Key Manatee Page 7

  “Do tell?”

  “Late, after twelve, JB’s sister Julie came by.”

  Consuelo softened considerably. “Oh, we saw her at the funeral yesterday. The poor thing looked pretty shaken.”

  “Well, she told me last night she thinks someone murdered her brother.” I let that sit a beat. “Said it might have something to do with JB running for mayor next time. She also thinks the same people tried to force her car off the road when she drove down here from Miami.” Still no comment. “Said the reason she came here last night was to warn me. I guess she’d seen some movie once where a killer came after the person who found the body. I told the poor girl to get some sleep and give me a call when she got up this morning if she wanted to talk. Now that I think about it, she more than likely won’t call. Probably woke up embarrassed she came by so late with such a wild story.”

  My companions hadn’t moved a muscle – glued to my every word. Consuelo finally spoke up.

  “I seen that movie a few years ago. Three people found the body. The killer got them one at a time.”

  Slip cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair. “I seen that one too, I think it was Kitchen Psycho 2. Guy used a carrot peeler on one of ‘em. Scared me so bad I peed the bed that night and couldn’t look at a carrot for weeks.”

  “At least I didn’t pee the bed.” Consuelo gave Slip an off look for his unmanly confession. “Though it did give my little sister nightmares for a long time. Come to think about it, that might be part of the reason she turned out so weird.”

  This reminded me of the doozy of a nightmare I’d had after Julie left. Time to change the subject.

  “Well, before we get ourselves any more creeped out, how about we see if we can find JB’s place, check on his sister and then see how much of Slip’s hard-earned we can spend at Governor’s.”

  ♦

  We dropped a bowl of spread off at the seashell stand of some friends and got directions to JB’s place. It was a small house mostly hidden with tropical vegetation at the end of a street and right on the water. Julie’s little red car was parked in front. We tried knocking and checked around the house. Nobody home. This I didn’t like, she should have been there.

  ♦

  “I still can’t believe you two would be so worried about something you saw in a movie.”

  I’d been having some cautious fun with my two associates while hitting the high points of Julie’s visit at their urging. Cautious because it was unlike them to take something like this serious.

  But I was getting some mighty serious looks over a table full of Governor’s finest eats. So serious Slip hadn’t once mentioned kindergarten teachers and even though Consuelo had again worked it so she was sitting next to me in the booth, she hadn’t once bumped, rubbed, or leaned against me. Serious.

  Slip glanced around him to make sure no one was listening in. “Taco, maybe you should tell us about those campaign promises you mentioned. Might give us a little to go on here. Maybe somebody did whack ol’ JB.”

  I decided to play along. Maybe they’d see the foolishness of it all. “Well, it sounds like JB wanted to do something about that big project we keep hearing about for adding onto the island. That and she said something about more inspections for the bars and banning shark fishing. JB also wanted to shut down the voodoo folks.”

  Consuelo wiggled around a bit in the seat next to me before she spoke. “Not that I’m any expert on politics, but that doesn’t sound like the usual ass-kissing, make-nice, talk-a-lot-and-say-nothing campaigns most people running for office come up with.”

  Slip was about to nod his head completely off. “Yeah, exactly! He might have been about to stomp on the wrong toes, so somebody took him out!” Slip made his point while gesturing with what resembled a chicken wing. Barbeque sauce was coming off the end of it like the Pope anointing someone with holy water. I got a few drops on my plate, but some speckled the sleeve of Consuelo’s new white blouse. She didn’t seem to notice, but held a mustard dispenser while she talked.

  “What about the police? Did Julie tell them about the truck?” She put a generous dab of mustard on a fingernail and deftly flipped it. Got Slip right between the eyes. He didn’t even blink, just sat there with a big yellow splatter on his forehead.

  “She told me the police didn’t seem to be particularly interested. The last I heard there wasn’t any reason to suspect foul play and JB’s death was considered to be a drowning.”

