by Karl Tutt
Sunny glanced at the gray image. I heard her swallow hard and watched her turn her head. For a moment she avoided touching it, as though it carried some hideous disease. Finally she picked it up and stared. She was fighting for control, but she trembled like a volcano, ready to spew the hot lava of horror and rage.
“Jesus, T.K. What sick sonovabitch would have a little girl do that?”
“I don’t know, Sunny. I hope I’m wrong, but I guess there are more where that came from. It’s got to be the photo that Beamon took from Chris’s boat. Chris lied to me.”
“Do you think he took it? I’ve heard him joke about checking out “the wildlife” in town. Seen him with that cheap parade of one nighters. I know he can’t keep his eyes off any good looking ass in Key West. But this shit? Could he do that to Alexis?”
“God knows. If someone had asked me about Chris Foster a couple of weeks ago, I would have said I could trust him with my life. But he lied about the photo and I dug up something from Beamon that I wish the hell could have stayed buried.”
I told her about the rape charges in Charlotte and Chris’s explanation. Sunny seldom judges. She’s gentle and forgiving. But her face hardened and became as black as the hangman. She spit out the words.
“I’ve heard that shit before. Like the way she was dressed or what she said meant she was asking for it. She was a kid. He knew that. He admitted it. Sounds like something that bastard Malachi Strait would come up with. He always got a slick way to explain why he’s not exploiting these “lucky young girls” who sit for his “art photos.” That joint of his, The Strip Search, is loaded with that kind of trash. Sonovabitch ought to be in jail and Chris in the cell next to him.”
I waited for her to cool off. I picked up the copy again, studying the grainy figures. I wanted something, anything, that would bring me closer to Alexis’ murderer. But when I focused, my mind screamed. Tired, confused, angry, and still sick.
I told Sunny I was going back home. She didn’t argue. I’d gotten all I could expect form her. I knew I wouldn’t sleep, but at least I knew what I had to do tomorrow.
I got back to KAMALA and lay down on the settee. I could see Alexis holding the book of poems on her lap. Hear her elfish voice ask me to read “Annabel Lee” just once more. Catch the magic in her eyes as the musical rhyme lifted her into childish ecstasy.
She was an innocent. She had been violated, crushed under the leaden desire of a people gone mad. Mad for sex, mad for money, mad for any thrill that will help them escape the hellish assaults of everyday existence.
Suddenly the exhaustion flooded my mind and my body. I let it take over. I dozed for a while, then I heard the crying.
I went to the companionway. I scanned the murky water, but there was nothing. Still, I heard it. A long, low keening that pleaded for the lost and the lonely. She begged to return, to recover something more important than life itself. I listened as it began to fade into the light chop of the darkness. The dawn came and I slept a couple of fitful hours.
At eight I was banging on the hull of FOXES’ LAIR. At first I thought there was no one aboard. Then Chris appeared at the companionway. He was shirtless. His hair wandered in several different directions, and he peered out of slits that barely covered tiny streaks of red lightning.
“My God, T.K. It’s early. What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you, Chris.”
“It’s kind of a bad time. I have a sort of guest on board. Can’t it wait?”
“It has to be now, Chris.”
I stood on the dock and said nothing else. He blinked twice and tried to focus on my eyes. Then he bit his lip, coughed, and nodded.
“Okay. Gimme a minute.”
I heard a muffled moan and a shuffling below. She came out quickly, spitting venom at me with a look of furious indignation. Even through the snarl, she was young and pretty. Another mainland prize for Chris. She said something under her breath that I was glad I couldn’t hear. Then she stormed down the dock, not bothering to look back. I don’t know why, but I asked who she was.
“Lois, Alice, something like that,” he mumbled.
I stepped on board and sat down in the cockpit. Chris lit a menthol, took a long drag and hacked a couple of times.
“It’s the picture, Chris. Why did you lie to me?”
“Aw shit, T.K. Gimme a break. What did you expect? The damned thing made me sick. I don’t even know where it came from. Beamon says he found it on board. It’s bullshit. If he did, someone planted it.”
