by Chris Niles
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two hours later, as Kate was dropping a bag of trash in the dumpster beside the shower house, a silver Mercedes coupe crept past and into a parking spot at the bottom of the west dock. The driver’s door opened and a thick bare leg ending in a lime green espadrille stretched out, its match following a moment after.
Kara Alvaro folded her linebacker’s body out of the little car then stretched. “Hola, hola, mi hermana!”
Whiskey sprinted from the dock and planted his rump on the gravel, a thread of drool dangling from his anticipating tongue. Kara’s hand slipped into the pocket of her short, flouncy skirt. In a flash, Whiskey’s nose met her palm, then he bolted to the shade of the hedge to gobble his treat in relative privacy.
“You gotta stop spoiling him like that. He’s starting to think he doesn’t have to work for his rewards.” Kate stretched up and gave Kara a quick hug. And to reach Kara’s six-foot-two-without-the-heels, Kate had a lot of stretching to do. “You’ll never guess who I saw in Marathon on Saturday?”
Kara followed her down the dock. “I’ll bite. Who?”
“Billy Rainwater.”
“No way. How’s he doing?”
Kate shrugged. “Looked good. I think Billy is the kind of man who will always be the same.”
Kara waggled her eyebrows. “That kind of same is worth keepin’ the same.”
“Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think he’s really your, uh….”
“Let a girl have her dreams, Katherine.” Kara gave her a playful swat on the shoulder, then hiked her backpack off the webbed lawn chair on her bow deck. “Weird to see your boat backwards like this.”
“Weirder still to keep walking outside and seeing the opposite of what I expect. It’s like I stepped through the looking glass. We took it out on Saturday and Chuck made me dock it by myself on the outgoing tide. It did not go well.”
Kara laughed. “In all my time here, I’ve never learned to pilot a boat. I’m more a passenger girl. I can pass out drinks, keep the guests entertained. Just bring me along for the ride.”
“Speaking of along for the ride…” Kate winked and ticked her chin toward Kara’s car.
Kara patted the hood of Kate’s ancient Civic. “I’ll drive. No way this tin can would make it there and back. Besides, I could use a few things from the mainland, and who’d pass up a chance to party it up in Boca?”
“I’m not sure how much partying we’ll be doing.”
“You’re there to make sure no one messes with her.” Tony pulled a baseball cap down over his bruised forehead and trotted across the parking lot, his path weaving slightly.
He took the backpack from Kara and stashed it in the back seat, then slipped behind Kate and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. She wiggled a little under the weight of his arms, but even in the late morning heat, the warmth of his chest against her back comforted her. She leaned against him.
Kara bent her knees and peered under the bill of Tony’s hat. “Oh, my God, what happened?”
Tony shifted, and Kara gasped. “Your nose…”
Kate felt his shrug. “I’ve seen worse. Nothing a few days and a bottle of Tylenol won’t fix. My truck, on the other hand…” He uncoiled from Kate to pull his phone from his pocket. “The insurance chick texted me some pictures. I think I’ll get Chuck to take me shopping for a new vehicle this afternoon.”
Kate fished her keys from her pocket and dangled them from her finger. “Here, take the Civic.”
Tony leaned against Kate’s beloved beater. “It’ll sure help my negotiating position. But they might not even let me take one out for a test drive if I roll up in this.” He took the keys and slipped them into his pocket. Then he climbed into the back seat of Kara’s car and spread a blanket across the pale leather. As he backed out, he stumbled and pressed his hand against the side of his head.
Kate took his elbow and helped steady him. “Maybe you should get some real food in you?”
“I just stood up a little too fast. But yeah, I’ll go up and get some lunch in a minute.”
“Take it easy this afternoon, okay? Truck shopping can wait for tomorrow.” As Whiskey scrambled into the car then settled onto the backseat, Kate surprised even herself by stretching up onto her toes and kissing Tony on the cheek. “And sleep at Chuck’s or Steve’s tonight? Please?”
