Can't close da book
Been too long sippin'
From your sweet nectar nook,
Man on the corner
Says we're all going to Hell,
He may be right ...
Only time will tell.
Dr Anne Meadows worked over twenty years for the Monroe County Social Services. Through all those years, she'd seen it all, the drug addicts, the homeless, the mentally incompetent, the runaways, the abusive fathers and mothers, and too often, the exploited children who were made the victims of sexual predators. When the case file for a place called The Pink Flamingo Hotel landed on her desk one stormy Monday morning, she read the details with her usual cool detachment.
Reports of underage sexual misconduct were nothing new, and given a busier schedule, Dr Meadows might have referred this report to one of her junior colleagues. Instead, something about this case, something all to familiar, caught her eye. She made several phone calls regarding pending court actions and asked her assistant to clear her schedule for a week. Then she went home, packed a bag and headed to The Pink Flamingo in her beat-up Ford Bronco Wagon.
I was sitting in the breezeway and drinking a cup of joe when Dr Meadows' Bronco pulled into The Pink Flamingo's parking lot. As I watched her step from her truck, I knew immediately she was not one of our usual patrons. For one thing, she was dressed in a dark business suit, and she carried a briefcase. Her hair was short and stylish, and she wore horn-rimmed glasses. In the denim and leather world of these parts, everything about her said she had a certain kind of class and was definitely a cut above the usual clientele of the hotel.
Ricardo came walking down the breezeway with his customary mug of tea in his hand. He climbed into a chair beside me.
"That the sex therapist?" he asked in a kind of sleepy drawl.
"I guess," I answered. "Not sure she's a therapist though."
"Whatever," the little man replied, "I wouldn't mind a piece of that."
"You're disgusting," I admonished, "she's twice your age and double your height."
"Hey," the midget returned, "some women are like fine wine. They need to age a little and then ... mmmm ..."
"That's it," I confirmed, "I'm going to have to speak to Consuela."
Ricardo chortled and spit up a mouthful of tea.
"No you won't," he gurgled. "Not if you know what's good for you."
It was my turn to laugh, but I didn't. Despite his diminutive stature, Ricardo was full of bravado, and I had come to respect him for that.
It turned out to be one of those nights. Two fights broke out in the Corner Pocket, and I had to send some seriously muscle-bound truckers packing. As my shift ended, I realised that Blue Bottle Bill hadn't shown up for his usual two beers in the lounge. I figured he'd skipped over that ritual now that Josephine was around. Then, as I was passing the main office and heading back to my room, Ricardo called to me. I stopped and poked my head into the reception area.
"Did ya hear?" Ricardo asked.
"Hear what?" I wondered.
"That blues guy done quit Jimmy's."
"What?"
"That Blue Bottle fly guy done quit his gig at Jimmy's."
"Really?"
"Yessir. He been holed up in his room for on to three, maybe four days now, screwing that little girl, I reckon. Consuela done told me she ain't been able to get in there for love or money. Place must stink to high heaven."
I was taken aback, not just by Ricardo's crude assessment of the situation, but more by a creeping kind of ambiguous concern. I stepped into the office area.
"Maybe someone oughta check that out," Ricardo suggested. "Maybe the hotel muscle, which, just by the way, is you."
I gave him a look of rebuke, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. "I'll swing by his room later today," I conceded. Then, dead tired, I headed off to my room. I hadn't taken more than a half dozen steps, when I ran smack into Dr Anne Meadows. She looked lost.
"You're up early," I ventured, "finding your way around OK?"
She threw her hands up in some dismay.
"I can't seem to find the restaurant," she admitted, "I'm afraid that I'm in dire need of a cup of coffee."
She looked much different in the morning light. Her business-like appearance had surrendered to a more casual look. I was impressed.
"The Palms," I advised, "doesn't open until 8:00. But you can always find a cup of coffee and a donut in the reception area. Just be leery of the little guy behind the desk. His manners leave something to be desired."
"OK, thanks for the tip," she said with a genuine smile. "My name is Anne Meadows, Mr ..."
She was waiting for my response, and the moment grew increasingly awkward.
"It's Doctor Meadows, isn't it?" I finally asked.
"Yes, well, yes, I'm from Social Services."
"You're here for our little problem."
"I am, but I hope there really is no problem."
"Well, Dr Meadows, it's hard to say," I suggested, "very hard to say indeed."
She smiled again, this time more with her soft blue eyes. The air was becoming more uncomfortable by the second.
"Here," I finally offered, "let me show you the way to reception."
"Splendid," she murmured in a somewhat deeper voice.
I lead her back the way I had come and showed her the coffee set-up in reception. As she poured herself a cup of Ricardo's finest, she asked with bubbly enthusiasm, "Join me?"
"I can't," I protested, "I've been working all night, and I really need some sleep."
Her expression took on a look of mock disappointment.
"Oh, I understand completely," she acknowledged. "We all need sufficient sleep. Otherwise, we'd be unbearable creatures."
Ricardo popped his head up from behind the counter where he had been eavesdropping the whole time.
"Do you two need a room?" he enquired with some delight.
Dr Meadows didn't miss a beat.
"Not yet," she quickly responded, once again with that winning smile.
Son Of Dave ♫ Devil Take My Soul
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