The 24th Letter ((Mystery/Thriller)) (17 page)

“Smart kid,” mumbled O’Brien.

He drove in the direction he last saw her, slowly turning the corner, and then he saw her standing in the shadows of a thick palm tree.  He stopped the Jeep.  She looked around quickly and climbed in the front seat.  “I’ve never ridden in a Jeep before.  Can we put the top down?  I like to go topless.”

O’Brien laughed, his own laughter sounding oddly foreign.  He’d forgotten what he felt like.  “Sure, we can put the top down.”  He unzipped the top and rolled it back.

They drove down Ocean Drive, the wind whipping Barbie’s hair, her breasts threatening to bounce out of the dress.

“I like it!” she said.  “Kinda crazy date, but I like it!”

“And the night’s just began,” O’Brien pulled away and headed towards Joe’s Stone Crab.     

FORTY-SIX

Joe’s Stone Crab parking lot was almost filled, even at 11:00 P.M. on a Friday night.  O’Brien pulled off Washington Avenue and parked.

Barbie used both hands to push her hair out of her face.  “What a wild ride.  I love stone crabs!  I can smell the garlic out here.  And I’m starvin’.”

“I’m getting take-out,” said O’Brien.  “Wait here.  I called in the order.”

O’Brien walked to the carry-out window and said, “I ordered a single live crab.”

A perspiring cashier wiped his hands on a towel.  “What’s the name?

“Ralph Jones.”

“I’ll get it for you Mr. Jones.”

“Do you have a box, maybe something Styrofoam for me to carry it?”

“Sure.”  The assistant manager returned with a Styrofoam box, a picture of a red stone crab on the side.  O’Brien lifted the top.  “The claws are banded.”

“Yeah, most people like it that way.  A stone crab can take a finger off.  It’s got the most powerful claws of any crab in this part of the world.  Almost two-thousand pounds of pressure per square inch.”

“Good, could you cut the bands off?”

“Sure.  The man got a pair of scissors and cut the rubber bands off the two massive front claws.  “Don’t leave him in the box too long, he’ll cut right through.”

“Thanks.”  O’Brien paid and walked back to the Jeep.

Barbie watched O’Brien approach and asked, “Did you get anything to drink, maybe a Coke or something?”

“Barbie, do you like sushi?”

She wrinkled her nose.  “No way am I eating any raw fish.”

“Then you wouldn’t like raw crab,” O’Brien set the box between the seats.

“How raw do they serve it?” she asked, picking up the box.

“If you open that, I’ll call you Pandora.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she said lifting the top off. “Ohmygod!  That’s a live crab!  He’s huge!”  She slammed the top back on the box.  O’Brien started the engine.

She said, “Why do you have a crab in a box?”

“It’s going into a purse next.”

She looked at her small purse, shook her head.  “No way!  That ugly thing is not going in my purse.”

“Not yours, the one in back.  Would you mind getting it?  Should be on the floorboard.”

She turned and reached in the back.  “This is heavy.  What do you have in here?”

“Open it,” said O’Brien.

“I’m almost afraid to.  Do you have a snake in this one?” Barbie slowly opened the purse and looked inside.  “Are you some kind sick person?  What are these handcuffs and this tape recorder doing in a purse?”

“Storage.”   He took the purse from her lap, opened it, lifted the top off the Styrofoam box, slid the crab in the purse, and fastened it.

“What on earth are you doing?  Why are you putting that poor crab in the purse?” 

“When you travel to Oz, get a grip and hold on tight.”

#

O’BRIEN MANAGED TO FIND a parking spot two blocks down from Oz on Washington Avenue.   He said, “Okay, it’s show time.”

Barbie said, “Are you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“I know this is a really weird date thingy, but you said you’d pay me.  Can I get it before we go in?  It’s not that I don’t like trust you.  You seem like a very nice guy, too.”

O’Brien smiled, “You’re right.”  He opened his wallet and counted out the money.  She folded it, dropping the cash in her purse.

“I need you to carry this purse, too.”  O’Brien said.

“What if that crab jumps out?  Besides, don’t you think it would look weird for a girl to carry two purses?”

“Barbie, no one’s going to be looking at your purse or purses.  Now, here’s the plan.  The line is too long for us to wait.  So I want you to walk to the front of it, I’ll be right behind you, and tell muscular fellow in black that you really need to go to the ladies’ room.  Weak bladder and all of that.  When he agrees, tell him your boyfriend is an old friend of Sergio Conti’s, and Sergio wanted him to see the club but he couldn’t call personally because he got tied up.”