Tony froze, his gaze locked on Kate’s eyes, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. Finally, his chin twitched down in a slightest hint of agreement. “And you. Just… tread lightly. Be careful. Let Kara and Whiskey do their jobs.”
She grinned. “I can handle myself. Their jobs are just to get everyone to underestimate me.”
As they drove down the lane toward the highway, Kate spotted a cloud of dust drifting away from an unfamiliar car in front of Shelby’s camper. “Hold up.”
Kara stopped the car, and Kate watched as Brian and Kelsey climbed from their vehicle, their little dog leaping to the grass and racing into Eddie’s arms.
She turned to Kara. “Let’s roll, hermana!”
Three and a half hours later, Kate shivered as Kara pushed the air conditioner to full low. The afternoon sun beat through the driver’s window. Whiskey snored loudly from his nest on Kara’s back seat. Kate stared at her phone and guided Kara through a maze of alleys in an industrial park on the western edge of Boca Raton, between the city and the endless swamp to their west.
“There. I think that one’s it.” She pointed at a small placard with the number 12839 above a faded blue garage door.
Kara turned around and parked the car, nose out, directly in front of the walk-through door. Whiskey leapt out of the car and relieved himself on a yellow bollard beside the rollup. Kate stuffed her phone in her pocket, handed a lanyard to Kara, then wrapped the other around her neck, small bits of glitter still clinging to the fresh clear plastic.
Kara lifted the badge and flicked a speck of glitter, raising an eyebrow at Kate.
“Bernard. He thinks life without sparkle is a life not worth living.”
Kara laughed. “I love him already.”
“If the two of you were ever in the same state, I don’t think humanity would survive.” Kate grinned and strapped on Whiskey’s working vest. “Now let’s do this.”
As she reached for the knob, the door burst open and a stream of huge men in tactical gear stormed out. They grabbed her and Kara, clamping their wrists behind their backs, and slammed hoods over their heads.
Through the fabric, she heard Whiskey’s snarls, then laughter. A deep voice with a thick Russian accent said, “He is good dog. Maybe we keep him.”
Kate thrashed under the heavy grip. “Get this off me. Let me go. We had an appointment to see Vladimir.”
“Half of Ukraine is name Vladimir.” The man guffawed, then shoved her forward. “Get inside.”
A sliver of light found its way through the gap at the bottom of her hood. Kate’s hot breath fogged her sunglasses, askew across the bridge of her nose, one temple pressing against the cartilage of her ear. The man wrestled Kate forward, and the air suddenly felt cooler and drier. Shade. Air conditioning. From further across the room, she heard whirring of electric motors, a rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-thwap repeating over and over, and low conversation.
As the thug shoved her deeper into the garage, she heard Whiskey’s snarls and Kara’s swearing shove through the door behind her, then among a cacophony of deep voices in Russian, a yelp then a long, low growl.
Kate swore and thrashed against the hands gripping her. “What did you do to him?”
The deep voice rumbled so close she could feel it against her back. “He is, how you say, muzzle? With cage on nose?”
“You bastard. Let him go.” Whiskey’s growls were growing louder.
She felt the man’s shoulders rise, then drop. “I think no.” He pressed his hand against her hip. She pulled away, but his hand followed, fingers reaching forward into her pocket. As she screamed,
his fingers wrapped around the end of her phone, and pulled it out. She heard a swish and a clack as it dropped against another in what sounded like a nylon sack.
A sharp pain seared her wrists as the man tugged the zip ties tighter then shoved her into a vehicle. A heavy thud landed beside her and the scent of Kara’s perfume made its way under her hood.
“Kara?”
A hard thwack on her bag. “Shut up.”
Kara’s knee pressed against Kate’s. “I thought your friend—”
“I said shut up.”
Kate heard the swish-clunk of a sliding door being slammed shut, then two more car doors slammed shut and the big engine drowned out Whiskey’s low growl as the van jostled outside.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gloria dropped her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose as the black car eased into an empty spot just a few meters from the stop sign. Skip opened the back passenger door for her boss. Gloria climbed out, her high heels landing on a strip of blue paint on the pavement.
