Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island by H. Terrell Griffin Page A
Authors: H. Terrell Griffin
Tags: Mystery
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wafted in from the nearby commercial docks.
I saw the pay phone in the corner, under a sign advertising the unisex restroom. I reached into the pocket of my cargo shorts and fingered the
cell phone button that I had programmed to ring with the number on Jeff's
caller ID. The pay phone rang once, and I fingered the off button. A
couple of heads turned expectantly toward the phone, but returned to their
drinks when it didn't ring again. Right phone, right bar.
In addition to my cargo shorts, I was wearing an old T-shirt with the
faded logo of the Tampa Bay Bucs on the front. Reeboks, no socks. I sat
at the bar and ordered a Miller Lite from the ancient bartender. He had a
shaggy head of gray hair, bloodshot eyes, and a face so wrinkled it was
hard to make out its features. He didn't say a word.
I sat quietly, nursing my beer. The customers ignored me, no one acknowledging my presence, not even the bartender. When my beer was
gone, I held up the bottle and wagged it at him. He bent to the cooler and
brought me another one.
"Barkeep," I said. "I'm looking for a woman who was here yesterday."
"Can't help you." he said.
I put the pictures of Peggy and Laura on the bar next to a twenty
dollar bill. "Just take a look," I said.
He bent over the photos. His gnarled hand, quick as a snake, grabbed
the twenty and transferred it to his pocket.
"Nope," he said. "Never saw either one of them."
I put another twenty on the bar. "Would you be kind enough to show
the pictures to your customers?"
The gnarled hand made another quick swipe and the bill disappeared. He nodded his head and picked up the photos. I watched him
walk the length of the bar, showing the pictures. Heads shook in the negative.
The bartender shuffled over to the pool table and held out the
pictures to die two men. One of them, a big man about thirty years old,
with blond hair, craggy face, and skin ruined by the sun looked over at me,
locked eyes, and then looked away, shaking his head.
The bartender brought the pictures back to me. "Nobody saw them.
I ain't surprised."
"Why aren't you surprised?"
"Mister, this is the kind of place where everybody takes care of his
own business and don't pay no attention to anybody else's troubles. If a
woman had been here, either somebody would have noticed and remembered or just not give a shit, if you know what I mean."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you remember or just not give a shit?" I put another twenty on
the bar.
The old man stared at the bill for a moment, as if making up his mind
about something important. He wanted the money, but he wasn't sure
what or how much he should tell me.
Finally he said, "Who are they?"
"They're my wife and daughter." The lie slid easily from my mouth.
"I used to have a wife and a daughter," he said. Something passed
over his face, maybe an emotion, maybe sadness. "They left me twenty
years ago. Never heard from them again."
"I'm sorry. That's tough."
"The young one was here yesterday," he said, pointing to Peggy's
picture, still lying on the bar. "She came in here late in the morning, started
to make a phone call, and ran out the back door when some guys came in
the front door. They went after her."
"Did you know the men who came after her?"
"No. Never saw them before."
"I appreciate the help."
He took the twenty and moved to the other end of the bar.
I finished my beer, thinking about what little I had found out. Peggy
had been here, and that meant she was in Key West. But, who was after
her, and why? Not much to go on, but it was more than I had when I got
here.
I had to assume that the men chasing her had caught her. I didn't
know what that meant. Was she okay? No. Not if grown men were chasing
her through a grungy bar. Maybe she'd escaped from whomever was after
her, and had come to the nearest place with a phone. Tried to call her dad,
but the men showed up before she could complete the connection. I'd
have to try some
I saw the pay phone in the corner, under a sign advertising the unisex restroom. I reached into the pocket of my cargo shorts and fingered the
cell phone button that I had programmed to ring with the number on Jeff's
caller ID. The pay phone rang once, and I fingered the off button. A
couple of heads turned expectantly toward the phone, but returned to their
drinks when it didn't ring again. Right phone, right bar.
In addition to my cargo shorts, I was wearing an old T-shirt with the
faded logo of the Tampa Bay Bucs on the front. Reeboks, no socks. I sat
at the bar and ordered a Miller Lite from the ancient bartender. He had a
shaggy head of gray hair, bloodshot eyes, and a face so wrinkled it was
hard to make out its features. He didn't say a word.
I sat quietly, nursing my beer. The customers ignored me, no one acknowledging my presence, not even the bartender. When my beer was
gone, I held up the bottle and wagged it at him. He bent to the cooler and
brought me another one.
"Barkeep," I said. "I'm looking for a woman who was here yesterday."
"Can't help you." he said.
I put the pictures of Peggy and Laura on the bar next to a twenty
dollar bill. "Just take a look," I said.
He bent over the photos. His gnarled hand, quick as a snake, grabbed
the twenty and transferred it to his pocket.
"Nope," he said. "Never saw either one of them."
I put another twenty on the bar. "Would you be kind enough to show
the pictures to your customers?"
The gnarled hand made another quick swipe and the bill disappeared. He nodded his head and picked up the photos. I watched him
walk the length of the bar, showing the pictures. Heads shook in the negative.
The bartender shuffled over to the pool table and held out the
pictures to die two men. One of them, a big man about thirty years old,
with blond hair, craggy face, and skin ruined by the sun looked over at me,
locked eyes, and then looked away, shaking his head.
The bartender brought the pictures back to me. "Nobody saw them.
I ain't surprised."
"Why aren't you surprised?"
"Mister, this is the kind of place where everybody takes care of his
own business and don't pay no attention to anybody else's troubles. If a
woman had been here, either somebody would have noticed and remembered or just not give a shit, if you know what I mean."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you remember or just not give a shit?" I put another twenty on
the bar.
The old man stared at the bill for a moment, as if making up his mind
about something important. He wanted the money, but he wasn't sure
what or how much he should tell me.
Finally he said, "Who are they?"
"They're my wife and daughter." The lie slid easily from my mouth.
"I used to have a wife and a daughter," he said. Something passed
over his face, maybe an emotion, maybe sadness. "They left me twenty
years ago. Never heard from them again."
"I'm sorry. That's tough."
"The young one was here yesterday," he said, pointing to Peggy's
picture, still lying on the bar. "She came in here late in the morning, started
to make a phone call, and ran out the back door when some guys came in
the front door. They went after her."
"Did you know the men who came after her?"
"No. Never saw them before."
"I appreciate the help."
He took the twenty and moved to the other end of the bar.
I finished my beer, thinking about what little I had found out. Peggy
had been here, and that meant she was in Key West. But, who was after
her, and why? Not much to go on, but it was more than I had when I got
here.
I had to assume that the men chasing her had caught her. I didn't
know what that meant. Was she okay? No. Not if grown men were chasing
her through a grungy bar. Maybe she'd escaped from whomever was after
her, and had come to the nearest place with a phone. Tried to call her dad,
but the men showed up before she could complete the connection. I'd
have to try some
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