Authors: Steve Martini
J
oselyn, Herman, and I checked into the Hotel Melia in downtown Ponce. The Melia is in the historic area, about ten blocks from the cathedral and the Hotel Belgica. Joselyn checked into her room while Herman and I took the car and headed toward the Belgica to see what we could find out.
It took a few minutes to make our way through town, Herman behind the wheel with me navigating. Ponce is a larger and more congested area than it looked like on the map pictured on Joselyn's computer.
When we finally found the street that went in front of the Belgica, traffic was one-way, and by the time we got in front of the hotel we were almost past it before we realized. There were cars parked on both sides of the street, with nowhere for us to stop. Then we got lucky.
A car pulled out of a spot at the curb across the street about a half block down from the entrance to the hotel. Herman blocked traffic, with horns blaring behind us, to let the guy out, then pulled forward, backed in, and turned off the engine.
“You got those photographs of Thorn?” he says.
I reach over to the backseat and find the three photos in my briefcase. “I thought we agreed we weren't going to use these?”
“Sit tight.” With that, Herman takes the photographs from my hand and is out of the car. He slams the door, leaving me in the passenger seat as he strolls down the sidewalk in the shade until he is just opposite the entrance to the hotel. I watch as he slips between traffic, crosses the street, and disappears through the entrance under the awning.
We had already decided that we would use the photographs of Thorn to question the clerk at the front desk only as a last resort. Innkeepers are generally protective of their guests. Any word that someone was asking questions about him and Thorn would vanish like a puff of smoke. And any hopes of finding a trail that might lead to Liquida would vanish with him. Of course, all of this assumes that Thorn is even here.
While I'm waiting in the car I feel the cell phone on my hip and I'm wishing I could call Sarah. I could, but I don't. I haven't spoken to her in several days, and by agreement we haven't called each other. It's a problem. I have had to delete all contact information on her from my phone in case either I or the phone falls into Liquida's hands. There are simply too many records maintained on cell phones and computers to feel safe. Even without information in your contact lists, a call made or received showing an area code can leave an indelible record that can be traced. I am glad that Harry is with her.
Herman is inside the Belgica for a while. It's starting to warm up in the car.
Just as I reach for the door handle I see Herman step out from the hotel's entrance under the awning. He has some literature in his hand and a smile on his face. He crosses the street, sashaying between the cars, making his way back, and opens the driver's-side door. Then he settles in behind the wheel.
“You look satisfied.”
“It's hot in here.”
“I know.”
He puts in the key and turns on the engine and the air conditioner. Then he closes the door.
“What did you find out?”
“We got lucky,” says Herman. “Our man's there.”
“Did you see him?”
“No, but Joselyn said Thorn had an Australian accent. The kid behind the registration desk was very helpful. I told him I was lookin' for a man with an Australian accent who was supposed to be stayin' at the hotel. I slipped him a couple of twenties, showed him my PI credentials, and told him I was serving process in a divorce case.”
“And?”
“He says, âYou mean Señor Johnston?'” Herman looks at me and smiles. “So much for hotel privacy. I showed him the close-up photo of Thorn and the kid says, âYeah, he checked in two days ago.'”
“How do you know he won't tell Thorn?”
“Best reason in the world, economic stimulus,” says Herman. “I told him the two twenties I gave him had brothers. If he kept his mouth shut until after I served Johnston, I'd make it an even hundred. I stuffed another twenty in his pocket on the way out just to keep him happy. So you know what that means?”
“Yeah. I owe you sixty bucks,” I tell him. “And if you pay him the other forty it's coming out of your own pocket.”
“Don't worry. You don't have to pay me right now,” he says. “I'll put it on my next billing statement.”
“Is Thorn in the hotel now?” I ask.
“No. He leaves his key at the desk when he goes out and picks it up when he comes back. The clerk checked. The key was in one of the slots behind the counter, room 219,” says Herman. “Guess who's in 221?” He opens his hand and flashes me the key. “Looks like you and I won't be snorin' in the same room tonight. And by the way, you can tell Joselyn that, for the record, you do snore.”
“Did the desk clerk have any idea when Thorn might be back?”
“No, but he said Señor Johnston seems to be on some kind of a schedule and appears to be working very hard.”
“How's that?”
“According to the clerk, he leaves every morning between six thirty and seven and doesn't get back until after dark. Kid says he doesn't know where he goes or what he does. Johnston keeps to himself. But he's gone all day. Tell you what, I'll drop you back at the Melia, then I'll have to bring the car over here. I'll need it in case Thorn shows up and leaves again, so I can follow him. My room's right next door to his, so I should hear him when he comes in.”
“Do you want me to call Thorpe again, tell him we think we found Thorn?” I ask.
“We got this far, why don't we wait and see what's goin' on? Besides, he didn't seem that enthusiastic the last time.”
