Key Weird 06; Key Dali Page 6

  I’m sure one of the first thoughts will be how to glue an extra toe on a regular cat, but I say nothing. Hooman is waiting to hear what I need.

  “I just need information. The big guy hanging around the glass walker? You know who I mean?”

  “Guy calls himself a benefactor? Sure, I know about him.”

  So I get an earful about the lurker. Hooman tells me the guy offers to help new vendors and performers get through the jury process that all prospective Sunset Celebration participants are subject to. He also loans small amounts of money to the newbies. Hooman says the guy is just your basic garden-variety slime-ball out to take advantage of anyone he helps, which is about what I’d thought. I figure Socks is probably into the guy for some money.

  It’s about time for the lottery at the kiosk, and Hooman is about to head off in that direction, but he has something for me.

  “The girl? The glass walker? She’s been asking around, about you.”

  This is possibly good news. I try for details but only get a shrug from Hooman as he walks away.

  I decide to take a quick stroll around the plaza before going to the kiosk, but when I turn, there’s Consuelo’s older sister, Lydia, standing right there.

  “Hey, Dali. Got a minute?”

  I’m a bit startled, but shouldn’t be since I know those sisters can all be pretty sneaky when they want to be. Lydia has probably been watching me.

  “Oh, hi, Lydia. What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to thank you for what you did for Consuelo the other day. The thing with the cop.” I give her a shrug, but she keeps on. “I got a couple of different versions, but knowing my sister, she would never admit to someone helping her out like that, much less thank them.”

  I start to say something but she holds up a hand and gives me a really nice smile and a sincere thank you, then slips into the growing crowd before I can say a word.

  “What was that all about?”

  I turn around and now Consuelo’s angry face is right there in front of me. I may be a bit off at times, but I can be a passable liar with certain people. However, this is not one of those people. Looking into those angry eyes I instinctively know that this young woman is not only the kind who can instantly tell if you’re lying, but would also not hesitate to pound the snot out of you if she didn’t like what you were saying.

  “Hi, Consuelo. Lydia? She was just thanking me for something.” I try a tentative smile.

  Her eyes narrow, and I can feel them burrowing into me for a second before she relaxes.

  “Yeah, probably just the cop thing again.” I nod. Consuelo puffs out her cheeks before releasing a long breath. Her bright blue eyes dart around the plaza before landing back on my face. I notice she is back to her usual shorts and t-shirt look. “Okay, so maybe you did help out some.”

  The tourists are getting thick with sunset only a little over an hour away, so Consuelo grabs my arm and pulls me behind one of the planters for a private chat.

  “Look, I saw you talking with Taco Bob.”

  “You saw us out on the pier?”

  Her face flushes with anger. “I am NOT stalking the man!”

  “I didn’t say you were, I just – ”

  “Okay, whatever, maybe I was stalking, a little.” I get a warning look. “Dali, when you were with him, did he say anything about me?” There’s an iron grip now on my shoulder and two eyes that are all business boring into my soul. I tell the truth, or at least part of it.

  “Sure, he said you and him were worried that maybe the bank was behind whoever was sabotaging things around the marina.” Those hard blue eyes ease up for a second, but then the anger is back.

  “Yeah, some sorry shit is really doing a number on poor Jim and his wife Maria. They’re about to lose the marina they’ve put the last twenty years of their lives into. Not to mention Taco and a lot of other people living there are going to be screwed.” The ferocity in those eyes is pretty scary. “Whoever is working for the bank doing those things better be careful. There’s people around who still remember the old Key West ways of dealing with vermin like that.”

  I’m not about to ask, or say anything else that might set her off. I’d told myself if I ever got the chance, I’d tell her to ease off on my friend – and this is probably the best opportunity I’m going to get – but every ounce of cowardice I’ve ever possessed picks that moment to surface, so I just nod politely.

