Bad Day in a Banana Hammock Page 6

  “What’re you doing, Zach?”

  “Recordin’ my killer moves…”

  “Now we can’t have that.”

  In seconds, the large chauffer crossed the room and yanked the phone from Zach’s hands. Shut it off. And pocketed it.

  “Hey! Thash my phone!”

  “You’ll get it back later,” said Cat.

  Stumbling back, Zach banged into the wall. Dizzy.

  “Maybe you better lie down, honey.” Cat patted the mattress.

  Zach ran, dove onto the bed. “Got more things then…sleep on my mind.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Something didn’t feel right, though. Zach looked around, couldn’t remember how he got there. A dark, kinda crummy hotel room. He had Cat pegged as a sugar-momma, thought she’d go for more upscale digs. Not the hotel of infinite despair.

  But, really…how’d I get here?

  The last thing he remembered was dropping in the Bone-In’s dressing room.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Cat stroked his chest, let her hand linger. “Looks to me like you’re not up to much of anything, tiger.”

  “Cat and tiger, Cat and tiger…” Struck him as funny. He giggled, his head riding a merry-go-round. “I’m alwaysh up for…fun.”

  But for once he didn’t feel like it. And the big guy across the room seriously gave him the creeps.

  “Whatever you say.”

  “It’sh what I shay.” He sat up, trying to anchor the room down. “Whoa.”

  “Just lie down and take a little nap. Plenty of time to play later.” It hadn’t escaped Zach’s attention that Cat had remained dressed, not exactly up for play herself. As he reached for her, the silver-haired giant in the corner jolted, took a step forward. Giving him serious, steely “kill you” eyes.

  “Wanna…play, Cat…but does Lurch have to…watch?”

  The big guy sneered. Maybe even growled a little. Hard to tell with cartoon mice squeaking in his head.

  “What do you want me to do, ma’am?” At nearly seven feet tall, the guy was tightly wound, ready to split the seams of his chauffer’s suit. Or maybe he wanted to split Zach open, the way he glared at him.

  “Right now, we just wait, Dennis. Remember the plan.”

  “Dennish?” said Zach. “No…wait…really? Dennish?” Clearly European, with an accent thick as his neck, the chauffer didn’t look like a Dennis. Maybe a Boris or something James Bondish like that. “You’re killin’ me here! Dennish?”

  Dennis looked less than amused.

  “Cat…I think yer hawt…way hawt. But I’mma not…I’m not into…kinky crap. Can Dennish pleash leave?”

  Before Cat answered, someone knocked on the door.

  “Ah…that’s our final guest. Right on time.”

  “Hey…hey…no orgiesh…”

  “Be quiet, Zach. It’ll all be over soon.” She stood, fluffed her hair. Primping. “Get ready, Dennis.”

  Silently, Dennis moved beside the door, his back against the wall. Cat opened the door. Two old men stood in the hallway. Maybe just one old guy but he wouldn’t stand still, shaking and shimmering like a paint-mixing machine.

  Their voices rose, a heated argument.

  But to Zach, it sounded like “rar, rar, blar, rar, dammit!”

  Dennis stepped out of the shadows. Grabbed the old guy, lifting him off his feet.

  Cat smiled, a canary eating grin.

  Things just got weird. “Hey…hey…” Zach swung a leg over the bed. When he stood, his legs turned into rubber, snapping him back into bed. “Whash goin’…on?”

  Dennis raised a fist, brought it down. Jabbed a hypodermic needle into the old man’s neck.

  “Shtop…I mean, strop…hey…”

  The old man went limp in Dennis’s arms.

  Zach’s eyelids pulled down, snapped open, then closed again.

  Before the lights turned out for good, Zach muttered, “I’m…not into…kinky shtuff…”

  *

  “‘…kinky stuff.’ Then…I must’ve passed out.”

  “That’s all you remember, Zach? Nothing else? Did you get a last name from this ‘Cat?’”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “And can I say…ew. Just…ew.”

  “What? Hey, it’s how I roll.”

  “Yeah…keep on rolling.”

  “I killed the song, though, didn’t I?”

  “You butchered it.”

  Zach smiled, proud of his sister’s rare compliment.

  “Another dead end street, Zach.”

