foot of the bed. When she did, I stepped over and took the gun, unloaded it, and in an ultra-quick burst of anger, let it fly at the glass door. It missed and hit the curtains. I sat on the foot of the bed. More like I sank, wide-kneed and leaning over, airplane crash position, thinking, Can’t even kill a guy and take his identity these days. Fuck you, Mr. Ripley.
Nania’s hand was on my back, rubbing. “Are you okay?”
If I couldn’t do anything else, I could absolutely read people, and her voice was one of sincere concern.
I said, “As opposed to dead?”
“I knew he wouldn’t kill you, Z. Z. I figured you would disarm him and send him back with some pathetic excuse. Why else do you think I had the gun?’ All said with that brittle-perfect English with the Spanish accent tossed in for effect.
“You had the gun so you could take out the only man who knew you’d hired someone to kill another human being. It’s not going to look good in the gossip circles, oh no.”
Then it came faster: “You wouldn’t do that to me, please say you wouldn’t. You can’t even know what it is to have a reputation collapse after all the work I’ve put into it? Look at me! You think white biddies at the club took to me so easily? Even the black members raised a few eyebrows. You can’t punish me for protecting my family.”
I turned, grabbed her wrist and twisted. She made a trembling cry, but I held fast, stared her down. “How’s killing me protect your family, huh? You know I didn’t kill Rachel, and you know I won’t kill you, so what you’re talking about is all the secrets. I know about the other men, who they are, why you picked them. Pfieffer? Look at me with a straight face and tell me it’s love. Hell, even lust.”
Her head was back, throat working up and down as she blinked at tears, lips opening and closing but no words in between.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t,” she said at last. “I can’t tell you because you’re right. You’re always right, you loser bastard. You could have so much more, you’re so right. You could play stocks, or be a lawyer, or run a corporation, and you’d win, damn it! Every time, you always know how to win, but you always lose.”
I let go of her wrist and thought, What th’ hell’d she just say?
Nania rubbed where I had grabbed her. No mark, no foul. She wiped madly at her tears, glazing her face with the saline. I’d spoken to her only twice before this, but she had just read me like a book. Hell, like a pamphlet with big pictures, even. I looked down, the towel stretched tight around my waist, a lump pushing against the cotton. Grabbing Nania had gotten me hard, but she was right about one thing. If she tried to turn the charm on, I’d go limp in a second. Seeing her hurt, seeing her cry, that did it for me. Hurting her family with the cheating, the lies, the motives underneath the sex. If she had wanted to rebury those secrets, she should have killed Rachel before I ever showed up, because it was Rachel who told me everything Nania was really about. Not that she had anything to do with killing Rachel—I knew better than that.
Nania’s head slithered around by my side, and she rested it on my thigh. Her hand brushed the cotton on my lap, but like I had said: Deflation.
“I was right about you.” She hummed a laugh, low and growling.
“Blame your daughter. I’m ruined for life. At least I’m in the right state for it. Maybe I’ll move up into the woods, find a girl in one of those snake-handling churches and marry her as soon as she gets her braces off.”
“Z. Z.—”
“You still don’t get it, Nania. I loved her. Really loved her. Yeah, I know it wasn’t going to last forever, maybe a few weeks, a few months, but I didn’t care about forever. I cared about the right now. And someone took that away from me too soon. And whoever did, I swear…”
Nania’s hand slipped under my towel and her fingers circled my dick. Very softly, found all the tingly spots. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip and said, “Let me do this for you, Z. Z.. I might not be bubbly or fresh like Rachel, but I know a few things, eh? You need to relax.”
Not even a full day after Rachel’s death, and her mother was making a play at me. I felt powerless for the moment. “You really enjoy this? You can’t like being such a slut.”
“This is for my own benefit, too. After all, you’re the one holding the gun.”
I lifted my gun hand out of instinct, had forgotten about the thing. Nania’s touch was having the effect she wanted, so I dropped the clip out, ejected the round from the pistol’s c
hamber, and made lazy tosses to spread them around the room in case Mother Woolf was simply creating another distraction. I scooted my ass further onto the bed. The towel came off and she tossed it aside.
Her mouth. Wet, warm. I closed my eyes.
