The Black Palmetto

by Paul Carr

  Table of Contents

  The Black Palmetto

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  The Black Palmetto

  by

  Paul Carr

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Black Palmetto

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Paul Carr

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-208-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-209-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  The sun melted into the horizon like a rogue reactor headed for the other side of the world. Sam Mackenzie’s eyes ached as he rode the last mile staring into its glare.

  “That's the place up ahead,” Sam said.

  Simone sighed. “Good. Maybe we can put a bullet in Sean Spanner and get back to civilization.”

  She was joking. Probably.

  Sam had shown Spanner’s photograph at a gas station in Marathon, and the cashier said he’d filled up and paid with a hundred-dollar bill. When their guy asked about a place to stay on Iguana Key, the gas man told him about the Blue Iguana, twenty miles south on US-1. The cashier also told them the make and model of the car that Spanner had driven.

  Sam turned into the motel entrance and took in the old beach lodging, a stucco two-story, thirty or forty years old. About a dozen cars sat in the lot. The lighted sign out front hissed and buzzed. It had an iguana figure perched on top, rimmed in bright blue neon.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Simone said.

  Sam parked, and they entered the office. A window air conditioner to their right dripped water on the tile floor. The temp seemed only a couple of degrees below that outside. Perspiration beaded on Sam’s neck.

  The desk clerk sat on a stool behind the counter. He had shoulder-length hair, wore a short-sleeve uniform shirt, and seemed somewhere between young and middle-age. A nametag on his pocket read Chris. Grinning, he displayed yellow teeth and a lot of gum.

  “Your lucky day, folks. I got one room left.”

  His breath wafted across the counter. Garlic and weed.

  “We're looking for a guy.” Sam showed him the picture used on Spanner’s I.D. card at the government lab in Homestead.

  Chris glanced at the photo. “Never seen him.” He seemed to notice Simone for the first time, eyes lingering on her shapely, nearly six-foot figure. His jaw sagged in a leer. Bad move.

  Despite having the looks of a movie star, she could hurt him a hundred different ways. A source had told Sam she'd been recruited out of Yale by the CIA, and had gotten booted after ten years for leaving dead bodies all over Eastern Europe. Sam had once asked her about it, and she’d said, “Hey, I killed them before they could kill me.” Sounded right to Sam, and he never mentioned it again. Though no longer with the CIA, contractors working for the agency called on her often. She and Sam, a former SEAL, had worked together on a previous case, so she’d brought him on as a partner to help her find Spanner.

  Laying a twenty on the counter, Sam snapped his fingers to get the guy's attention. “Take another look. He's supposed to be staying here.”

  Chris eyed the bill and chuckled. “Sorry, against policy to rat out the guests.”

  Sam shook his head and added another twenty.

  “You cops?” Chris asked.

  “No,” Sam said, “we're not cops.”

  The long-haired man scooped up the money. “He checked in two nights ago and paid for a week. I haven't seen him since.”

  “Which room?” Simone asked.

  He shrugged and smiled. “Can't remember.”

  She pulled her 9mm and pointed it at Chris. His eyes popped wide. No more leers.

  Sam touched her arm. “I think he'll remember.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “He better.”

  The clerk backed away from the counter and eyed the phone, maybe wondering who he could call.

  “I want to apologize for my friend, Chris. She's a little impatient. Now, I'll give you another twenty if you tell us what we want to know, but if you don't, I'll just take a walk and you two can hash it out.”

  Chris eyed the gun. “Okay, I accept your apology. Number thirteen, last unit on the end.”

  “Has anyone been in the room?” Simone asked.

  “No, the maid said he had the privacy sign on the door.”

  “You have any idea where he went?”

  He gave her a shrug. “You might check Chopin's. It’s on the highway going into town. The guy asked about a place to get a beer and I told him about it.”

  “When was that?” Sam asked.

  “I told you, two nights ago.”

  Sam stepped behind the counter and took the key from a pigeonhole on the wall.

  “Hold on. You can't take that.”

  “Just borrowing it for a few minutes,” Sam said.

  When he came back around, Simone said, “Check it out. I’ll stay here with Chris and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” He got a pair of latex gloves from his car and stretched them on.

  The parking space in front of the unit lay vacant. A Do Not Disturb sign hung on the doorknob. Sam pulled his 9mm, unlocked the door and swung it into the room.

  “Spanner, you in there?”

