1 Margarita Nights (18 page)

I introduced him to Marley and watched them checking each other out real close. Sparks were going off like a short in an electrical wire. Go figure.

“I’m looking for Andy,” I told him. “Have you seen him?” I asked as I pulled out a molded turquoise chair from the table.

He tore his eyes away from Marley and canted his head to the right while he thought for a moment. “Earlier in the week. He was really agitated. Only stayed for about ten minutes. He’s off his medication again.”

“Where would he go if he didn’t go home?”

“Are you more worried about him than usual?”

“Yeah.” I picked up the cup of coffee and blew air over the top of the black boiling tar. I bet it had been percolating for hours.

He thought for a moment. “He might be out behind the big-box stores two blocks south. You know that big undeveloped area? Used to be a cattle ranch, the King Ranch. Now it’s just wasteland.”

“The one the development put on hold because of the nesting eagles?”

He nodded. “That’s it. They’re trying to get the zoning changed on it. They’d have it already if they hadn’t cut down the eagle tree. Some of the county commissioners have dug their heels in and are holding up approval.”

“Serves the fools right,” I said. “Imagine thinking you can just go cut down a tree with an eagle’s nest to solve your problem with the environmentalists. What were they thinking?”

“I agree,” David said. “I went out there to protest.” He was talking to me but his eyes were on Marley. “Carried a sign and everything.”

“I wish I’d been there too,” Marley said. Her voice was all breathy and full of awe.

“And you think Andy might be there?”

He turned up his palms. “Some people live rough out there,” he said. His eyes were focused on Marley as he explained. “They use big cardboard boxes from appliances and bits of wood from construction sites, anything they can find to make shelters. Not the best solution for homelessness, but some people prefer it to regular shelters.” David Halliday looked deep into Marley’s eyes and said, “Andy lived there once when he was evicted.” Hello, had I stopped existing?

“Or Andy might be in a shelter,” he said. Marley was nodding in agreement.

I could have fallen off the earth and they wouldn’t have noticed. I really wished they’d concentrate on my problem instead of their own itch. “Andy doesn’t trust authority. He’s more likely to live in the open than go to a shelter. I’ll look out there.”

“Be careful,” David told Marley. “There are a lot of drugs and alcohol used out there.”

“In that case, Sherri will feel right at home,” said Marley with a big grin.

“Tell me everything,” Marley said, as the door shut behind her.

“Everything about what?” Playing dumb is so pitiably easy for me.

“About David Halliday. Is he married?”

“Not that I know of. Probably gay.”

She whacked me across the arm. “No he isn’t. For sure.” She started on a long list of questions and suppositions while I drove out to the abandoned ranch off Tamiami Trail. “How’d you meet him?” she asked.

“Andy. I came out at Christmas to help serve dinner.”

“You aren’t,” she waggled her fingers, “you know.”

“David and I? Hell no.” She didn’t look like she believed me.

We drove around behind the new superstores to the loading docks where the deliveries were made.

“I wonder where the eagles went,” Marley said. “Not many places along the coast left for them.”

Broken bottles and leftover packaging littered the pavement. The parking lot was separated from an empty field by a chain-link fence with grass growing though it and plastic bags and bits of paper blown into the metal webbing. Undeveloped acreage, where longhorn cattle had wandered two years before, stretched out behind the buildings. It was amazing that a prime parcel of land like the King Ranch had escaped development this long. The property fronted Tamiami and was across from strip malls with housing developments behind them.

A six-foot-square sign wired to the fence said “Gridiron Developments” with a St. Pete telephone number. I pointed it out to Marley.

“The name figures,” she said. “A tree with eagles would be just one more opponent to be knocked down.” Marley and I drove along the chain-link looking for a way through until we came to a place where the links had been cut and the edges forced back to form a small breach in the fence. Someone had hung a used condom on the wire above the opening.

“Charming.” We sat there staring into the jungle, hunting for courage or a face-saving reason not to get out of the truck. “I don’t like this,” said Marley, looking anxiously about.

“There’s only us.”

“That we can see; you can’t see beyond ten feet. The palmetto hides everything. We could be murdered and no one would know.”

“Now who’s paranoid?” I opened the door and jumped down with a great show of confidence.

Doves cooed in the thicket of thorn bushes. It sounded peaceful. Passing feet had beaten a sand path into the weeds leading towards a stand of pines. I dipped through the fence and stepped off the path, waiting for Marley in the knee-high dry grass. Even the air smelt dusty.

“C’mon, Juice, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Home with my mace.”

She took one more glance around, gave a huge sigh and told me, “I would so rather be at a garage sale,” then she ducked down to come through the fence. We stood side by side for a moment and looked at the strip of sand leading into the palmettos, and then I started down the trail with Marley right on my heels.

“How are we going to find him?” she whispered. It was that kind of place, a place where you didn’t want to call attention to yourself.

