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behind a large pine tree and waited for him. He crept along the path, eyes darting every which way. She scooped some sand into her hand and pictured all the ways she could hurt him if it came to that. There were a lot of them. He moved past her and she counted to five before stepping out behind him.

“Can I help you, motherfucker?” she asked, her fist cocked, ready to swing.

He jumped in surprise and whirled around to face her. He wore a T-shirt and shorts - no sign of a weapon of any kind.

“Christ! You scared me!” he said, smiling.

“Good,” she replied. “Now what the fuck do you want?”

“Actually, I just had a question for you,” he said, anger creeping into his voice. “You don’t mind answering a few questions, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she snarled.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” he said as he stepped forward. “Because I have to ask them anyway.”

Now it was her turn to smile. “Well, you can try, motherfucker. You can try,” she said as she flung the sand in his face and charged.

Chapter 01

PAUL Reynolds doodled idly on a bar napkin as he sipped at his margarita. All around him tourists of every size and shape were donning paper pirate hats and plastic eye patches. They were part of a relatively new Key West tradition called the Booty Hunt - a glorified bar crawl where participants followed a “treasure map” that led them from bar to bar, with occasional stops in private homes, and where the chief treasure to be found was the pleasure of being surrounded by fellow drunks and saying “Arrrr” a lot. Paul had participated a few times himself and was kind of embarrassed at how much fun it was. His pen drew a rough sketch of the crowd, although in his version they were actual pirates, in full dress with real swords and pistols and parrots.

He took another sip and glanced around the bar, wondering where his drinking companion had gotten to. It was still early - just an hour or so after sunset, and Crooked Pete’s was only half full. Located on Simonton, a block off the tourist-choked sidewalks of Duval Street, the bar hadn’t hit its stride for the evening yet. The real crowd and the regulars would come later, once they had gotten a bite to eat and were ready for some serious, cheap drinking.

He saw his friend Sandee emerge - finally - from the bathroom, smiling at Paul from across the bar while maneuvering through the gaggle of barhopping buccaneers. Thick, cascading black curls complemented Sandee’s black sequined mini-dress that clung to every slim curve and emphasized shapely breasts. Sandee winked at one of the tourists, blowing the man a kiss as he ogled in naked admiration.

“Did you miss me?” Sandee asked, sitting down beside Paul.

“Of course,” Paul replied, sliding another margarita to Sandee. “But your drink missed you more. All your ice is melting.”

“Oh, the poor darlings,” Sandee cooed, licking the salt on the rim suggestively before taking a long swallow that emptied a third of the contents. “There, now they have some more room.”

“So where’s The Party tonight?” Paul asked. “I assume you’re going.”

“Of course I’m going, sweetie. You know I can’t resist The Party two nights in a row.”

“And it’s just not the same without you there.”

“Nothing’s the same without me there, Paul.”

“Don’t I know it,” he replied as he made a show of looking Sandee up and down. “Rrrrow! You look amazing. I’m always impressed.”

Sandee gave him a playful shove. “You big tease. You better be careful, talking to me like that. I’ll tell Chloe.”

“Like she doesn’t already know. She probably had Bee bug this place too,” he joked. He looked around the bar again. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea…”

“You crazy kids and your little spy toys. I swear! You won’t be satisfied until there’s a camera on every corner and a bug in every bar. But not Pete’s, ok? He’s got enough of the real live bugs already.”

“Good point,” said Paul, taking another sip of his drink. “But there’s no stopping Bee once she gets an idea in her head.”

“There’s no stopping any of you three when you get an idea in your heads.”

“Another good point.” He finished his drink and smiled at Sandee. “But back to my question. Where is The Party tonight?”

“Have you really lost track of it? It’s your party.”

“I know, I know, but I lost control of it long ago. Giancarlo said that we couldn’t have upstairs at Vesuvio, but he said you had something lined up instead of the normal backup.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Sandee smiled with pride. “I finagled us the house on Eaton.”

“The Crawford place?” asked Paul, surprised.

“The very same.”

“That’s great! God, I love it when we can get that place. How long?”

“Thirty-six for sure, maybe as long as fifty.”

“Perfect. Who’ve you told?” asked Paul, standing up.

“My kids. Jesse of course. I haven’t hit the girls yet.”

“I was heading over there anyway. I’ll tell them.”

Sandee winked. “I bet you will. Chloe trusts you more than I would.”

“Chloe trusts me with you, doesn’t she? She’s obviously not risk averse.”

“I’ll bet no one ever accused her of that,” said Sandee.

“No one that’s lived to tell the tale,” Paul agreed. He caught the bartender’s eye and waved, signaling him to put the drinks on his tab. The bartender smiled and nodded back at him. “I gotta get going then, make sure everything’s set.”

“There is one more thing,” said Sandee. “New place, new money.”

“New money?” asked Paul, surprised. He’d thought there was plenty in the party fund to cover anything Sandee might need for tonight. “Why…”

“We had to pay for damages at Max’s, and then there was the whole sordid affair with The Gringo. We’re tapped out.”