  The iron grip relaxes and turns into a hand absently and delicately stroking my arm. The lady with the short blonde hair steps close. Her eyes go amazingly soft and her voice is barely a whisper.

  “So, he doesn’t mention me?” Her hand and head drop as she takes a half step back. When those eyes come back up they’re wet. “Just because I’m a few years younger.” She glances to the side then back. “Okay, a lot younger. Anyway, he seems to think I’m not mature, but I am, and it wouldn’t hurt for him to hear it from someone else.”

  I remain silent and let the lady continue.

  “Look, you probably know my sisters and I ran a hotel in California on our own for years while we cared for our other mother, Rosa. Besides going to public school and running the hotel, Wiola and our father trained us pretty hard, and we experienced more as kids than most people do in a lifetime. They took us down to Mexico to see real poverty, taught us how to scam and cheat and steal so we would know how to avoid street predators, then took us inside a prison to see up close the ones who thought they’d never get caught. When we were little those two would let us get separated and lost in big cities just to sharpen our survival skills, then they did the same thing with us in the mountains.”

  I realize my mouth is hanging open and close it.

  “But we also learned things like charity, compassion, and the importance of gift giving. Like knowing when even something as small as a flower or two snatched from an unaware front yard garden can brighten someone’s life, or maybe just help to give them the strength to make it through another day.”

  A small rose appears in her hand and she pushes the stem through a buttonhole in my shirt, then gives my chest a couple of soft pats while smiling sadly.

  “The next time you see Taco Bob?”

  And she melts into the crowd leaving me pleasantly perplexed.

  I can see a group of people gathering around the kiosk and set sail in that direction. I’m keeping an eye open for Socks when I see the dark-haired kid again. And again he turns and walks away.

  ∨ Key Dali ∧

  14

  Kid

  The kid is quick, moving through the crowd like he knows his way around Mallory. But I also know my way around the plaza and manage to keep the little guy in sight. Before he turned, I got a better look at him this time and make him to be ten or eleven. A bit small for his age, but it’s hard to tell with the shock of long black hair in his eyes. From behind I can see some streaks of bright blue in his hair.

  I take a shortcut around some planters and get ahead of him. The kid is moving with the crowd still, but looking down at a phone in his hand. For once my timing is just right as I step in front so he walks right into me. He looks up, startled, but his face goes dark when he sees who it is.

  “Okay, kid, give it up. What’s the deal?”

  He turns to flee but I’ve got him by the arm. He faces me all defiant and ready to fight.

  “Hands off or I yell for a cop!”

  I turn him loose, but I’m checking this kid out. Most likely a local, so I shake my head.

  “I doubt that. I’m thinking the cops know your story, or I can find out what you’re up to pretty easily.” I gesture towards the vendors and performers now starting to set up. “You want me to hear your version first?”

  The kid has the defiant look down, but it eases a little.

  “Father Murray told me to keep an eye on you.”

  Now I know who the kid is. This is the one the Father told me he’s had so much trouble with. I nudge the boy over out of the flow of vacationers so we c
an talk.

  “You’re Tim, one of the kids staying at his place. Why did he tell you to watch me?”

  The kid still holds some of the hard look, but talks.

  “He says you helped him out before, you know, with money. He says you promised to help again, but I guess he’s worried something might happen.”

  Father Murray is a good old soul. I’d met him the last time I was in Key West and immediately liked the man and did what I could to help when I learned about his work with orphans. I’d seen him again briefly at the bus station when I hit town and told him I’d be in touch.

  The good Father is also practical, it seems. For some reason I seem to have a rep in this town as a space-case. Probably thinks I’ll pooch the money before I can get it to him. But other than a few beers, I rarely spend money on anything other than the bare essentials. And I have a very good hiding place, which makes me wonder what this tough little guy has seen. But I’m so careful about my hiding place I’m pretty sure he hasn’t seen anything. As I look at this street-smart kid I get an idea.

