Gotta Dance with the One Who Brung Ya - sex, scandals and sweethearts

by Jon McDonald

  As he was nearing the turn-off, he saw Randy’s truck pull out on to the road just ahead of him. Randy did not see him, but Daniel certainly saw the young man in the passenger seat – young and fresh as a ripe peach. Daniel knew all too well where they had been, and what they had been up to. He followed behind - just far enough away so as to not be in danger of being recognized by Randy.

  Randy drove to a residential street and let the boy out of the truck, certainly several houses away from the boy’s home. Daniel was more than familiar with the routine. Randy drove away and Daniel again followed.

  Randy pulled up to a gas station and began to fill his truck. Daniel parked and walked over.

  Randy looked up and saw Daniel approaching.

  “Hey there, bud. How’s tricks?” Randy beamed, in his ever so winning way.

  “I don’t know. Not much into tricks these days. But I see you still are.”

  “What?” Randy suddenly became nervous.

  “How’s the fishing?” Daniel sneered. Randy was silent. “Saw you coming from the cabin. Same one we used to visit of an afternoon. Cute kid. Was he just cutting your grass?”

  Randy gave a strained laugh. “Well, he’s eighteen, you know – totally legal. Hey - you know how it is.”

  “Yeah I do. And what exactly am I going to tell Sharon. Does she know about your school age extra-circular activities?”

  “Now Danny, no need to go and shake the tree. She and I are cool with things as they are. She knows I’m married and all. She knows I like to play. Just leave it alone, will ya? For old time’s sake. Okay?”

  Daniel just stared and shook his head. “Boy, getting back to Los Angeles is going to be such a relief. These small town melodramas just wear me out.”

  Randy finished filling his tank, and as he put the hose back on the pump asked, “I’m not due back at the house for a while. Want to come back to the fishing shack with me for a little rerun?”

  Daniel caught his breath, shook his head, and wondered what MoonDrops concoction Sharon had for a situation like this.

  Pattycakes

  Detective John Shannon of the Miami PD was tying the ribbon at the end of the second braid on his four year old daughter, Phylicia, as she swirled the cinnamon and brown sugar into her oatmeal at breakfast.

  “Don’t play with your oatmeal – eat it,” John admonished.

  “I don’t like it. It’s squishy.”

  “Daddy Lorenzo made it especially good today. To warm you to your toes.”

  Phylicia laughed, “My toes don’t need warming. I got shoes.”

  “Well, eat it anyway.” John turned to his partner. “I don’t know, maybe you can get her to eat it. I gotta go.”

  “I da’ know. Like she would pay any more attention to me than to you.”

  Lorenzo was the stay-at-home dad these days as his law firm had recently downsized, leaving Lorenzo scrambling through the want ads and making endless calls to his business associates looking for work.

  John gave a playful tug to both of Phylicia’s braids and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Bye sweetie. Be good and mind Daddy Lorenzo.”

  “K.” Phylicia answered as she reached for her coloring book across the table.

  “Not till after you eat all your breakfast,” Lorenzo scolded, grabbing the book from her hand.

  “You’re gonna have a handful today, I can tell.” John whispered to Lorenzo as he gave him a quick kiss on his ear.

  “Yeah, thanks. Be careful out there. Don’t let the bad guys score any points today,” Lorenzo called after the departing John, just as Phylicia knocked over what was left of her milk.

  ◘ ◘ ◘

  Detective Shannon was working on a case of massive identity theft with his partner, Connie Mata. They were a good team. They had been paired together because they were both gay, but they had transcended the labels and tackled their cases with street smarts and a sense of humor that led to a higher than average arrest rate.

