Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas) (13 page)

“Let me see.” Todd grasped my waist and hoisted me so I could peer into the tiny window. I remembered sketching the man’s likeness.  “Set me down, hon’.”

For a long moment, we stared at each other with Todd’s hands wrapped around my waist and mine on his shoulders. More of a convenient resting place than for a romantic interlude. I could tell Todd’s thoughts were similarly occupied as his hands were busy pounding the
Bossa Nova Baby
rhythm on my behind.

“Now what’s Luther doing working at a storage warehouse in this part of town?” I said, wriggling under Todd’s tempo. “I thought he was a musician or something.”

“You want to go and ask him?” asked Todd, stilling his hands.

“Is he coming to the game tonight?”

“Think so.”

“In that case, maybe it’s best for him not to know that we know that he’s out here in East Bumcrack.”

Todd nodded.

“I don’t like this. Chet and Little Jimmy at the Green Room got all worked up about my sketches of players. Little Jimmy leaves Santa Elvis and his crazy elf at this Venture Realty, but nobody’s home. But now we find another poker player, Luther, conveniently working next to Venture Realty.”

Todd’s attention had drifted from my monologue and into the parking lot.

“Todd, are you with me? This seems real fishy. Can we trust these guys to not screw us over? What if we get busted and they turn us into the cops? How are you going to know who’s in your corner when you’re playing tonight?”

His eyes snapped back to mine. “Baby, the only one I need in my corner is you.”

I blew out a big breath, but gave him a hug for being sweet. Which, judging by the happy rhythm dancing across my butt, Todd appreciated.

However, our corner was looking a little empty. Or a little too full of people I didn’t trust.

The “art shop” turned out to be the Art Shop, a cement block garage providing custom car paint jobs, specializing in pinstriping, scrollwork, and assorted Grim Reapers. The Art Shop also had a windowless back room popular for poker regulars when it wasn’t used for a store room. The Art Shop proprietor, Jupiter, had one glass eye and one Cad Red eye from a constant exposure to paint fumes and energy drinks. Jupiter also blinked incessantly, a handy condition for poker according to Todd. For those playing against him, that tic was more irritant than a tell.

“How am I going to use these supplies?” I said to Jupiter. We stood in the back room of the garage housing his desk and wire racks of urethane paint in a variety of colors. I picked up a can of primer and waved it at him. “Any guard or cop is going to see I should be airbrushing a Camero and not painting a wall.”

Jupiter fixed his one eye on me. “I’ve got kit bottles for mixing. It’s all for show, ain’t it? You think they’re going to look that closely?”

“Cops aren’t stupid.”

“Got brushes, too. We use them for detail work. Even got your sketch work stuff. We’ve got to draw up the design on paper before we do it on the car.”

Jupiter reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a Strathmore palette pad and a box of Staedtler colored pencils. He tossed them at me.

I caught them, hugging the supplies to my chest. My fingers itched to rub the paper and guess the weight, but I didn’t want to appear greedy. “I did lose an excellent drawing pad to the maniacs in the Green Room.”

“Keep it.”

Todd patted my head at my eager smile, and we followed Jupiter out of the office and into the auto bay. While Jupiter walked through the garage, stashing tarps and painter’s tape into a garbage bag, Todd and I traipsed toward a Chrysler 300 covered in craft paper and tape. A young guy in a t-shirt, ripped jeans, and skull cap squatted before the driver’s door. With a steady hand, he added shading to a trompe l’oeil Aliens’ head popping out of the car door.

“Cool,” said Todd. “Just like that alien ripped out of that dude’s stomach in the movie. Except on a car.”

Fascinated, I squatted next to the artist to check out his palette of premixed jars in various metallics. His steady hand gripped a dagger shaped brush with a bat shaped handle, thicker than I used. The flexible, slanted bristles held the thin line of paint as the artist rotated the brush under the alien’s chin.

“Is that a sable brush?” I asked.

He continued his steady progress outlining the alien’s bulbous head. “Squirrel.”

“Squirrel hair brush with a round hand grip.” I jumped to my feet and turned to Jupiter, my new best friend. “Can I get some of those brushes?”

“The Colonel said to set you up with whatever you need.” He motioned toward a rolling, metal tool cabinet. “You aren’t really going to be painting, though, right? Just for show?”