  This brought some snorts, grumbles, and at least one, “Yeah, right.” One of Slip’s hands started easing slowly for the squeeze bottle of ketchup while he talked. “The po-lease ain’t going to do squat. We got a dead Marty Manatee, probably murdered, an attempt on his sister, who I might add is currently mysteriously missing, and three folks who found the body, who if they don’t do something real soon might be waking up one morning on the wrong end of a carrot peeler!”

  I held a menu open over the table between them just as Slip’s hand got to the ketchup and Consuelo snatched up a bowl of gravy.

  “You folks needing anything else?”

  We each gave the waitress a big smile. I handed Slip a napkin and Consuelo asked for some club soda for her blouse. The waitress left and my tablemates exchanged warning looks. I was far from convinced. “I can’t believe you two are getting so worked up. How’s this: we finish this fine fare, stop by and talk to Julie so you can see there’s nothing to worry about, then we take the Wilbur out and do some fishing?”

  The mention of fishing had everyone in a better mood. We cleaned our plates and headed over to Julie’s.

  ♦

  Julie wasn’t there. Her car was still out front, but my feeble theory about her being out for a walk didn’t seem to carry much weight with my colleagues. As I was afraid, Slip had been thinking.

  “Taco, we need to take the bull by the horns here. Much as I’d like to go fishing, I think we ought to do a little checking around, see if there might be a way we can avoid ending up like poor ol’ JB.”

  Consuelo’s new lacy top had cleaned up just fine. She looked quite fetching standing there in the sunshine by JB’s cottage. She also looked like she agreed with Slip, nodding her head as he spoke. So much for fishing.

  “Okay, I give up. What do you have in mind?”

  The man who’d once eaten twenty three hotdogs in a contest, then mounted the plastic trophy to the bow of his kayak, had been quiet driving over from the restaurant. He’d obviously been doing some hard planning. We stepped into the shade of a small tree and Slip started pacing.

  “We split up, do some discreet inquiries around town, see if maybe JB got somebody riled enough they’d be wanting to make sure his upcoming campaign platform never got much airplay.” He stopped pacing in front of me. “Taco, you check out your buddy Shark Hunter. Princess Leia here can see what that voodoo gal you seen before has to say for herself, and I’ll start checking the bars.”

  Consuelo got it before I could. “No way you’re getting the bars and I’m hanging around some dusty old spook shop!”

  I held up a hand. “I’ll go visit Mr. Hunter. Consuelo, Ms Levita didn’t seem to much like me, and you’re good with older people. I bet she’d tell you things she wouldn’t tell Slip or me.” While that was taking root, I had something I knew she’d like. “How about if Slip checks the newspaper and county records for info on the big development. We can all meet late this afternoon at Pirate Jim’s and ask Fish Daddy about those bar inspections. Seems like someone spends all his time in bars might know a thing or two about that.”

  Slip wasn’t too excited about the agenda, but got voted down. We agreed on a time to meet and headed for the truck. The same convertible we’d seen before came around the corner just then with Jimmy Redd behind the wheel. He pulled over and stopped next to my truck. Slip looked happy to see him.

  “Jimbo! Where’s your girlfriend? You going by the courthouse by chance?” Slip jumped in the front seat and started fumbling with the seat belt bef
ore Jimmy could answer. The man who lived a life right out of a song looked over at us and shrugged, gave up a smile, then headed out with Slip talking a mile a minute about murders and carrot peelers. Consuelo watched them go a little before getting in the truck.

  “Taco, did Jimmy look nervous to you?”

  “I don’t know. But, he has been acting a bit strange lately.”

  “Can you drop me at the hotel?” Consuelo and her sisters ran a small hotel in Old Town.

  “You going to get your bike?”

  “Nah, I need to change clothes. I feel like a run.”

  ∨ Key Manatee ∧

  Twelve

  Unfortunately, Mr. Hunter wasn’t on his boat, which meant another trip to the Scorpion Pit.

