by Ron Base
“My mother was a wonderful person,” Fudd said.
“She just liked a bottle of vodka before noon,” Elmer said.
“I’m not going to get into petty arguments about my mother,” Fudd said.
“I’m not even talking about the afternoon vodka bottle,” Elmer said.
Fudd produced a wallet. “Here let me pay for your coffee, Tree.”
“Then there was the bottle or two of merlot with dinner. Lovely woman.”
Fudd gritted his teeth and put a ten dollar bill on the table. “Now the thing is Tree, we may not look very threatening, but believe me, we are.”
“Just ask Kendra,” Elmer said, standing.
Tree managed to say, “How do I get in touch with you?”
Oh, that’s all right,” Fudd said, pushing his chair back and following Elmer to his feet. “We’ll be in touch with you.”
“Wait a minute,” Elmer said.
Fudd once again looked irritated. “What is it now? We’re going to miss our tour boat.”
“He never said.”
“Said what?”
“Which side of the argument he favors.”
Fudd looked at Tree. “What do you think, Tree? Did Stanley Kubrick help NASA fake the moon landing? He did, didn’t he?”
Tree stared at them.
19
Tree sat behind the wheel of the Beetle in the parking lot below the main entrance to the Lani Kai Island Resort, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself, wondering how much stress it would take to induce a heart attack in a man his age.
He had discovered a rich man with a pair of scissors in his throat. He had spent a night in jail before being charged with helping his client kill her husband—not to mention being accused of sleeping with her. Two threatening strangers with the unlikely names of Fudd and Elmer were after his son and daughter-in-law, both of whom had disappeared.
And, oh yes, he was supposed to prove innocent the client who probably had killed her husband.
That should be more than enough stress to induce the killing heart attack. For the moment, however, he decided to concentrate on the Traven passenger. Why would Brand Traven have driven all the way up to Coleman to pick him up? A few hours later Traven was dead. Could the man he retrieved from Coleman have killed him? Or was Elizabeth right and her husband was trying to kill her, and the Traven passenger was the man who was supposed to do it?
He got out of the car and went up the steps, past the mural featuring the dancing native girls and down the walkway to the staircase that led him up to the lobby. A young woman with glasses wearing a short-sleeved white shirt stood behind the counter. A name tag that said, “Jenny” was pinned to the front of her blouse. Jenny had been the desk clerk on duty when he was here before.
“How may I help you?” She did not sound very interested in helping anyone.
Tree explained that he was a private detective. Jenny adjusted her glasses to get a better look and then grinned, showing front teeth the size of tombstones. “Come on, you’re not really a private detective, are you? I mean, where’s your trench coat?”
“A lot of people ask me that,” Tree said amiably. “I always tell them it’s too hot down here for trench coats. Soon as it cools off, that’s when I wear one.”
Jenny stopped smiling. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do I know you’re a private detective?”
Tree pulled out his wallet and showed her his Florida license, complete with his photo.
“The State of Florida gave you that?”
“They didn’t give it to me; they sold it to me after I completed the course.”
“You can take a course to be a private detective?”
“You bet.”
Jenny’s eyes narrowed further. “Aren’t you a little old to be a private detective?”
Tree tried hard to keep his grin in place. “How old do you have to be?”
“You know, for the rough stuff.”
“There’s not ordinarily a lot of rough stuff,” Tree said. “Right now, for example, I’m just looking into the whereabouts of a person.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of person?”
“An African American. Mid-thirties. He checked in about four o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
“No African American checked in here at four o’clock or any other time yesterday. We had some folks around noon. A husband and wife down from Canada. But that was it.”
“No one else checked in?”
“Checked in? No.”
“Jenny, a heavyset black man in his thirties did come in here about four o’clock yesterday.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I was here. I saw him.”
Her face had gone flat.
“He was standing right here at the desk, talking to you.”
“Okay, that guy,” she said in a subdued voice. “He didn’t check in. So I wasn’t lying.”
“Any idea why he didn’t?”
She shrugged. “He asked about the room rates. Then he asked if he could leave his bag here for a few minutes while he went downstairs for a beer. He came back half an hour later, said he’d changed his mind, picked up his bag, and left.”
“Did you tell the police this?”
“The police?” Jenny looked worried. “The police haven’t been here.”
“Okay, Jenny, thanks. I appreciate your help.”
“Next time, wear a trench coat,” Jenny said.
_________
If Traven’s passenger did not check into this hotel, then where did he go? Tree wondered as he stood on the Lani Kai’s portico and leaned against the railing, gazing out at Estero Boulevard.
Tree walked along Estero checking the small tourist hotels and motels. They yielded nothing.
Toward the western end of the boulevard, he came to the Gulf Motel, a gray-painted frame structure with screen doors and a sign propped against the latticework foundation announcing in bright red letters: “Cool Pool.” Who could resist?
Tree entered the office. A large woman stood behind the reception desk. She wore a sleeveless print blouse that showed off an intricately scaled dragon crawling up her left arm. She said, “Tree Callister.”
He looked at her. The woman said, “You don’t remember me?”
