Homemade Sin (32 page)

“Get me that book and it's our little secret,” Bella said. “I'll meet you here tomorrow night and you better have that book.”

As Cutter and Bella Donna went their separate ways, Stinky climbed back on top of the dumpster. “Someday I'll have my army of minions, and that man will pay for his insolence.”

The sun-cured, sausage-casing bodies bobbed in the pool of the Santeria Hotel, par broiling in the brutal Florida sun. Watching them from the window at the front desk, they reminded Roland of the sea lions that languished on San Francisco's Pier 39. From the shady coolness of the office Roland could almost see the sparks guttering off of the paler-skinned bodies and hear the faint electrical crackle as if someone had placed an iPod in a microwave.

Maybe heaven's like that, Roland thought, drifting around in a pool all day on a floating noodle, having someone bring you drinks. It occurred to him the snowbirds hadn't placed a drink order all day. They were usually on their third round by now, measuring the time they had been out there in rounds. He also noticed that they seemed a little more languid than usual, standing there, staring off into the Gulf, not moving. Roland noticed Stinky sitting in the shade under a pool umbrella watching the pool people.

“There has to be an answer,” purred Stinky to himself. “When the slutty woman gave them the drinks they came back to life and now they do what she says. They are totally under her control. Imagine a pussy cat army, all under my control. I could rule the world. I must find out how to do this.”

Roland watched Stinky sniff the air as if he was picking up some message in the sea breeze, as if the wind was giving him the answer he desired. Stinky shook his head and streaked into the bar.

Before Roland could follow Stinky into the bar to see what evil he was up to now, a bear of a man swaggered through the door, and across the room. He stood at the front desk, squirted anti-bacterial gel on the bell and pushed the button cautiously with one finger. Roland turned to greet him. The man looked like he could break the desk in half without much trouble.

“What a filthy place!” the man said. “When was the last time anybody dusted this counter? Where's the manager?”

“That would be me,” Roland said, putting on a fake smile as he turned toward the man. “What can I do for you?”

“I want a room. I got this here free card,” Dutch said.

Roland looked down at the card. He knew he hadn't printed it, or authorized it. It must have been Dee Dee, he thought. “Where did you get this coupon?”

“Look buddy,” the big man said. “I got a fight coming up in a few days and I need a little R&R before I take on ‘The Germ.' So get me a room, OK? And nobody will get hurt.”

Roland looked over his shoulder at the empty slots where keys to vacant rooms vacationed. He found a lone key to a room at the end of the second floor and asked for the man's credit card.

“I thought the room was free,” the man said.

“Just in case there are phone charges or whatever,” Roland informed him. “So, you're a boxer?” Roland made conversation while he processed the card. “I think I've actually seen you fight on Pay per View. Didn't you fight ‘The Pig' in Tampa last night? Dutch Something, right?”

Dutch hung his head. “Yeah, that was me,” he said to the floor. “It wasn't one of my better moments.”

“I have to make sure the room is ready,” Roland said. “In the meantime why don't you have a drink at the bar?”

Roland led the man into the Fugu Lounge and found Dee Dee behind the bar chatting with Cutter. Hussey was busy cleaning off tables. Tony was seated beside Cutter polishing off a beer. “Gimme another one,” said Tony, “I'm drier than an English sense of humor.”

“Dee Dee,” Roland said, strolling up to the bar with Dutch in tow. “Make this man a drink on the house. I'm going up to check his room.”

Dee Dee shoved a frosted mug under a tap and poured Tony a beer. Cutter smiled at Dee Dee and nodded toward Dutch as he motioned her to come closer, “That's the guy,” he whispered to Dee Dee, “the boxer.”

“What can I get you to drink?” Dee Dee asked, her voice pure honey as she turned her attention to Dutch.

“Gimme a Zombie,” the boxer said.

A wide grin spread across Dee Dee's face.

“I have to go take care of something,” Cutter whispered to Dee Dee as she mixed the drink. He looked over at Hussey to make sure she'd be busy cleaning up for a while. “I'll be right back.”

With Roland not minding the bar and away from the front office Cutter took the opportunity to slip the master key off the pegboard behind the desk and into his pocket. He strolled outside into the parking lot and lurked while he watched Roland enter one of the rooms. Cutter surveyed the row of rooms and crept toward Hussey's door. He slid the master key into the lock, crept inside, and headed straight for the closet. He found the ‘Conjure' book under Hussey's medical bag, and stuffed it into his pants, pulling his shirttail over the bulge it made. Crossing to the door, he peered out of the peephole to make sure no one was in the walkway as he slinked out of Hussey's room.

Making a bee line for his van, he deposited the book under the passenger seat.

“Your room's all ready,” Roland said to Dutch as he entered the bar and spotted Dutch and Dee Dee seated at a corner table. He dropped Dutch's room key on his table.

“Dutch here is going to have a little dinner before he goes to his room,” Dee Dee called out to Roland.