  “But…we got a name for the chauffeur. Dennis.” Zach smiled, still amused by the freaky chauffer’s name.

  “Sure, that’s great. We’ll just go look up every Dennis in Kansas City.”

  “I’m just sayin, that’s all.”

  “Fine. I’ll figure something out. But I’ve gotta get the kids to Mom and Dad’s first.”

  “Oh, yeah…dropping the kids off.” Like he needed that reminder.

  “We’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s! We’re going to Grandma and—”

  “Justin, if you don’t stop shouting, you won’t be going. Capiche?”

  “Ka peace.”

  “Mom, why don’t we see Grandma and Grandpa more often?” asked Nikki.

  Frankly, Zach was fine with seeing them about three times a year: Christmas, Thanksgiving and an annual funeral of some distant relative he’d never heard of before.

  “That’s kinda hard to answer, honey,” said Zora. “Sometimes adults have their differences.”

  “Huh.”

  “Zora, I know we need to get the kids to safety and everything, but—”

  “What do we need to be safe from, Mom? From the guy who chased us?”

  “—tell me again, why we have to go see Mom and Dad.”

  Zora sighed, long and weighty. “We can’t take them with us, Zach! Your play-pals are chasing us!”

  “Well, yeah, duh. But, like, why not just get a babysitter or something?”

  “Oh, really? Really? So, tell me parent-of-the-year, how’m I supposed to get a babysitter at the last moment? For three kids?” With her hands on the wheel, she glared at Zach. A little too long for his comfort. Especially after the whirlwind ride they’d just survived.

  “Um…eyes on the road, sis.”

  “Don’t tell me how to drive! My kids have already scared off most of the local babysitters.” She whipped her head around, gave her kids a bitter smile. A scary smile Zach had been on the receiving end of many times. “Precious little monsters. Anyway, as it is, if Phillip wants to go out on the town, we have to set up something months in advance. Our parents are a last resort.”

  “Maybe they’re not home.” Wishful thinking.

  “Zach, when have you ever known them not to be home? Dad’s few clients come out to their…‘farm,’ while Mom…does whatever it is she does. Putters around in their fields, living off the land. Hippy crap.”

  “Growing their weed,” Zach added quietly. Just not quietly enough.

  “What? Grandma and Grandpa do drugs?” hollered Nikki.

  “Way to go, Zach. No, honey…um, it’s for medicinal purposes.”

  Zach snorted. “Yep, medicinal purposes, sure.”

  “Anyway…no, I don’t agree with their lifestyles. That’s why we don’t visit often. But this is a special occasion, kids!” Zach admired his sister’s effort at putting a positive spin on the situation. Too bad she couldn’t manage some spin control for him. “You’ll enjoy your visit.”

  “Just don’t get in the hot-tub with them.”

  “Zach!”

  “Sorry, kids, crap, sorry.”

  Growing up, Zach dreaded the family “communal baths.” Dad had read something about Japanese families taking baths together, so in his hippy way, he thought of it as getting back to nature. Naked, of course. Usually, Zach liked to reserve his nudity for the dance stage. Normal stuff. But definitely not cool for family time.

&nbs
p; Zach turned around, put a hand beside his mouth, and stage-whispered, “Really, though, guys…don’t get in the hot tub.”

  He couldn’t believe his sister chuckled. But he always could make her laugh. It sounded good, the first moment of relief they’d had all day.

  “Got it, no hot tubs,” said Nikki.

  “No hot tubs,” sang Justin.

  “Good Gawd,” said Zora.

  “Hey, um, sis?”

  “What?”

  “You mind if I stay in the car? When you take the kids inside?”

  For a second, Zora’s foot hit the brake, jerking them forward. “Oh no. Ohhh no! You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s because of your big, stupid, sloppy mess—”

  “I’m not sloppy.”

  “…that we’re going out there in the first place! I’m not about to take this on by myself! Besides…you’re the golden boy. Can’t do any wrong in Mom and Dad’s eyes. While they thought I was a ‘sell-out to the Man’ when I landed my security gig. Whereas you…you…gah!”

  “Just a thought.”

  “A first.”

  “But, you know, really…Mom and Dad, um, think I work with the Kansas City Ballet. It’s hard enough coming up with excuses all the time why they can’t come see me perform.”

