Bird Brained (25 page)

“Tell the Commander that he can place his grocery list whenever he wants. All’s clear to fill another order from the candy store.”

Okay. Now I really
was
curious. I played the messages back one more time, listening carefully. But there were no secret clues to be gathered. I wondered who the Commander was, and why he’d be calling a lowlife like Weed. And just what was this candy store the second message had spoken of? It had to be some sort of code.

I stuffed Willy’s three passports into my back pocket, figuring that should put a stop to his trips for awhile. If nothing else, it might give some birds a reprieve. Then I lowered the mattress to the floor and returned to the front of the trailer, satisfied that I’d discovered whatever was to be found in Weed’s squalid abode. My entire body felt like it needed to be steamcleaned and dried—maybe even given a flea bath—but there was another trailer to explore first.

I opened the flimsy door to leave and walked smack into Willy. The cast had been cut off his leg, revealing a foot that was swollen the size of a football, its color a nasty mix of purple and green. He’d nestled his tootsies in the bottom half of a sneaker, whose top and sides had been cut out. Filthy strips of adhesive tape anchored the sneaker’s raggedy sole to his foot. Otherwise, he looked the same as I’d last seen him, down to his yellow
JUST DO ME
T-shirt.

Willy looked nearly as startled as I was. Then he smiled a slow molasses of a grin, his eyes looking me up and down as if I were one of his mice and he was the big, bad snake. The ruby in his tooth caught a ray of sun, causing me to imagine Bambi knocking it out of his mouth, and wondering how much she would get for it. My train of thought was rudely interrupted as Willy reached up and shoved me back inside, his hands cupped over my breasts.

“Hey there, darlin’. You been waiting here all by your lonesome for big Willy?” His breath was as rancid as his laundry.

I knocked his hands off my chest, only to have Willy grin wider and enter the trailer. Before today, I had thought of him as just one more easily handled slimeball. Now that I’d caught an eyeful of his photo album, I was afraid he was far tougher than I had imagined. To make matters worse, I’d left my revolver in the glove compartment of my car.

“I just got here a minute ago,” I bluffed. “The door was unlocked, so I assumed you’d be in. There are a few things I want to talk to you about.”

The corners of Willy’s mouth pulled down. “Now that’s stranger than a coon’s tail, Agent Porter.” His voice curled around my name as constrictingly as a snake, and his fingers wound themselves in my curls. “’Cause I just ran my hand along the hood of your engine, and it’s nice and cool. Not hot, like you’d expect it to be.”

Willy closed the door of the trailer behind him. “Besides, I distinctly remember locking this door. But I see that couldn’t keep you out. Must be that you’re wanting me real bad, Porter—so let me help you get your engine started.”

Weed walked toward me slowly, grinding his groin in a poor imitation of a Chippendales dancer. I pushed him away as hard as I could and moved back, nearly stumbling into the pile of laundry.

“Cut the crap, Willy,” I warned.

Weed licked his lips and rubbed his crotch. “You know, if you’re nice to me, I might be able to get you some publicity. I’m talking real good, glossy photos. I got connections, big time. Hell, we could have you pose with some of my cats out there.” Willy’s eyes glittered. “I’m not talking some piece of crap, but a
Playboy
or a
Penthouse
spread. One of those high-class magazines.”

“I’ve heard all about your connections in the porn world, Willy. They’re very impressive,” I said sarcastically. “But all I really want is to have your rear end keeping a jail cell warm.”

He limped forward, aware that there wasn’t much more space into which I could retreat.

“You must have done some miraculous healing for the hospital to have removed your cast so quickly,” I observed, trying to divert the conversation. The way his foot looked, it was probably infected, and well on its way to a whopping case of gangrene.

He gave a broad leer, taking the comment as flattery. “The Swamp Cowboy has lotsa magic powers you’re just beginning to learn about. Besides, it wasn’t the hospital that done it. The damn thing got to be too hot and itchy, so I decided to hell with it and cut it off myself. When you’re a real man, you can do that kinda thing,” he said with a wink.

I wondered if Willy also knew that real men didn’t need to hurt eleven-year-old girls, or look at bloated, dead bodies to get aroused. I wisely kept those questions to myself.