“Sure,” I said, making my voice sound like I meant it. “Whatever the Colonel says.”

I dug into the tool cabinet, opening drawers and running my hands over the smooth wood handles and soft, dark bristles. I didn’t plan to stand in a room all night pretending to paint. Any guard worth his tin badge would wonder what the hell I was doing and kick me out if they didn’t see any work up on the wall. But I had great skill in cleaning out brushes, so I wasn’t going to worry Jupiter with the details.

Jupiter turned his eye to Todd. “Heard about the game. You’re trying to raise money for your cousin who lost his job?”

“Yeah, going to give him the house cut. I don’t want to see his family suffer at Christmas.”

“On your way to Vegas, too?”

“I won a spot in an amateur tournament. The VIP pass to the Tropicana.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Sure,” said Todd. “It’s going to be fun.”

I looked up from the tool cabinet, fumbling the clutch of brushes I held. Todd still stooped over the artist and his alien project. However, I stood in Jupiter’s nonexistent left periphery and caught his cyclopean examination of the dumb, blond poker bait named Todd.

Jupiter’s calculating smile reminded me of my Grandpa’s. Just before he carved the turkey on Christmas day.

TEN

The Dark Tunnel Bluff

Just before four, we snagged Priscilla from Suspicious Minds, then drove past the famous music gates of Graceland, something my Grandma Jo would never forgive me for not visiting. Luckily she had died some years back, but I imagined her taking a few rolls in her cherry casket. Todd took a tight right off of Elvis Presley Boulevard, following the Colonel’s directions to the construction site for the new visitor’s center. At the temporary gate, we were stopped by an aged gorilla in a blue security uniform with various tags clipped and hanging on his person.

From the bench seat behind us, Priscilla muttered about legroom and mall cops. Before the guard approached, I turned around and fixed her with a lethal stare. “Now Priscilla, you keep still,” I said. “You’re in the back for a reason. Do you think that guard is going to mistake you for a painter?”

“Lord, I hope not. That would be considered an epic wardrobe fail,” she smiled with her teeth. “I wouldn’t want to get confused with the likes of y’all.”

“I’ll take the insult in exchange for your hushed mouth.”

She gave me the locked lips sign, and Todd rolled down the window.

The guard ambled forward, adjusted his cop shades, and leaned an arm on the truck window, filling the cab with peppermint fumes.

“Y’all got your pass? You should have it sitting out on your dash.”

I leaned over Todd, placing a hand over his to still any upcoming tapping. “I’m the artist for the new visitor’s center. There should be a work order in the office. Todd, what was the name?”

Todd slid his hands from mine, pulled a wrinkled paper out of his pocket, and consulted it. “Lonnie Harbaugh. Call him. He wrote up the work order.”

“I hadn’t heard about a painting job.” The guard pulled a mini candy cane from his pocket and unwrapped it slowly.

“It’s a big project,” I said. “I’ve got a crew coming so we can get it done tonight. I’m kind of famous in Georgia for my ability to render a realistic drawing in a very short amount of time.”

“You are?” said Priscilla. “Are you also famous for tooting your own horn?”

“What happened to that key?” I muttered.

Mister Gorilla Guard stuck the candy cane in the side of his mouth and took a long suck. “Well, now. I don’t know nothing about that either. Y’all just sit here for a minute and let me check on this so-called painting project. You know you can’t get to the rest of the exhibits from here.”

“We aren’t interested in seeing the Graceland exhibits,” I said, dissuading any idea of us lying about an art project to get a free ride into Graceland at closing hours. Which we weren’t. We were lying about the art project for entirely different reasons.

The candy cane disappeared into the guard’s minty cavern and reappeared on the other side of his mouth. “Why the hell not?”

“Why the hell not what, sir?” I asked politely.

“Why the hell aren’t you interested in the Graceland exhibits? This is the King’s home we’re talking about.”

“Because we’re here to paint?” said Todd.

The guard blasted us with a peppermint infused snort. “We’ll just see about that.”

With a don’t-you-move rap on the door, he stepped back and snatched his walkie from the belt holster.

While the Candy Cane Cop summoned Lonnie Harbaugh, I turned to Todd and Priscilla. “We better hope Byron’s guy comes through. This guard takes his job a little too seriously.”