The cross street ahead teemed with tourists. Couples, families. Tee-shirts and sunburns and fanny-packs flowed across the intersection, a run of salmon fighting upstream toward a giant cruise ship that loomed over the plaza on the island’s western shore.
When Skip had come up with no more leads, Gloria’s thoughts turned to the Irishman. With a simple phone call, she learned that his credit card had last been used at a shop on Duval Street the same day the woman had last purchased gas. She didn’t know how he knew, but the Irishman was crossing her path like a black cat.
Gloria followed the river of mediocrity up the street.
“Miss Rojas, I’ve already—”
“I do not care what you think you’ve done. The woman was here and now she is not. The Irishman was here and now he is not. Someone saw them. Now go.”
She pressed up the street, stopping at each restaurant and shop. With its endless blocks of souvenir shops and bars, Gloria thought Duval Street looked the same as every tourist town on the shores of the Caribbean, but with more gingerbread accents. She started on the shaded side of the street and breezed into the first shop.
“Welcome to Key West. Can I help you find something?” A cheerful clerk beckoned her into the store, and Gloria offered her most sincere fake smile.
“Yes. At least I hope you can.”
The clerk waved to the display near the door. “Up front you’ll find—”
“I’m looking for something special. Someone special.” Gloria handed a photograph of Shelby to the young man. “Have you seen my friend?”
“Oh.” The clerk grasped the photo between two fingers, as if it carried the plague, and peered at it. “I… I don’t think so. Where was this photo taken?”
Gloria snatched the picture back. “Not important. It’s an old picture. I just need to find my girlfriend.” She pulled a thin card from her purse. “Please, if you see her, call this number.”
She whirled out of the little shop, then repeated the conversation with every vendor down the street. The number was a web-based service that routed through two more before ringing on a burner phone in Skip’s pocket.
In two hours, they covered three blocks. No one had seen the Ellis woman. And this street stretched on as far as Gloria could see. Skip checked a narrow storefront where two racks of resort wear teetered by the open door, and what must have been the previous shop’s name — Island Vapes — pasted to the glass transom with individual stick-on letters a person could buy at a hardware store.
She stopped at the corner of Duval and Fleming Street in front of a two-story building painted the color of the water surrounding all these God-forsaken islands. A sturdy balcony stretched around the structure’s second floor, shading the sidewalk below. Facing the street, darkened lightbulbs lined a picture window strung with colorful feather boas and glittering rhinestones. Vivid posters advertised “The Raciest Drag Show in Key West!” with glamour shots of transvestites of all sizes and colors, covered with more makeup than even a streetwalker would find appropriate.
When Skip returned to the sidewalk, Gloria waved her over. Without a word, Gloria pointed to a lone flyer stapled to a thick wooden pole.
MISSING PERSON
“You’ve been up and down this street how many times?” Gloria ripped the flyer from the post then spun into the vestibule of the club behind them. “Who put this flyer up?” she shouted into the darkened club. “Hello! Who hung this on the pole?”
Someone sashayed from the back of the club, hair covered in a nylon mesh cap, with a light tan bodysuit squeezing what would ordinarily be a thick body into intentionally contoured and unnatural curves. Over the spandex, an off-white corset was strung tightly around the waist to create even more curves.
“Did someone ask about hanging on a pole?”
The voice was neither male nor female, just like its host. A thick-fingered hand fluttered in front of bright red lips — a man’s hand performing a woman’s gesture. The abomination giggled.
Gloria glared, her three-inch heels planted at shoulder width, her left hand on her hip, her right hand fisted and waving the flyer. “This missing person poster. Where did it come from?”
The sly grin fell from the drag queen’s face as he reached for the paper and studied it. His affected speech disappeared and his reply, with just the hint of a lisp, came in a deep male voice.