  Looked like about the same lineup of regulars inside, the same skitterish young bartender, but luckily, no Robert. I bellied up to the bar.

  “Shark Hunter around?”

  The bartender dropped an empty glass. It bounced once off the wooden duckboards before shattering on the concrete floor. “Upstairs.” He stood pointing toward the stairs. “You going up there?” He gave me a hopeful look. Just then there was a thunderous yell from above.

  “BEER!”

  The hopeful look turned to more like pleading. The young fella pointed to a full pitcher. I got the idea.

  “You want me to take that upstairs?”

  A series of quick little nods.

  “Whatever you want for yourself, mister, on the house.”

  I took my free draft and headed upstairs with the pitcher.

  ♦

  I had to stop for a second at the top of the stairs and take stock of the scene before me. The flat roof of the bar was black tar with a knee-high concrete wall all around. A couple of sunshades and several tables and chairs lay scattered amongst the debris and broken glass near where I stood. On the far side closest to the water, a big tree shaded more of the same. The same except for one upright table, several bloody human corpses and Shark Hunter. He was leaning back in his chair against the low wall, reading a book. He looked up, smiled, and waved.

  I made my way through the debris and stood across the table from the man. A body lay at my feet, blood all over its face and chest.

  “I remember you! Taco Something, right?” He put the book down and stuck his hands out towards me, fingers wiggling. I handed over the pitcher.

  “Yes, sir. Taco Bob, actually. You been having some trouble here?”

  He took a long drink right from the pitcher and looked genuinely puzzled. “Trouble? No, just been partying a little with my crew and clients.”

  I noticed the bloody body slouched in a chair next to Mr. Hunter was snoring softly.

  “Where’s my manners? I should introduce you.” He turned loose a sizable belch. “That there by your feet is Mr. Peters. Big-time lawyer from Boston. The one curled up under the table is his son, Ben.” The old shark man was slurring his words a little, I figured he must have been drinking for a while. “This sizable creature here is my deck hand, Baby. Hey, Taco, no need to stand on ceremony.” He reached over to hold the chair and gave Baby a push with his bare foot. The unconscious man thudded to the floor. “Have a seat.”

  I did, carefully.

  “And this here is my best drinking buddy, Moe.” He looked behind to his right, then his left, then stood suddenly, panicked. “Where’s Moe? He was here a minute ago!” Standing so quick seemed to make the man dizzy, his eyes rolled back in his head a little.

  “Mr. Hunter! Are you all right?” I stood to steady him, but he spun around and started heaving over the side of the building. After a couple of minutes of violent retching he called down to the ground. “Sorry about that Moe! Didn’t see you there. I guess you fell off again? Wave if you’re okay. Good man. You just lay there and rest then, I’ll come hose you down later.” He turned back around with a big smile. “Now, where were we?”

  “Your friend okay?”

  “Sure, bushes broke his fall. Told him not to sit on the wall. Luckily he’s drunk as a skunk or he might have got hurt.” He gestured with his hand in the general direction of the other three. “Stone drunk, the lot of ‘em.”

  “Are they hurt? There’s a lot of blood.”

  “Nah. We had us a big night on the water, tied into some mighty fine sharks. Kept one little two hundred pound Nurse Shark. Gave most of it to a local charity and Baby kept the liver. He told Big and Little Peters here it’s manly to eat it raw, showed ‘em how. Amazing what men, even ones who normally show some small amount of common sense, will do after drinking a quart of tequila, especially when their manliness is called into question.” He looked at his unconscious clients, then slapped his forehead. “I forgot my manners again!” He opened a cooler and shoved it closer. “There’s plenty left if you’d care to partake?” Several red hunks floating in blood.

  “I just ate, but thanks anyway.”

  “Baby swears by it.” He glanced in the cooler, shrugged his shoulders, then slammed the lid. “I never touch the stuff myself, makes me shit like a goose.”

  “Mr. Hunter, I was wanting to ask you something.”

