“I do,” I said. “Go on, do what you have to do for your old man. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Breakfast at nine?” she asked.
“Make it ten. I’m on vacation.”
She smiled, leaned over and kissed me again with the fire that brought me up here. “Breakfast in your room at eleven,” she said. “I’ll be there at ten.”
“You’re on.” She blew me a kiss and left through the hall, presumably through the connecting room with all the photos. I threw my clothes on and wandered back to my room where I almost immediately fell back asleep.
I got a loud banging in my head around nine-thirty Sunday morning. I’d been dreaming of walking down Broadway at night, dodging bullets from gangsters with Tommy guns. The machine gun fire turned into knocking at my door, and when I realized I wasn’t full of holes, I got up and opened it.
“Your nine-thirty wakeup call, Mr. Riggins, as requested. And this is for you.” The porter handed me a small package wrapped in green tissue paper. I handed him a buck and said, “Thanks kid.”
Nine-thirty wake up call. That was Melinda’s idea, of course. She wanted me to be awake when she got here at ten. I turned the box over to open it only to find a little card that said, “Not until I get here, M”. I tossed the box on couch and headed for the shower.
I was shaved and ready at three minutes to ten. Melinda showed up one minute later.
“Hello kitten,” I said as she walked into the room. She was wearing a yellow sundress with an open back. I closed the door. She turned to me and in one quick move the dress was on the floor.
“Now, where were we?” she said, and came to me.
“Right here, I think.”
Exactly an hour later room service showed up with the biggest breakfast I’d ever seen in my life. They served it to us in bed, no less. Even the coffee was fantastic.
“It’s from the Isle of Kona, in Hawaii,” Melinda told me. “The richest in the world.”
“It’s good Java, this Kona,” I said and for some reason she laughed.
“What time do you have to be back at work?” I asked, looking at the clock. It was after eleven.
“I don’t,” she said, “Today I’m all yours.”
“Groovy. What’s the plan?”
She jumped out of the bed and took a bite out of an apple. “I thought we’d spend the day in Miami.”
“That could be fun. Except my car is all the way the hell down in Key West.”
She threw me the apple. “No problem. I have a car on Sugarloaf. You drive. I’m taking a shower. You next.”
“Me next nothing,” I said, “That shower is big enough for two.”
We left a lot later than we intended.
We took the launch to Sugarloaf Key, and walked down the dock to a building that wasn’t quite a warehouse, but was too large to be a garage. The building was old but well cared for. On the side a sign read, “Hawthorn Industries. Private.”
“In here,” Melinda said. She used a key to open a box next to a large garage door, and pushed a big red button inside. The garage door opened on an automatic motor.
“That’s your car?”
Staring me in the face was the reddest Cadillac convertible I ever saw. It was a 1939 model in new condition with more chrome on the grill than most cars had all around.
“Yep. It was Eliot’s. He gave it to me for my birthday a few years back. Do you like it?”
“It’s swell,” I said. “A real class job.”
“I had the attendant gas it up, clean it up and put the top down for us. Here,” she said, and handed me the keys on a custom Cadillac leather key fob. “It’s a Hydromatic. Very easy to drive. And if the sun gets too hot, it’s air conditioned.”
“Sweet ride,” I said and started her up. The big V8 engine purred under the hood. I dropped the selector into drive, let go of the brake and the car eased out of the garage like the queen she was.
“I wouldn’t take her over eighty on the Overseas Highway, William. The road’s too narrow. Wait until we get to Homestead to really open her up.”
Which I did.
Sunday Afternoon
Rutger Bachman hung up the phone in his office. His man in Miami had his orders, and that should take care of things without much further problems. He hated doing things like this, but was ever mindful of how important they were. He made his orders clear: Melinda was to remain unharmed, but frightened. Riggins was to be dealt with separately.
