Insane City (26 page)

32

The suite’s door buzzer sounded.

LaDawne, dozing on the sofa next to the snoring Wesley, sat up with a start and looked at her watch.

“Who in the world is that this late?” she said.

Wesley continued snoring.

Another buzz.

“All right! All right!” said LaDawne, rising and heading for the door.

Another buzz. Insistent.

“All
right
,” said LaDawne, opening the door. “You don’t need to—”

Brewer was pushing past her into the room, Castronovo right behind him.

“Hey! Don’t you
touch
me!” shouted LaDawne. “Wesley, wake up!”

Wesley opened his eyes, saw the Tinker Bells, sat up.

“Who are you?” said LaDawne. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hotel security,” said Brewer.

“You can’t just come in here like that.”

“Yes we can.”

Castronovo was drifting over toward Wesley, the two big men eyeing each other.

“What do you want?” said LaDawne.

“We want you to leave the hotel.”

“What?”

“You have to vacate these premises,” said Brewer. “Right now.”

“You can’t tell us to leave.”

“Yes I can.”

“We’re guests.”

“No you’re not.”

“OK, but the person who
is
a guest knows we’re here. He said it’s OK. You can ask him.”

Brewer made a show of looking around. “Where is he?”

“He’s not here right now.”

“Then you’re going to have to leave. Right now.”

“Wesley, get up and tell these men they can’t do this to us!”

With a sigh and a grunt, Wesley lifted his massive form from the sofa and stood. Castronovo faced

him and unbuttoned his jacket so Wesley could see inside.

“They got guns,” said Wesley.

“What are you gonna do,
shoot
us?” said LaDawne.

“Like I told you,” said Brewer, “we just want you to leave. Now. You leave now and nobody’s

going to get hurt.”

“There’s people we’re taking care of,” LaDawne said. “In the other room. There’s a mother in there

with two kids. We have to stay here with them.”

“We’ll take care of them.”

“That woman is sick.”

“We’ll make sure she gets medical attention.”

“We’re
not
going to leave them,” said LaDawne. She started toward the bedroom door. Brewer

quickly blocked her path. “Wesley!” she said.

Wesley was still looking at Castronovo, who now had his hand inside his jacket. “Baby,” Wesley

said, “they got guns.”

Castronovo nodded toward the door and said, “Move.” Wesley started walking.

Brewer took LaDawne by the arm. “You’re leaving now,” he said.

“Don’t you
touch
me,” she said. She tried to yank her arm away, but Brewer held on, his grip hurting

her. He pushed her toward the door.

“You can’t
do
this,” she said, her tone changing, closer to pleading now. “That poor woman—”

“We’re done talking,” he said. “You’ll leave quietly. You don’t stop in the lobby. You keep moving,

all the way off the hotel grounds. If you stay around the hotel, or you make any trouble, we’ll call the

police, and you’ll get arrested for trespassing, and you’ll go to jail.” He opened the door and pushed her

into the hallway.

Wesley, with Castronovo behind him, followed LaDawne. He turned in the doorway and said, “How

are we supposed to get back to Miami? My car’s not here.”

“What are you going to do with that woman and those kids?” said LaDawne.

Castronovo closed the door in their faces.

33

“I think it’s coming from inside the car,” said Cyndi.

They were in the vast Miami-Dade suburban blob called Kendall, approaching U.S. 1. They had

opened all the windows, but the smell in the Escalade was still there. It was a distinct aroma, and

although neither had said so out loud, they both found it disturbingly familiar.

Cyndi turned and looked toward the back of the Escalade. It was dark back there. But she saw

movement.

“I think there’s something back there,” she said.

“What is it?” said Seth. They were making a left turn onto U.S. 1.

“I don’t know,” said Cyndi. “Could you turn on the inside light?”

Seth fumbled around with the controls. “I can’t find the switch.”

“I’m going to open my door for a second to make the light go on,” she said. She opened the door,

looked back.

“Oh God!” she said, slamming the door. “It’s back there!”

“What is?”

“The gorilla!”

“What?”

“It’s in the backseat. It must’ve got in when we left the doors open back there.”

Seth looked in the rearview. He saw a large, round, shaggy head silhouetted in the headlights of the

car behind.

“Jesus,” he said. “What do we do?”

“Maybe if you stop the car and we open the door, it’ll get out.”

“Good idea.” Seth saw a parking lot to the right and veered the Escalade into it, screeching to a stop

next to the entrance to a low concrete building with no windows and a large neon sign on the roof that

said CHUCKLETROUSERS.

Chuckletrousers was what is sometimes called a gentlemen’s club, although it wasn’t really a club,

and none of the patrons could by any definition be considered a gentleman. Late Saturday night was the

busiest time, during which management employed six bouncers, all exceptionally large individuals clad in

tight black Chuckletrousers T-shirts that emphasized their cartoon biceps.

The bouncers’ main function was to ensure that the patrons did not touch the performers unless they

had paid for this privilege up front. When necessary, the bouncers escorted unruly patrons off the

premises, a chore that the bouncers had turned into a sport, the object being to see who could throw a

patron the farthest through the air before any part of the patron’s body made contact with the parking lot.

The current Patron Toss record, marked by a discreet white line spray-painted on the parking lot asphalt,

was eight feet, four inches. It was set by a veteran bouncer named Juan “Fig” Figueras, a former Florida

State University offensive tackle with approximately the same physical dimensions as a three-bedroom

condominium.

On this particular night Fig had been assigned to door duty, which meant his job was to refuse

admission to underage males, puking drunks, psychopaths and hardcore sexual deviants, unless, of course,

they were politicians or judges. The bouncer on door duty was also supposed to keep an eye on the

parking lot, which was why Fig witnessed the high-speed arrival of the Escalade, which skidded to a halt

directly in front of the entrance only a few feet from the door. It had barely stopped when the front doors

flew open and Seth and Cyndi jumped out.