  They had been working this case on and off for over a month now, but with little success. Connie was working on the check-cashing angle. She had been tracking where bogus checks were being cashed using stolen identities taken from the heisted database of a Minneapolis accounting firm. She had been able to identify a cluster of bad checks cashed near Bal Harbour, an exclusive Miami community, that seemed an unlikely location for such activity. She had only two leads. A security camera had captured an image of a suspect departing a deli just after one of the bad checks had been cashed. The suspect was wearing a large hat that covered the person’s face and it could not be determined if it was a man or a woman. The second piece of evidence was a photo from a home decorating shop of an old Oldsmobile that had pulled away just as the clerk realized they had been scammed and took a picture of the departing car. Unfortunately there was no license plate visible, and though it was an old car it was also a common model, and thus difficult to trace. And John had also come to a dead end with his efforts to untangle the computer links used in stealing the database.

  It looked like they would have to rely on one of their most basic police investigation techniques – questioning door to door - hoping they could get some hit of recognition from their two photos. They had mapped out sections of Bal Harbour and were taking one at a time. They had covered two so far without any luck. Today they were going to spend the morning canvassing a third area. It was near the beach in a nice older section. It was a pleasant morning and they figured they could have pulled much tougher duty. So they stopped for some coffee and drove their unit on over to the first street they wanted to check out.

  It was a short block that ended in a cul-de-sac. These were large Miami style Spanish properties with ample yards, established tropical trees, and long drives leading up to the entrances. They walked up the drive of the first house on the left and rang the doorbell. It was answered by a frantic looking housekeeper. The officers showed her their badges and asked if they might ask some questions.

  “No English. No lady home. Go. No English.”

  “Hablo Espanol…” Connie offered. But the lady had already slammed the door shut.

  “Well, that was fun,” Connie laughed.

  “Ok, number two.”

  They trudged on over to the next house. They rang the bell. The door was answered almost immediately by an electric blond lady in her 50’s. Even though it was almost ten-thirty she was still in her bathrobe.

  “Oh…you’re not the water heater man, are you?”

  “No ma’am. Miami PD. We’re doing some investigations in the neighborhood and wondered if we might ask you a few questions?” John asked.

  The lady hesitated for a moment, considering. “Oh sure, come on in. Why the hell not. Got nothin’ else to do.”

  She led the way into a glitzy golden living room, offering the officers chairs opposite the sofa where she had been served a breakfast tray on the coffee table. She collapsed into the sofa like it was a vast snow bank. “It’s breky time.” She stared at the tray before her, then remembering her manners asked, “You want breakfast?” She looked up at Connie and John.

  “No thanks. We had that quite some time ago,” Connie answered.

  “Well, then….” The lady looked once again at her breakfast tray, picked up a glass of orange juice and took a sip. She reacted sharply, calling out, “Temple! Temple!’

  A diminutive Philippina ran into the room. “Yes? Yes? You want?”

  “Temple, honey, what is this?” the lady asked, holding out the glass of orange juice like it was radioactive.

  “OJ, lady.”

  “No, no, it’s a screwdriver without the vodka.” She waggled her hand. “Come on now, make this right.” She handed the glass to Temple who scurried off. The lady leaned back into the folds of the sofa and tried focusing on the officers.

  “Now then, what can I do for you two gentlemen?”

  Connie ignored the remark and held out the photos. “We would like you to take a look at these photos. There hav
e been some forged checks in the neighborhood recently due to some identity theft. These photos were taken of what we believe may be the suspect. We were wondering if you might recognize either the person or the car?”

  “Oh honey. I never go out. I have a condition, you see.”

  “I know these are not the best pictures, but have you ever seen this car in the area? Maybe you look out the windows occasionally?” Connie added, with just a hint of snark.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Just then Temple came tipping back with the screwdriver.

  “Oh thank you, dear.” She took a sip and leaned back, closing her eyes. “I think we’re done here,” the lady sighed heavily.

  John rose and motioned to Connie.

  The lady looked up again at the officers. “Honey, would you show these gentlemen out please. I don’t think I can get up just now.”

  “You come.” Temple waved to Connie and John.

  “Thank you for your time, ma’am,” John nodded. They followed.