“There’s a lot of money riding on this game,” said Todd. “It’ll work.”

“How much money are we talking about?” I mentally tallied my savings and checking accounts, which took no time with zero balances.

“These are pros, girl,” said Priscilla. “They don’t play for matchsticks and milk duds.”

I let my head fall against Todd’s brawny shoulder. “I will never understand why anyone would risk money on a game. If it wasn’t for Byron, I’d never support the host of misdemeanors we are about to commit, including illegal gambling.”

“The risk is what makes it fun.” Todd nudged my head with his lips and circled my shoulders with his capable hands.

“Well, ain’t that sweet,” said Priscilla. “You’ve buttered her up, Loverboy. Better take a risk and see what she’ll let you do. If we’re caught, they’re not going to let you share a cell. I can tell you that.”

“You mean kiss Cherry?” said Todd.

“You should thank the Lord for making you pretty instead of smart. Did you want to kiss me instead?” said Priscilla. “Don’t mind me. I’m gonna close my eyes, think about my job tonight, and ignore whatever’s going on in the front seat.”

To save Todd embarrassment, I allowed him a few minutes of risky behavior before the guard waved us through the gate. From my window, I watched another uniformed man take Candy Cane’s spot at the entrance.

The new guard tapped his nose as we drove past, while Candy Cane gave our license plate a meaningful glance before strolling toward the construction office trailer.

Byron and the Colonel met us at the service entrance of the new visitor’s center, a storage room piled with boxes, lumber, and other building supplies. Priscilla scanned the crammed room with raised eyebrows and lips curled in doubt.

“I sure hope this game is worth me canceling my Saturday night plans,” she said, fanning herself. “It looks like the Home Dee-pot exploded in here. And anyone who knows Priscilla knows the only thing she likes about the Home Dee-pot is the big drills.”

“Put a sock in it, Priscilla,” said the Colonel. He pointed his cigar toward the open doorway in the back of the room. “Lonnie’s got us set up in a conference room. We’ll grab the rest of your supplies in a minute.”

The heavy service doors shut behind us, cutting off the weak afternoon sunlight. With our arms full of Jupiter’s painting supplies, Todd and I followed the Colonel down the dark hallway lined with taped drywall. Wires hung from the openings in the ceiling and spackle dotted the cement floor.

“We’re going to keep the front of the building locked off and feed everyone through the back door. Anyone nosing around will think the newcomers are here to paint,” explained the Colonel. “Lonnie’s got us set up all right.”

“The guard seemed suspicious,” I said. “I’m kind of nervous about this.”

“That guy’s an old timer,” said Byron. “Lonnie says he goes off duty at five. Won’t be a problem.”

“Can’t back out now,” said the Colonel. “We’ve got plenty coming.”

“What if the hustlers don’t show?”

The Colonel shrugged. “Then your Todd here plays charity poker as planned. Plus Byron’ll get the house cut, after we deduct expenses. You better pray Todd can win more than his buy-in and house fee. Since he seems to have blown his wad losing at the tables in Arkansas.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought y’all understood we were doing this for Byron’s kids so their Christmas isn’t all shot to hell.”

“In order to attract our fish, we couldn’t blab about Byron, now could we?” The Colonel stopped at the end of the dark hall and held open the door. “Those of us in the know will help Todd. If we can.”

I eyed the Colonel as I maneuvered through the doorway. I didn’t like the casual ruthlessness he exuded. Seemed this Christmas sting had turned double blind.

While I threw tarps on the ground and created an air of painterliness in the open area, the other men and Priscilla carried sections of a poker table and chairs into an empty room. The area I was to pretend to paint was a central hub within the building. Rooms and hallways spoked off this nucleus. I visualized exhibits behind glass cases, perhaps a desk with docents ready to assist the Elvis lovers in their pilgrimage. Looking at the walls, primed and ready for paint, I saw a medium prepared for my kind of genius.

No way in hell was I going to pretend to slap paint on this giant canvas just in case a guard showed up. And no way in hell could Chet rip up these sketches.

I grabbed the hardest lead pencil in my bag, a 2H, and a tape measure. “Byron, get over here and bring a ladder.”