  “So you’re a spy, then?”

  He must like this, as the eyes behind the flip of hair go sneaky and look side to side. He nods his head.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” The kid is glaring at me now. “I heard you think you’re that famous artist guy, Dali, and that you suck up to tourists to make money.”

  My, what a lovely child. I consider a good old-fashioned throttling, but instead explain to the frowning street urchin that I am a mere admirer of the man’s work, and if he somehow avoids a public strangulation long enough, he will learn that nearly everyone sucks in some way at one time or another. Young Tim, of course, ignores this valuable counsel and instead focuses on my person.

  “What’s up with the mustache? Do you really put wax on it? Can I touch it?”

  “Wax, yes. Touch, no.” I lift my head slightly and give one end of my mustache a slight twist. “You can tell Father Murray I won’t let him down, and I’ll try to get by to see him tomorrow afternoon. How is he doing?”

  The kid looks down and shrugs. “Not so good. He’s a pretty old dude and tries to do too much sometimes, you know?”

  I do know, which is one of the reasons I’m trying to help the man.

  “Look, Tim. With your background in undercover work, I might have a job for you, if you’re interested.”

  The kid is looking up at me, all suspicion now.

  “What’s it pay?”

  “Nothing. But it might help Father Murray out – a lot. Let me check on a couple of things and I’ll let you know. I assume you’ll be around?”

  The kid takes the bait and his eyes go sneaky again. “I’ll be around.” And he slips back into the crowd.

  ∨ Key Dali ∧

  15

  Work

  I finally make it to the kiosk to get my assigned spot for the evening. Time to go to work.

  It’s a truly beautiful evening in the middle of the high season and Mallory is absolutely hopping. The plaza is completely full of tourists now and I can feel the undercurrent of excitement building for sunset. It doesn’t hurt that the sun and sky seem to be giving it their best shot to make up for the rainout the day before. Across the western sky, the sun is slowly plowing through a healthy scattering of pink and red clouds on its way to the sea.

  The vendors and performers are out in force as well, and all along the historic wharf is the sound of music, laughter, and enthusiastic applause. Hucksters shout out, promising incredible merchandise and astounding acts, and the air is filled with the aroma of local delicacies mixing with the cool salt air.

  And my head has been quietly ring-free for a while. I feel very alive.

  A large portion of my self wants to go looking for Socks, but since I’ve resolved to focus first and foremost on my quest from now on, I instead go straight to work. I check a couple of planters and trashcans along the way and find my assigned spot is again next to Robert’s and not far from the seawall. The faux Picasso, however, is nowhere to be seen. I take this as a sign – a good one. Robert, however, is looking even more filled with self-importance than usual and obviously dying to tell me something.

  “He’s in Miami for a charity event with some very important people.”

  This shouldn’t surprise me at all, as I remember how at any opportunity the little fraud will nose up to celebrities and even politicians if it will get him on a stage. Robert isn’t done.

  “One of the important people is a certain writer who anyone with even the slightest bit of sense can easily see is at his creative peak.”

  Robert must have been about to blow while waiting to lay that on me. But I bet it’s eating him inside that he wasn’t also invited to Miami and the opportunity to hang with his favorite writer.

  My mentioning this to Robert makes him scrunch his face up like he’s sucking on a lemon. I can vaguely recall his beer-fueled ramblings at the Parrot about how he’d sell his soul to be as successful as his idol. As it is, his soul seems to be worth just enough on Amazon and a few local bookstores to keep him in smokes and beer. Naked jealousy is an ugly thing to see in the light of day, while sober, and I must make a note to mention this to Robert at every opportunity.

  But now I am working.

  The absence of the little faker certainly frees up a lot of energy that otherwise would have gone into blowing his doors off with some serious trash art by someone who actually is at the height of his creative talents.

  So I’m stoked as I brush off a place on the hard ground and mark a frame in orange chalk.