  There were only these two houses before road ended at the cul-de-sac where cars could turn around. John looked at the grove of trees, vines and tropical plants bordering the end of the road. He was surprised that there was no house there. He was just about to cross the street to the next house on the other side when he stopped and peered into the growth. He could just make out a two-story house set way back from the street, mostly hidden by the jungle.

  “Hey, let’s take a look in there,” John nudged Connie as they were crossing the street. They penetrated the darkness as they passed along an almost hidden walkway. They came to a dilapidated Spanish style bungalow with a red tile roof, overgrown with bougainvillea and obscured by towering banana trees.

  “Wow, this is a relic of the old Miami. Not many of these left anymore,” John commented, as he brushed aside a hibiscus branch ablaze with scarlet flowers. He knocked on the door, as there was no bell.

  The first thing they heard was the insane screeching of parrots and cockatoos in response to the knock. Then a woman’s voice called out from inside, “Who is it?”

  “Miami PD. We have just a few questions about an investigation we’re conducting. Won’t take but a minute or two of your time,” Connie answered.

  “Ok, gimme a moment. I’m not dressed yet. Just wait. Just wait.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll wait,” John responded.

  Finally the door opened. Standing there was a woman who had to be at least forty. But she was wearing a long blue checked, gingham baby doll dress with a bib and straps over a white frilly blouse with puff sleeves. On her feet she had little white socks, folded over with pink trim. And she was wearing red pumps covered in burgundy sequins with a little bow where the shoe met the sock. Her long hair, which was obviously a wig, fell forward over her shoulders in long braids.

  “Hi, I’m Pattycakes Fontenet. It’s pronounced Fontenet with an a at the end, not Fontenet with a t. Won’t you come in?”

  Pattycakes led the two officers into the large living room. It was painted a bright pink. Tropical birds flew free throughout. Parrots screeched and called out various obscene phrases. Pattycakes indicated the officers should sit on the sofa. A cockatoo waddled along the back of the sofa with a plastic ring in its beak, nodding as it jumped onto John’s shoulder.

  “Don’t mind him,” Pattycakes exclaimed, “He’s just being friendly.”

  “The reason we’re here…” Connie started to say.

  “I bet you’re wondering about my name - Pattycakes. Well, my real name is Patty, of course, but my daddy used to call me Pattycakes and it just stuck.” She sighed. “He was such a good daddy.”

  “We’d just like to ask a few questions now if you don’t mind. Don’t want to waste any of your precious time,” John continued.

  “Now my mama was a darlin’ too. I take after her, of course. She was a Georgia Beaufort – from Savannah. Such a charmin’ personality. Had the daintiest feet. Like little paws.”

  “Ma’am….” John tried to get in.

  “Isn’t this a precious house?”

  “Very nice. Now if you’ll just let me get to the point….”

  “My daddy built this. Used to own all the property right down to the beach. But had to parcel it off over the years. So sad. There’s a canal that comes right up to the back of the house here. He had a discreet little dock right there. Daddy had interests in Cuba before the revolution. Used to import cigars till – well, you know.” She whispered. “The embargo. Drove poor daddy to distraction. Then he turned to rum…importing, not drinking. Used the little dock out back to bring in the rum late at night. Stored it in the cellar. But it was never the same. Did him in.”

  Connie leaned forward and held out the photos to Pattycakes. “If you’ll just take a look at these, we need to know if you recognize anything about the subjects.”

  Pattycakes threw her hands up in the air. “Oh pictures. I love pictures. Wait, wait.” She shot up from her chair and raced over to a bookcase where a scarlet macaw was climbing up the side, latching his beak on each shelf to hoist himself up. “You’re just gonna love these.” She scurried back to her chair plunking down a photo album in her lap and flipping through the pages.

  “Miss Fontenet, if I could just…” John struggled to butt in.

  “That’s Fontenet with an a, not Fontenet with a t.” She reminded him, even though he had pronounced it correctly.