  “You ain’t got any more voodoo dolls from my ex? You do, we got to go out to my truck so I can shoot you. Prissy little bartender won’t let me bring guns in anymore.”

  “No sir, no dolls. I wanted to ask you about JB. I heard he wanted to ban shark fishing if he got to be mayor. Thought since you knew the man and are an expert on all things shark, you might know about that.” I got the thing with the eyes again – one staring at me while the other gave me a good going-over.

  “You got some of the damnest questions! Last time it was chicken sacrifices as I remember. You don’t have the smell of a cop, this all for that book you’re writing?”

  “No sir. JB’s sister told me she suspected he’d been murdered and the same folks might be after her. She also said the one’s found the body might be in danger, which would be me.”

  “You found the body? Paper said he’d been in the water a few days. Was he all-”

  “The body was in pretty bad shape.”

  The old fella gave this some hard consideration. “So I bet you’re thinking if you find out who did JB, you might avoid coming up dead yourself. Not entirely logical thinking, but thinking none the less. Did the police say anything about JB being shot?” He stood and turned around so he could urinate off the side of the building.

  “No, said he drowned. Far as I know he hadn’t been shot.”

  “Well, that’s good. Probably wasn’t me did it then.” He’d been looking out at the boats negotiating the narrow channel, but glanced down. “Oops, sorry Moe.” He took a step sideways. “So you want to know if JB planning to ban shark fishing would piss off anyone enough they’d want to kill the man?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  He did a little dance step, zipped, and sat back down. The man had the damnedest collection of scars on his hands and arms. He took a long pull on the pitcher to help him think.

  “Might be some recreational fisherman getting their panties in a bunch, but that’s about it. Ain’t no commercial shark fishing around here, and if the ban had gone into effect, the weekend warriors could have just chartered with me.” Which didn’t make sense.

  “But wouldn’t the ban be putting you out of business?”

  “Shit no! That was the whole idea of the ban. Nobody could catch sharks except for me and maybe a couple others. We’d be grandfathered in with a special license and have plenty of business. I’d just give ol’ JB a kick on every charter. Damn shame the boy come up dead like that, both of us stood to make a pile of money.”

  ∨ Key Manatee ∧

  Thirteen

  By the time I got away from Shark Hunter it was late afternoon. He’d got into telling shark stories and bragging about recently coming into some really great chum for sharks, but wouldn’t tell me what it was. We did see one minor boat wreck in the channel. Two jet skis came blasting around boats and one caught a wa
ve and bounced pretty good off the side of a Bayliner, which proceeded to turn sharp and run aground just outside the channel. Plenty of angry yelling between the jet skis and the Bayliner until someone on the boat started casting a big topwater plug, trying for a hookup on one of the jet skiers.

  There weren’t any messages on my cellphone, so I assumed things were on track and we were still meeting at Pirate Jim’s. Slip didn’t have a cell, but could have used a phone at the courthouse or newspaper. His problems with mechanical devices definitely included cellphones.

  I decided to run by Julie’s one more time. Everything there looked the same, no one around. The front door was locked so I went around to check the one in back. I stopped to try to look in a window just as a big cop came around the corner of the house.

  “Sir, could I ask what you’re doing?”

  Oh, shit.

  “Looking for a friend. She was supposed to call me this morning, but didn’t.”

  “Could you come with me?”

  As we went around front I could see a window curtain pulled back in the house across the street. Busted by a paranoid neighbor.

  So, I sat in the back of a police car while he called in to check me out.

  “Taco Bob. This your correct address?” Holding my driver’s license.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Report of a meth lab there recently.” I could see where this was going. “Computer has you finding the body of the man who owns this house not long before that.” I hate computers.

  “Yes sir. His sister has been staying here and she may be missing.”

  He gave me a glance from his paperwork. “When was she seen last?”

  “Last night, I reckon.”

  “Who saw her and where?”

  “I did, on my houseboat.”

  Another quick glance. I could almost see it register in his mind: drug related. After a few more minutes he let me out of the back of the patrol car.