Geek Mafia: Mile Zero | Page 3

the dim, overgrown trail. She slowed to a halt a dozen feet off the road and crouched down, waiting for the vehicle to pass. Peering through a break in the foliage, she saw a park ranger on an ATV speed by on his way to the front entrance. She wondered if her follower would be able to avoid capture. As loud as the four-wheeler was, he should be able to hear it coming. She shifted position and waited, watching to see what would happen next.
She swatted a few mosquitoes and flicked a palmetto bug off her shoulder in the fifteen minutes it took for the ranger to drive to the gate and then drive back by on his way wherever it was he bided his time. He couldn't have caught the man who'd been following her, otherwise he would have stayed around and waited for the cops. She stayed put, and five minutes later her patience was rewarded. The stranger came creeping along the side of the road, hugging the shadows of the trees. She knew he was kicking himself, sure that he'd lost his prey. She decided to give him a ray of hope.
Standing up, she purposefully kicked at a bush, causing a rustle of branches and dead leaves. She smiled as the man froze in place and peered into the darkness. She retreated down the path, headed toward the abandoned Civil War era fort that squatted another few hundred yards away. Like a good little dog, he followed after her.
She found a convenient shadow 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