The Captain
One of the Regulars
- Messages
- 259
TIKI NOIR ~ Part VI
TIKI NOIR ~ Part VI RGCardella 2004
“Let’s take my wheels, Spider. It’s a convertible day if ever I saw one.” I went back into my bedroom and picked up my .45 and stuck it in my waistband. There are those that like to carry a piece in the small of their back, but I always felt too clumsy trying to pull it out. Spider carried his that way. I guess you do what works best for you. We went out the front door. I checked to make sure that it was locked. We walked around to the one-car garage that was adjacent to the bungalow. I opened the doors and got my first look of the day at my pride and joy. I had bought my 1955 Buick convertible when I got out of The Corps. I couldn’t afford it, but I had to have it. The nose and deck had been shaved and filled and a local artist had given it a sedate stripe job. The exhaust system now had two pipes instead of one and the manifold sported two carburetors. It steered like a truck, but I loved it.
It was a short cruise down to the beach from my place. We really could have walked the distance, but when you love your ride, love the sunshine and live in California, you drive, no matter how short the trip. We slid into the parking lot by The Hut and I silenced the engine. A lone seagull glided in slow, lazy circles over head and, as we exited the car, crapped on the Buick’s warm hood. Spider started to laugh hysterically while I tried to keep from throwing a round in his direction. The seagulls and Spider’s. I walked around to the trunk, opened it and removed a chamois and a small, plastic bottle. I walked over to the outside shower that beachgoers use and filled it with water, then went back and cleaned up the hood. Glancing at the sky for any more bombers, we went into the building.
It was dark, cool and smelled like stale beer and salt water. On the jukebox the Martin Denny Quartet was playing Return to Paradise. We removed our sunglasses and went up to the empty bar. The barkeep, a twenty-something kid named Gizmo was leaning over the bar reading a surf magazine. He looked up and said, “Well, if it ain’t Nip and Tuck! Haven’t seen you guys together in a while. Must be a year or two.” Gizmo was a good kid. He always had a smile on his face and a kind word for you. He would never be rich, but he was happy. Maybe that’s all that really matters.
“Hey, Giz, how’s it hangin’?, Spider said. “Couldn’t be better, Spider! I’m going to the islands in two weeks to surf some big waves. Wanna come?” Spider looked for a moment like he would say yes, but said, “No can do, Giz. I’m sorta into something at the moment. That’s really why we’re here. I’m sure you heard about Bonnie getting whacked yesterday. Well, we were wondering what the talk on the beach has been. Everyone that comes in here must have a theory. Talk to me.” Gizmo walked over to the tap and drew two glasses of beer with perfect heads. He came back to where we were standing and placed them in front of us. It was only nine o’clock in the morning, a little early for me to have a beer, so I asked Gizmo for a can of tomato juice, opened it and poured some into the glass of beer. Now it was a “breakfast drink”.
“Sure, there’s been talk, a lot of it. Everyone that thought Bonnie should have had a stake hammered into her heart long ago thinks it was pay back for her hosing someone in one of her deals. She was a heavy gambler or didn’t you know that?” Gizmo paused for a moment and popped the top on a bottle of Pepsi and took a long pull. The ceiling fan was squeaking in time to the music. “She was always a big winner or a big loser. The way they figure it, someone either didn’t want to pay off or was pissed because she didn’t pay her debt quick enough. Either way works for that crowd. Then there’s the bunch that think that it wasn’t her that the guy was aiming at – they think it was one of you guys!” Now there was a theory that hadn’t reared its’ ugly head. Me, the target? I could see Spider tweaking some dame’s husband, but who would want to ice this sweet Italian guy? No one that I could think of at the moment. Sure, I haven’t been a choirboy, but I couldn’t think of anyone who wanted me dead. We finished our beer with talk of the waves at Waimea Bay, the Banzai Pipeline and sharks and then said goodbye to Gizmo. As we left the bar, the strains of Arthur Lyman’s Sea Breeze followed us out the door.