He leaned back in his red leather chair, the only piece like it in the otherwise tropical-themed Resort. Bachman’s entire office was out of sync with Tiki Island; modern walnut bookshelves, striped carpet and an Eames desk clashed with each other and with the décor of the Resort, but Bachman didn’t want any of the bamboo and rattan ‘junk’ that filled the Island. It was a matter of pure fact that Bachman hated tropical décor. He tolerated it because the climate agreed with him, and it was the only five-star resort in the area. He had made himself a small fortune at Tiki Island and wasn’t about to stop collecting his easy money now.
Bachman was a confident man. With Riggins out of the way and Melinda frightened into submission, he could go back to Hawthorn and demand that Executive Director title. If Hawthorn refused, he still had the ace in the hole…his knowledge of Hawthorn’s past, and the things he’d done. Bachman didn’t really care what Hawthorn did so many years ago, but he did know that Eliot Hawthorn’s name still meant a great deal in South Florida and the Keys, and he knew Hawthorn would do anything to protect that name. He had him cold. And to think, it was just a simple error that led him to find out the truth, an error that anyone could have made but never did.
A hot breeze blew through Bachman’s window. He didn’t mind. He liked the heat.
He was about to bring some heat on himself.
+++
Melinda directed me to park in front of an art deco-style hotel on A-1-A in Miami Beach.
“This is one of our hotels. We own it but we don’t run it. It’s leased out to an entrepreneur. They have an excellent restaurant and live music at lunch.”
“We just finished breakfast!” I said.
“Don’t worry, they serve lunch until four. Let’s spend some time on the beach.”
We spent about an hour on the sand, then had lunch in the little hotel. She was right, the food was tops. After lunch we drove off the beach to a place called Parrot Jungle. It was a cool tropical jungle with plenty of real parrots, hence the name. It really was a happening place, filled with tourists taking snapshots and trying to talk to the birds. Later we drove over to a very crazy place called The Coral Castle. The whole joint was carved out of coral rock and built by some cat who had nothing but a hand saw and a couple of homemade leverage tools. Yet it was amazing, with some of the rocks weighing tons.
“He built this to show his love for a woman who never loved him back,” Melinda said. “I met him a few times. A nice man, but a little strange. He used to charge ten cents to see the castle. Now it’s a quarter.”
“Sounds like a kook to me.”
“A kook? Maybe. But a romantic one.”
The sun was getting low in the sky. The coral sculptures cast long shadows across the courtyard, giving the place an eerie, mythical atmosphere. Honestly, I’d had enough of eerie for one trip.
“How about we get back to the beach. I hear Miami has some swingin’ big bands.”
“Yes they do. As a matter of fact, Benny Goodman is playing tonight.”
“Goodman!? Where?”
“At the Jackie Gleason Theater. See!” She opened the little green package and held up two tickets, front row of course.
“You are such a doll,” I said and gave her a big kiss. Maybe the Coral Castle was romantic, after all.
Goodman started swinging with “Let’s Dance” at five after eight. The concert was fantastic. Harry James and Hellen O’Connel appeared as guests and it was just like the old days when they played New York and Atlantic City. Even Melinda got
into the swing of things and was be-bopping along with the tunes. Afterwards we had drinks in the lobby and we got to shake Goodman’s hand. A nice guy, that Benny. A real hep cat.
We were flying high on cloud nine until we left the theater. I didn’t valet the car as I didn’t trust the kid with such a classic, and we had to park around the back. As we walked through to the back lot, I realized we weren’t alone.
Out of the shadows two goons appeared. One had his hand in his jacket pocket. It was obviously on a gun.
“Stop right there, Riggins,” the goon with the gun said. “We’ve got business.”
“If you work for Roberts, forget it. That guy’s going up the river for a long time.”
“Not Roberts. This is a message from Mr. Bachman.”
Melinda said, “Bachman?” and before she could take another breath the goon without the gun grabbed her and held her mouth closed. I went for him but goon-one took the gun out of his pocket. It had a silencer. He gave me the “no no no” signal with his gloved left hand, then let that hand fly. It hit me square in the jaw and knocked me on my ass.