  “I understand that,” he answered testily, “But we need to get your response to these photos - please.”

  “Look at that. Look at that.” She foisted the album forward towards the detectives open to a page full of snapshots. “See. That’s me.”

  Two parrots got into a fight over some banana on the mantelpiece at the fireplace. They flapped their wings in a violent fit and tangled in wild cries - one finally flying away, eventually clinging to a tapestry.

  “Wasn’t I just the cutest little princess? My my. What a gorgeous creature.”

  Connie and John looked at each other and shook their heads. They were obviously not going to get anywhere with this. Might just was well cross this one off their list.

  “Thank you for your time, ma’am,” John finally said, rising and leading the way towards the front door, depositing the Cockatoo on a lampshade covered in bird poop.

  “Oh, but you haven’t seen me in my ballerina tutu. Such long legs. Balanchine said I coulda been a star.”

  “I’m sure you were a regular doll,” Connie tossed out as they exited and closed the door gratefully behind them.

  Pattycakes tiptoed to the front door, peeking out the peephole to make sure the officers were on their way to the street. She smiled and pulled off her wig.

  “It works every time,” she chuckled and unzipped the baby doll dress, which she could very quickly put on or shed in one piece. She sped to one of the upstairs rooms, opened the door and glanced in at a bank of computer screens, which were flashing the results of her multiple searches looking for financial database systems to hack.

  John got about three quarters way down the walk to the street. He stopped and rubbed his nose - a sign that he was thinking.

  “What?” Connie came up to him, knowing this sign.

  John turned and looked back at the house. He walked a little way through the jungle to the side of the property where there was an old driveway. He looked back and saw a car parked with a tarp over it.

  “What you thinking?” Connie grabbed his arm.

  “Stay here. Keep an eye out. I’ll be right back.”

  Connie gave a gesture of - “So? So?”

  John left Connie behind as he went to the cruiser and was some time on the radio to dispatch. When he climbed out of the car, he looked around the street and saw a FedEx truck making a delivery. Connie could see him chatting with the driver and finally the two came over to the house.

  “Come with me,” he indicated to Connie.

  “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “I got a hu
nch. Let’s go over here and watch.” John led her to the side of the house where they could see the front door, but could not be seen from inside.

  The FedEx driver knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” a familiar voice called from inside.

  “FedEx.”

  Pattycakes opened the door again, but this time she was barefoot, with short hair, and dressed in a tee shirt and shorts.

  “Yeah? What ya got for me?” she asked.

  “I’m here for the pick-up.”

  “What? No, no. No pick-up here. Wrong house.” She took a quick scan out the door to see if there was anyone else about, but she did not see the carefully hidden detectives. She quickly retreated behind her door and locked it.

  John waved a “thank you” to the driver as he went on back to his truck.

  A big smile came over John.

  “Okay, so she’s changed clothes. Will you now please tell me what’s going on?” Connie pushed.

  “I called in for a search warrant. Should be here soon. Stay here and keep an eye out, and I’ll go to the car and wait for it. Soon as we get it we’re going in.” He ginned at her, knowing she was desperate to know the plan, but he was not giving anything away – yet.

  Very shortly a police cruiser arrived and pulled up behind John’s car. John went over and took the warrant from the officer.

  “May need some backup. Stick around,” John indicated.

  “Sure thing.” The officer got out of the car.

  They walked to the side of the property out of the line of site from the front door. Connie joined them.

  “Okay, here’s the play. Connie you go out back. Sergeant you go to the side door by the drive. I’m going to serve the warrant and if she tries to bolt take her down.”

  “Still wish you’d tell me what’s going on here,” Connie griped.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. Haven’t got time now. You’ll know in a minute. Go.”

  The two took up their positions. John went to the front door and knocked.

  “What?” Pattycakes called from behind the door. She was pissed at being bothered once again.

  “It’s Detective Shannon, Miss Fontenet. I have a search warrant. I need to search your house.”