by Baxter Black
For a precious moment, these two friends were in the arena that afternoon when Lick slew the dragon, rode Kamikaze, and Cody got the girl.
Lick and Cody placed another hopeful phone call to Sherrill at the Goose Valley tribal police station. She still hadn’t heard anything from Teddie Arizona since the first call three days ago.
“I’m worried,” said Lick. “I figger she’s one of two places. Here at the casino, out at Ponce de Crayon’s rancho, or hid someplace else. And since it’s gonna be tough to figger out where that someplace else is, we’re best off checkin’ out Ponce’s and the casino.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Cody. “Let’s see if we can get up to her husband Pantaker’s office or his penthouse suite.”
“Not husband,” reminded Lick.
“Whatever the story is,” said Cody. “But we start up there. Talk to the help, get a lead, so . . . here’s my idea. . . .”
47
DECEMBER 12: A MASSAGE AND A MESSAGE
Lick and Cody had cornered a bellman.
“So you see, we want to be discreet, not make a scene and all, but her ex-mother-in-law is quite ill back in Tulsa and we’re sure she’d want to know, but we would rather just tell her privately, so as not to make her uncomfortable in the presence of her husband, Mr. Pantaker.” Cody took a breath. “Does that make sense?”
The bellman raised a crooked eyebrow and studied Cody. “Ya know, I heard truer stories when I was a bailiff,” he said.
Lick looked at Cody and said, “He’s right. You can’t be subtle with a man with such acute acumen. Let me just tell him the real story and see if he’ll help us. Mrs. Pantaker’s old uncle Horatio from Nowata died and left her a potful of money. He hired me and Lemkooler here to find her and deliver it. However, we must do it anonymously and directly . . . that is, lay it in her hands. He also gave us plenty extra to lay in the hands of whoever helps us do the deed. Do you know any hands that can help us get in touch with Mrs. Pantaker?”
The bellman held out his own hand. Cody laid a hundred-dollar chip in his palm. The hand remained extended.
“That’s a big hand,” observed Lick.
Cody placed another hundred in the outstretched palm. Then another.
“That’s good, Lem,” said Lick. “Let’s see what this fine feller can tell us.”
“First off,” said the bellman, “I can tell you we haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks. There were a lot of rumors about her disappearance, but nothing definite. But for one more chip, I can take you to the person who knows what’s going on, if anybody in this casino knows.”
Cody slid another hundred-dollar chip into the bellman’s hand.
The bellman made a quick call on the house phone, then returned to the boys. “Follow me,” he said.
Two floors down, in the casino catacombs, they entered the Spa, Fitness Center, and Tanning Salon. The bellman left Cody and Lick in the waiting room while he disappeared down one of the hallways. The cowboys sat and admired the pictures of fit people flashing brilliant smiles in action scenes, frozen in midair playing volleyball, the tamborine, or roulette. In a few minutes the bellman returned leading a curvaceous dark-haired woman wearing a knee-length robe with Toga Time embroidered on the left side, above her heart.
“This is Allura,” introduced the bellman. “The best masseuse in Las Vegas.”
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I understand you would like a massage, facial, and tanning bed?”
“No, we—” started Lick.
“You betcha, ma’am!” interrupted Cody. “And, like he says, you’re the best.”
“Will that be cash or credit card?” she asked politely.
“Cash,” replied Cody.
“No offense, gentlemen, but may I see?” she asked pleasantly.
Cody pulled out two handfuls of hundred-dollar chips.
She smiled. “Who’s first?”
“We’d like to go together,” said Lick.
“Oh, really?” she said, scrutinizing them. An errant thought crossed her mind, but she reconsidered quickly. Oh, well, I’ll know soon enough.
“Follow me, gentlemen.”
They entered a well-lit room with a tanning bed, Jacuzzi, salon chair, and two massage tables. She handed them two robes. “There are changing rooms behind those curtains. Please take off your clothes and put these on.”
“All of them?” asked Lick.
“Yes, but don’t be concerned. I’m a professional,” she assured them as they headed down the hallway.
