Key Lime Blues (10 page)

I laughed. “Not exactly a brilliant prediction. Aren’t we all haunted by something or another?”

“Perhaps.” She picked up the cards, added them to the deck, and placed them on the table.

The girl tilted her face toward me and studied me for a moment before pushing herself away from the table. She rose effortlessly to her feet, sauntered over to a counter where a cash register sat, reached over, and pulled a small book from behind the counter. She paused to open the book, and spoke without turning. “Elvis is free right now. He does his readings from his home. It’s three blocks from here.”

“Works for me,” I said.

“Good. The cost is one hundred and twenty-five dollars for a forty-five minute reading.” She held out her hand. “Cash or credit. No checks.”

I raised an eyebrow at the price, but pulled out my wallet and handed her my American Express card. After she’d run the card she handed it back to me and made an entry into the appointment book. Finally, she picked up a printed sheet and held it out to me. “His address and a map,” she said. “He’ll be expecting you.”

“I suppose that’s because you have a psychic connection with him.”

She scowled. “No, asshole, it’s because I have a phone. He’s going to know right away you’re a disbeliever though.”

“You’ll clue him in of course.”

“I won’t have to.” A slight smile formed on her face when she spoke about him. “He has a strong gift. He may be the most gifted person I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve always said the only difference between a good psychic and a great psychic is the number of years he’s been pulling the con.” I took the map from her hand without looking at it. While she tried to stare me down I thought of another question. “How long has Elvis been calling himself a psychic?”

The smile faded and she moved around me and headed back toward the table. “If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late.”

“Got time for one more question?”

She stopped and nodded her head. “Go ahead.”

“What’s with the phone room?”

She stood motionless, like a manikin dressed for a funeral, and I thought for a moment she was going to refuse to answer, but she surprised me. “We take calls from all over the world. Lost people call looking for help. There are five of us. We take turns answering the phones and working the shop.”

“And if someone calls and asks to speak to Elvis, can they?”

“Of course.”

“For an extra cost I’m sure.”

She spun around. Her eyes narrowed, and her upper lip quivered showing me her teeth. She looked like a wild animal ready to pounce. When she spoke, her words were carefully spaced, almost as if she was fighting to control herself. “For every disbeliever there’s a believer. I’ve helped many of them. Elvis has helped even more. He helped me when no one else would. He took me off the streets, made me realize I wasn’t crazy. Elvis helped me recognize my special gift. You don’t have to believe. But you don’t have to be a shit-head either.”

“You sound sincere,” I said.

“Damn straight,” she said. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think I was making a difference in people’s lives. Why do you want to see Elvis anyway? You a cop?”

“No.”

“You act like a cop.” Anger rang in her voice and she looked like she was preparing to throw herself at me.

I shrugged and began to back toward the door. I’d once seen what a woman could do with nails like hers, and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the lady. When I reached the door she turned away and I walked outside into the afternoon heat. After the cool of the shop the air felt humid and heavy. I headed off toward Elvis’s house and wondered if we were in for another bout of rain.

Chapter 10

I could understand why a girl like the one working for Elvis would gravitate here. Back home, she would have been considered strange. Of course, she was as strange in Key West as wherever she was from, but there was so much strange down here on the island she could almost pass for normal. In fact, I was even beginning to feel like I fit right in.

I had never been considered strange when I was a child, but I’d always thought of myself as being different. I’m sure it was why I felt so at home in Key West. When other kids were out playing tag and riding bicycles, I was out on Lake St. Clair on my grandfather’s sailboat. When I was younger I’d sailed with my grandfather, but by the time I was in my teens I was taking his 32-foot sailboat on longer and longer trips by myself. Since I’d never known my father, my mother’s dad, along with Nick, were the male influences in my life. Different wasn’t necessarily bad, just, well, different.

 
While I moved along Duval I remained vigilant, watching for Bob or Willie. I felt exposed, so I stepped up my pace. Dodging the tourists wandering the street, I was standing in front of Elvis’s place within minutes.

The house was two stories and painted white like all the others on the street. Four steps led up to a small, quaint porch, and four columns across the front supported the roof. There were also four chairs lined up in front of a four paned window. The whole setup made me suspect Elvis suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder as well as his other phobias.

The painted wood steps gave slightly when I climbed them, groaning from years of use. As I reached for the door it opened inward. A giant of a black man peered out at me through thick-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a tuxedo, wore a red fez that was too small for his head, and his shoulders were so broad his jacket rubbed against either side of the doorframe.

The sheer bulk of the man startled me and I took a quick step back. I got the feeling he was used to having this effect on people.

“I have an appointment to see Elvis.”

His eyes lit up and he smiled. “My name is Dom,” he said with a soft, southern lilt. “And you are?”

“Wes Darling.”

“Follow me please, Mister Darling. Mister Elvis is expecting you.” He turned and led the way down a narrow hallway. His steps were short and lumbering, and he brushed the walls with his shoulders when he walked.

As I Trailed him I became aware of the faint scent of a flowery perfume, lilacs perhaps. It took a moment to realize it was emanating from the behemoth in front of me. ‘Only in Key West,’ I thought.

Dom stopped in front of the first door he came to, knocked once, and entered without waiting for an invitation. He was so broad that he had to twist his shoulders to the side in order to squeeze through the doorway. I followed, without the effort.

The room was not very large. A soft, instrumental version of an old Beatles’ song I couldn’t name was being piped in through speakers in the ceiling. It was something my mother used to play when I was little, before she got rid of all her old record albums.

The floor was covered with thick white Berber carpeting, and the dim lighting cast my shadow onto a rose colored wall, making me appear as large as my guide.