*
A few minutes later, while Nania gargled in the bathroom, I put Uri’s suit back on and reunited the gun with ammo. My little vacation plans had been ruined, but I made a mental note to come back here when I’d cleared things up. Unless, of course, I failed to clean things up and needed to make a run for it. In that case, Costa Rica. Grab some guns, some cash, a boat, and sail to paradise. But for all the years that had been my back-up plan, I never had to resort to it. Too bad, really.
Nania came out of the bathroom, still naked and not a bit ashamed. She plopped into a chair, spread her knees, and tossed her hair back. Stretch marks striped her tanned skin around the waist. Her feet looked rough, wrinkled. A little bit of mystery was her best friend, not this bar-slut, trailer-whore demeanor. Sure, still a knockout to some, I suppose. But again, I cursed Rachel for bringing on my mid-life crisis a decade too soon.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving,” I said.
“Why do we have to leave? And why we? I’m not going with you.”
“No choice. I have a vested interest in people thinking I’m dead right now, and you might spoil that for me.”
“No, I promise. I’ll keep it under my hat.”
“I know, because I’ll have a bullet ready for you if you don’t. And you’re still coming with me.” I balled up her clothes that were scattered by the bed, tossed the wad to her. “Got to keep a woman like you away from underworld types. You’re an impulse buyer.”
She yanked her clothes on while grumbling and sulking. I almost packed the other suits, but decided against it, thinking we’d be lucky to get a mile away from here before trouble showed up and I’d have to leave it all behind, anyway. But I felt the sleeve of one of the jackets. Amazing. Stuff I’d only dreamed about when looking at ads in GQ. Stuff I’d always promised myself I’d get when I got around to writing my memoirs and bagging a huge advance. My life was worth more than that prissy Irish guy’s, I can tell you that with no apologies.
Nania had her slacks and blouse on. She slipped her feet into sandals, tossed her jacket over her shoulder, and said, “I don’t think they’ll notice for a few days, since the room is paid for through the week.”
I shrugged. “I don’t care.”
An agitated huff from her, a head shake, then: “You charming asshole.”
“Shut up, bitch. Let’s go.”
I opened the door to find the room service guy about to knock on the door. He smiled and pushed the cart into the room. A hell of a lot of food. Nania looked at it with slack jawed amusement. When he left, Nania laughed.
“So you are human after all,” she said.
I took the roast beef sandwich, onion rings and rum to the table, sat down, had a big ass swig. You can’t go wrong with rum. You just can’t.
I said, “Have a meal. Courtesy of Uri or whatever the hell his name was.”
*
We took the elevator down and stepped out into an early evening breeze that did nothing to ease the heat rising from the asphalt parking lot. I took a look left and right, saw nothing suspicious, then told Nania to walk to the SUV. I followed five steps behind.
And then—here’s why I urge you all, children, when considering your future career, be a doctor, a caterer, a pharmacist, but not a private eye, because it seems that the one thing hardest to do in that job is to actually be private—I don’t know how the fuckers found me, but Nose Ring rose from his hiding place by a Lexus and grabbed my collar. I reached for his arm, but he already had a knife tip touching the skin under my eye. Slow footsteps from behind, and then Pfieffer appeared, walked right past me to where Nania stood with a grin on her face.
“So glad to see you again. He was going to kidnap me—”
Pfieffer kicked her in the stomach. She lost her breath and fell to the asphalt. I just watched. I heard a few “Ohhs” and “Ahhs” from the side, tourists who saw it go down. I hoped Pfieffer was too mad to notice. Cops would be here in five minutes if I could stall him.
Pfieffer’s next kick landed on Nania’s back as she tried to roll away from him. She screamed, “Stop, I love you, please, stop!”
“You fucked him, too? It’s bad enough he tells me you’re fucking nobody else, but him?” Pfieffer yelled. Sounded like he was all choked up about it.
I said, “She didn’t fuck me.”
He turned and nodded, puzzled look on his face. “Really?”
“Honestly. No fucking. But she did suck my cock. Yeah, she did do that.”
His face curled into what looked like a Dick Tracy villain—“Yuckface” if I had to choose. He kicked Nania again. And again.
I hated her, sure, but I couldn’t let it go on. If I had to pick who I hated more, it would be Boy Wonder and his little troll. So, I tried something a little weird.
EIGHT
I ran for it.