Lick looked at Cody and whispered, “Why don’t we just ask her what she knows and git outta here.”
Cody looked around. “Playin’ all that blackjack made my back ache. I want a quick massage. Plus I figure crossing her palm with more silver might entice her to tell us more.”
“Whatever,” said Lick, and he stepped behind Curtain Number One.
Our heroes, in their quest for information, have stumbled innocentlyinto the eye of the tiger. Unbeknownst to them, Allura (real name Tawanda Fonda, of the Portland Fondas) has suffered much consternation in the last three days. F. Rank Pantaker (her Olympic event) has been ignoring her. Busby, the company pilot, has been consolingher, saying it’s not personal with F. Rank, it’s just that his wife has been found but is still not cooperating, and the missing money will be needed no later than Saturday night, following the big hunt.
Since Allura is no fool and F. Rank still doesn’t know the meaningof being discreet, she’s pieced together the crux of the ongoing adventure. Based on the bellman’s explanation about these two cowboys,she’s figured out that they are the very ones chasing after TeddieArizona and that they’re not here to pay her a social call. She’s caught between loyalties and, as usual, will come down on the side of truth, justice, and Allura Valura.
She knows that if Teddie Arizona comes back into the picture, or if F. Rank goes to jail or has to face the wrath of Ponce de Crayon, her future might not include regular trips to the Riviera or the Bahamas, not to mention fresh diamonds.
She takes Teddie Arizona’s behavior personally and is seething below the surface. Our heroes, as usual, have no clue.
When the boys came out in their robes, they found Allura stripped down to a string bikini. Statuesque, sculpted, and six-packed, she looked like a Michelangelo action figure.
She gestured toward a twelve-by-twelve tumbling mat on the floor. “Lay down, boys, face to the floor.”
They complied. Lick spoke from his supine position. “We are looking for the whereabouts of F. Rank Pantaker’s wife. She’s come into some money and—”
Allura straddled him in one swift leap and sat heavily on his back, knocking the wind out of him!
“F!” grunted Allura. “Umph!—Rank!—Umph!—Pan!—Umph!— Taker’s!—Umph!—Wife!—Umph!”
Lick was grunting in counterpoint.
She reached under his chin with her left hand, gripped the back of his head with her other hand, and turned his head around till he was looking up her nostrils. His cervical vertebrae made a sound like Bigfoot walking on bubble wrap.
“That little conniving—umph!—money-grubbing—umph!— who’s just selling her precious little—umph!—to that low-down, whimpering—umph!—of a sorry excuse for a—umph!”
Cody sat up, grasping the robe tight around his throat, while Lick was being pummeled and bounced.
“Lie down!” she commanded Cody. His eyes flicked nervously toward the door, and Allura sprang from Lick’s wheezing form, applying a flying scissors lock around Cody’s waist, dragging him back to the mat. She squeezed with her powerful thighs till Cody felt nauseous.
“She’s—ooph!—not—ooph!—his wife! Ooph!” Cody gasped.
Cody’s outburst worked. Allura suddenly released her death grip and stood up.
“Whattaya mean, she’s not his wife?” With a practiced motion, she whipped the robes off their cowering bodies. “Gentlemen, let’s talk. First, who in the shades of Mahatma Larkey are you? And what do y
ou already know? And no cowboy crapola or I’ll show you the oblique groin lock I learned from a Tahitian busboy.”
“To make a long story short,” started Lick nervously, “she run off from this husband of hers, although he’s not really her husband, it’s just sort of an arrangement—”
“What do you mean?” asked Allura. “They’re not married? He thinks they are. He tells me that all the time.”
“Nope, they’re not. Anyway, she run off and he sent these goons after her and I think they’ve caught her or are tryin’ to—”
“’Cause she still has the money, right?” said Allura.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Lick said. So, she knows about the money, he thought. What else does she know?
“So what are you doing here?” she asked Lick.
“I don’t know exactly, ma’am,” Lick admitted. “Just that she needs help and—”
“He’s in love,” added Cody.
“I am not! It don’t have nuthin’ to do with that!” said Lick.