The dragon tattoos. Of course. “Molly Lightower,” he said. “The Dragon Lady.”
She grinned and said, “I helped you out with your detecting a while back over at Fennimore’s Cycle Shop.”
“So you did, Molly, and I appreciate it. What brings you here?”
A look of sadness crossed her face. “Me and my man had a bit of a falling out. Figured it was best to take what they call in these confusing times, a time-out.”
“I thought you said he tamed a Hells Angels mama.”
“Well, he did at that,” she conceded. “Trouble is Russ failed to tame his urges with other mamas.”
“Sorry to hear that, Molly. You deserve better.”
“That’s what I told Russ. We need to be true to one another. If we aren’t true, what’s the point?”
“I agree,” Tree said.
She gave him a sad smile. “He likes them fat and stupid. I’m fat enough, but I guess I just don’t fill the stupid part very well.”
“I’m sorry, Molly.”
“What can you do? Life sucks, sometimes. But we go on. Not like there’s a whole lot of choice. So here I am watching over this place for my girlfriend, Shirley. She’s up in Tallahassee romancing her new fella. Well, good for her. Meanwhile, Mr. Tree Callister, what can I do you for? You need more help with your detecting?”
“You didn’t happen to work yesterday did you?”
“I’m working every day and night while Shirley’s in love in Tallahassee.”
“I’m looking for an African American male who may have checked in here sometime after four o’clock.”
“Sure, I remember. Big dude. A jailhouse rat.”
“How did do you know he was in prison?”
“Are you kidding? I grew up around punks like him. Bad guys. You can smell them as soon as they walk in the room.”
“He checked in?”
“Yeah, but not in the afternoon. About ten o’clock last night. He left this morning.”
“You sure it was ten?”
“Absolutely. I was just thinking that was going to be it for the night. The place wasn’t going to be even half full. I looked at my watch and then this dude walked in.”
“What was his name, Molly?”
“I’m not supposed to do this.” Molly found a pair of glasses and put them on. “But seeing as how you and I go back a ways in the detecting business …”
She stepped over to the computer and pounded thick fingers against a worn keyboard. “Let me see what we got here.” She thumped the keyboard some more. “Here he is. Tony Dodge. Paid cash in advance.”
“You didn’t get a home address?”
“Fort Myers was all he wrote. As long as they pay up, I’m told not to ask questions.”
“Have they cleaned his room yet?” Tree asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Things do move around here. But fast is not the word you would use in connection with those things.”
“Mind if I take a look in there?”
She studied him a beat and then shrugged. “Potential customer comes in, wants to see a room before he rents it. Who can blame him?” She dropped a key on the counter. “Number three at the other end.”
“Thanks, Molly. Won’t take long.” He picked the key up.
“No hurry. By the time anyone gets around to cleaning that room, hell, Russ could have discovered how much he misses me, and begged me to come home.”
“I’m willing to bet that’s going to happen,” Tree said.
Molly gave a winsome smile. “Better stick to detecting, Tree.”
Tree didn’t need the key as it turned out. The inside door to number three was wide open. He opened the screen and stepped into the room.
The queen-size bed was unmade. That and the wet towels strewn across the carpet were the only outward signs anyone had occupied the room.
A smear of shaving cream lingered in the bathroom sink. A puddle of water glistened on the tile floor beside a soggy bathmat. A face cloth dripped off the side of the bathtub. Tree picked up the waste basket that stood beside the toilet. He poked at a couple of used tissues and a torn envelope. He picked out the envelope and replaced the waste basket on the floor. Dodge had used a pencil to print a single word on the envelope in capital letters:
SASHA
Beneath it was an address: 144 Acacia Rd.
________
Tree left the motel and walked back to where he had parked his car at the Lani Kai. He got inside and phoned Freddie at work. To his surprise, she picked up after the first ring. “Are you near a computer?”
“Happen to be sitting right beside one,” she said.
“Do me a favor, will you? Go to Google maps and see what you get when you type in 144 Acacia Rd.”
“You need an iPad,“ she said.
“Do I?”
“That way you wouldn’t have to call me. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m outside the Lani Kai on Estero Boulevard.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Following a lead.” Did he sound like a detective?
Freddie snorted.
Maybe not.
“Have you found anything?” Tree said.
“Let me see. There is an Acacia Road in Sarasota.”
“Nothing around here?”
“Sarasota is all I can see.”
“Okay. Thanks, Freddie. One more thing. Ray owns a place in Naples, doesn’t he?”
“My Ray? Ray Dayton?”
“The Ray Man. I thought he said something a while ago about a house in Naples.”
Freddie said carefully, “It was his mother’s.”
“Do you know the address?”
“Tree.” Her voice now contained a warning note. “What are you up to?”
“Following a couple of hunches, that’s all.”
“Okay, but one of those hunches should not involve Ray Dayton. I have to work with this man.”
“It’s probably nothing. Just humor me, please.”
“There is a line of thought that argues I humor you too much.”
“You can’t possibly believe that,” he said. “Do you have the address?”
“Don’t get yourself into more trouble with Ray, okay?”
“Perish the thought.”
