The Canefield Killer - A John Riley Novel

Chapter 5

Riley was careful not to let Weekes into his room. He promised to meet him in the morning, and the closed the door. Inside Riley walked around the room, opening all of the drawers and closets, inspecting them. He found the air conditioner and cranked it up to its coldest, closed the sliding door to the small patio, tossed his bag on the bed and began to unpack. His gun boxes did not fit into the wall safe, so the guns went in alone and the empty boxes went under his clothes in one of the drawers.

That done he picked up the phone to call Dimes.

No answer.

Riley called his own home phone to check messages.

There was one message from Dimes: "Detolla has nothing new, says he swears it was Larry renting there. Call me for more details."

Riley hung up, then picked it up again, and dialed 411. Busy.

He tried again, and two rings later the operator answered and Riley asked for a number. Pages turned as the operator flipped through a phone book to find the number he wanted.

"The computers were down," she explained. Riley wrote the number on a pad next to the phone and headed for the shower.

***

Riley's first priority was sunglasses.

The day had worn on, and by the time he emerged from his air-conditioned room, there were considerably fewer people on the beach. The shadows were getting longer and in the public parking lot the small area of wooden huts inhabited by beach vendors during the day had been abandoned for the night, their wooden shutters closed and latched.

Across the street was a local fast food place, Chefette, that looked very much like a McDonald's only done in yellow and purple and with a different logo. It occurred to him that he was more hungry than he was desperate for sunglasses.

Inside, the building was split into two with a regular burger and fries fast food counter on one side and another section that was more like a steakhouse where they gave you your food on actual plates, even if they didn't bring it to you at your table.

Riley ate a small wilted salad and a dry steak that was so tough his jaw ached slightly from the chewing. Full, but unsatisfied he walked back across the street to the hotel. The pool area was mostly deserted; a few determined tourists still lay out trying to make the most of the dying sunlight. Riley sat at the bar by the pool and ordered a vodka and seven.

"So what do you make of the killings?" he asked the bartender.

The man stopped putting away glasses and looked over at Riley, taking him in cautiously, "Is no big ting," he said with a thick accent, "Dey will catch him soon."

Riley emptied his glass and pushed it towards the bartender.

"Is that what they tell you to say?"

"That's what I think."

The glass slid back across the bar, full.

"So you're not worried about your sisters, or your girlfriend?"

The man paused before answering, "Why you care so much?"

"Just curious, I guess."

The bartender took Riley's glass and poured him another one. The drinks were getting considerably stronger with each new mixture.

At that moment, a group of five Irish tourists materialized at the bar wearing cardboard pirate hats and working collectively to keep each other upright. Riley watched them stagger up to the bar, and all try to order at once. The bartender turned away from Riley.