Fig opened the door and stepped outside.

“You can’t park here,” he said.

“We’re not parking,” said Seth. “We’re just trying to get something out of our car.”

“Well, get it out someplace else. You can’t put your car here.”

“This is kind of an emergency,” said Seth. “There’s a gorilla in there.”

“A gorilla,” said Fig.

“We don’t actually know if it’s a gorilla,” said Cyndi.

“OK, but it’s definitely big,” said Seth.

Fig, who was not new to the bouncing profession, assumed that this was simply another case of two

idiots with too much money who had consumed too much of some illegal substance—Fig was guessing

Ecstasy, but he wasn’t ruling out ketamine. He decided to try reason first.

“I don’t see a gorilla,” he said.

“It’s in the way backseat,” said Cyndi. “The third row.”

Fig peered into the rear window. He saw something, but the dark tinting on the Escalade’s window

kept him from seeing exactly what. So he opened the rear door and leaned inside. He saw a strange-

looking, head-like shape in the backseat and leaned in closer to get a better look. He got close enough to

see a large raggedy mass beneath the head, but before he could make out what it was a long furry arm shot

out and a powerful hand grabbed him by the hair, slammed his head sideways into the doorframe and

flung him out of the Escalade. He landed on his back in the parking lot, out cold.

“Ohmigod!” said Cyndi, running over to where Fig lay. “He’s hurt! He’s bleeding! Seth, get some

help!”

Seth opened the door to Chuckletrousers and went inside, where he was assaulted by flashing lights

and thunderous bass pumped from nuclear Death Star speakers. In the distance he saw naked women

dancing on a bar, clumps of men watching them. He took a few steps forward.

Seth felt a hand on his arm. “Hi!” said a perky voice. He turned and saw that he was attached to an

extremely redheaded woman who was wearing only a G-string and sporting a pair of breasts that were far

too large and high up to be human. Nevertheless, they
were
breasts, and so Seth, being a male, had no

choice, despite the urgency of his mission, but to stare at them.

“Wanna have a drink with me?” she said.

Seth, fighting off the hooter-induced brain paralysis, said, “I need help. There’s a guy hurt outside.”

The redhead rolled her eyes; there was always some asshole getting beat up in the Chuckletrousers

parking lot. She dropped Seth’s arm and went off in search of better prospects. Seth looked around and

spotted an extremely large man in a Chuckletrousers T-shirt. This man was a bouncer, Paul “The Planet”

Pino, who currently held second place in the Chuckletrousers Patron Toss competition with an effort of

seven feet, four inches.

Seth trotted over and tapped The Planet on the shoulder. It was like tapping on a Dumpster. The

Planet did not like being tapped. It’s a fact about strip clubs: The bouncers don’t like to be touched any

more than the performers do. The Planet turned slowly, the way a cruise ship turns, and looked down at

Seth in an unwelcoming manner.

“What,” he said.

“There’s a guy hurt outside,” said Seth, shouting to be heard over the bass. “He needs help.”

“Tell the bouncer at the door,” said The Planet.

“That’s the guy who’s hurt.”

“Who is?”

“The bouncer. That’s who’s hurt.”

The Planet looked toward the front entrance, did not see Fig at his usual post. He started walking

quickly in that direction, Seth hurrying in his wake. The Planet shoved the front door open and saw Fig,

who was now sitting up, bleeding from the side of his head, looking dazed. Cyndi was standing next to

him.

“What the hell happened?” said The Planet, crouching next to Fig. “You OK? Who did this?”

“I don’t know,” said Fig, his voice weak.

“There’s a thing in the car,” said Cyndi, pointing toward the Escalade. “In the back.”

The Planet rose and looked at the dark Escalade windows. “What kind of thing?”

“It’s like a gorilla.”

The Planet looked at Cyndi. “You’re saying you have a gorilla in your car.”

“We’re not sure it’s a gorilla,” said Cyndi. “But it’s a gorilla type of animal.”

“I know that sounds weird,” said Seth.

“It sounds very weird,” agreed The Planet. “And you’re saying the gorilla knocked this man out.” He

pointed at Fig.

“Yes,” said Seth. “We’re very sorry. It’s not our gorilla.”

The Planet frowned, pondering. On the one hand, he did not believe there was really a gorilla in the

Escalade. Like Fig, he assumed he was dealing with idiots on drugs. On the other hand, there was Fig, on

the ground, bleeding. The Planet did not believe that a guy like Seth was capable of putting Fig on the

ground. But somebody had, and The Planet figured that whoever it was might be in the back of the car.

He approached the rear door, which was still open. It opened on to the second row of seats; to see

back into the third row, he would have to lean his head inside.

“Be careful,” said Cyndi.

The Planet did not like being told to be careful by a woman, especially an idiot woman on drugs. He

gave Cyndi a look that said
I can take care of myself
, then stuck his head into the rear doorway of the

Escalade to see what was what.

Two seconds later, he was lying on the ground next to Fig, moaning and bleeding from the head.

Seth and Cyndi stared at the fallen bouncers, then at each other. Cyndi said, “I’ll go get help.” Before

Seth could answer, she had opened the front door and plunged into the thumping darkness of the club. Seth

stood awkwardly near the two fallen bouncers, keeping his distance from the Escalade. As he waited, a

pickup truck pulled off of U.S. 1 into the Chuckletrousers lot. Two men got out.

The club door opened and Cyndi emerged with a third Chuckletrousers bouncer, a short but wide and