“What now, Kimosabe”, said Spider as we climbed into the Buick. I sat there and stared out of the windshield at the Pacific. The sky was so blue and cloudless that the sea and sky seemed to blend at the horizon into one. There was a group of teenagers playing volleyball just down the beach and their yells and laughter carried to us on the slight southerly breeze. I suddenly felt like crap. Was someone really out to punch my ticket? I didn’t know, but I did know what would make me feel better. “I need a swim”, I said.
We drove up the beach to the parking lot next to Bonnie’s. There were several vehicles parked facing out to sea. Three Ford woodies, a Mercury two-door sedan and a Plymouth station wagon, all with surfboards protruding from their rear ends. Usually these boards and their owners would be working the shore break, but not today. A group of people were sitting on the sand in front of Bonnie’s, their backs turned to the yellow crime scene tape that fluttered in the morning breeze. A portable radio was on and Sam Cooke was singing Wonderful World. As I slid the Buick into the lot a few spaces away from the crowd, their faces turned towards us and the whispers started. They could have been talking about how cool my car was, but I didn’t think so. Spider and I got out of the car, he walking over to squat on the sand and say hello to the group, me going around to the trunk, opening it and retrieving a pair of trunks from a small, nylon bag with the U. S. Marine Corps emblem on it. I went to the passenger side of the car and got a large towel from the back seat and wrapped it around me, pulled off my boots and pants and proceeded to put on my trunks. I removed my Snidley Whiplash shirt and, folding it carefully, placed it in the back seat. The .45 and the Beretta went into the glove compartment. I locked it and as I stepped out onto the warm sand, tossed the keys to Spider.
“If you’re not back in a day or two, I’ll call the Coast Guard”, he said with a grin. “You’re all heart kid”, I said as I walked across the white sand towards the surf line. I walked out as far as I could and then dove under a wave. The water was cool and clear and I swam beneath the surface until my lungs told me it was either them or me. I surfaced and started to swim with long, deliberate strokes towards Hawaii. About a hundred yards out, I stopped and looked back. It was beautiful. A few thunderheads were forming out over the desert far to the east. The palms, that were de rigueur in any California coastal town, were swaying gently in the morning breeze. A little splash and kerplunk about three feet from me broke the moment. Before I could dwell on what caused the sound, another splash erupted, this one not a foot away. I didn’t need a third to know that somebody was shooting at me. I quickly looked towards the beach, but saw no one. I looked north towards the pier that jutted out into the ocean and saw two fishermen, their poles jammed into holders, with their backs towards me. That left the open sea. I spun around in the water and saw a small outboard maybe a hundred and fifty yards out. The lone occupant was lying down in the boat with a rifle protruding over the port gunwale. He was waiting for a lull in the waves for another shot at me. I dove like a porpoise and started kicking towards the pier. As I did, another round split the surface and, with a trail of bubbles following it, headed for the bottom. I could see the encrusted pilings of the pier in the distance and made for them as fast as I could. My lungs were on fire as I neared the pier. I knew that if I wasn’t careful I could be sliced and diced by the barnacles and other sharp-shelled sea life that had attached themselves to the massive timbers. I hugged the bottom and carefully made my way into the maze of pilings. The scene reminded me of being in a forest on a very foggy day; A forest that had schools of fish swirling through the air. I surfaced and filled my searing lungs with air. It was too much for me and I started to choke. After a few hacking coughs that were worthy of a TB ward, I settled down. I cautiously looked around the pilings in the direction of the shooter only to see the outboard powering south at a fast clip. By the time I could get back to shore, whoever it was would be long gone.
