"Come in, Mr. Royal," Michelle said. "We've been expecting you."
Uh-oh. This couldn't be good. But, I'd never refused the offer of a pretty young woman, especially if she was holding a gun on me. I entered the house as Michelle backed into the foyer, gun pointed directly at my gut. I didn't doubt that she would gladly put one into my heart if I didn't do what she said.
She waved me into the living room off the foyer. "That was a pretty good picture our security camera got at the spa," she said. "I recognized you immediately."
The truck driver was sitting at ease in a recliner, no weapon in sight. He stood and frisked me. He took the. 38 out of my pocket and put it on a table next to his chair. He sat back down, crossed one leg over his knee, and grinned.
He was a big man, with oversized muscles bulging out his T-shirt sleeves. His dark hair was cropped close, and his face wore the quizzical look affected by so many body builders who make up for their lack of brains with a lot of brawn. Three angry scratch marks ran the length of his left cheek. Peggy had taken a hunk out of his hide.
I wondered how he had gotten to Michelle's house without my seeing him, but then realized he could have come through the backyard.
Michelle nodded in the man's direction, and said, "Charlie recognized you on the street a few minutes ago. He thought you were following me."
"Mr. Calhoun, I presume," I said.
A momentary look of surprise crossed his face. "How do you know my name?" he asked.
"You're a famous street punk. Everybody tells me you're as stupid as you look. I wonder if that's possible."
He was coming out of his chair. "You smart-ass son of a bitch. You shot my buddies."
"Sit, Charlie," Michelle said, and like an obedient dog, he fell back into the chair.
"Minds well," I said.
"You might want to be careful, Mr. Royal. I might just let him loose on you."
"Please, call me Matt. We're all friends here."
"Sit on the sofa," she said, and took a chair directly across from me. I sat. There was a low coffee table between us, a large flat book of photographs of the Florida Keys lying on top.
"Why are you here, Matt?" Michelle asked.
"I'm looking for a girl. An eighteen-year-old college student named Peggy Timmons. The same girl old Charlie here was chasing a couple of days ago. I heard she just about took him. Looks like she marked him up pretty good."
Charlie started to rise again, a look of irritation on his face. "I'll kick your ass," he growled.
"Sit, Charlie," said Michelle, again.
"But, Michelle," Charlie said.
"Sit." Louder this time.
Charlie sat, but he didn't like it.
I looked at him and smiled. "You're a lot safer doing what the lady tells you, Charlie."
He started out of the chair again, but went back down at one look from Michelle. He wanted to tear my head off and, if I kept goading him, sooner or later he was going to take his shot. I was counting on it.
I heard a clock chime somewhere in the back of the house. Five o'clock. The light was slanting through the west-fronting windows now, little dust motes hovering in the beams. I heard a motor scooter pass on the street, and somewhere in the distance a ship's horn sounded. One of the cruise ships was leaving its dock, full of sunburned tourists heading for the next island.
I smiled at Michelle. "Are you going to tell me where to find Peggy?"
She smiled back. "No."
"What about her mother, Laura Timmons?"
"Who?" Michelle looked puzzled, as if she'd never heard the name before.
"Maybe I'll have to ask Reverend Simmermon," I said.
She and Charlie both laughed, quickly, snorts really, rather than laughter. "You think that idiot runs things?" Michelle asked.
"His picture is on Charlie's truck," I said.
She chuckled this time. "Yeah, I kind of let him think he's running things sometimes. It helps keep his ego in check."
"Is he on Blood Island?"
She looked mildly surprised. "My, my, you've been a very busy boy."
"Look, Michelle, I don't care what you've got going with the spa or anything else. I just want the girl."
"I can't let that happen, Matt. It's too late."
"Why is that?"
"She's seen more of our operation than is healthy."
"And Laura?"
"I don't know anybody named Laura. And if she's Peggy's mother, she'd be a little long in the tooth for our needs."
"I'm not sure I understand your operation. Do you kidnap these kids into prostitution?"
"Lord, no." She laughed. "These kids come from all over to find the light. They're all looking for something, and when the Rev gets through with them, they know they've found God. Or at least the Rev's idea of God."
"I don't get it."
"The Rev has a twisted view of Christianity. I'm not sure he believes it himself, but lie sure can sell it to stupid people."
"What happens to the kids?"
"Most of them are girls. We sort of reprogram them and put them in the spas. They think they're hooking for Jesus. They're idiots:'
I sat quietly for a moment, remembering the vacant look in Sister Amy's eyes. "You're drugging them," I said, my voice flat.
"Of course we are." Michelle let out a short laugh, like I'd just said something stupid. "How else are we going to keep them down on the farm? Or the spa?" She was enjoying herself.
I crossed my right leg over my left knee, swinging my foot rhytlimi- cally, feigning indifference to my situation. "How do you recruit diem?" I said.
"Easy. The lost ones are always at the revivals. We do a preliminary look-see, chat them up, and, if they don't seem too smart, we put somebody on them to find out more."
"Like Jake Yardley," I said.
"Exactly."
"Then what?"
"We invite them down to Blood Island for a retreat. A few doses of certain drugs in their food, and they're ours. The Rev preaches to them, takes an interest in them, and tells them we love them. He usually screws the girls for good measure. Then we send them to the Heaven Can't Wait Spa. They've Joined the Circle of Lilies. They think it's some kind of religious order."