He shook his head. The sweat glistened on his body in the early morning sun and I could smell the booze pouring out of him.
“I know it looks bad for me. And Billy and Monique, they’d die if they knew something like that was floating around. Disgusting shit. Thank God Beamon hasn’t showed it to anyone. I know it’s evidence. He can’t keep it quiet for long. The papers will go nuts and I’ll be hoping for a cake with a file in it.”
I shuddered and mumbled, “Yeah.”
He ran a shaky hand through his hair and went on.
“I’m sorry. If I was going to lie to anyone, it shouldn’t be you. I just didn’t know what else to do. Too much hurt already. No one needs to see the damned thing or even know it exists. I don’t know where it came from. I leave my boat open all of the time. Anybody could have been on board. I got nothing else to say.”
“Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
“No, T.K. I swear. That’s all.”
He looked hard into my eyes. I wanted to believe him, but people do what they will to survive. Then they become little more than animals. Lie, cheat, steal, kill. It’s all part of an immutable law and none of us escapes it.
I stayed for a few minutes, but I didn’t get anything more from Chris.
Chapter 23
I hoped my next stop would be more fruitful. I went back to KAMALA and grabbed a notebook and a pen. Then I checked my pocket to be sure I had the photocopy. I tried to clear my mind and focus on what I had to do. “No reason to hurry,” I told myself. It’s just a short walk over to Duval.
It was still early, but the trade in human garbage doesn’t worry about office hours. The Strip Search was open. A high pitched beep sounded as I went through the door. The few customers ducked into head high stacks of videos and magazines when they heard it. There were cameras in each corner surveying the gawkers.
An early-twenties girl stood smiling at the counter. She wore a long, loose black skirt and a crisp white blouse buttoned at the neck. No lipstick, no jewelry. Her brown hair was pulled back off of her face in a dowdy pony tail. She was quite pretty in a fresh scrubbed sort of way. If I’d seen her somewhere else, I might have thought she was a Jehovah’s Witness just setting out for a morning of dedicated missionary work.
Behind her was a rack of toys, ribbed condoms, various scents and salves that guaranteed satisfaction, several dildos in colors and sizes of your choice. The more expensive stuff was in a glass case with a sign that read, “You pick it out. We’ll explain how to use it.”
“Hello, T.K. Can I help you?” she asked pertly.
I looked again. It was Tracy. More clothes, less makeup, but it was her. The last time I’d seen her, she was caressing a glass of Dom Perignon with one hand and hugging Harry with the other one.
“Sorry, Tracy. I didn’t recognize you at first. Nice to see you again.”
“No need to give the customers any more excitement than they get off the shelves,”
she said and winked.
I laughed, “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Yeah, my uncle owns the place. My real uncle, Mom’s brother. He’s a sweetheart.”
“Malachi Strait?”
She nodded and smiled.
“I’d like to see him if he’s in.”
“I’m not sure. Let me check in the back.”
She went through a curtain next to a large two-way mirror. I had no doubt Strait was watching me right now, trying to figu
re out what I was doing in his fine establishment at this hour of the morning.
After a few minutes, he peered through the curtains and waved me into the back. It didn’t look like a back room office. The desk was solid mahogany and the chairs were lime colored leather, over-stuffed, even elegant. There was a quality Picasso print, “Blue Nude,” on the wall to the right and “La Vie,” behind the desk, both iconic pieces from his Blue Period. Tracy’s touch, I figured. A telephone, computer, and copier sat perched in one corner.
He didn’t ask me to sit, but I did.
I wasn’t sure I bought Tracy’s story about Strait as her uncle, but there was some resemblance. He was tall, a bit swarthy, but patrician good looks. He wore a tailored gray silk suit and a conservative navy tie. He was probably mid-forties, dark hair freshly cut and thinning, but he still had enough to mousse it back off his forehead. He looked like he’d just come from the board meeting at the First National Bank.