  “Yeah…wouldn’t that be an eye-opener?”

  “Oh, whatever. Maybe I should just tell them the truth. They’ve always prided themselves on being cool leftwing hippies. They’d probably understand. Maybe even appreciate my artistry.”

  Zora guffawed, droplets of spit smacking the windshield. “Yeah, sure, why not? Your ‘artistry.’ Maybe you can give Mom a lap-dance.”

  “Gross, sis.”

  “Mommy, what’s a lap dance?”

  “Something that’s demeaning and gross and should be illegal, sweetheart.”

  “What’s dem-een—”

  “Never mind. The grown-ups are talking. Yeah, Zach, our parents always claim they’re liberals. But the only thing ‘left’ about them is their limbs. And their penchant for communal baths and weed. At heart, they’re as conservative as they come.”

  “Whatever…” Zach screeched a finger down the passenger window. Not to be left out of the fun, Justin conducted finger music on his window.

  “Stop it, Justin.”

  Screeee-tump…

  “I just sometimes think my life would be easier if I could level with them, sis. You know, lay it out there, as Dad used to say.”

  “Okay…first of all, if your life’s so hard, it’s because you make it that way. With your choices.”

  “What’s wrong with my choices?”

  “Well, I dunno, let’s see…hmm, have you forgotten the mess you’re in?”

  “Not my fault.”

  “Oh, for… If you weren’t a…” She put up annoying finger quotes and lowered her voice. “…‘male dancing entertainer,’ none of this crap would’ve ever happened.”

  “You just don’t understand.”

  “That’s right. I just don’t understand. You know what I do understand?”

  “What?”

  “Shut up, that’s what.”

  On the outskirts of town, Zora whipped the van into a desolate convenience store parking lot. Apparently a last minute decision. Maybe she’d been doing a few too many last minute decisions behind the wheel recently.

  “What’re we doing here?”

  “I’m gonna get the kids something to eat. Before we drop them off. You remember what Mom’s food’s like.”

  How could he forget? “Ugh. Yeah.” Raised on a diet of trendy, home-grown, barely edible food, Zach vowed once he left home he’d only eat healthy. As long as it tasted good. Couldn’t ever figure out how Spam fit into his parents’ health-minded crusade, though. The thought of that phony canned meat made him want to hurl. Again.

  “Mommy, can I get candy?”

  “No. Zach…I’m leaving Samantha with you. Think you can handle it?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I’m great with babies. Besides…she’s still asleep, right? Right?” He turned around, checking on her. Yep, still asleep. Whew.

  “Sure, great with babies. Uh-huh. You ever even held one?”

  “What? Of course.” Nope. Never. “Lots of ‘em. Lots and lots and lots.”

  “Okay, fine, baby whisperer.” After Zora let out Nikki and Justin, she opened Zach’s door. Clumped the diaper bag into his lap. “She’s due for a diaper change.”

  “Wait…what?”

  Zora and the kids had already skated halfway to the store. Walking backward, Zora smiled. Smiled. Her inner sadist showing. But maybe he deserved the treatment. For dragging her and the kids into it. Just a little.

  Before Zora entered the store, she called back, “Don’t screw it up!”

  Pfft. Right. Like I could screw up changing a diaper. No way am I gonna screw this up. No way!

  “Alright, Samantha, let’s do this.”

  Zach whipped up her seat, carried her to the back of the minivan. He needed the elbow room to work, man on a mission. With the carrier down, he lifted Samantha out. Holding her aloft, he sniffed at her diaper, grimaced. Samantha squirmed, wriggling in his hands. Smiling like her mother, the entire family out to make his life a living hell. But still freakishly quiet. Before he dropped her, which wouldn’t go over well at all with her mother, he laid her down. Procrastinating.

  “Okay, Sam…diapers, diapers…” He rummaged through the bag, snagged a diaper.

  “You’re packing a full load, girl.” He peeled off the tape at one side of the diaper, folded it back. The smell alone could’ve stopped an elephant dead in its tracks. Fighting his gag reflex, he removed the diaper.

  “Man, Sam, what’ve you been eating?” Things shouldn’t look that green. And should there be so much? Hard to think it came out of her, practically half of her body weight.