“I haven’t a clue,” I told her as we rounded a clump of Brazilian pepper trees and came upon a campsite. I stopped so suddenly Marley bumped into me. A wild collection of garbage—bottles and cans, broken furniture and what looked like used car parts—was strewn around a ring of stones containing ashes. A heavy cardboard box, which once contained a refrigerator, lay on its side with a pair of worn sneakers sticking out the end. The inhabitant was a satin lump formed by a ragged wine-colored quilt. The doves still cooed.

“Holy shit,” Marley hissed in my ear. She took a big handful of my T-shirt. “Is he dead?” “Why don’t you go find out,” I whispered. She jabbed me hard in the ribs for the suggestion.

We tiptoed forward, two parts of the same silent animal. The relief of passing our first test didn’t last. We followed the path as it circled around some pepper trees to where two teenagers, male and female, blocked the narrow path in front of us. Dressed all in black, they looked as if they only came out at night. They were studded and pierced, eyebrows, lips and noses—their ears weren’t just pierced in multiples but contained big metal plugs . . . I’m talking half-inch plugs at least, their lobes stretched thinly, just like those pictures in
National Geographic
at the dentist’s office. Black hair, dyed and spiked, crowned gaunt white faces. Their clothes were shiny and stiff with grime. Everything about them was designed to smack fear into people like us.

I could hear Marley hyperventilating in my ear; her chin was digging into my shoulder. I told myself they could be really very nice people.

“Good morning,” I said and stepped aside into the tall weeds. Marley’s skinny little body, pressed up tight to mine, shuffled sideways with me. Her damp breath filled my ear.

The Bat People didn’t respond . . . didn’t even blink. They just kept on walking.

“Have a nice day,” I whispered as we watched them disappear around the clump of pepper trees without looking back.

“God,” Marley sighed and plopped her head down on my shoulder.

“I wish I had an outfit like that,” I told Marley. “And I wish I was wearing it right now.”

“I hope they don’t come back with their friends to rob us.”

“They don’t have any friends. They’d probably eat them. Besides, that’s why we locked our bags in the truck.”

“I’ve got to pee,” Marley wailed and tugged at my T-shirt.

“Let’s go back.”

“There’s lots of room out here.” I spread out my arm to illustrate the endless opportunities. “Feel free.” “You kidding? Not on your life.”

She was still holding onto my shirt. I pulled her forward.

“We should’ve asked those kids if they’ve seen Andy.”

“We should have asked them to call a cop,” replied Marley.

“I should have brought a picture.”

“Good idea. Let’s go get one.” She tugged harder on my shirt, trying to turn me around.

“So you can run out on me? Not a chance.”

“We don’t belong here,” she wailed in my ear.

“Makes the Shoreline Mobile Home Park look real upscale, doesn’t it?”

“If that’s your idea of a silver lining, can it.”

“It’s the first time I ever felt that I had an advantaged childhood.”

“Oh yeah! With privileges like that, how could you have gone so wrong?”

“Hard work, my girl, hard work. Even with advantages it takes hard work.”

Marley let go of my shirt. I didn’t bother to turn around to see if she was making a break for safety. I had the keys.

“If we don’t find him now,” I said over my shoulder, “Let’s come back tonight.”

She yelped and slapped my back. “Forget it.”

The path divided and I considered the options. On our right the track led to a large spreading oak while the left just went farther off into the scrub brush.

“Let’s go home,” Marley whispered. “We aren’t doing any good here.” Her chin was on my shoulder again as I tried to decide which way to go. “Please.”

“That’s where I’d take cover if I had to live out here.” Live oaks don’t drop all their leaves in the winter so enough remain to form a canopy. I headed for the oak. “We might find someone that knows Andy.”

Marley grabbed my shoulders to hold me back. I turned my head to look at her.

“Aren’t you scared?” she whispered.

“Petrified . . . paralyzed with fear.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still moving.” True, I’d started moving towards the oak. Walking backwards, I asked Marley, “Do you want to wait here?”

She looked around judging if it would be safer to go with me or stay here alone. “No,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll come.” She shuffled forward a few steps then stopped again. “What if we run into someone that’s out of his mind on drugs?”

I had no suggestions. My feet slowed and my brain said, “Marley’s right. This is crazy.” I started back towards her. From behind us came the sound of running feet, coming down the path to where it divided. I saw Marley’s eyes open wide with horror before fear galvanized me into movement.

We dove below a bower of vines at the edge of the oak and stood up in an open area under the canopy. Dappled light fell on five primitive shelters, made from a combination of plywood and cardboard. One of the shelters had Clay’s Cypress Island Reality for sale signs tacked to its side. The sight made me smile for a heartbeat until I saw what else was in the clearing.

Two men sat on listing aluminum lawn chairs in front of a circle of stones. They were staring at us like we were lunch, a very good lunch.