Paul sighed and dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I’ve only got $600 on me,” he said as he leafed through the bills. “That was going to be my bribe money for the night.”

“If you can spare it, it’d help. I’ve already doled out all my cash on hand to secure the place and get the liquor. But we still need…”

“I know, I know,” said Paul, handing the money to Sandee. “Let’s just try and make tonight kick ass so we can earn that back as quick as possible.”

“We should be flush by dawn, my dear,” Sandee assured him. “Just you wait.”

“That’s the plan anyway. But would you explain that to Chloe for me?”

“What is Chloe doing tonight, anyway?” Sandee asked. “I was hoping to get her to come out with me and check out the new help at the Hyatt.”

“She’s busy getting everything set up for our visitors. She’s kind of freaking out about all the little details.”

“Oh my, are they coming in tonight? I thought that was next week.”

“Nope, it’s tonight.”

“Well, I guess I won’t be seeing too much of you three anytime soon.”

“We’ll see,” said Paul. “I’ll try and swing things and introduce you around. It’s still kind of a big mystery as to why they’re coming here in the first place, so we’ll have to wait and see how things play out.”

“I understand, sweetie. And hey, if you can, bring some of them by The Party. I’ll show them a good time.”

Paul leaned forward and gave Sandee a quick kiss on the cheek. “Ok, I’ll let you know. Have fun.”

“You too,” replied Sandee. “But not too much fun unless I’m there.”

“We’ll see,” said Paul.

Sandee looked past Paul’s shoulder and grinned. “Look who’s back.”

Paul turned to see a squat, bald man in his early 60s bearing down on him. He gave Paul a crooked smile full of yellow teeth as he slapped him on the back. “What’s up, friend. Long time no see!”

“Bernie!” said Paul, turning to the old man and shaking his hand. “Where the fuck have you been? I heard Miami PD picked you up!”

“Nah, nah, nothing that dramatic,” Bernie said, shaking his had. “I just had some family shit to take care of up in Coral Gables. Pain in my wrinkled old ass, I tell you. But I’m back.”

“That’s great, man. Actually I’m glad I ran into both of you here. It means I don’t have to track down Cuban Eddie.” Bernie was a fun-loving old man who loved, loved, loved strip clubs. He financed this expensive habit by selling air purifiers on eBay and growing high quality dope in his house, most of which he sold to strippers and bartenders. Cuban Eddie was a 70-year-old coffee shop owner who was his main competition among the local bar and restaurant workers.

“Pffft, that old bastard? You are lucky I came back when I did. What do you need, sport?”

“We got The Party going tonight,” said Paul.

“The party’s always going when I’m around,” interjected Bernie.

“Yeah, of course; that’s the point, right? But it’s rotated to the Crawford place tonight. And since you’re here, you can make the delivery yourself, and I don’t have to get someone to run the shit over from The Cuban.”

Bernie raised his drink in salute to Paul, “Your wish is my command. How’s about three hours?”

“Whenever’s good for you, Bernie. Just check in with Sandee when you get there.” That was some good news anyway. Things always went well when Bernie was in the house.

Bernie blew Sandee a kiss. “Will do. Mind if I join you two for a drink? I wanna tell y’all about this wild club I went to while I was up in Miami…”

Just then Paul’s pocket started singing The Clash’s, “I Fought the Law.”

“Hold on a sec,” Paul said. He scooped the phone out and saw “KW Tele-market” on the caller ID. He sighed as he answered, “Hey, Bee, what’s up?”

“It’s Chloe,” said Bee, her voice tight and nervous. “She needs you.”

Chapter 02

THE classic Key West-style house just off Fleming looked much like the rest of the residences on the block - two-story wooden frame walls and peaked roofs with shallow porches nearly butting up against the sidewalk. Chloe’s rusting blue Vespa was tucked away beside the house, in the narrow space separating it from the neighbors. To anyone walking by outside, everything looked quiet and peaceful.

Inside, Chloe was pissed. Everything had been going great and then those stupid fuckers had decided to show up a week early, forcing her to scramble to pack a week’s work into a single day. She wore a black bandana wrapped around her head, covering her buzz cut pink hair. Numerous smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the tip of her nose testified to the heavy-duty cleaning she’d been doing for the past five hours. She wore loose fitting shorts and a tight-fitting tank top that had once been white. In her bare feet she pushed a mop across the hardwood floors, grumbling to herself.

She heard the door open and looked up to see Paul standing in the doorway. Even though it wasn’t his fault, she glared at him as he came in. As much as Chloe liked a clean house, she hated housework, and this wasn’t even her house. This particular space was sparsely decorated with just a few worn pieces of furniture and some bad condo art on the walls. After six months of being sealed up tight with the air conditioner off, it smelled of dust and mildew and needed a good airing out.

“What are you doing?” asked Paul, closing the door behind him.

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