  Sam waggled her feet as he set the used diaper beside her. But the job seemed incomplete. He rifled through the diaper bag, grabbed a plastic container.

  Wet wipes! Always wondered what they were for.

  Zach pulled out a thick handful of the wipes, a decent sized barrier between his hand and the unspeakable.

  “Just hang in there, Sam. This is gonna hurt me a lot more than you.” He darted in, dabbed, pulled away fast. Even though she was still dirty, Sam smiled at him.

  This is a lot more work than I thought.

  “Okay, Sammy, let’s stop messing around.” Gently, he lassoed one of Sam’s wiggling legs, held his breath, shut his eyes and patted down the baby’s bottom.

  Zach exhaled, examined his work, smiled.

  Yep, good as new.

  The new diaper’s tape caught on his finger, then latched onto another part of the material. The diaper bag’s promise of “EZ use” was a downright lie. Have to be a brain surgeon to figure it out.

  Behind him, headlights flashed, rose up into the trees. Tires crunched over gravel. The car stopped, its motor still ticking.

  Zach turned.

  Crap.

  Black caddy. New dent in the back. And tall, dark and gruesome stepped out of the car: Dennis, Cat’s menace.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Silently, the chauffer glided toward Zach. Grinning, displaying a shark’s worth of white teeth.

  EZ Brite goes on quick, tastes so good, just give it a lick…

  No! Focus!

  Zach swept up Samantha in one arm, wielding the filled diaper in the other hand. “Get back! I’ve got a diaper! And I’m not afraid to use it.”

  The chauffer stopped. Zach met his pale blue gaze, standing his ground. Then the tall man grabbed Zach’s arm and squeezed, a show of strength. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Dude, get off me!” Zach shrugged him loose, whirled. Brought up the diaper.

  Splat. A perfect landing.

  Stunned, Dennis staggered back, his hands clawing at his face. Screaming as if he’d been burned. Only far worse.

  The chauffer rebounded, reeled back, swung. Zach d
ucked, Samantha tucked against his belly. A double punch whooshed over Zach’s head.

  Zach danced back, a boxer’s taunt. He planted the ball of his foot, pivoted, kicked the other leg up. Rolling it out kick boxer style. Part of his rigid dancing training.

  His foot caught the much larger man in the chest. Dennis stumbled backward, arms flailing for balance. Gravity won the day, dropping him to the cement. Zach seized the moment, ran at him with Samantha cradled in his arms like a football. He leaped. Another kick to the chauffer’s face, one for the road. He went flat on his back, out.

  “Zach!” Zora barreled out of the store, her purse slung over her shoulder, gun pointed up. Nikki and Justin scrambled behind her, trying to keep up. Freaking out over their pistol-packing mama.

  “Mommy’s got a gun!”

  “What the hell, Zach?”

  “Mommy cussed!”

  “This is the guy, Zora! Cat’s driver. The guy who’s been following us!”

  “Great. Did you have to kill him? With a diaper?”

  “Dead guys don’t snore like that. Pretty cool, right?”

  Zora looked over her shoulder into the store window. The clerk was on the phone, his hands waving flags of panic. Big day at Convenience Quick.

  “No, there’s nothing cool about any of this!” Zora grabbed Samantha, gave her a quick check-out. “Come on…we’ve got to get outta here before the cops come.” She glanced at the Caddy, frowned. Handed Samantha back to her brother. “Get the kids in the car. Fast. I gotta do something. And put her diaper on, for God’s sake. Can’t trust you to do anything.”

  “I was kinda busy, you know, trying not to get killed and everything.”

  “Whatever. Move!” Zora hustled away, as fast as an eight month pregnant woman could. Squatting next to the Caddy, she pointed the gun at the tire.

  Bang! Tsssss…

  “Whoa!” she said. “Now that’s cool.”

  *

  “Sis, how come this guy keeps finding us?” asked Zach.

  Something bugged Zora, fingernails scratching down the board of her brain.

  Crap. Stupid.

  “Give me your phone.”

  “Why? You already said there’s nothing—”

  “Just give it to me!”

  Reluctantly, he handed it over. Acting like it was his prized possession. Probably was, too, other than his banana speedo.