  No answer. He entered, the gun out front. The place was hot. It’d been tossed, the mattresses of both beds askew, covers on the floor. Drawers stood open and empty. A duffel bag sat atop the dresser, unzipped. It contained socks, underwear, and a toilet kit. He scanned the bathroom and found nothing but a couple of towels on the rack and a bar of soap on the sink. A wrapped bar lay on the edge of the tub as if Spanner had never used the shower.
>
  Sticking the gun in his holster, Sam went back to the bedroom and dumped the contents of the toilet kit onto the dresser. Just the regular stuff: toothbrush and toothpaste, a razor, shaving cream, deodorant. Leaving the items there, he pulled pairs of socks apart and found nothing but stray strands of thread. No clothes hung on the rack outside the bathroom. If Spanner brought clothes, they were probably still in his car.

  The cover for the air conditioner stood loose on the floor, leaning against the low wall unit. Sam moved the cover aside and spotted something on the floor. A small piece of paper, like a band used for wrapping a stack of cash. The metal enclosure had a space in the bottom where twenty or more stacks of cash could have been stashed. Sam put the band into his pocket, moved the cover back where he'd found it, and strode out of the room.

  Back in the office, the mood still seemed pretty chilly between Chris and Simone.

  Sam motioned for her to follow him, and they went outside.

  “Somebody tore the room apart searching for the money. I think Spanner had it in the air conditioner. The cover was off, and this was on the floor under it.” He showed her the band.

  “No sign of the flash card?”

  Sam shook his head. “Maybe Spanner had it in his pocket. Let’s get a room in case we don’t find Spanner tonight.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You want to stay here?”

  “Probably won't be another place between here and Key West. We could go back north if you want.”

  She peered up the highway as if she might be able to see all the way to Marathon, and sighed. “No, let's just get a room here and get this done.”

  Chris didn't seem too happy they were staying, but brightened when Sam gave him the extra money he'd promised.

  Jiggling the key in the lock, Sam thought he had the wrong room, but it finally snapped open. Heat rushed his face when he swung the door open. He stepped inside and reached for the air conditioner knob. It came off in his hand, and he stuck it back on and twisted. The tired old unit groaned with displeasure as the compressor spun up.

  “Some place, huh?” Simone said.

  “Yeah, a real palace. Which bed do you want?”

  She dropped her overnight bag on the one nearest the bathroom. “This one's okay.”

  Although they’d been intimate after their previous job together, Simone had told Sam she'd met a guy named Karl, spelled with a “K,” that she was pretty serious about. She’d said she wanted to maintain a strictly professional relationship for this job. That had deflated Sam, but after a time, he decided it might be best anyway. If not best, at least safest.

  Sam nodded. “Let's go check out that place the desk guy mentioned, and maybe get something to eat.”

  “Okay with me. I'm starving.”

  They rode out of the lot at dusk and turned onto a road headed inland toward Downtown Iguana Key. A mile or so later he spotted Chopin’s, set back from the highway among a stand of puny palm trees, the parking lot paved with what appeared to be pieces of old roofing shingles. A sign advertised food and drinks. About thirty cars sat out front.

  Inside, the air was frigid, which probably accounted in part for the full house. A man met them and asked if they planned to dine. He stood about chest-level to Sam, which made him about five feet tall, and weighed at least three hundred pounds. His massive arms were covered with green tattoos that resembled rattlesnake watermelons. Gray hair topped his head, gathered in a ponytail. He steered them to a table near the bar, took their drink orders, and returned a couple of minutes later with a beer and a martini.

  “You Chopin?”

  The short man stared for a second and glanced at Simone as if considering whether or not to answer, then nodded. “Yep.”

  “Nice name.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That supposed to be some kind of wisecrack?”

  “No, I like it.”

  The stern expression melted away, and Chopin seemed to relax.

  “Sorry, I get some ribbing around here. At least you know how to pronounce it. My mama wanted me to be a concert pianist. You in town on business?”

  “Vacation,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, right,” the wide man said with a grin. “What can I get you for dinner?”

  They scanned the menu for a few moments and decided on shrimp baskets.

  “Okay, that'll only take a few minutes.”

  Before he could leave, Sam pulled out the photograph.

  “You see this guy in here a couple of nights ago?”

  Chopin stiffened. “You cops?”

  “No, we're just looking for him.”

  The man picked up the picture and studied it.

  “What'd he do?”

  “He took something that didn't belong to him. I was hired to get it back.”

  Chopin shook his head. “Nah, never seen him before.” He laid the picture on the table and walked away.

  “You think he knows something?” Simone asked.