I went into cop mode so fast I took myself by surprise. As I went down, I formed a plan. I had the .38 on my side but there was no way I’d reach it before he got a shot off. So when I hit the deck I rolled right into Melinda and the mug holding her. They tumbled on top of me and that gave me just the time I needed to pull my piece. I kept it hidden and got them off of me, but got an elbow in the side from the goon on the ground before I could make a move. It hurt hard. I could feel my muscles turn to ice on that side. But it gave me focus. The guy with the gun was only five feet away and his attention was on Melinda as she tried to run off. He didn’t shoot. Instead goon-two made a grab for her and missed. That was my chance. I pulled the rod and let one rip. It hit goon-one like a bulldozer in the middle of his chest. He went down and didn’t get up.
The other guy saw what was happening and a giant chop slammed down on my hand, knocking the rod away. He came back swinging and caught me under the chin. It almost flattened me, but adrenaline was pumping through my blood faster than a Blue Comet. I went with the punch and rolled again, and when I stopped I was able to land my heel right in the guy’s face. Twice. He stumbled and fell backwards; I pounced on him like a tiger and brought my elbow down into his chest. I could hear the ribs crack as his eyes bulged with the stinging pain that punctured his lungs. He gasped and I came down on him again. Just like they taught me in Korea, no prisoners.
When it was over, Melinda was out of sight. I picked up my piece from the ground and checked goon-one. He was gone. They both were.
I’d have a lot of explaining to do to the Miami police.
+++
Bachman went to Eliot’s apartment at four in the afternoon. Eliot talked to him through the door.
“Go away, Rutger. I have no business with you.”
“Have you considered my offer?”
“Not in the least.”
“You’ll feel differently tomorrow,” Bachman said with a touch of evil. “Believe me.”
+++
I found Melinda sitting in the car shaking. She’d been crying and her makeup was a smeared mess. “There’s nothing to worry about, dollface. Those goons won’t be hurting anyone ever again.”
“William, they…they work for Rutger. They were going to kill us.”
“Not kill us, I think, just bust us up a little. Send a message.”
“What message?”
“To leave him alone, of course. Let him run things his way. Funny, I pegged him as a slime ball, but not the type to use muscle. He’ll get his, kitten, don’t you worry. In the meantime I’m afraid we’ve got to report this to the Miami cops.”
“Oh, no William!” she screamed, “Please no, let’s just go. They’ll never know it was us.”
“Sorry kid, it doesn’t work that way. Cops aren’t dumb, you know. They’ll know we were here. The tickets were bought in your name. They’ll know I carry a .38 and that I’d been attacked once already on this trip. Wouldn’t take much for them to figure things out.”
“Then can we…can we at least leave Bachman out, for now? Can we keep the Island out of it? You know what a scandal there would be if the newspapers got a hold of this. We’re talking international, William. Please?”
I thought it over. Our testifying that they said they worked for Bachman wouldn’t stick much. “OK, we don’t say they mentioned Bachman. I’ll say I suspect they worked for Roberts, which is true. OK?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
An hour and a half later we were released from the Miami police department. We gave our statements three times to six different officers. They wanted to make sure we were telling the truth, and besides leaving out the name Bachman, we were. There would be a lot of complicated paperwork and some explaining to do back in the City, but for now we were free without charges, acting in self-defense.
“Some crazy vacation,” I said to Melinda as we headed out of the station. “I’ve been beat up twice, been hustled by hookers more times than I can imagine, shot a cop and killed two goons.”
Melinda shuddered. “You talk as if you kill people all the time. Those men may have been criminals, but did they really deserve to die?”
She was still shaking. I think this was the first time she’d ever been exposed to anything so bad, so evil. I turned her to face me. Tears hung in her eyes. “No one deserves to but everybody does. Some people just bring it on themselves faster. In a situation like that, it was them or us. I’ll pick us anytime.”