His hand began to climb up my leg like a large, crafty spider. I locked onto his eyes and swatted his fingers away with all the concern I’d have for a bug, damned if I’d give him the upper hand by showing any fear.

“I came by to tell you to stay away from Bambi. She’s called the police, and the court is in the process of issuing a restraining order against you. So unless you’re looking for a few hot meals courtesy of the county, I suggest that you cool it with the threats and behave.”

Willy came closer, forcing me to step into the pile of laundry.

“Ouch!” Willy giggled. “You got me there, Porter. Why, I’m just gonna have to put my big old tail between my legs and scamper away lickety-split, like a good little boy. Is that what you wanna hear me say?” he asked, his voice turning deep and raspy.

His breath covered me like a layer of grime. “I swear to God, Willy—you come any closer, and a jail cell will be the least of your concerns.” If nothing else, I could smother him to death with his own clothes.

“That’s what I like about you, Porter—you’re feisty.” Willy began to pick at his chest, as if he were removing scabs. “As for Bambi? I got my plans for her; don’t you worry. But right now, it’s you that I’m thinking about. And that’s beginning to make me feel prickly all over.”

Weed’s hand slunk down to his jeans. His fingers loosened the button on his pants, then moved for the zipper.

“I do believe you’re just gonna have to do the right thing and scratch this big ol’ itch for me,” he smirked. “Besides, I did promise to show you my cockatoo.”

Willy’s free hand slithered up along the inside of my thigh. I quickly raised my knee, aiming for his groin, but Weed was prepared for the move. Apparently he’d had plenty of practice. He caught my leg in both his hands and laughed harder.

“Come on, Porter, I got your tune. You’re the kind who finds dancing on the edge fun. Well, I’m about to take you right over. I like women who try and fight. It just makes it all that much better. Besides, I’ve been hankering to find out if you’re really a redhead.”

I grabbed hold of the cougar’s tooth that hung from his ear and gave it a sharp jerk, while my other palm shoved his jaw upward. Weed’s mouth snapped shut, and he bit down hard on his tongue.

He screamed in pain, dropping my leg. “Goddamn you, bitch! Now you’ve gone and done it!” Weed spat out a thin stream of blood. “You just sealed your fate, Porter. I was gonna do you nice—now I’ll do you any way I want.”

“Gee, Willy, and all this time I thought you were a gentleman.” I feinted to the left, then veered right, hoping to get around him.

But Weed was surprisingly quick. He blocked my exit and roughly shoved me out of the laundry, backing me up until I was pinned in Big Mama’s corner. I was caught off-balance as one of his hands grasped me firmly between the legs, while the other wrapped tightly around my throat.

Willy brought his mouth close to my ear. “I think what you need is a lesson. You gotta learn who’s the boss around here, just like those boat-lovin’ Cubans.”

I tried to move, but that only caused Weed to tighten his grip on my body.

Willy’s voice attacked me, his tone low and surly. “You gotta remember that, badge or no badge, you’re still nothing but a woman, and that means you should know your place. And you know what that place is, Porter?” Willy’s fingers crab-walked up my crotch and began to undo my zipper.

“Yeah, Willy. I’ve got a pretty good idea,” I told him, my eyes narrowing.

I waited until his fingers were lodged tight in my pants. Then I raised my leg and rammed my shoe down as hard as I could on top of his bare, broken foot. I dug my heel in, grinding it back and forth.

Willy’s hand flew out of the top of my pants as an unearthly cry ripped from his throat. I slammed my elbow hard into his solar plexus, then pushed past him and tore out of the trailer. A dozen vultures blocked the path to my car, looking like a gang of schoolyard bullies. But they must have seen who’d be the victor in this showdown, because they lowered their bald heads and quickly split up, parting like the Red Sea.

I got into the Tempo and retrieved my gun, then revved the engine and turned the car around. I took off, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, where I saw Willy standing outside screeching at the top of his lungs.

“You’re a dead woman, Porter!”

What I needed more than anything was a shower. My skin felt as if thousands of lice had set up camp on every part of my body. I scratched my arms, my legs, my torso, even behind my ears, intent on finding mites, bedbugs, fleas, or ticks. Finally satisfied that nothing had claimed squatter’s rights, I pulled out my cell phone and placed a call to Metro Dade.

“Reardon here,” Vern drawled in a bored-out-of-his-gourd, can’t-wait-to-retire monotone.