I guess I expected loads of gold jewelry and a silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel. I was wrong on that. But when he opened his mouth, it was Joe Pesci in “Goodfellas” déjà vu. He forced a serpentine smile, but didn’t offer his hand.
“Mornin’, Fleming. I liked your book. But I got it wrong, you tell me? You didn’t come to rent no DVD’s.”
I told him I was doing an article on adult entertainment for a news magazine and would like to ask a few questions. It was an obvious lie, but for some reason he chose to go along.
I started by asking how an owner felt in pandering to people’s sometimes sick fantasies. He looked at me like I’d just dribbled spaghetti sauce on my dress shirt.
“Don’t be a sucker, Fleming. It’s a business. Profit, man. We’re here for the bucks. I create jobs, stimulus for the local economy. I don’t make no judgments nor impose no sort of morality on my clientele. I don’t hold no guns to nobody’s head. They come of their own free will from all walks of life. Some is perverts, sure as hell. Some was raised in the finest families in Florida. They all like a little variety in their lives.”
He sat down on the corner of his desk and toyed with a paper clip like a bored child.
“I’m sure that’s true, Mr. Strait. But don’t you feel your goods and services have a negative effect on the community?”
“Come on, Fleming. Cut the crap, willya? There ain’t no empirical evidence that says nothing I rent or sell causes no degenerate or dangerous shit to go on. Why don’t you square up? You know I’m providin’ a service. This is a perfectly legit outlet for some of those creeps. Helps ‘em keep their hands to themselves. You know, whackin’ off instead of doin’ bad shit to other people.”
I pretended to take notes while he went on. Somehow the whole thing sounded more and more like something he’d rehearsed for a remedial speech class.
“I don’t sell no dope. I don’t provide no women. I obey the law, pay my taxes, and send a fat check to the United Way every year. I’m even a member of the Key West Chamber of Commerce, good standin’, I might add.”
“And don’t forget,” he insisted, “my rights and those of my customers is guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States. You can look it up.”
“I understand, Mr. Strait. I know you have your rights. But there are always those who might want to take your services a bit further. Maybe step outside the law. Child pornography, for example.”
He fumed and grew silent. Then he bolted upright and turned to the back of the room. He wanted to grab my collar and toss me out into the street. He whirled, glared, and shoved a finger in my face.
“Lemme tell you something, Fleming and make sure you listen real good. I don’t go for that shit. Right here,” and he pointed to his heart, “I got a special place for the kids. Consenting adults? I don’t give a damn if they fuck monkeys. But if I thought even one child in Key West was getting shit on, I’d hafta do something and it wouldn’t be nice.”
I nodded, closed my notebook and pocketed my pen.
“Now I got a business to run. Tracy’s gotta go to school. She’s working on a degree in Business Management. Might even bring her in with me sometime. She’s on the honor roll. Me and my Sis are real proud of her.”
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Strait. I’ll go. Thanks for your time.”
When I came from behind the curtain, Tracy was with a short man in a long canvas duster. I was a good 80 degrees outside. Her face was stern. He went to the stacks and pulled out a box that read “College Kittens in Heat”. Tracy looked at me and raised her eyebrows in mock horror. Then she shot me a smile and a friendly wave as I slipped out into the fresh air.
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Strait. He seemed clownish, but clowns aren’t supposed to be dangerous. I had the feeling he was.
My head was swimming with information, but it was disjointed. There were all sorts of possibilities, but no concrete connections. I’d had all I could handle for one day. Later I’d make some notes, see if I could find some light. Sunny and I were going to Ricky’s Blue Heaven for dinner. It was one of our favorites and we didn’t need a special occasion.
I picked her up at her place and we walked to the corner of Thomas and Petronia. I promised I wouldn’t talk about Alexis tonight. She breathed relief. It was the perfect night, yellow hint of a moon, a light breeze, and the fresh scent of salt air. Elise was our server, quiet, efficient, and simply charming. We started with a hearty Tuscan red and some small jokes. I had the jerked tenderloin and Sunny inhaled a huge plate of mahi mahi. She finished off my vegetables and most of the bread, then had Irish coffee and cheesecake. Fabulous food, great service.