“He was busy,” I tell him.
“He's always busy,” says Herman.
“I'd feel a whole lot better if we hadn't had to leave the pistols in my car at the airport in Tucson,” I tell him.
“Makes two of us,” says Herman. “I'll just have to be extra careful and keep my distance till we find out what Thorn's up to. In the meantime, I need to park the car in the back. You were right. The clerk says there's a lot back there. He gave me a parking pass. He says it's where Johnston parks his car. He asked me if it was possible to serve him with the process back there in the parking lot, can you beat it? He says his boss wouldn't want anything unpleasant to happen in the hotel.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Told him I would. Why not? This way the clerk won't be asking any questions when he sees me follow Thorn out of the hotel. I told him it could take a day or two to find the right moment, so I could lay the papers on him without causing any embarrassment.”
“And the kid bought it?”
“Oh, yeah. I got him believing process servers are all jet-setting chichi types. Personally, I always fly in early, check into a swank hotel, taste the wine, and lay around the pool for a few days so's I can practice to see which hand I'm gonna use to lay on the paper.” Herman glances at me and laughs. He starts the car and looks over his shoulder to check for traffic. “Young clerk's gonna be mighty disappointed when we have to call 911 and SWAT shows up with Thor's hammer to take Mr. Johnston's door off the hinges, burn holes in the carpets, and smoke the place up with flash bangs. That kinda stuff tends to knock a few diamonds off your rating with three A,” he says.
“I'd like to keep it to ourselves until we know what Thorn's up to and hopefully get a lead on Liquida,” I tell him.
Herman ignores me. “You need to get some rest. I'll get you back to your hotel. Listen. You go upstairs, knock on her door wearing your jammies and dragging a blanket behind you with a pillow under your arm, and tell her you want to take a nap. Wipe a little sleep from your eyes when she opens the door.” He looks at me, and for a moment I think he's serious. Then I realize that he is.
“Trust me, it'll work,” he says. “Women love that shit. They can't resist it.”
“You don't know Joselyn. I think she can resist anything. And if not, she'll just analyze the hell out of it until it dies.”
“No. Trust me. She won't be able to say no. It's something about the maternal instinct.”
“What, and tell her I'm having a nightmare, so I can crawl into her pants? If I tried to manipulate her like that, she'd shrink-wrap my brain, tell me I'm suffering from an anal-retentive disorder, and spin me around like a compass until my dick was pointing back to my own room.” I shake my head. “Listen, I'm not sure there's anything real happening between us. I mean, sure I'm attracted to her. I'm a red-blooded male. What's not to like? She's beautiful, sexy, cute, smart⦔
“Listen to yourself,” says Herman. “You're not sure there's any
thing happening between the two of you, but you're about to have an orgasm all over Avis's front seat.”
“It takes two before you have a relationship. I'm not sure she has any deep interest in me.”
“She's got the hots for you.”
“Says who?”
“Says who? Says me.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“She doesn't have to. I got eyes. I can see and I can hear. And everything I see and hear tells me she's got a lock on you like a radar beam. Why do you think she's trailing along with us?”
“Because of her past dealings with Thorn. She wants to see him get nailed,” I tell him.
“Sure, she hates the guy. She's scared to death of him. But that's not the reason she's here. She's worried about you.”
“You think so?”
“When it comes to women, you're pretty damn dense,” he says. “No wonder you haven't gotten married since your wife died.”
“That's a tender subject,” I tell him.
“And it's an old one, ancient history. You gotta move on. From what I can see, you got one hell of an opportunity dangling in front of you right now. If I were you, I wouldn't let it die on the vine, not without tasting the wine, sampling the vintage, to see if you like it.”
“I'm not sure I⦔
“Don't tell me you're not interested. I've seen the way you look at her. And if I die in my sleep tonight, I wouldn't want the last words I hear from your lips to be a lie. So bite your tongue,” he says.
A
fter a short but silent ride, Herman dropped me back at the Melia. He told me one more time to knock on Joselyn's door and at least be friendly. Then he turned around and headed back toward the downtown plaza.
I haul my luggage upstairs, fishing for the room key in my pocket. When I find it, I finally drag my weary body inside the room and dump my bags at the foot of the bed.
Before the spring on the door can close it, I hear her voice behind me. “So what's going on? Where's Herman?”
I turn and Joselyn's standing in the doorway, her left arm dangling at her hip as her right hand holds the door open. She is barefoot, wearing a kind of silky-slinky red chemise that clings to her body and ends midthigh under a longer thin duster, open and unbelted in the front. Her curving hips form a lazy
S
against the steel frame of the door as she stands there.
“Come on in. Herman took a room at the Belgica.”
“Told you it was a nice place,” she says.
“We think we found Thorn.”