Spider looked up from the group of beach-bunnies he was regaling and saw me walking down the beach towards him. “Have a nice swim, Rico?”, he said. “Oh, yeah, just wonderful. The sun, the salt air, the sparkling water the… ********** BULLETS! Why, when you know that we are both candidates for body bags, didn’t you keep your eyes on me? There was some son-of-a-bitch out in a boat shooting at me, for Christ sakes, and you were here working on your tan!” The hurt puppy look came over his face. I had a moment where I started to feel sorry for him, then it dawned on me that he could probably turn the look on and off. “Don’t give me that crap, Spider. Either get on the same page as I am or I’m closing the book on this relationship. When it comes to matters of life or death, I ‘m all business – especially if that death could be mine.”
We left the beach and drove downtown to see Leone. He listened to my story patiently and then said, “You don’t give me much to work on, Rico. I could probably count off at least a dozen citizens who would rejoice at your passing, but I don’t know of any who have the stones to try to help you along.” He turned his gaze towards Spider and said, “You’re another story. You have a knack for pissing people off.” Spider started to protest, but Leone raised a hand to stop him and continued. “Maybe it’s because of your daddy’s money, or maybe it’s because you always look too -- perfect -- like you never sweat or crap or any of the other things the rest of us poor mortals do. I know that that isn’t a shooting offence, but, like I said, you piss people off.” Spider almost got his “hurt puppy” look, but his spine stiffened, he looked Leone in the eyes and said, “ Jealous is one thing, trying to snuff me is another. Besides, assuming that the bullet Bonnie took yesterday was meant for me, what about the guy that was shooting at Rico? I’m sure that it isn’t just a coincidence. Who is he after? Rico, me or both of us?” There was silence in the room. Well, I mean no one said anything. The room was far from silent. Telephones were ringing in the squad room and they mingled with the talking, yelling, swearing and occasional scream. Leone finally broke the silence. “I don’t have a clue as to what’s happening here. Until we – all of us – can get a handle on the situation, I think that you both better keep an extremely low profile. The guy in the boat didn’t just happen to be out there when you decided to go for a swim, he had to know you were going out in the water. He must have been following you guys when you went to the beach. He’s stalking you.”
To Be Continued
TIKI NOIR ~ Part VI RGCardella 2004
“Let’s take my wheels, Spider. It’s a convertible day if ever I saw one.” I went back into my bedroom and picked up my .45 and stuck it in my waistband. There are those that like to carry a piece in the small of their back, but I always felt too clumsy trying to pull it out. Spider carried his that way. I guess you do what works best for you. We went out the front door. I checked to make sure that it was locked. We walked around to the one-car garage that was adjacent to the bungalow. I opened the doors and got my first look of the day at my pride and joy. I had bought my 1955 Buick convertible when I got out of The Corps. I couldn’t afford it, but I had to have it. The nose and deck had been shaved and filled and a local artist had given it a sedate stripe job. The exhaust system now had two pipes instead of one and the manifold sported two carburetors. It steered like a truck, but I loved it.
It was a short cruise down to the beach from my place. We really could have walked the distance, but when you love your ride, love the sunshine and live in California, you drive, no matter how short the trip. We slid into the parking lot by The Hut and I silenced the engine. A lone seagull glided in slow, lazy circles over head and, as we exited the car, crapped on the Buick’s warm hood. Spider started to laugh hysterically while I tried to keep from throwing a round in his direction. The seagulls and Spider’s. I walked around to the trunk, opened it and removed a chamois and a small, plastic bottle. I walked over to the outside shower that beachgoers use and filled it with water, then went back and cleaned up the hood. Glancing at the sky for any more bombers, we went into the building.
It was dark, cool and smelled like stale beer and salt water. On the jukebox the Martin Denny Quartet was playing Return to Paradise. We removed our sunglasses and went up to the empty bar. The barkeep, a twenty-something kid named Gizmo was leaning over the bar reading a surf magazine. He looked up and said, “Well, if it ain’t Nip and Tuck! Haven’t seen you guys together in a while. Must be a year or two.” Gizmo was a good kid. He always had a smile on his face and a kind word for you. He would never be rich, but he was happy. Maybe that’s all that really matters.