Going from Willy to Vern was almost surreal. “Officer Reardon, please hurry! Skunk Ape’s just hit your concession stand and taken off with all your official
I SAW THE SKUNK APE
T-shirts!”

“What?!” Vern’s voice rose a couple octaves, kick-starting to life.

“It’s okay, Vern. Rachel Porter here. I just wanted to wake you up,” I chuckled.

Vern’s chair creaked as he collapsed back into it. “Goddamn you, Porter,” he panted, sounding short of breath. “Anybody ever tell you that your sense of humor stinks?” He gave a little grunt, followed by silence.

I waited for a moment, beginning to wonder if maybe he was right. Oh, my God, I worried, as the silence continued, thinking of Carrera. What if I’d given the man a heart attack?

“Vern, are you okay?” I asked, trying my best to remain calm.

But there was no snappy retort to my question.

“Reardon?” I couldn’t stop the note of panic from creeping into my voice. “Speak to me, Vern! Please, answer me!”

The morning’s cinnamon bun churned in my stomach like heavy, wet cement.

“Hold on, Vern!” I urged, my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. “I’m going to call and alert your desk sergeant, and have him ring an ambulance.” I was about to hang up when Vern’s snigger stopped me.

“Thanks, Porter. But I’m suddenly feeling a whole lot better.”

My temper went into countdown and was about to blast off, when I reminded myself just who had started the sneak attack.

“Next time you try and pull off a joke, Porter, remember to carry it all the way through. That’s what separates the girls from us men. So, are you calling about anything in particular? Or just looking to learn some pointers from a pro?” he smugly questioned.

I allowed Vern to savor his moment of victory, fully aware of how fragile the male ego could be. Besides, I was hoping I could turn it to my advantage.

“Weed’s at it again,” I reported. “This time he’s threatening Bambi with torture and murder. Can we get some kind of injunction against him?”

Vern sighed. “Is Madam Stripper coming in to press charges?”

I’d encountered the same attitude before. It was the us-versus-them mentality, in the never-ending war between the sexes.

“No,” I conceded. “But Weed’s serious this time, Vern. I was just there to see him and the guy is out of control. This is going to have a bad ending unless you do something about it.”

“Come on, Porter. You know that we can’t do a thing unless Bambi asks us to arrest him.” Vern let loose a loud yawn. “And I haven’t heard shit from that dainty damsel. In fact, the last time we were out there, I believe it was Madam herself who was poised to slice off Weed’s willy.” Vern chuckled at his play on words.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not taking this seriously? Can’t you at least haul him in and scare him a bit?” I suggested.

“You wanna convince the broad to come in and file a complaint? Great.” Vern’s voice held all the concern of a snail on Prozac. “Otherwise, have her give me a call the next time he’s around and physically threatening her. Then we’ll have something to go on.”

“Right. A dead body,” I responded brusquely. “Which reminds me, what’s happening with the Dominguez case? Have there been any further developments?”

“Yeah. A little birdie keeps calling in and leaving messages. We’re working day and night trying to break the code. As soon as we do, I’ll let you know what he’s been telling us. Anything else I can help you with today, Porter?”

“No. As usual, you’ve met all my expectations.” I hung up.

Then I dialed again, this time calling the state Game and Fresh Water Fish Commission.

“Officer Stevens,” answered the wildlife agent on desk duty.

“I’ve got a violation to report over at Willy Weed’s residence. A bunch of his cats are malnourished and neglected,” I said, not bothering to identify myself.

There was a pause while I sat and contemplated what I could eat next without gaining another five pounds.

“Is this you again, Porter?” Stevens responded. “I already told you last week, there isn’t enough evidence against him to warrant removing those cats.”

“You mean the fact that they’re kept in minuscule cages and fed rotten food doesn’t hold any weight?” I was beginning to reach my limit with bureaucracy.

Stevens sighed impatiently. “If it’s filth you’re complaining about this time, we’ll send someone out there again the next chance we get. After that we’ll file our decision,” he informed me in a get-at-the-end-of-the-line-and-don’t-hold-your-breath tone.

“Just so you know, I plan on calling tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that until something is done. Those cats are pathetic, Stevens. How about just contacting some decent sanctuaries and offering the animals to them?”