“So let me get this straight,” said Allura. “You want to rescue her and take her away from all this. And you say she’s not married, just shacking up . . . and what about the money?”
“I don’t want the money. She don’t want it either, she just wants to stop them from pulling off some wild-animal hunt, shooting endangered species.”
“I know all about that. How was she gonna stop them?” she asked.
“She had a plan, but I think they’ve caught her, ’cause we were supposed to meet her here, sort of. . . . It’s all mixed up.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Step one is to find her, which is why we’re here . . . being grilled by Wonder Woman’s stunt double, who we are willing to pay, by the way, for some information, if she’d quit pounding a couple of good ol’ boys, who wouldn’t harm a flea, into masa. So, if you know anything that can help, tell us. If not, be prepared for a full frontal attack. Now, gimme my robe!” Lick’s impatience was showing.
Allura smiled. Not the kind of smile that invites intimacy, but the sly kind a fox makes when she realizes someone left the door open to the henhouse. She relaxed her threatening posture.
“I can tell you this,” she said. “I don’t know where she is right now. I do know that the day before yesterday there was a big ruckus in F. Rank’s office. Valter and Pike were holding her at the Rancho Seco. But that was two days ago, Wednesday.”
“So you think she’s still at that ranch?” asked Lick.
“Knowing F. Rank, he might have had her taken out to Ponce’s place to help convince her to tell them where she hid the money,” she told them.
Actually, F. Rank had summoned Allura yesterday. He’d told her he was distraught about having to confess to Ponce and thought having his wife there would help dilute Ponce’s fury. Allura had made him feel better by explaining how it was all Teddie Arizona’s fault. But why was the two-faced cad still claiming he was married!
“Also,” she continued, “several very special VIPs arrived at the casino yesterday and more were expected today. And tomorrow’s the big day, as best I can tell. It’s going to be at Ponce de Crayon’s Ponce Park. Therefore, if I was a gambling woman, which I am not, I would search for her at Ponce Park.”
Allura leaned over the two men, her grin broadening. “For your information, and this is strictly personal, I would be quite pleased if Teddie Arizona disappeared from F. Rank’s life. I’d also be real happy to split up the money if she knows where it is and knows what’s good for her, and . . . if you two can afford another hour, I’d like to show you a real Toga Time tag-team match. Still want the robes?” She snapped one of her bikini strings.
“I’m married, ma’am, and he’s in love. Maybe you could just hand us the robes,” said Cody wistfully.
“Too bad,” she clucked. “You boys don’t know what you’re missing. I have a black thong in the art of Martial Love. I have participated in a study of the Qwagelin Love Triangle, Sustained Ebullience. My personal best: sixteen hours.” She reached behind her and untied her bikini top. It hung loosely from the neck straps.
“Oooh.” The air went out of both gentlemen. Their eyes locked onto curtains number 1 and number 2.
It has been said that the greatest measure of character is the resistance to temptation. Had they been offered a million dollars apiece to shoot someone, they would have refused immediately. Or the chance to win a bronc-riding buckle by cheating, they’d have punched out the messenger. But in a circumstance where they had the time, no one would be hurt, and none would be the wiser . . .
“How many hours?” asked Lick.
“Like I said,” repeated Cody, “I’m married and he’s in love.”
Allura gave them a respectful smile, hestitated, and tossed them their robes.
48
DECEMBER 12: T.A. IN THE TOWER
Valter wasn’t taking any chances. He duct-taped T.A.’s ankles, wrists, and mouth before loading her into the back of the Suburban for the hour-long trip out to Ponce Park. He sat in the backseat with T.A. while Pike drove.
Upon arrival Valter gripped T.A.’s elbow and escorted her up the spiral staircase that led to the Napoleon Room. This was Ponce de Crayon’s version of Rapunzel’s tower, a turret that rose three stories above the Big Cat House in Ponce Park’s animal facility. The hexagonal room had glass windows on all six walls, offering unobstructed views of every acre of the sprawling grounds. It was sparsely but tastefully furnished with a queen-size bed, a desk, a chair, throw rugs, and a lamp. A bookcase and filing cabinet stood in one corner. A topo map of the entire property adorned one wall, while paintings and posters of Ponce and his wild beasts crowded the others.