“The address I have in Naples is 345 Old Wildway Rd. He’s been trying to sell it.”
“Thanks.”
“You don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m going to drive up to Sarasota. Check a couple of things out.”
“On Acacia Road?”
“It’s probably a wild goose chase.”
“Just remember, Tree, you’re out on bail. If you have another run-in with the police, they revoke that bail. Not only am I out twenty-five thousand dollars, but you’ll be cooling your heels in a jail cell.”
“I’m not going to get into trouble. Promise.”
“The last time you said that, you got shot.”
“An anomaly.”
“I’m not certain that’s the correct use of that word, but I’ll let it go for now.”
“I love you,” he said.
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
Right, he thought to himself. He shouldn’t do that.
20
One hundred forty-four Acacia Rd. was a strip mall on the outskirts of Sarasota, a series of desolate two-story buildings surrounding a deserted parking lot. There were too many similar malls throughout the state.
Tree parked and walked over to the main entrance. On one side of the double glass doors was a Walgreen Pharmacy. On the other side was a discount furniture store with a “For Lease” sign, faded with age, propped in one of its dust-streaked windows.
Tree stepped into a linoleum-floored lobby blasted by cold air from an unseen air conditioner. An elevator stood to the left of a set of stairs. Next to the stairs was a building directory listing companies with names like, “SAR SO A INVESTME S LTD.”
He studied the directory, baffled. Why would Tony Dodge want to come here?
A skinny guy with jet black hair bounced down the stairs. He wore a black suit. He stopped to give Tree the once-over. Tree stared back. In a Spanish-accented rasp, the skinny guy said, “Who you looking for?”
Tree said, “I’m looking for Sasha.”
The guy said, “I’m Sasha.”
What to say to that?
“They said to come in here and ask for you.”
“I thought we were gonna be short a guy tonight,” Sasha said.
“No, no,” Tree said.
“Okay, well listen, amigo, you’re late.”
“Sorry,” Tree said. “I had trouble finding this place.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sasha said impatiently. “Don’t sweat it. Follow me.”
He turned and went back up the stairs, taking two at a time. Tree hurried to keep up with him. When they reached the second floor, they went along the hall to a door with a sign that said “RED ROSE.” All the letters were neatly in place.
“Is this the outfit I’m working for?” Tree asked, indicating the sign.
Sasha fished around in his pocket, came up with a set of keys. “You’re working for me, amigo, and that’s all you know.”
He chose a key, and used it to unlock the door. “Come on,” he said. “We’re gonna be late.”
He pressed a wall plate illuminating an office containing a desk and a chair. A wardrobe stretched the length of the room. Sasha opened the doors to reveal a rack of black suits. Peaked caps filled the shelf above the suit racks. Sasha flipped through the suits. “What size are you? Take a look through here, find something that fits.”
As Tree approached the wardrobe, Sasha went over to the des
k, opened a bottom drawer and began pulling out white shirts, folded and wrapped in plastic. “One of these should fit,” he said. In another drawer Sasha found a black tie and threw it on top of the shirt. “Get changed and then meet me downstairs as soon as you can. Chop, Chop.”
“Sure,” Tree said.
“Also get one of the caps. See you in a minute.” Sasha dashed out the door, closing it behind him.
Mystified as to what this was all about, Tree nonetheless went through the rack until he found a suit that looked to be the right size. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into the trousers. Not bad. Then he chose a shirt with his neck size, tore off the plastic wrapping, and put it on. The collar was tight but it would be fine.
He adjusted one of the caps so that the peak hung low over his eyes. He gathered up his own clothes and went down to the lobby. No Sasha. Tree stood there, holding his clothes, wondering what to do. Then Sasha burst through the entrance door, out of breath. “All set?”
“What do I do with my clothes?”
“Stick them in your car on the way over. Come on. Chop. Chop.”
He turned and pushed through the glass doors. Tree went after him. Outside, hit by a wall of late afternoon heat, he deposited his clothes in the Beetle and then followed Sasha to another parking area behind the mall. Six white limousines were lined up beside each other. Party limos, Tree thought, so where was the party? Five men huddled near the limos, all dressed similarly to Tree. They looked around expectantly as Sasha and Tree advanced.
“Okay, everybody, listen up.” The five men broke ranks and came over to Sasha. One of the men dropped his cigarette to the pavement and then used his heel to grind it out.
Sasha pointed to a small, dark-complexioned man. “Tango here, he’s gonna take the lead car. You others follow him. He’ll take you over to the house. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Got that?” When everyone nodded, Sasha said, “Okay, let’s get going. Chop. Chop. Take it slow and easy. I’ll give you further instructions later. Any questions? Good.”
The others headed for their assigned limos. Sasha motioned to Tree and then jerked his thumb at the last limo in the line. “Keys in the ignition. Chop, chop.”
Tree, heart beating ridiculously fast, double-timed over to the limo and opened the driver’s side door. Immediately, he was hit by the scent of perfume and a blast of rap music. The music emanated from the car’s stereo. The perfume came from the four young women seated in the softly lit vastness of the car’s interior.
