Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (16 page)

"Come with me, sir," she said. "I'm Sister Amy."

SisterAmy? What was this?

I followed her up the stairs, getting another smile from the receptionist as we passed her desk. Sister Amy led me into a large bedroom,
with a massage table on one side. A king-size bed with a canopy took up
the other side of the room. I saw a large mirror attached to the underside
of the canopy, angled to give the occupants of the bed a bird's-eye view of
themselves.

A door, recessed into the wall near the massage table, led to a bathroom. Sister Amy pointed toward it.

"You may take a shower, if you like," she said.

"I think I'll pass for now."

"Would you like to pray?"

"Pray? No." This was weird. "Why would we pray?"

"This is a Christian house, sir."

"No. No shower and no prayer."

"Suit yourself," she said, and undid some sort of fastener on the
gown. It fell to her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was completely nude.
She stood quietly, as if waiting for inspection. I complied.

She was beautiful. Her breasts were full, but not large, her stomach
flat, tapering down to a thatch of blonde pubic hair. Her body was without scar or blemish, except for a small tattoo at the top of her left breast; a
Greek cross in a circle of flowers.

There was something not quite right about the way she looked at me.
Her blue eyes seemed dilated, and were fixed on a spot above my head.
Her face and voice were devoid of animation. It was almost as if I were
talking to a robot.

"Do you really want a massage?" she asked. "We can just fuck if that's
what you want."

"I really don't want either," I said.

"You don't like me?"

"It's not that. You're beautiful, but I'm really looking for someone
else."

She frowned slightly, as if not sure what to make of this.

"There are other girls," she said. "I'll tell Sister Barbara to send
someone else up."

"No. I don't want any services."

"But Sister Barbara said you asked about a massage."

"Sister Barbara?"

"The receptionist."

"I'm looking for a girl named Peggy Timmons. Do you know her?"

"No. Is she in the Circle of Lilies?"

"Circle of Lilies? I don't understand."

"Who are you, sir?"

"I'm just a guy trying to find his daughter."

She bent to pick up her gown and wrapped it around her. I had
enjoyed the scenery, and I was a little disappointed that it was now covered
up.

"I'll see what I can find out," she said, and walked over to the bed
and sat down. She was still, her hands folded in her lap, as if waiting for
something.

I stood there for a minute, wondering what to do now. The door from
the hall burst open, and a man rushed in. He was about my height and
had a shaved head. He was barefoot and wore a pair of chinos and a white
T-shirt that clung to his muscles. He was a weight-room freak. Probably
worked out several hours a day. I wasn't in the mood for another fight.

I pulled the pistol from my pocket and pointed it at his face. He
stopped in his tracks, his momentum almost pushing him forward onto
his stomach. He put a foot out to catch himself. He was about six feet from
me.

I said, "I don't know who you are, but you'll be dead if you take
another step."

I backed up so that I had a view of the girl and the bruiser. She'd
apparently activated some kind of emergency call button that had brought
a bouncer on the run.

Sister Amy hadn't moved. "Bruce, he's looking for his daughter," she
said.

Bruce looked at me. "What's her name?"

I shook my head. I didn't want anybody getting rid of Peggy because
I was trying to find her. Bruce looked at Sister Amy.

"He said her name, but I forget," she said in that flat tone she'd been
using all evening.

I lowered the pistol so that it was pointing at Bruce's chest. "Forget
it pal. Just move out of the way so I can leave."

"That's not going to happen, buddy. You won't shoot me."

I shot him in the foot. He screamed in pain and fell to the floor, grabbing his bloody foot.

"Wrong," I said, and ran for the door.

As I reached the stairs, doors to other rooms were opening. Men and
women in various stage of dress peered out. I took the stairs two and three
at a time. As I got to the bottom, another weight lifter came out of the
parlor. I pointed the gun at him, and he backed up, holding his hands in
the air. I hit the front door, bounded down the porch steps, and ran toward Simonton.

I heard footsteps on the sidewalk behind me. At least two people
were chasing me. I was running flat out, hoping to reach the major thoroughfare before they caught up with me.

I was fit from running on the beach, but they were in better shape.
The footsteps were getting closer. I was breathing hard, used to jogging,
not sprinting.

The sound of a pistol shot cracked the air. A bullet gouged a chunk
of cement from the sidewalk near my left foot. I dove to my right, into the
hedge that lined the sidewalk.

I could see my pursuers through the leaves of the bushes in which I
landed. There were two of them, the one from the parlor and another
brute. They were still coming, running. I had the.38 in my hand. I raised
it and shot the parlor guy. He grabbed his gut and fell to his knees. His
buddy dove into the shrubs less than twenty feet from me. Lights came on
in the house behind the bushes.

I took off again, rounding the corner onto Simonton, where I saw
two bicycles propped against a low wall. A young couple was sitting on
the nearby grass, holding hands, talking quietly. I grabbed the closest bike,
a girl's model, jumped aboard, and pedaled off. The young man hollered
at me, but I didn't look back. I didn't think he'd leave his girl to chase me.