Her gaze suddenly turns serious. She steps inside the room and lets the door close behind her. She has her room key in her hand.
“So he is there?”
I nod. “According to the desk clerk. He ID'd him from one of the photographs. He's booked under the name Johnston. But he's not there now. Herman took the room next door. According to the clerk, Thorn's been at the Belgica for two days. He leaves early in the morning and doesn't get back until after dark. Herman's going to try to listen through the walls, pick up his movements when he comes in tonight, and track him when he leaves in the morning. He'll call us on my cell as soon as he knows what's going on.”
“You think that's safe?” she says. “I mean, you don't think Herman's in any danger, do you?”
“Herman knows what he's doing. He'll take precautions, keep his distance.” I don't share with Joselyn my concern about the desk clerk. That if he says anything to Thorn about Herman asking questions, there are only two possibilities: one, that Thorn will disappear and we'll never find him again, and the other, which is more ominous. If Thorn is heavily invested in whatever he's doing on the island and he thinks Herman is acting alone, he may decide that it's easier and more profitable to dispose of Herman than to run.
“If I don't hear from Herman by ten o'clock tonight, I'll call him. If I think he needs backup, I'll grab a taxi and go over.”
“And then what are you going to do? You don't have a gun,” she says. “This is crazy. The two of you are going to end up dead. I'm telling you, he is a dangerous man. You're worried about Liquida. Thorn is just as deadly. Trust me on this.”
“Yes, but at the moment he's all we've got and we can't let him go. Tiger by the tail,” I tell her. “Thorn is the only link we have to Liquida. And if I can't lead the cops to Liquida and get him off my back, I don't have a life. And neither does my daughter, or, for that matter, Harry or Herman. I don't have to remind you that Liquida has shown a pathologic willingness to kill people who are even
remotely associated with me. You might want to think about that,” I tell her. “In fact, it might be a good idea if you got on a plane and headed home. I'll keep you posted on what happens. I promise.”
“You look exhausted,” she says.
“Yeah, well, you should be tired too.”
“I got a little rest. Why don't you sit down?” she says.
I step around my bags and settle down on the side of the bed.
“Take a deep breath,” Joselyn says. She approaches and puts her hands on the shoulders of my polo shirt and starts to massage.
I roll my head back, move my shoulders. “That feels great.” Then she pushes my upper body back until I'm lying flat on the bed with my feet on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Never mind, just relax.” She reaches down, grabs my ankles, and swivels my body until I am lying with my head on one of the pillows, my feet up on the bottom of the bed. Joselyn unties my shoes and pulls them off, tossing them on the floor. The release of tension and stress is palpable as she rubs my feet.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know. Focus on your mantra.”
“My what?”
“Relax. Don't tell me you've never done any meditation?”
“Sorry,” I tell her.
“Your mantra can be anything, an image, a word. It can be a tone, like this: Aommmmmmmmmmm.”
She does it two or three times, holding the tone until, like a bellows, the air goes from her lungs. The gentle, low tone of her voice is something strange, almost intoxicating. But I'm afraid it's not meditation that I'm thinking about.
“If you do it repeatedly and focus your consciousness, you can reach a transcendental point where monks believe the mind and the soul meld,” she tells me. “Practiced regularly it can lower blood pressure and reduce stress. And stress kills, in case you haven't heard.”
“I know.”
“Trial lawyers don't like it,” she says. “They believe meditation dilutes their aggression. And, of course, they're right. It's the fight or flight thing. When you don't want to do either, resort to your mantra.”
“I will.”
“There's a time to talk and a time to be quiet.” She puts a finger to her lips. “This is the time for silence. Just lie there and relax.”
She rubs my feet, and then my lower legs, and I begin to drift off.
“There is no restaurant or bar in the hotel, but there are some good restaurants a few doors away. We can order out later if you want. They'll deliver. I've got a menu.”
“I'm trying to be quiet,” I tell her.
“Good.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“Um, no. I have an appetite but not for food.”
I open one eye and look at her. She fixes me with a winsome smile, stops massaging, and gazes at me from the foot of the bed with almond-shaped eyes.
“That was very nice. Thank you.”
“We're not done yet,” she says.
At the moment she looks like the spider about to attack the fly. I watch her as she moves gracefully, almost floating on air, around toward the other side of the bed. Halfway there she drops her hands to her sides and gently thrusts her shoulders back. The robe slides from her body and disappears like a silk puddle, past her thighs and onto the floor.
As she walks through it, the body-hugging red chemise clings to her form, set off by two thin straps over her shoulders and a filigree of lace at the tawny satin smoothness of her thighs.
“I really didn't want to stay in my room alone tonight,” she says. “I hope you don't mind.”
“No. Why should I mind?” I think to myself, I love being raped by beautiful women.
“Missing Herman, are you?” she says.