“What’s the guy’s name again?”

“Sergio Conti.”

She whispered it, closed her eyes a second and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

As O’Brien walked with Barbie down Washington Avenue, two Hispanic men in a convertible Lexus rode by, reggae music loud, and one yelled, “What a fuckin’ ass!”

The line to get into Oz stretched far beyond the velvet ropes in shiny gold-colored stanchion hooks.  O’Brien followed Barbie walking by the tanned bodies that had spent much of the day on the beach, now freshly showered and dressed in whites and colors of the Caribbean.  O’Brien smelled the perfumes mixed with a hint of marijuana.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Barbie. “It’s the best club on South Beach.”

“Just keep walking.”

“Everybody’s staring at us.”

“They’re staring at you.  Nobody sees me.”

“The crab is moving in the purse.  I can feel it.  So help me, Ken, if that’s your real name—if this thing sticks one of its claws out and pinches my butt, I’m going to scream loud enough for them to hear me in the Port of Miami.”

“Just keep smiling and walking,” said O’Brien.

As they approached the head of the line, Barbie smiled, waved a perfectly manicured finger to the doorman and stepped to him.  He looked at her swelling breasts.  Barbie worked everything she had in the dress to subtle perfection.  The doorman nodded, looked behind her to O’Brien who smiled, and he waved them through the door.

They entered the corridor of lights, opening to a massive room filed with hundreds of gyrating people on the dance floor and others tucked away in nearby smoked glass VIP rooms.  Barbie turned to O’Brien and said, “So this is Oz.”       

   FORTY-SEVEN

The deejay shouted into the sound system, “You’re not in Kansas anymore people!  It’s time to party like you’re in Oz!”  The deejay stood behind an elevated platform spinning his body like an orchestra maestro conducting the last seconds leading into a crescendo.

O’Brien and Barbie walked past a waterfall lit with blue lights.  They followed a winding yellow acrylic floor that disappeared around a huge artificial tree.  From where O’Brien stood, he counted six bars.  The light system sent a rainbow palette of colors over the entire cavernous club in a wave pattern.  Stylized images of a lion, scarecrow, tin man, and dueling witches, dressed in black and white morphed behind a fifty-foot curved Plexiglas screen near the ceiling.

On the second level, O’Brien could see a dozen or more VIP rooms looking down on the dance floor.  Silhouetted figures moved behind the smoky-colored glass resembling shadows on the blinds. 

  A fashion model moonlighting as a cocktail hostess walked by with a tray of drinks.  O’Brien asked, “How do we get up there?”  He pointed to the VIP rooms.

“See the hostess over there in the black dress.”  The waitress pointed to a woman standing behind a lime green podium near a bubble glass elevator.

O’Brien and Barbie approached the podium, stepping on a tiger-striped woven rug near the base of the dais.  The woman in the short black dress wore a wireless earpiece and gray microphone.  O’Brien said, “We’d like a VIP suite.”

“The name, sir.”

“Conti.”

Barbie looked at O’Brien and smiled.

“Would you like to leave a credit card imprint to reserve it?” asked the hostess.

“It’s early.  I bet you have a few available.  Matter of fact, I’m tall enough to see one that is vacant up there.”  O’Brien pointed to a dark suite.

“That’s reserved for one a.m.”

O’Brien slipped her a twenty and said, “We’ll be gone by then.  In the meantime, we’ll enjoy some of your best champagne in that booth.”

The hostess smiled.  She spoke into her microphone. “Sheila, we’ll be having guests coming up the lift.  Please show them to the Opium Den.”  

The glass elevator, shaped like a hot-air balloon, moved very slow, giving O’Brien time to canvas the club as the glass orb rose above the packed dance floor.

Beyond the lights, thought O’Brien, behind the façade of Oz, was the real wicked wizard.  Somewhere one of the dark alcoves led to the spot where an evil wizard hid behind a curtain pulling human strings.  Somewhere in the building was Jonathan Russo’s office.  The key was to find it.  But as O’Brien stepped from the elevator to the second floor, he saw a curtain being drawn in a VIP suite.

And now he had a better plan.  