“Hey, Giz, how’s it hangin’?, Spider said. “Couldn’t be better, Spider! I’m going to the islands in two weeks to surf some big waves. Wanna come?” Spider looked for a moment like he would say yes, but said, “No can do, Giz. I’m sorta into something at the moment. That’s really why we’re here. I’m sure you heard about Bonnie getting whacked yesterday. Well, we were wondering what the talk on the beach has been. Everyone that comes in here must have a theory. Talk to me.” Gizmo walked over to the tap and drew two glasses of beer with perfect heads. He came back to where we were standing and placed them in front of us. It was only nine o’clock in the morning, a little early for me to have a beer, so I asked Gizmo for a can of tomato juice, opened it and poured some into the glass of beer. Now it was a “breakfast drink”.
“Sure, there’s been talk, a lot of it. Everyone that thought Bonnie should have had a stake hammered into her heart long ago thinks it was pay back for her hosing someone in one of her deals. She was a heavy gambler or didn’t you know that?” Gizmo paused for a moment and popped the top on a bottle of Pepsi and took a long pull. The ceiling fan was squeaking in time to the music. “She was always a big winner or a big loser. The way they figure it, someone either didn’t want to pay off or was pissed because she didn’t pay her debt quick enough. Either way works for that crowd. Then there’s the bunch that think that it wasn’t her that the guy was aiming at – they think it was one of you guys!” Now there was a theory that hadn’t reared its’ ugly head. Me, the target? I could see Spider tweaking some dame’s husband, but who would want to ice this sweet Italian guy? No one that I could think of at the moment. Sure, I haven’t been a choirboy, but I couldn’t think of anyone who wanted me dead. We finished our beer with talk of the waves at Waimea Bay, the Banzai Pipeline and sharks and then said goodbye to Gizmo. As we left the bar, the strains of Arthur Lyman’s Sea Breeze followed us out the door.
“What now, Kimosabe”, said Spider as we climbed into the Buick. I sat there and stared out of the windshield at the Pacific. The sky was so blue and cloudless that the sea and sky seemed to blend at the horizon into one. There was a group of teenagers playing volleyball just down the beach and their yells and laughter carried to us on the slight southerly breeze. I suddenly felt like crap. Was someone really out to punch my ticket? I didn’t know, but I did know what would make me feel better. “I need a swim”, I said.
We drove up the beach to the parking lot next to Bonnie’s. There were several vehicles parked facing out to sea. Three Ford woodies, a Mercury two-door sedan and a Plymouth station wagon, all with surfboards protruding from their rear ends. Usually these boards and their owners would be working the shore break, but not today. A group of people were sitting on the sand in front of Bonnie’s, their backs turned to the yellow crime scene tape that fluttered in the morning breeze. A portable radio was on and Sam Cooke was singing Wonderful World. As I slid the Buick into the lot a few spaces away from the crowd, their faces turned towards us and the whispers started. They could have been talking about how cool my car was, but I didn’t think so. Spider and I got out of the car, he walking over to squat on the sand and say hello to the group, me going around to the trunk, opening it and retrieving a pair of trunks from a small, nylon bag with the U. S. Marine Corps emblem on it. I went to the passenger side of the car and got a large towel from the back seat and wrapped it around me, pulled off my boots and pants and proceeded to put on my trunks. I removed my Snidley Whiplash shirt and, folding it carefully, placed it in the back seat. The .45 and the Beretta went into the glove compartment. I locked it and as I stepped out onto the warm sand, tossed the keys to Spider.