“Umm, no. Not exactly.”
“Good. That makes two of us.”
“You don't like Herman?”
“He's a very nice guy,” she says. “But that makes two of you, and when I'm added to the mix, three is a crowd.”
“I see. He speaks highly of you.”
“Thank him for me.” As she reaches the other side of the bed she raises a tanned, shapely knee and plants it deep in the soft muslin bedcovers. Then in a flowing feline motion she traverses the width of the bed on her hands and knees. When I look up I see her face hovering just over my left shoulder, pursed sensuous lips and oval eyes.
“Don't look so frightened,” she says.
“Do I look scared?”
“I won't bite,” says Joselyn. “I promise. Not unless you ask me to, and then you may have to beg.”
“That sounds kinky.”
“Silence, remember?” Joselyn has bathed and washed her hair. I can smell the perfumed soap and the scent of strawberries floating in the ether above me.
“Pick a mantra, anything, and focus on it. It will help break the fear.”
“Really?”
“Aom, aom.”
I look at her eyes, her pursed lips, almost pouting, as she stalks me on her hands and knees, staring down at me. “Before I settle in, would you like something to drink? Something from the minibar, perhaps?”
“Sweetheart, if you think I'm going to allow the moment to slip away and let you slide off the hook by bringing me a cocktail, you're out of your mind.”
She laughs. “What do you think is going to happen?”
“I don't know, but I'm dying to find out. At the moment I'm feeling just fine.” In fact, looking up at her face, her body encased in the tight chemise, kneeling above me like a tigress, I am feeling almost euphoric, as if someone has shot me up with heroin.
She settles down with the sweet fragrance of her hair dulling my senses and her head on my shoulder. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, yeah. I hate it.” As I lay sprawled on my back, Joselyn snuggles up against me, displacing every void of air between our bodies. Lying on her side, she raises a bent knee and rests it gently on top of my thigh. The tension causes me to stir in that place down below. She knows exactly what she's doing. She smiles and rhythmically rolls her knee gently across my groin.
I take a deep breath and arch my back.
“Relax,” she says. “Focus on your mantra.”
“I'm trying to, but they're pressing into the side of my chest at the moment.”
Her breasts planted in my side, her back gently arched, she starts to laugh as her body stretches out and sculpts the perfect form of sensual desire.
I lift my right arm over her head so that I can cradle her. She stops laughing and snuggles in tighter.
Like a schoolboy, my heart pounding, I slowly move my hand down the smooth, silken finish of her chemise until my fingers reach the small of her back. They come to rest in that heaven above the arch of her buttocks as my fingers start to dance. Lazily they skim across the satin finish, feeling only the bump of a single chord, the waistband of her thong under the smooth, red-silken sea of the chemise.
“I'm glad that Herman found another room tonight.” The warm, moist breath of her words in my ear ignites a sexual tingle of electricity that traverses my spine.
“Herman says I snore.”
“I wouldn't call it snoring,” she says. “They're actually just cute little occasional snorts.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard it every once in a while between Herman's foghorn.”
“When?”
“When I was outside your door at night.”
“What were you doing outside the door?”
“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come to my room. Obviously not,” she says.
“I didn'tâ¦I mean I wasn't sure⦔
She puts her finger over my lips. “Now is one of those moments when silence is best,” she says. Her lips seal over my ear, her pointed, wet tongue penetrating to its inner depth as she quickly slides her hand from my lips down my chest and stomach under the open bottom of my shirt. Her nails, like talons, rake my stomach and chest. Passion seizes my lungs. I arch my back as her knee presses into the hardness at my groin. I listen and feel her hot, moist breath in my ear until her lips move, grazing my cheek.
Like a magnet, I turn my head, finding her lips with my own, rolling up onto my side as I grab her in my arms, pressing her body to my own, our legs intertwined, our tongues doing a dance.
Suddenly she pushes with her hands. I don't want to let go. It feels so good to hold her, as if nature itself had reached a point of equilibrium, a tender balance of two human souls.
Suddenly she disengages. She's back up on her knees. I lay there wanton, baffled and befuddled. Then I realize her need and she starts to pull the shirt over my head. While I'm finishing with the shirt, her frenzied hands go to work feverishly at my belt.
“Maybe I should take a shower,” I tell her.
“Later,” she says. “Unless you want me to leave, in which case you better make it a cold one.”
“Later would be best,” I tell her. Before the words clear my lips, she smothers them with an openmouthed kiss as she pulls my
pants down. Together we finally shed them over the edge of the bed, where the red chemise and Joselyn's thong join them.
She is back in my arms, the warm, tawny glow of her nakedness against my flesh. Her lips press to my ear in a husky, sensuous voice: “If Herman calls now, he won't have to worry about Thorn. I will beat him to death with his own phone.”