Nose Ring’s grip on me had eased up when Pfieffer had started in on Nania, and I decided I could twist out of his grip and away from his knife if I didn’t hesitate. It took a second for them to realize what I was doing. It was like they couldn’t believe it, the hero making a break for it while the woman got the crap kicked out of her. Nose Ring watched me run, the knife dangling from his hand like a wilted tulip.
Pfieffer froze in mid kick. He looked at Nose Ring and shouted, “Get after him!”
Nose Ring sprung into action, chased me off of the lot, his knife gleaming ahead of him like Ahab’s harpoon.
A brief pang of guilt kicked around in my gut, tried to climb up my throat. I swallowed it back. I couldn’t stomach watching Nania take that kind of abuse, but I didn’t see how I could help her without taking some lumps myself, and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime.
I rounded a corner into direct sunlight. The summer days were long, and it was bright into early evening. I was behind the hotel where they kept the marina. Boaters were busily preparing for fun on the waves, casting off lines, loading ice chests and deck chairs. I clomped loudly down the dock, casting a glance over my shoulder. Nose Ring was catching up, and he looked pissed.
I poured on the speed, realizing in some vague way that I was going to run out of dock soon, so I prepared to give the Gulf of Mexico a big wet hello. I noticed a big motor yacht was just swinging out of its berth, chugging backwards and trying to get a clear shot at the channel. The way it was turning, the bow would swing within about two feet of the dock.
I veered toward the boat, timed my jump and launched myself.
I hit the deck hard, tumbled forward and slammed to a halt, a crumpled ball of detective up against a bulkhead. I elbowed my way up to a sitting position, looked back at the dock.
Nose Ring glared at me across the water. I gave him a little wave as the motor yacht started forward into the channel.
“Sheldon, it’s some man. Some guy just jumped on the boat.”
I twisted my head to look at the girl. With one hand she held a wide straw hat to her head. The other held an umbrella drink in a curvy glass. She wore big movie-star sunglasses, tall, a reddish-new tan. White bikini bottoms. No top. Just boobies.
“Uh . . . hi.”
“Hi,” she said.
Then there was this shirtless fat guy at her side. He didn’t have a top either, but his boobies were harrier. He was hot pink with sun burn, wore a new moustache like a smear of brown crayon. His ball cap said Kiss the Captain.
They didn’t look like a match to me. He must’ve been paying her.
“Who the hell are you, pal?” Thick New York accent.
I stood, brushed myself off. “Sorry to surprise you folks. I almost didn’t make it.”
“What?”
I pulled out my wallet and flashed Sheldon my library card. He blinked at it, but I’d snapped the wallet shut again before he’d
had a chance to read anything.
“CDE,” I said with casual authority. “Coastal Drug Enforcement.”
Sheldon’s eyes grew big as dinner plates. “Hey, pal. We’re clean on this boat. It’s a rental anyways. Whatever you find isn’t ours, I swear.”
“That’s not a problem, sir,” I assured him. “We have a—uh—code yellow situation here. The coast guard’s intercepting a big shipment of—uh—hyperanphetamines.”
“Oh my,” said the girl.
“It’s quite serious.”
Sheldon looked at the girl. “For Chrissake, Gina, go put your top on. I told you to wait till we got out far.”
She put her lip out, nice and pouty. “You don’t want me to get tan lines, do you?”
“Jesus, just put your top on. We got a cop on board already.”
Gina went below decks to fetch her top to my great disappointment.
Sheldon turned to me. “So I’m not in trouble?”
I laughed at the very idea. “Of course not, sir. We’re just commandeering all motorized water craft in the area to aid in secondary covert observation of the entrapment operation.”
“Who’s doing what now?”
“I need you to take me someplace in your boat.”
“Oh!” He smiled big, probably relieved he could do something for me and wasn’t being arrested. “Sure, sure. Anything to help the authorities. I was in the navy, you know. Back in ’59.”
“You country appreciates your continued dedication to the protection of its borders from all enemies foreign and domestic.”
He smile wilted, mouth hung open.
“Thanks for helping us bust the drug guys,” I clarified.
The smile again. Gina came back on deck, and I smiled too.
“I just need to go down the coast a few miles,” I told Sheldon. “East. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“You got it!” Sheldon climbed back into the pilothouse and took control of the wheel.
“Are we really after drug smugglers,” asked Gina. I noticed her drink was full again.
“Absolutely, miss, but don’t worry. We’re safe at this distance.”
To the Devil, My Regards Page 4