“But did you have to…kill them?”
“No kid, but that’s the way it played out. They had a gun, I had a gun. Bullets fly. Sometimes they miss. Sometimes they hit solid. That’s that.”
“Aren’t you even the least big sorry?”
I looked at her funny. “No, I’m not. Not the least.”
“How –”
“They wanted to hurt you, and I’d kill or be killed myself to keep that from happening.” She melted into my arms, sobbing softly. I held her tight, brought her in so close that she almost became part of me. I never held a woman that close in my life, never wanted to.
She didn’t want to let go, but I finally eased her off and said, “Let’s get out of here, dollface.”
“Let’s go home,” she said timidly, and we left Miami. By one a.m. we were back on Tiki Island, safe and sound in my suite.
Sunday Night
The call came at three-thirty a.m. We’d barely fallen asleep when the incessant ringing belted our ears and shook us out of bed. Melinda, afraid it was Eliot, nearly jumped out of her skin. I took the call on the fifth ring and answered in as annoyed a voice as possible.
It was the doctor from Key West.
“Mr. Riggins? Dr. Watson here. I’m with Ms. Rutledge.”
“Ms. Rutledge and I have parted ways, doctor.”
“Well, she was asking for you. Mr. Riggins, she almost died tonight. Heroin overdose. Someone found her on the beach with the needle still in her arm.”
In her arm!
I was silent. Why should I care? Just another juiced up hooker gone too far. Right? Then why did I care?
“What do you want me to do about it?” I asked the doctor in a not-so-nice way. Melinda was beside me now, trying to hear what was going on.
“Mr. Riggins, you helped her once, I thought you might try to help her again. I don’t think…I don’t believe this was an accident.”
I thought about that. Suicide. Sure, why not? The voices, the hauntings, the all-around wreck her life had become. She thought she loved me and threw it away for China Red and the life around it. It made sense, in a way.
And I was a cop. Sworn to protect the public. Vacation or not, if I didn’t do something to help this chick then I’d be a bigger hypocrite than the jackasses I always put down, the ones that ran for office and abused their power, the ones who complained about crime and the just
ice system but didn’t do a thing to change it. I wasn’t bound by law to help her, but I was bound by a code. My code.
“Where is she now, doctor?”
“She’s at my office.”
“I can be there in around an hour,” I said, and Melinda looked shocked. He gave me the address and I hung up.
“What’s going on?” Melinda asked somewhat fearfully.
“This may not make any sense to you, but it’s Jessica. She’s overdosed on Horse. The doctor said she almost bit it.”
“My God, that’s terrible! So you’re going to see her?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask why?” There was no jealousy in her voice, only question and concern.
“The doc said she asked for me. I don’t know, maybe I can help her. Maybe I can put her on the right track and talk her out of this goofed-up life she created for herself. Maybe I…”
“You have feelings for her, don’t you,” she said, again not jealously, just a little hurt. I turned to her and looked her straight in the eye. “Melinda, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel something for her. But I feel something much stronger for you. Her, I just want to help. I have to help her. I’d be the biggest heel on the planet and a lousy cop too if I didn’t at least try to set the girl right. But it ends there, kiddo. No matter how things play out between you and me, anything I had with Jessica Rutledge is finished. Over and out. Class dismissed. All that’s left now is, can you trust me?”
She thought a minute, didn’t answer right away. There was a lot of truth and a touch of sadness in her voice when she spoke. “I don’t know William, like you said before, we’ve only known each other a couple of days. On Friday you’ll check out, and unless you decide to turn your whole life upside-down you’ll go back to New York and be a cop and I’ll stay here and run Tiki Island. Can I trust you? I think so. Does our relationship warrant trust? I think probably not.”
Murder on Tiki Island: A Noir Paranormal Mystery In The Florida Keys (Detective Bill Riggins Mysteries) Page 29