Valter had allowed T.A. to go to the bathroom downstairs before taking her up to the tower and shoving her inside. He handcuffed her right hand to the headboard of the bed without even untaping her wrists.
“I’m taking no chances, Mrs. Pantaker. You cannot be trusted. Thus I am leaving the gag on as well as the ankle tape.”
She looked up at him, then back down at the floor.
“I’m going to get your husband now. If I were you, I wouldn’t push these people too much more. They are quite serious and”—he leaned closer to her face—“no one knows you’re missing. By not cooperating, you have brought this upon yourself.” He turned to Pike who had followed them up the stairs.
“Leave her tied just the way she is. No bathroom calls without my permission, no conversation, no nuthin’. Remember, don’t make friends”—he looked back at T.A.—“because you might be the one taking her on her last ride.”
Valter turned and descended the stairs.
T.A. looked over at Pike and raised her eyebrows questioningly. He looked away.
T.A.’s resolve was waning. She fought back tears. Is this all a big joke? Am I just a joke? Why would I be so stupid? I can’t believe what I’ve done, what I’m doing! I’m bruised, battered, and bewildered; Lick and Al are walking on thin ice, probably out of a job; I’m screwing up a sweet deal with F. Rank—and for what? To save a few animals from some lowlife’s perverted scheme to make money. And they’re willing to do anythingto pull it off, including . . . She didn’t want to think about it. She began to cry.
Pike heard her snuffling. Her nose was plugging up. There was nothing he could do.
Twenty minutes later, footsteps clattered at the bottom of the stairs. The trapdoor fell back and F. Rank ascended into the Napoleon Room.
He saw T.A. on the bed, trussed and with her mouth taped. She looked completely bedraggled, her hair filthy and matted. Her clothes were as rank as a tannery. He felt no swelling of the heart, no rush of emotion welling up behind his eyes. F. Rank was shallow as a shot glass. What he did feel was relief that she hadn’t escaped—although, of course, he was scared poopless of Ponce de Crayon.
“I hope you’ve decided to cooperate,” he said.
She looked up at him.
“Listen, babe, thi
s is really important to me,” he began again, adopting a conciliatory tone. “You know I love you, I’d still like to marry you. You could be a part of all this. All you have to do is tell me where the money is. No big deal. We’ll go back to normal. The way it was. Remember how happy we were? You shopping, me . . . businessing, a little roll in the hay, then a round of golf, a trip to Miami. The good life. How ’bout it?” He smiled a nervous smile.
She stood, sliding the handcuff along the vertical bedpost. She turned as best she could and faced F. Rank. Their eyes met, his in expectation, hers with a dash of pity. It wasn’t about the hunt or the money now; it was about her self-respect. She slowly shook her head.
F. Rank’s countenance fell for just a moment; then it began to harden. His beady eyes became slits.
“If you do this, it’s out of my hands. You’ll force me to tell Ponce, and he will make you talk. My hunt will still go on. And you . . . you look like something they’d feed to the tigers.”
She stared at him unblinking.
“Look at you, backwoods trash. I can’t believe I ever paid you a dime.” He left the room without another word.
T.A. slowly sat back on the bed. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her emotions were frayed, she was exhausted, her muscles ached, the bindings hurt, and the duct tape on her face chafed. She had to concentrate on breathing and fighting off the bursts of panic that flashed through her mind occasionally. She stretched out on the bed as best she could. Pike sat silent as a stone.
An hour later, they both heard the footsteps on the staircase below. The trapdoor opened and in climbed a man dressed in a handmade purple velvet suit with fluorescent orange piping. A black-and-silver tiger was embossed above the breast pocket.
Ponce de Crayon made an intimidating entrance. He was one of those people who change the level of the water when they enter the aquarium. T.A.’s eyes were immediately drawn to the striking white streak in his dark, wavy hair. Then she noticed he had one blue eye, like an Australian shepherd she’d once owned.