I headed southeast on Simonton, riding the sidewalk, staying in the
shadows of the trees lining the road. I was passing city hall when a police
cruiser pulled into my path. I came to a stop as the patrolman got out of
his vehicle. I waited, straddling the bike. He walked toward me, his hand
resting near the gun holstered on his equipment belt.

Oh, shit, I thought. Oh, shit.

The cop walked up to me. "Good evening, sir," he said. "Are you visiting
with us?"

"I am:'

"Then you're probably not aware of the city ordinance against riding a bike on the sidewalk."

"I'm sorry, Officer," I said, breathing a sigh of relief, "I wasn't."

"That's why we painted a bike lane on the major streets," he said,
pointing to the now obvious bike lanes that ran on either side of Simonton. "We don't want you running down our old folks."

"You're right. I'll stay off the sidewalk."

"Have a good evening, sir," he said, and climbed back into his patrol
car.

I moved into the bike lane and a couple of blocks later, turned left off
Simonton and rode to within a couple of blocks of my rooming house. I
left the bike on the side of the road leaning against a pole topped by a bus
stop sign. It probably wouldn't be there in the morning. I felt bad for the
kid who owned it, but sometimes one has to improvise.

I went to my room, got my shaving kit, and walked down the hall to
the bathroom. Nobody was using it. I climbed into the shower stall and
turned on the water. A trickle of cold rust colored liquid sputtered out of
the showerhead. It'd have to do. I was too tired and dirty to worry about
what kind of crap had taken up residence in the old pipes.

I crawled into bed, but couldn't sleep. The mattress was lumpy and
the pillow hard as a rock. My mind was churning with images of young
blonde nudes and shot-up bad guys. I hoped the one on the street didn't die, but I'd taken the only shot I had. I wondered what the hell Peggy had
gotten herself into.

What was the connection between a high-class whorehouse in Key
West, a place called Blood Island, and a student at the University of
Georgia? What kind of joint called their whores Sister and prayed before
copulation? Did Sister Amy's tattoo have any significance? It must have,
since it was identical to the logo on the front door sign. Was any of this
connected to the deaths of Wayne Lee and Clyde Varn? To the shootings
at Coquina Beach and Hutch's? To the vulture pit guy? To Laura's
disappearance?

I fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of dead Spaniards and sunken
ships and tattooed blondes.

I awoke the next morning, still tired. A dream lingered for a moment in
my consciousness and then slipped away, as elusive as a handful of fog.

Sunlight was streaming through the dirty window into my room. I'd
left it open during the night to catch what little breeze came by. I could
hear birds trilling in the trees of the backyard, and the blasted chickens
clucking on the grounds. In the distance, a rooster crowed, perhaps calling his hens for a little morning delight.

I stumbled to the bathroom just as a desiccated man was coming out.
I washed my face and brushed my teeth, went back to the room and
dressed in fresh clothes. It was a little after seven.

I stopped by the desk on my way out and gave the elderly woman
thirty dollars for another night. I passed the bus stop where I had left the
bike the night before. It wasn't there.

I walked a block to a small cafe that hunkered under a gumbo-limbo
tree, its reddish bark the color of a tourist too long in the sun. There was
a small grocery store attached to the restaurant, and I went in.

In Key West every kind of store carries nautical charts and gear. I
bought a large-scale chart that covered the Lower Keys out to the Dry Tortugas, and a book of aerial photos of the Keys. I also picked up a copy of
the local newspaper. I took them with me into the restaurant and ordered
breakfast. I scanned the paper for any news of the shooting at the Heaven
Can't Wait Spa, but there was nothing. My breakfast came and I ate while
studying the chart.

I found Blood Island just where Austin Dwyer said it would be, out
on the edge of the Boca Grande Channel. It was small, perhaps a half mile
square. It was shaped like a crab, with a lagoon almost enclosed by arms of the island encircling it on either side. The water around the island was
very shallow, and the only deep channel was the one that ran from the
channel into the lagoon. The controlling depth was twenty feet in the protected area of the lagoon and less than ten feet in the entry channel. A big
boat couldn't make it in without running aground.

I opened my book of photos and thumbed to the pictures of the Mule
Keys. There was one that took in Woman and Boca Grande Keys and
Blood Island. The colors of the water were stunning, showing all the
shades of a tropical sea. I compared the photograph with the chart, and
could see the turquoise shallows fading to the azure colors in the deep
channel.

Blood Island had no beach, except in the lagoon. Several varieties of
palm trees and Australian pines blanketed the island and mangrove forests
ran right down to the water. They would be almost impenetrable to anyone trying to sneak ashore.

I finished breakfast and left the cafe. I called Debbie as soon as I got
to the street.

"You've got to start sleeping later," she said, as she picked up the
phone.

"I know, babe, but I need you."

"Yeah, you say that now, but not when I'm awake and horny."

I chuckled. Debbie was about as interested in me as she was in
Logan, which wasn't much. She was a good friend.

"See what you can find out about a place west of Key West called
Blood Island. Who owns it, what goes on there, etcetera. I also need to
know who owns a piece of property in Key West." I gave her the address
of the Heaven Can't Wait Spa.

"When do you need this?"

"Now"

"How do you know I don't have a playmate in bed with me this
morning?"

"I know you, Deb. You're too picky for the local guys."