Serge collected three cell phones from around the room and started walking for the front door. He stopped and looked again at the express mailer in his hand. “Whoops, almost forgot to check this box on the form.” He turned it toward the goons and smiled.
Signature required.
FORT LAUDERDALE
Serge leaned back in a bamboo chair. Another dark room. Tiered wooden serving bowls sat on the table in front of him, next to a pineapple with a lampshade.
A man in a tweed coat and rumpled fedora grabbed the chair on the other side of the table. His necktie had a pattern of tiki gods, similar to the giant, carved versions guarding the entrance. He set a briefcase on the ground.
Serge pointed at the bowls. “I ordered the pupu platter. Try the crab Rangoon.”
“Serge, I have something important-“
“Bet you’re impressed I picked the Mai-Kai.” Serge glanced around at decorative coconuts, wicker and ceremonial face masks. “Since 1956, Polynesian splendor on the side of Federal Highway, recently mentioned by a Colombian hit man as a rendezvous point in the excellent documentary Cocaine Cowboys, now out on DVD.”
“This is serious!”
Serge opened a leatherbound menu. “I’m leaning toward the Singapore prawns.”
“Forget food! I need to tell you something-“
He was interrupted by loudness at the front of the room.
“Hold that thought.” Serge bent over to sip iced coffee through a straw from a hollowed-out souvenir fertility statue. “Stage show’s starting.”
A feverish beat of South Pacific drums filled the room as men in authentic loincloths twirled flaming batons. In the middle, five women, sensuous hips and grass skirts, gyrating at an astounding rate.
“Serge-“
“Isn’t Story great?” He took another sip. “Thought I was immune to exotic dancing, but this hula business is an entirely different proposition.”
“Serge! It’s Story I want to talk about!”
Still watching the stage: “What about her? … Hold it …” He turned to Mahoney in alarm. “You’re not speaking noir.”
“Back on my meds.”
Serge slumped in his chair. “Now why’d you go and do that? We had a thing, you and me.”
“I know what you’ve been into.”
“Enlighten.”
“Picking off the Eel’s gang.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“Your code. They beat Howard pretty good. But not good enough. Left a living witness. There’s a contract out on him, which I’m guessing you already knew.”
“If I cared.”
“Serge, you don’t have to play coy. I gave you my word, so I can’t take you in on this. But let us handle it. They moved Howard to another hospital under an assumed name, and he’s got around-the-clock police protection.”
“President Kennedy had protection.”
“There’s more. A contract on you, too. The mess at those motels, not to mention down Homestead way.”
“Me?”
“Damn it! What do I have to say?”
“That you’ll stop taking your meds.”
Mahoney looked toward the stage. “Remember when I asked if you’d met anyone new, possibly even traveling with them? Someone who might be feeding info on your movements to whoever wants you dead?”
“Yeah, back at Harry and the Natives.”
“I was wrong.”
“This is a first.”
“It’s Story.”
“What about her?”
“She’s not passing info. She’s after you herself.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I would have thought so too, until I found out she’s Howard’s sister.”
Serge’s head snapped back. “You’re shitting me.”
“Been using you to lead her to the gang. Steve ring a bell?”
“I didn’t kill Steve.”
“I know.”
“Another first.”
“Don’t get all happy. I’d have bet anything it was you until I saw the tape.”
“Tape?”
Mahoney reached down for his briefcase and opened a laptop on the table. “Security camera at the end of the motel hallway. I downloaded the digitized footage.”
The agent turned the computer toward Serge. On the grainy screen, a woman walked down the hall. Stiletto heels, mini skirt, big hair. She stopped in front of a door and knocked.
“That’s Steve’s room,” said Mahoney.
“I get it now. Barracuda hooker. One of the oldest scams,” said Serge. “Getting her foot in the door to let the Eel’s hit men in.”
“There are no hit men.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mahoney fast-forwarded the video. The woman came back out and closed the door.
“She’s the killer?” said Serge.
“Keep watching.”
The woman walked back down the hall toward the elevators. As she grew closer to the camera, facial features became recognizable.
“It’s Story!” Serge smacked himself in the forehead. “Of course. Said she was studying.”
“Believe me now?”
“I believe she wants revenge for Howard. But there’s no way she’d whack me.”
“Howard was pretty incoherent by the time she got to the hospital. The police guard overheard him mention your name before going back under.”
“But I’m Howard’s friend. If she’s using me to get to the gang, she must know I want the same thing she does.”
“Serge, she’s not using you to lead her to the gang because she thinks you’re after them. It’s because she thinks you’re one of them.”
“What!”