Byron popped out of the conference room, carrying a stepladder. “What’cha need, Cherry?”

“Follow me around this room. We’re going to make a series of crosses. I need you to help me hold the tape measure, so I can mark off the lines.”

“Crosses?” Byron gave me a look I recognized from folks who drank from half-empty glasses. “I thought you were supposed to pretend you’re painting.”

“This will be more helpful,” I said. “Save your ‘told-you-so’ for later, but for now just help me. I want to draw lines that are about three by three.”

“Inches?”

“Why would I need a tape measure and ladder for inches? I can freehand three by three inches. Feet, Byron. Three by three feet.”

After a grumble, he circled the room with me as I drew light cross lines on the walls. “Now what?”

“Now, I’m going to grab an eraser and a softer lead. You’re going to make sure nobody notices what I’m doing.”

“Lord save us,” Byron mopped his face with his hands, then smoothed his mustache. “I’m a nervous wreck and you’re not helping. Can’t you save your craziness for Vegas?”

“If I’m going to jail, I might as well make my mark in here.”

While I roughed out ovals, squares, and oblong rectangles around the cross lines, Byron donned coveralls, a painter’s cap, and glasses. He found a corner, popped open the stepladder, and made himself comfortable, blending into our screen.

After my quick sketch of shapes, I peeked into the conference room. The Colonel and Priscilla huddled around a corner table. She shoved chips into a sorter while the Colonel fiddled with a laptop. At the long table set for twenty, Todd sat alone, drumming the felt top with his travel drumsticks.

“How’s it going in here?” I sauntered toward Todd and leaned over him. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I placed my lips near his ear. “Are the Colonel and Priscilla doing anything that’d make me fret?”

He abandoned his drumsticks to reach behind my head and pull me closer, nuzzling my neck so I could hear his murmur. “Not that I can tell.”

“Who’s holding the money?”

“Priscilla’s playing the house. They’ve got a software program to count down rounds and increase blinds. Makes the game more official-like.”

As if her hearing was tuned to our sweet-nothings decibel, Priscilla looked up from her chip count and waved a pinky finger. “You ready for the big show, baby?”

I slid an exit kiss across Todd’s lips, and he released me to continue drum practice. I strolled to the other side of the room, examining Priscilla’s newest wardrobe change. She wore a slate and rose pinstripe suit with a silk shirt in quinacridone magenta, a matching tie, and fedora. The bouffant and flowing tresses had been exchanged for a close shave and pencil-thin mustache. The narrow brimmed hat had a tiny silk rose stuck in the ribbon.

“Are we Eddie tonight?” I asked, running my finger across the angled, front brim. “You changed again.”

“Don’t be getting your pencil smudges on this fine trilby.” She flicked my fingers from the hat. “The circle playing tonight doesn’t always appreciate my brand of entertainment. But I still dress for the occasion. I guess you did, too.” She looked pointedly at my borrowed coveralls.

“I didn’t have time to bling out Jupiter’s garage wear.”

“Time should not be a consideration when you’re talking couture, DIY Fashion Girl. I survived a van kidnapping today, but I look sharp. You look like a reject from the cast of Grease.”

I decided to ignore her fashion one-upmanship and studied the rainbow colored chips lying beneath her trimmed and buffed nails.

“What’s the highest amount you’ve got in there?”

She pointed to the shorter column of tangerine colored discs. “Ten thousand.”

I inhaled my spit and the Colonel, helpful as usual, pounded on my back. Spinning around, I stared at Todd. “Ten thousand?”

“We’ve got a big buy-in. Going for long rounds and a slow blind increase. That’ll help us the most. Don’t want anybody getting too lucky.” Todd shrugged and continued his drum practice.

He spoke the language of poker more fluently than his mother-tongue of English. Yet any spark of intelligence hid effectively beneath his vacant, cerulean gaze and the drumsticks tapping the syncopated beat of
Jailhouse Rock
. Todd did blank absorption well. Almost too well.

“When are they coming?” I asked.

“Anytime now,” said the Colonel and flapped his hands at me. “If you’re done necking with your boyfriend, make yourself useful and help the crowd find our room. Lonnie’s people should be escorting them through the back.”

Before I made it to the door, Todd’s long arm snagged and reeled me into his side. “Don’t worry, baby.”