FORTY-EIGHT

Barbie sat on the leather couch and said, “We sure don’t have any sofas like this at the club where I work.  Look at this place!  Real fur.  All these pillows.  Soft lighting.  Plants and a little fountain flowing over there in the corner.  It’s even got curtains.  This is nicer than my apartment.  Let’s dance, Ken.”

There was a tap at the door.

“Come on in,” said Barbie.

A woman wearing a short white toga dress stepped into the suite.  Her dark skin was in contrast to the white fabric.  More high cheekbones.  No tan lines.  She had a regal elegance to her movement.  She sat on the couch near them, crossed her legs and said, “I’m Nikki.  Welcome to Oz and your suite—the Opium Den.  I’ll be your server.  I have a staff to assist me, too.  We can get you anything you desire.  Award-winning food and drink to even a back rub.”

“That sounds nice,” said Barbie.

O’Brien was silent.

Nikki said, “Here are the menus.  Our specialty is gourmet tapas foods.  May I start you out with a drink or a bottle, perhaps?”

“Do you carry Krug champagne?” asked O’Brien.

“Of course?  What year would you like?”

“You pick.”

Nikki smiled. “The 1987 is excellent.”

O’Brien looked at the wine list.  The Krug 1987 was priced at $1,500 a bottle.

“Sounds like a good year,” he said with a smile

Barbie said, “I’m really hungry.  Can I go on and order?”

“Of course,” said Nikki.

“I’ll take the chicken…how do you say it, cotee—”

“Chicken Cote d’Azur,” said Nikki.  She stood to leave.

“Nikki,” said O’Brien.

“Yes.”

“Please tell Jonathan that Mr. Sergio Conti is here and waiting for him in the Opium Den.”  O’Brien glanced at Barbie.  “Tell Jonathan I brought him a gift…a gift younger than the champagne, and I hope he’ll share with us.”

Nikki smiled, glanced at Barbie and said, “I’ll convey your message.”

As Nikki closed the door, Barbie asked, “Did you just do what I think you did?”

“What”

“Pimp me out?”

“No, Barbie, listen closely.  A very bad man will be coming in here in a few minutes.  Just play along with me.  I’m going to ask you to do one thing and then you can go dance the night away.”

“What’s that one thing?”

“I want you to cuff him when I tell you to.”

“I knew it.  You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m unofficially investigating a crime.”

“What kind of crime?”

“Murder.”

“Murder!”

“She wasn’t much older than you when she was killed.”

“Is this guy you just invited in here...this Jonathan dude, did he kill her?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you gonna do?  What if he has a gun?”

O’Brien stood and closed the curtains.  He pulled the Glock from under his shirt and said nothing.

Barbie looked at the gun and blurted, “Ohmygod!  You’re gonna kill him!”

“Calm down, okay?   I’m here to see if a shoe fits.”

“You’re one of those bounty hunters, aren’t you?”

“My only bounty is to try to correct a bad mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“An innocent man, Barbie, is in prison.  He’s on death row.  The guy walking in here might know something that could free this innocent man.”

“I know I’m the one askin’ questions, but you don’t have to tell me if you feel I ought not to know.”

“I believe you’ll make a good witness if I need one.  You’re an honest woman.”

There was a tap on the door. 

O’Brien slipped the Glock under his shirt.  He nodded to Barbie.  She said, “Come in.”

Nikki entered with another woman dressed in a short toga.  Blonde and shapely.  Dimples when she smiled.  Nikki sat the bottle of champagne and glasses down.  She started to open it and said, “This is Shana, she’s here to assist you in whatever you may need, too.”  Shana set the small tray of Chicken Cote d’Azar on the glass coffee table.

“What a delightful menagerie,” said O’Brien, “I hope Jonathan can join us before the champagne is gone.”

“Mr. Russo will drop in soon.  May we offer either of you anything else?”

“No, thanks,” said O’Brien.

The women left.  Barbie said, “I can’t believe I’m hungry.”  She scooped up one of the flat tapas bites.  It looked like pieces of chicken on a slice of baked pita bread.  “This is sooo good,” she said, pouring a glass of champagne.  She sipped.  “Wow!  Kinda sweet and dry, too.  Love the tiny bubbles.  Aren’t you eating?”

“I’ve eaten.”

“Ken, cop or no cop, I think you’re a good person.  And this is the best, kinkiest sort of date I’ve ever been on.”  She finished the glass of champagne just as the door opened.