Across the room a tall, thin man with a shaved head and a Van Dyke style beard stood behind a desk that held a deck of cards, tarot I presumed, a crystal ball, a box of tissues, and a white surgical mask. He wore a dark, pinstriped suit with white gloves, and his eyes seemed to come alive when he smiled at me.

“I’m Elvis,” he said. “You can leave us now, Dom.”

There was a shifting of weight behind me, and the door closed. I stepped forward and held out my hand. “Funny,” I said. “You don’t look at all like him.”

His smile shifted, and I thought I detected a look of disappointment in his eyes. “Him?”

“Elvis. I don’t see the resemblance.”

“I can assure you, you’re not the first to make fun of my name.” Elvis reached out, shook my hand, and peeled off the gloves with a flourish. “It so happens, it’s my real name. My mother was a big fan of the man.” Holding the gloves between the tips of his left thumb and forefinger, he dropped them into the trashcan next to the desk.

“The gloves must get expensive,” I said.

“I have a thing about germs.” Pointing to a leather armchair on my left he added, “Won’t you have a seat Mister Darling?”

He stood until I was seated, then he pulled out the chair from behind the desk and sat down. I was overcome with the strangest feeling. It was like I was back in high school and I’d been sent to see the principle after misbehaving.

I’d already made up my mind he was a charlatan, but I could almost feel the vibes he was sending out. Elvis pressed his fingers together into a steeple, rested his chin on his thumbs, and stared at me until I began to squirm. Although I’d investigated psychics, I’d never visited one while a paying customer. I didn’t know what to expect. While I waited for him to say something, I forced myself to sit still and returned his stare.

Elvis finally let out a controlled sigh. “Cat was right.”

“The cat was right?” I asked. “What cat?”

He dropped his hands to the desktop and chuckled. “I’m afraid talking to animals is not one of my fortes. I’m referring to Cat, the woman you spoke with when you made your appointment. She said you were a skeptic.”

“And she knew this how?”

“She read your aura.”

“Without my permission?” I leaned forward. “Isn’t there a law against that? If there’s not, there should be.”

“A true doubter doesn’t seek out a psychic, Mister Darling. Cat seemed to think you were a cop.”

“I told her I wasn’t.”

“I know. I’ve been expecting you.”

“So Destiny must have told you I was going to show up.”

“I don’t know anyone named Destiny,” he said. “I don’t think you’re going to believe me when I tell you why I was expecting you. Unless of course, you’re open to a real psychic experience.”

I rested my hands on the desk, palms down. “I want you to understand—I don’t believe in auras, or crystal balls or reading palms. Calling me a skeptic would indicate I have doubts about your psychic abilities. I would describe myself to be a total disbeliever. Should anyone ask, I’d describe you as a con man.”

Elvis held his ground, meeting my gaze head on. “I’m not a con man. People come to me for help. I provide a service and I’m proud of it.”

He sounded sincere and I almost believed him. Almost. “You prey on vulnerable people,” I said. “You take money from them and you give them false hope.”

He pressed his fingers together again, and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. After a moment he said, “It’s true, many of my clients are vulnerable. But so are many of the people doctors and psychiatrists see. I offer a service, and I’m not ashamed of what I do. Some people might say private detectives accept money from vulnerable people. Does it make you a con man, Mister Darling?”

Before I could answer my phone started ringing. I reached down, shut it off, and said to Elvis, “It’s not the same.” I was on the defensive, and I didn’t like it. I wasn’t used to having someone challenge my own line of work, but again, maybe he was right. Wasn’t it why I had quit?

“Perhaps not. I’m going to ask you to suspend your belief system for a little while, Mister Darling.”

“I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“I know you aren’t going to want to believe what I have to tell you. I assume you came here to ask me some questions about this Destiny person?”

I nodded.

“Then let’s make a deal,” he said. “I’ll answer any questions you have if you’ll listen to what I have to say first. You probably won’t, but it would help if you kept an open mind.”

“So if you already know I’m not going to believe what you tell me, why bother going to all this trouble?”

“Because I’ll have done what she asked,” Elvis said.

“Destiny?”

Elvis shook his head. “I told you I don’t know anyone named Destiny.”

“You know her as Gail Bernard. To be honest, I’m a little disappointed. Being a psychic, I’d expect you to know those things.”

“I’m a psychic, Mister Darling, not God. I don’t know everything, and the girl I’m talking about didn’t give me a name.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So this is someone who walked up to you on the street with a message for me.”

“Not exactly,” he said. “What do you say? Tit for Tat. You listen without interrupting me and I answer your questions.”

I felt as if I was being played, but it was also obvious I wasn’t going to get any answers about Destiny if I didn’t listen. I leaned back into the chair, laced my fingers together, and placed my hands behind my head. “Go ahead. Lay it on me. I’ll listen to what you have to say, but I don’t promise I’m going to believe you.”

“I have been cursed with a rare gift, Mister Darling. The gift has made me a wealthy man, and I consider it God given. I wouldn’t give it up for anything, although it often leaves my nights riddled with dark visions and nightmares.”

“I heard you were afraid of the dark.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark. Sometimes the visitors I have are frightening, but more often than not they’re afraid, like I am. I see dead people at night, Mister Darling. They come to me in my dreams, and occasionally, when I can’t sleep, they come anyway. It’s always at night, I never know ahead of time when they’re going to seek me out, and I can’t avoid them.”

His eyes seemed to bore right through me, as if he was daring me to doubt him. I wondered if I’d been wrong. Maybe Elvis wasn’t trying to con me. Maybe he was nuts.