  “Yes. Might not be as easy to get it out of him as it was the motel guy, though.”

  A woman sat at the next table over. Though with another man, she stared at Sam until he gave her a smile, and she turned away. A modern Cleopatra, she had black hair and bangs, her dark eyes like magnets. Then Sam noticed the man staring, too.

  Simone touched his arm and whispered, “You know that chick?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Could've fooled me.”

  “What do you care? You said you're crazy about some guy named Karl.”

  Simone's eyes tightened. “Look all you want.”

  Chapter Two

  A young man wearing an apron, who probably doubled as a cook, brought their food to the table. Chopin had disappeared somewhere behind the bar.

  Simone remained quiet as they ate, seemingly in a bad mood. She’d gotten angry about what Sam had said, but he didn't care much for mixed signals. Maybe she had a thing with Karl, and maybe she didn't.

  When they finished, Sam paid the bill and left a tip. Simone headed outside, and the man who had stared earlier got up and caught Sam at the door.

  “I saw you flashing that picture,” the man said, his voice low. He glanced back into the restaurant, beyond the bar area, and frowned. “I might know something about him, but I can’t talk right now. You staying at the Blue Iguana?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, meet me behind the place, next to the beach, in an hour.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  The man went back to his table and Sam strode out the door.

  “You mad at me?” Sam asked Simone when he got into the car.

  She sighed and peered out the window. “No, I'm just tired. I need to get back and catch some Zs.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I'm sure.”

  “’Cause we can talk about this thing you have with Karl if you want.”

  Simone turned and smiled. “There's nothing to talk about. I shouldn't have said anything about the girl back there. We just need to get this job done and get out of this place, okay?”

  “Sure, let's get it done.” He told her about the man speaking to him at the door.

  “Maybe he knows where we can find Spanner.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Let's get going. It's like an oven in here.”

  ****

  They decided Sam would go to the meeting alone, since the guy had waited until Simone walked out the door before saying anything. At 9:35 p.m. Sam went out through the sliding door leading to the beach. They’d taken the room next to the one Spanner had rented.

  He stood next to the wall, waiting until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. The grassy grounds behind the motel extended about fifty feet to a narrow beach and a lapping surf. A full moon shone from the east, reflecting off the white sand and transforming the Caribbean into an endless expanse of tarnished pewter.

  Something made a noise in the palmetto scrub bordering the motel on the side. It sounded like someone moving in the brush, crunch
ing dead fronds. A shiver raced across Sam's neck as he pulled his gun. He hugged the motel wall and eased to the corner, closer to the brush, his pulse thumping in his ears. A light from the front of the motel cast a dim glow over the area on the side. The noise grew louder then changed to a scrubbing sound as it cleared the palmettos and slid onto the grass into view. It resembled a dragon, about five feet long with spines down its back and claws that could probably hurt you. Something like a beard hung underneath its chin. An iguana. Probably harmless, but he didn't want to give it the impression of being cornered. He stepped backward and the creature snapped its head in his direction. It jerked around and thrashed back into the palmettos.

  The gun back in his holster, Sam peered across the grounds between the motel and the beach. No sign of anyone. He checked his watch. 9:50 p.m. Maybe the guy had changed his mind. After another ten minutes, he gave up and stepped around the motel to scan the parking lot. Six cars had been there when they'd returned from Chopin's, and no new cars had arrived.

  Back in the room, he told Simone about the no-show and the iguana.

  Headed into the bathroom, she said through the open door, “There's a brochure on the dresser that tells about the iguanas on the island. Apparently the place has lots of them. Probably why there aren't any other motels along this stretch of beach. It said they're pretty harmless, as long as you leave them alone. If you get too close, they can bite, and pop you with their tails.”

  “Yeah, well, I'm going to steer clear.”

  A minute later she came out carrying her clothes, dressed in a short nightgown. Sam remembered she liked to sleep that way.

  Pulling small bottles from her bag, she poured gin and tonic into two glasses filled with ice atop the small table in the corner.

  “No sign of your guy, huh?”

  Sam sighed. “No, and that's too bad. He probably knows something that would help us.”

  “Probably just some wacko.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  She sat down on the bed, pulled her legs up, and leaned back against a couple of pillows. “Aren't you going to have a drink?”

  He shook his head. “I think I'll go back to Chopin’s and see if I can find him. Maybe he just had too much to drink and forgot about the time.”

  As he said it, he remembered the way the guy had scanned the place before speaking. A feeling of dread gnawed at his stomach.