  When it’s sure everyone is watching, the sun slips from the blazing sky down into the sea, which brings out a chorus of ohs and ahs from the crowd, as what looks almost like snakes with lighted screen heads wave and flash above the throng. The sun receives a hearty round of applause for a job well done and thankfully does not pop back up above the horizon for an encore.

  As the crowd begins to turn away from the sunset I stand behind the orange frame for a moment with my eyes closed to connect with the energy of the crowd and the calm of the sea. I go to my knees and empty my pockets on the ground to set up a palette of wonderful colors and textures that almost shimmer with life. I concentrate fully on the area inside the frame and when I can feel the weight of many curious eyes, I begin.

  My hands fly and fingers pinch and spread and poke and place and trace and before long the form of a lovely nude is melting over a watch with palm trees hands. When I am finished I sit back to applause and survey what I have done. I’m surprised and pleased to see the nude is not totally, as she is wearing knee socks. As I look up for the first time, the pair of shapely legs closest to my art is also wearing knee socks.

  The glass walker is wearing green knee socks this time, and a big smile that instantly dissolves all the doubts that had been brewing in my mind. I smile equally, then drop my hat for donations and spring to my feet for a sweeping bow in front of my artwork. Along with the tourists, Socks herself drops something in the hat – it looks like a silver dollar. I step to the side to allow an unobstructed view for the cameras without taking my eyes from her still smiling face.

  “Very nice, Dali.”

  I continue to grin like a loon, then step back to check the view between the smile and the socks.

  “And you are, if not a feast for the eyes, then at least a generous snack. Is this a new look?”

  The lady blushes as she turns around slowly for me to get the full effect. Her long, full, dark hair makes me think of gypsies dancing around a bonfire in the woods and the perfect fitting white shorts and green baby-doll t-shirt are having an affect on my breathing. Oh, my. Her eyes tell me there’s room for one more around the bonfire.

  I am speechless with desire and feel a tug in my pants. Actually, it’s more of a yank. With superhuman strength I tear my eyes away from the goddess before me to look down. I see a round tourist kid pulling on my pants and pointing at his parents, who are each pointing a camera at me.

 
“Could we get a picture?”

  I shrug and smile an apology to Socks. Got to take care of my fans.

  I kneel down next to my masterpiece of trash, twirl the ends of my mustache, and smile for the cameras without taking my eyes from the glass walker patiently waiting off to the side. Cameras flicker in the twilight and money floats down into my hat.

  I give it a few minutes, then sweep the ground to the usual startled gasps. My art is quickly deposited into the nearest trashcan and I still have not taken my eyes from the shapely vision in green knee socks and matching t-shirt. The air is cooling and she now has a light jacket over her shoulders, and I see goose-bumps on her tanned thighs between the socks and shorts. She also has something in her hands.

  “I brought you something.”

  I accept the gift and almost cry when I see that it is a brand new plastic orange poncho from Sears. I pull off the old poncho with the large burn hole, and after quickly tearing off a small piece to go in my pocket for future artwork, I drop it in the trashcan as well.

  The new wrap is all square fold-creases around my shoulders, and Socks and I are all smiles. I am at last able to find my tongue.

  “It is beautiful! You are not working tonight?”

  “I hoped you’d like it. I’m taking the night off.”

  There are hundreds of people milling about the plaza, but I don’t notice.

  “It’s my favorite color. I’m just getting off work myself.”

  “It suits you. Not everyone can wear orange. What did you have in mind?”

  Do I hear gypsies singing around a bonfire, or is that a tourist’s radio?

  “Orange is my middle name. Hey, I’m a guy, I only have one thing on my mind.”

  I glance away from those mischievous eyes for a second and see Stoney walking by a short distance away. Timing is indeed everything. I take her hands in mine for just a second.

  “Hold that thought. I’ll be back so soon.”

  And I am, holding up a shiny house key and bouncing my eyebrows.