We took turns on the rope swing that hangs from the huge oak in the courtyard just a few feet from the tables. Some of the diners laughed. I suspect they thought we were a couple of overgrown children. But before the night was out, some of the more adventurous souls were swinging on their own. One man even pounded his chest and did a passable Tarzan.
It works for me. It’s okay. The world needs a little silly now and then to keep us from getting utterly ridiculous.
Chapter 24
I woke up with Sunny’s arm resting on my chest. Her face was smooth and untroubled, her brown back heaving gently as the breath eased in and out of her. I felt the corners of my mouth creep up. The sleep of the innocent.
My head ached slightly from the wine. I had no regrets. I raised Sunny’s arm quietly and slipped out of the v-berth. I slid into a pair of shorts, then started the coffee.
She was up before long, groggy and stumbling. Still she managed to wolf down four donuts that had been in a brown paper bag for a week or so. She topped them off with a brown banana and a mug of coffee that was half sugar. Fully awake, she now informed me that she was taking my bike. She grabbed a spare suit she kept on board and headed off for a morning swim.
I went up into the cockpit to savor my second dose of caffeine. The charter boats had already slipped their lines, but it was still too early for the tourists to be wandering around with their endless supply of cameras and shopping bags. Except for a couple of cruisers washing down an old wooden ketch, it was quiet. The air was warm and salty, the faint smell of fish dancing in the breeze. KAMALA rocked softly and tugged at her dock lines like a child clinging to her mother’s skirts. I listened to the water lap against the hull and felt the sun on my back. This was the reason I had chosen the sea as my hide-out. But I had work to do.
I went below and poured the last dregs of the coffee into my cup. I sat down at the table with my pen and notebook. Over the years friends on campus had kidded me about choosing books over life. It never really bothered me. But the campus was a thousand miles north. This was Key West. It was real life and real murder. I bit down on the end of my finger and felt my brow tighten. I had to think like a cop.
So far there were four people I might call suspects. I wrote each of the names on a separate sheet of paper. Then I drew a line down the middle of every page. The first column was for facts that had been verified thro
ugh observation or information I’d gotten from Frank. The second was for suspicions or theories, kind of a half-assed what-if, then-this sort of thing.
Marcuse Durant was the first, followed by Joseph, Chris, and Malachi Strait. I thought about a page for others, but I had no idea if they even existed or who they might be. I could only deal with the information I had. I clicked the ball-point and began to write.
Durant claimed to be nothing more than a humble voodoo priest. He was anything but that. There was a boisterous strength and power that roared out of him. Miss Julianne had told me as much. I remembered the tremor in Louis’ voice when he warned me about the Reverend. And Joseph. I could still see those dead eyes and the gleaming knife.
I had only a glimpse of his temper. I was glad I hadn’t seen it all. Maybe Alexis had. No doubt Durant could be ruthless and violent if he were provoked. I also wondered about what he what termed Monique’s “unfortunate infatuation with CatholiciWas it simply a comment that revealed his displeasure or disappointment? Or was there more to it?
Durant had acknowledged that his wife was dying. He became enraged when I asked about her. Was his failure to cure her a threat to the power he held over his followers? Did he believe it made him look weak? Could that make him capable of a crime so hideous.
I knew the belief in witches was deeply entrenched in the practice of voodoo. They had to be dispatched. Moreover, any man could become desperate when the woman he loved was in danger. Durant was crafty and capable. Perhaps he had released the demons. Again there was Joseph, the zombie, to do his bidding.
His devotion to Durant was absolute. He obviously knew the rituals. Perhaps he was simply following orders. Or he could have acted on his own. No doubt he was witnessing the disintegration of Durant’s wife. Watching the man he worshipped battered by a thing he could not control. Maybe the priest had only hinted and the blind follower had fulfilled what he thought to be the master’s wishes. The death mask and the razor-sharp blade were grim reminders of what Joseph might do in defense of the Reverend.