Roland nodded and headed to the bar where Tony was draining his beer. Tony slammed the empty glass on the table, turned to Roland and said; “Pour me another beer! I'm as dry as a peyote button in Palestine.”

Dutch was perusing the menu and checking for spots on the silverware, trying to decide between the Nikogori and the Usuzukuri as Dee Dee slid her chair closer and leaned in, her lips almost touching his cheek. “I hear you're a boxer,” Dee Dee said in her throaty, seductress voice. “You sure got the body for it.”

“Thanks,” Dutch said, “But I ain't much of a fighter. I have OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It kind of distracts my focus in the ring. I lose a lot.”

“Go win fights,” Dee Dee whispered into Dutch's ear, her lips pressed close.

“What?” Dutch said after a swallow of his Zombie.

“Just practicing.” Dee Dee giggled. “What did you decide on for dinner?”

“I don't know. I don't know what any of this stuff is.”

“Tell you what, I'll go fix you something special.” She smiled as she walked away.

Dutch watched Dee Dee work intently as she sliced fugu. She reminded him of a sculptress as she wielded her knife through the fish. And she wasn't bad on the eyes either.

Dee Dee arranged the sliced fish on a plate and sauntered over to his table, a slow swing in her walk like New Orleans' blues. As he stared at the slices of fish Dee Dee slid back into the seat beside him and scooted up even closer than before. “Isn't OCD neurological?” Dee Dee said as she took his fork from his hand. She stabbed a chunk of fish and lifted it to his mouth. Then another.

“I don't feel so good,” Dutch said after Dee Dee had forked him thoroughly with fugu. “My tongue and my lips feel numb, and I feel a little queasy.”

“Why don't I escort you to your room?” whispered Dee Dee. She helped Dutch to his feet. “You can lie down for a while if you like. I'll even lay down with you and do anything I can to make you feel better.” She grinned a lascivious grin. She nodded to Cutter who joined her in helping Dutch to his room.

As Dee Dee and Cutter dragged Dutch out of the bar Stinky fell in behind them and followed. When Dee Dee opened the door Stinky slipped between her feet and slithered under the bed unnoticed.

Cutter looked down at the prone body of the boxer as Dee Dee placed her fingers against his lips to make sure he was still breathing. “Man, I'd hate to be a zombie,” Cutter said, “you sit there transfixed, staring straight ahead, oblivious to the outside world, eyes glazed over, jaw slack.” He checked his watch. “Oh shit, the game's on.”

He searched for the remote control and brought the television to life. He searched the channels for the game.

When he found it he sat on the edge of the bed and stared straight ahead at the screen, transfixed, oblivious to the outside world, eyes glazed over, jaw slack.

As Dee Dee reached into her pocket and retrieved the bottle of purple Mambo powder, two green eyes watched from beneath the bed. Dee Dee poured some of Hussey's voodoo powder into a glass of water and poured it down Dutch's throat. She slipped the vial back into her apron pocket, removed the apron and laid it down on the foot of the bed. Stinky stared at the apron, grinning an evil grin.

Dutch could feel his stomach cramping, he felt nauseous. He could feel his arms and legs but he couldn't move them. He was paralyzed. He stared up at the two people who hovered over him with glassy eyes. He saw Cutter as the old wino from the hallway and Dee Dee as his mother in her filthy bathrobe.

“What do we do now?” Cutter said as he and Dee Dee watched Dutch began to convulse. The boxer's eyes began to tear and his nose started dripping. A thin line of drool crept downward from the corners of his mouth.

Dee Dee tried to remember what Hussey said when she voodooized the dog. First she adopted a soothing tone. “Dutch, listen to the sound of my voice, when you open your eyes you will be fine, all your problems will be gone. You will feel great, happy, healthy and alive. You won't have OCD anymore. You will also respond only to the sound of my voice. When I tell you to do something, you will do it.”

“If you understand, wag your tail,” Cutter said, mimicking what Hussey had said to Moreover.

“You lame re re,” Dee Dee said. “He's human, not a dog!”

Dutch tried to shake his butt but couldn't get it to move.

“If you understand me, blink your eyes,” Dee Dee said.

Dutch blinked.

“Good. Now wake up.”

Dutch blinked again and sat up.

“Now wait here until we come back for you,” Dee Dee commanded.

Dee Dee tuned to Cutter. “We'll come back for him when it's time to take him to the fight.

When Cutter and Dee Dee left the room Stinky slipped out from under the bed, dug through Dee Dee's apron pocket and retrieved the vial of purple Mambo powder. Carrying the vial in his teeth, he slipped back under the bed and waited.

“Did you get the book?” Bella said from behind his van as Cutter was leaving the bar.

“Yeah, it's in my van. I'll get it for you.” Cutter opened the side door of his van and pulled the book from under the passenger seat.

“So,” Bella said. “Tell me more about this money making plan you have. How is it working?”

“Dee Dee and I voodooized this boxer, a guy named Dutch, The Cleanser, and now we're going to put big bets down on him and when he wins the fight in Tampa tomorrow night, we'll clean up.”