“If you’re not back in a day or two, I’ll call the Coast Guard”, he said with a grin. “You’re all heart kid”, I said as I walked across the white sand towards the surf line. I walked out as far as I could and then dove under a wave. The water was cool and clear and I swam beneath the surface until my lungs told me it was either them or me. I surfaced and started to swim with long, deliberate strokes towards Hawaii. About a hundred yards out, I stopped and looked back. It was beautiful. A few thunderheads were forming out over the desert far to the east. The palms, that were de rigueur in any California coastal town, were swaying gently in the morning breeze. A little splash and kerplunk about three feet from me broke the moment. Before I could dwell on what caused the sound, another splash erupted, this one not a foot away. I didn’t need a third to know that somebody was shooting at me. I quickly looked towards the beach, but saw no one. I looked north towards the pier that jutted out into the ocean and saw two fishermen, their poles jammed into holders, with their backs towards me. That left the open sea. I spun around in the water and saw a small outboard maybe a hundred and fifty yards out. The lone occupant was lying down in the boat with a rifle protruding over the port gunwale. He was waiting for a lull in the waves for another shot at me. I dove like a porpoise and started kicking towards the pier. As I did, another round split the surface and, with a trail of bubbles following it, headed for the bottom. I could see the encrusted pilings of the pier in the distance and made for them as fast as I could. My lungs were on fire as I neared the pier. I knew that if I wasn’t careful I could be sliced and diced by the barnacles and other sharp-shelled sea life that had attached themselves to the massive timbers. I hugged the bottom and carefully made my way into the maze of pilings. The scene reminded me of being in a forest on a very foggy day; A forest that had schools of fish swirling through the air. I surfaced and filled my searing lungs with air. It was too much for me and I started to choke. After a few hacking coughs that were worthy of a TB ward, I settled down. I cautiously looked around the pilings in the direction of the shooter only to see the outboard powering south at a fast clip. By the time I could get back to shore, whoever it was would be long gone.
Spider looked up from the group of beach-bunnies he was regaling and saw me walking down the beach towards him. “Have a nice swim, Rico?”, he said. “Oh, yeah, just wonderful. The sun, the salt air, the sparkling water the… ********** BULLETS! Why, when you know that we are both candidates for body bags, didn’t you keep your eyes on me? There was some son-of-a-bitch out in a boat shooting at me, for Christ sakes, and you were here working on your tan!” The hurt puppy look came over his face. I had a moment where I started to feel sorry for him, then it dawned on me that he could probably turn the look on and off. “Don’t give me that crap, Spider. Either get on the same page as I am or I’m closing the book on this relationship. When it comes to matters of life or death, I ‘m all business – especially if that death could be mine.”
We left the beach and drove downtown to see Leone. He listened to my story patiently and then said, “You don’t give me much to work on, Rico. I could probably count off at least a dozen citizens who would rejoice at your passing, but I don’t know of any who have the stones to try to help you along.” He turned his gaze towards Spider and said, “You’re another story. You have a knack for pissing people off.” Spider started to protest, but Leone raised a hand to stop him and continued. “Maybe it’s because of your daddy’s money, or maybe it’s because you always look too -- perfect -- like you never sweat or crap or any of the other things the rest of us poor mortals do. I know that that isn’t a shooting offence, but, like I said, you piss people off.” Spider almost got his “hurt puppy” look, but his spine stiffened, he looked Leone in the eyes and said, “ Jealous is one thing, trying to snuff me is another. Besides, assuming that the bullet Bonnie took yesterday was meant for me, what about the guy that was shooting at Rico? I’m sure that it isn’t just a coincidence. Who is he after? Rico, me or both of us?” There was silence in the room. Well, I mean no one said anything. The room was far from silent. Telephones were ringing in the squad room and they mingled with the talking, yelling, swearing and occasional scream. Leone finally broke the silence. “I don’t have a clue as to what’s happening here. Until we – all of us – can get a handle on the situation, I think that you both better keep an extremely low profile. The guy in the boat didn’t just happen to be out there when you decided to go for a swim, he had to know you were going out in the water. He must have been following you guys when you went to the beach. He’s stalking you.”
To Be Continued
