I walked at a quick pace, not running, not wanting to attract attention, but in a hurry to put some room between me and the Sharkstooth Bar. I looked at my watch, a cheap one bought at the Wal-Mart in Bradenton. It was only a little after five. The sun hadn't really begun its descent yet. The tourists wouldn't be heading for the sunset show at Mallory Square for another couple of hours.
I was tired. It had been a long day, and I still had a lot to do before I could claim my bed in the rooming house. I had no idea how to identify Calhoun or Crill. I didn't think asking around in the Mango Bar made a lot of sense. I decided to call Detective Paul Galis.
I walked until I came to a church. There was a walled garden abutting the building, and a gate with a small sign announcing its availability to anyone in need of serenity. That was me. Serenity and a beer would just about revive my spirits.
I went through the gate and found a cement bench under a bougainvillea tree. Its red flowers were etched against a blue sky and surrounded by green bushes. It reminded me of Vietnam for a moment, and then I pushed that thought back to where my dark memories and even darker fears reside.
Laura wasn't with Peggy. I didn't know if that was a good sign or something worse. If she hadn't left Atlanta to find Peggy, where was she? Had she been taken by the same people who took Peggy? Was there a connection? I couldn't see one, and I thought that made Laura's disappearance even more menacing. Fear was slipping out of its chains, threatening me again with the sense of foreboding and loss that I felt whenever I'd thought about Laura over the past few days.
I pulled out my cell phone and called the Monroe County Sheriff's office. I identified myself and asked to speak to Detective Galls.
A pleasant voice came over the line carrying a faint echo of the hills of West Virginia. "David Sims said you might be getting in touch. How can I help you?"
"Did you ever hear of anybody named Charlie Calhoun or Crill, no last name?"
"Never heard of Calhoun, but a guy named Crill used to bartend over at Louie's Backyard. I heard he got into the booze pretty bad and fell on hard times. Crill isn't a name you hear very often. Might be him."
"Wouldn't know where I could find him, would you?"
"No, but I'll check around. He's hard to miss. Got a head full of red hair that he wears in spikes. Lots of gel. He has a blue birthmark that pretty much covers his right temple. How can I get ahold of you?"
I gave him my cell number and told him to leave a message if I didn't answer. I said, "Do you know where the Mango Bar is?"
He gave me directions, and said, "Be careful in there. That's a badass place. If we could close it down, our crime rate would drop by fifty percent."
"I'll watch my back. I appreciate the help."
"No sweat. Sims says you're good people." He hung up.
I was a little surprised at Sims' recommendation, but maybe he'd been talking to Bill Lester and decided to help me. I'd take it where I could get it.
I dialed JeffTimmons in Atlanta. I needed to know about Laura, and Jeff needed to know what I'd found out about Peggy. In the end, neither one of us was much help to the other. Jeff had no word on Laura, and the police were still not putting much effort into finding her.
I related what I knew about Peggy, and told him to try not to worry too much. If the men chasing the girl had meant her harm, they could have shot her in the Sharkstooth Bar, and nobody would have seen a thing.
He promised to call me as soon as he heard anything about Laura.
The Mango Bar was a step up the pecking order from the Sharkstooth, but it was a small step. It was located near the Key West side of the bridge leading to Stock Island, in an area of town that catered to the fishermen who manned the commercial boats that worked out of the nearby marinas. The bar was housed on the first floor of an old two-story building that was not aging gracefully. The second floor seemed to be empty, with several of the windows broken out. Wide double doors were open to the sidewalk. A small parking lot was next to the building. A rusting pickup truck and a beat up Mazda sedan were parked there.
I'd walked about two miles to get to the bar. I was sweaty and dusty and probably smelled like Bigfoot. I'd fit right in at a place like this.
I walked through the doors into the dim space. I stood for a moment, letting my vision acclimate to the lack of sunlight. I saw Crill at the far end of the bar, sipping from a shot glass of dark liquid. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray in front of him. The spiked red hair and the birthmark were unmistakable. He was the only customer. The space was narrow, with four booths lining the wall across from the bar. A large fan sat atop a stand in the corner, barely stirring the sultry air in the room.
I sat at the near end of the bar, ordered a Miller Lite from the bored barmaid and paid her cash. I sipped the beer slowly, catching a steely glance now and then from the bar lady, wondering, I guess, how long I was going to sit there nursing one beer.
Crill raised his glass, and the barmaid poured him another shot from a bottle of Old Grandad. I motioned to her with my beer bottle, ordering another. I sipped some more, glancing occasionally at Crill. He seemed to be in deep contemplation, savoring his whiskey, drinking it in small swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after every taste.
An hour went by. Grill didn't move, except to raise his glass or his cigarette and wipe his mouth. He stared into his whiskey, moving only to drink or inhale or to order another shot. I wondered what he was thinking, or even if he was thinking. He drank with the single-minded dedication of the true alcoholic. I ordered another beer.
Another half hour elapsed. Grill jerked upright on his stool, as if he had felt an electric shock. His gaze swept the room, a look of consternation clouding his face. He stubbed out his cigarette, tipped the glass back, and gulped the remaining contents. He got off his stool and headed for the door. He was tall and rangy, with long arms and big hands. A tattoo of a dragon wound up his right arm, its tail trailing to his wrist, the snout covered by his shirtsleeve. He wore cutoffs, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. I let him get by me, and then followed. I planned to stay with him until I could get him alone.
As I stepped out the door, I saw the Mazda leaving the parking lot. Crill was driving it. So much for my grand plan. I was on foot and had no way to follow him.
I walked to the corner and used my cell to check for messages. Galls had called and left me an address for Crill. And a last name. McAllister.
I pulled out the city map I'd bought at a tourist stand on Duval Street earlier in the day. The address was only about a mile from where I was standing.
Darkness was descending on the town. Lights were winking on in the homes and businesses as I walked toward Grill's place. I was in an area of small clapboard houses. Most seemed to be of the shotgun variety; narrow with the rooms situated one behind the other. There was no grass to speak of in any of the yards. Chickens pecked at the dry earth, clucking their displeasure at the paucity of food. They were protected by city ordinance and roamed at will through the town. Every July there was a festival in honor of the stupid birds. Only in Key West.
By the time I found the right address, full darkness had cloaked the city. The streetlights were few in the neighborhood, and they put out scant illumination. That suited me just fine.
I was going to wring Grill dry, but I didn't look forward to it. I didn't like violence, even though I'd seen more than my share of it. Sometimes the blood lust took over, as it had at the Sharkstooth Bar. That always scared me, but it didn't happen often. I was usually in control, but sometimes I frightened the hell out of myself.
If Crill was the right guy, and I was almost sure he was, he didn't deserve much compassion. He'd chased down a scared teenager with the tenacity of a wolf, and if I had to do him violence, I would. And I would control the blood lust. If that made me a cold bastard, so be it. I just didn't want anybody to witness the act.