Florida, 1979
Life’s a Beach and then You Die
PART THREE
A true country beauty: shoulder-length blonde hair, milky complexion, blue eyes and a certain kind of softness about her. Daylight has pushed the haunted look out to the edge of her face, revealed only by a slight pinching of the skin. She’s wearing a yellow sleeveless blouse that buttons up the front, faded blue jeans and open sandals with a low heel. Nice rounded ass. She’s drinking coffee and smoking a Winston, the flattened pack lying next to her white coffee cup and saucer.
The waitress pours coffee in my cup and in a couple of minutes, I order. I can’t help but notice two things. One: the girl isn’t eating anything. Two: she keeps looking over at me, the worried look back on her face.
I drink some of the coffee and get the urge for a cigarette. More coffee, coupled with the smell of the smoke from the girl’s cig makes the craving grow stronger. I search my pockets, fidget on the stool for a moment then turn to the blond.
“Excuse me, miss,” I say politely. “Could I bum a cigarette from you? I’m afraid I left mine in the room—and I’m dying for one. Pathetic, eh?” And then, as if someone else is doing the talking: “I tell you what, I’ll buy you breakfast in exchange for a cigarette.”
The sweet young thing gets up off her stool, moves next to me and shakes a Winston out of the nearly empty pack.
I pick it up. “Thanks a lot.” I smile.
“No problem,” she says, her pursed lips rising slightly on the corners. “And you don’t have to buy me breakfast just for one cigarette.”
“No, really, I’d love to. I just saw that you weren’t eating and thought I’d offer. In case you ah… in case you needed something to eat or something. Just trying to be friendly. I mean, I saw you in here last night and you didn’t seem to be eating then, either. So I thought, well… you might be broke or something. God knows I’ve been in that situation myself, enough times. I didn’t mean to imply that—”
“Slow down, honey,” looking in my eyes and grinning narrowly, “you don’t have to explain. You’re a nice guy, aren’t you?”
“I try to be—sometimes it’s hard. But where I come from, that’s the way we try to treat people.”
“And where is that you’re from?”
“Minnesota.”
“You’ve got kind eyes,” she says, looking at her coffee cup and spinning it in the saucer with her long fingers. “For someone with eyes like that I can eat breakfast. Mary Ellen, fix me up a steak and eggs with a tall OJ and a side of grits.”
“You like those grits?” I ask, trying to grasp what it is about a soggy pile of white slop.
“Yeah. Used to eat’em with sugar when I was a kid. Whatya doin’ in Florida, Mr. Kind Eyes?”
“I live down in Clearwater.”
“No shit—excuse my French. Whattaya do there?”
“Not much. I used to be a tennis pro until I broke my leg.”
“You must have made a lot of money…”
“No, not really. I was a teaching pro, not a guy like Jimmy Connors or John McEnroe.”
“You make a habit of buying breakfast for strange women, Mr. Kind Eyes? What’s your name, anyway?”
“Keith, er, Elton. Keith Elton. No, I usually only buy breakfast for those I’ve slept with the night before.”
I get a wrinkled up nose and a slurp as she directs her attention back to the coffee cup. “Well Keith Elton from Clearwater, by way of Minnesota, pleased to meet you.” She sets down the thick cup and holds out her slender hand, nails bitten down.
I shake it lightly.
“What is your name and where are you from?” I ask, finding myself drawn in.
“Dorie Lanigan. I’m from Tennessee, by way of Las Vegas.”
“Now that’s a tough one. I’ll have to figure that one out. You were born in Vegas?”
“No, Knoxville.”
“Oh, so you moved to Vegas after… ah hah. So, what brings you to Florida?”
“A lot of bad trouble in Vegas,” she says, turning solemn. “My boyfriend was murdered, and my dog too.”
“What? You’re kidding me. Jesus! Who, in the hell did that?”
“People I’d rather not talk about. Some of my boyfriend’s business associates. I found the two bodies in the trunk of my car one day. Couldn’t stay in Vegas anymore after that, so I took off driving as far as my money would take me.”
“Excuse me? What did you do with the bodies?”
“I had already called the cops and everything. They came out and hauled’em away. Happened a couple months ago. I had to get out of there. I knew the cops wouldn’t protect me. They had no leads and I wasn’t going to say anything, so… I couldn’t handle it. Had to get outta Dodge.”
“Somebody killed your boyfriend and your dog? Fucking Christ. Must have been some bad people.”
“My boyfriend was into some things…” She pauses, staring at the coffee cup. “Yes, these were bad people. How could anyone kill a nice sweet dog?” She puts her hands to her eyes and sobs briefly, then snaps to as if nothing happened.
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know.”
(To be continued)
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