"It's not?"
She laughed again. "I guess it's what the little bitches make out of it. When they've been there a while, and they're docile enough, we send them to our spas in other cities."
"And die boys?"
"They stay on the island to work and pray. They're fed and housed, and they're pretty happy. There're only a few guys."
"What happened to Yardley?"
"He got careless. For some reason, he put his name and address on the motel registration, and you found him. He had to be eliminated."
"Just like that? You kill a man over a mistake?"
"Happens sometimes," she said. "Just the cost of doing business. The fool called the Rev to tell him you were looking for one of the girls we recruited."
"Why leave his body on Longboat Key? And who killed Wayne Lee?"
"Bartel did that. He thought posing Yardley's body in that park was a work of genius. And he killed Lee to make sure he couldn't pass on anything Yardley had told him."
"And then Bartel tried to set me up at Hutch's," I said, a statement, not a question.
"That's right. And he blew it. I had to get somebody else to take out your buddy Hamilton."
"That didn't work either."
"No."
"Maybe you ought to start hiring better people."
"You have a point," she said, grinning.
"What happened with Peggy Timmons? She's not stupid:'
"We found that out. That was another mistake Yardley made. He sent her three buddies on their way, but he gave Peggy to the Rev. That big idiot took her to his island and wants to keep her for himself. Thinks he's in love. He didn't count on her family hiring you to come looking for her."
"Is she on the island now?"
Michelle shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn't matter."
"You don't know where she is, do you?" I asked. "Maybe you don't have as much control as you think."
Charlie stirred in his chair. "I took her little ass back to the island," he said.
"Be quiet, Charlie," Michelle said.
"It's what the Rev told me to do," he said, a defensive tone creeping into his voice.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked.
"It just didn't come up," said Charlie.
Michelle glanced over at him with a look of incredulity, as if she were just now figuring out how stupid he really was. I used that moment to hook my right foot under the edge of the coffee table, and brought it up forcefully. The table went over, hitting Michelle in the knees. I was right behind it, grabbing her gun hand with my left and delivering a hard punch to her jaw with my right.
She crumpled like a spent balloon, the pistol falling to the floor beside her. I kicked it out of reach, and turned to Charlie just as he was reaching for me with his big ham hands.
I ducked, and Charlie grabbed a handful of air. I struck him under the chin with the heel of my hand. That rocked him back some, and I slipped under his flailing arms and got him from behind in a chokehold. I kicked him in the back of the knee, taking him to the floor. He was gasping for breath as I tightened my arm around his neck, his struggles decreasing. Then he was out. I checked. He wasn't dead.
I ripped the electrical cords from two of the lamps scattered about the living room and trussed my captives like a pair of hogs. I picked up my pistol and pocketed it. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number Oscar Mendosa had given me. An answering machine picked up and I left my name and number.
Less than a minute later, my phone rang. "Mr. Royal, this is Oscar Mendosa."
"Thank you for getting back to me, sir. I need a favor."
"What is it?"
"I have two people that I need kept on ice for a couple of days. I can't take the chance that they'll talk to their colleagues. I'd rather those people didn't know I'm coming for them."
"You could kill them."
"I know, but I'd rather not."
"I'll have some men there momentarily. Where are you?"
I gave him the address and sat back on the sofa to wait. My right hand hurt where I'd coldcocked Michelle. I was pretty sure her jaw was broken. She'd be eating soup through a straw for a while.
Charlie began to stir. I went over and chopped him with the butt of Michelle's gun. He was quiet again.
I sat on the sofa, Michelle's nine millimeter in my hand. I heard the hiss of an airbrake, and then the rattling of cans in the alley. Garbage men making a late afternoon pick up. The sunbeams were no longer coming in the windows, blocked now by other houses as the sun sank toward the Gulf of Mexico. The day was waning, and I still had a lot to do.
Thoughts were bouncing around in my head like errant cue balls on a billiard table. I'd done something stupid. Again. I had to stop walking through front doors without a plan. If Michelle hadn't been so intent on making me understand that she was in charge of this operation, I'd probably be dead by now.
At least the people on Blood Island wouldn't be alerted to my presence. If I could slip in without being noticed, I might learn something. I wasn't sure how I was going to get Peggy out, but a vague plan was beginning to take shape in the back of my mind.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Logan Hamilton's number. "Logan," I said. "Can you bring my boat down to Marathon first thing tomorrow?"
"Sure. What's going on?"
"I think I know where Peggy is, and I need the boat to get her out."
"I thought you were in Key West."
"I am. But I need the boat in Marathon. I'll explain later."
"Where do you want to meet me?"
"Go to Faro Blanco and wait for me to contact you. I'll be there by dark tomorrow. See if you can pick up a rifle and a shotgun to bring with you."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Logan said, and clicked off.
I heard a door open in the back of the house. As I was tensing up to aim the pistol, a voice reached me. "Mr. Royal, Mr. Mendosa sent us. We're coming in."
"Come ahead," I said, lowering the gun into my lap.
Two men came through the door, looked at the situation, and each picked up a body. The smallest one had Charlie. I was impressed.
The larger one looked at me and said, "Mr. Mendosa said for you to call when you don't need us to keep these two anymore."
"I will. Thanks, and please tell Mr. Mendosa I appreciate his help."
They went out the back door and I left by the front.