“Shelby Ellis.” He shook his head. “Yeah, she went missing a couple nights ago. Kara — she’s the owner here — knows her. Have you seen her? Is that—”
“I’m looking for her.”
“Isn’t everyone?” the thing drawled. “She was down here with her kid and some friends when she just… disappeared. Cops aren’t too hot on it, though. They think she just met a guy and will turn up when she dries up.” He winced. “Kara says the boy is everything to her, though. They don’t think she’d run.”
Gloria’s eyebrow ticked up, and she forced the other to match it, hoping to appear surprised. “She has a son? Where is he now?”
The queen’s eyes flared, and the red lips tightened.
Gloria snatched her phone from her purse. Punched in the number on the flyer, then lifted it to her ear.
As she waited, the opening bars of “Ain’t No Mountain” trilled from near the bar. A door behind the bar swung open and a skinny black woman appeared and snatched the phone off the counter. Her eyes were huge and white and fraught inside her dark face.
“Hello? … Hello?”
Gloria fought the instinct to throw her phone. Instead, she gently pressed the red button to end her call then slipped her phone back into her bag. She looked up as the desperate woman scurried around the bar and reached out a hand.
“Was that you? I’m Michelle Jenkins—”
Gloria shook the offered hand as the desperate woman continued.
“Do you know Shelby? Have you seen…”
The queen stepped in front of this woman, head shaking in a quick, abrupt movement. Jenkins’ eyes flared and she planted her fists on her hips. Then she nodded and turned to Gloria, her voice cold.
“What’s your interest in Shelby Ellis?”
Skip stepped forward. “She’s an old friend. We were supposed to meet her last week, but she sent a weird text about going to Key West for a few days. When she didn’t come back, we got worried, and we wanted to look for her.”
Gloria’s head bobbed in agreement as she scanned around the dark nightclub. She wondered how many more freaks were lurking in the back room.
Skip continued, “We’ll keep looking of course. If we find her, we’ll call you. Maybe you could—”
The door behind the bar burst open, and this time a gargantuan, blond man wearing a tight black tee shirt and black cargo pants emerged carrying a gray tub. He looked toward the group, dropped the tub on the bar, then appeared at Jenkins’ side in what seemed like two steps. He took another step toward Gloria.
“Do we have a problem here?”
Gloria inched bac
k a step before catching herself and shifting her weight to meet his aggressive approach. “No. No problem at all. We want the same thing, to find this woman.”
“This woman?” The skinny woman took a step forward. “What did you say your name was, again?”
As Gloria stammered, the bouncer pressed forward into her space, and Jenkins stood firm. “Right. You didn’t.” Without taking her eyes off Gloria, the she-male addressed the hulking security man. “She was asking about Shelby. Claims she’s a friend but didn’t even know Shelby had a son.” The tranny turned to Gloria. “I don’t know what your angle is here, but I know it’s not a good one. So, I think it’s time for you to get out.”
The bouncer took another step, close enough for Gloria to smell the tuna fish on his breath. She spun, then stalked out the door onto the hot sidewalk, Skip on her heels like a puppy.
“That kid was good leverage. If they aren’t together, she’ll be back. And when she does, I’ll be waiting.” Then she spun on Skip. “If you can’t find the woman, you can surely find that kid. Check with social services, his school, anyplace you can think of.”
Gloria stomped toward the intersection, but as she rounded the corner, she heard the club’s door slam shut. She spun around and pressed herself against the wall, crept to the corner, then peeked around it. Jenkins stood on the sidewalk, fumbling with a key fob as she frantically glanced up and down the street. The woman held a phone to her ear.
“She was asking about Shelby and looked like no good. Where’s Kate right now? Everyone else—” The woman bolted across the street, and Gloria wasn’t able to hear any more of the conversation.
She spun around. “Skip, get the car. We need to follow her.”
“Boss, the car is three blocks away.”
“Well, you’d better run, then.”
But as Skip raced down the sidewalk, shoving tourists out of the way, Michelle Jenkins climbed into a white SUV, pulled into traffic, then disappeared.
