Forbidden Dance (standard:mystery, 1500 words)
Author: kendall thomas	Added: Dec 13 2002	Views/Reads: 3490/2189	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A man wakes up next to a blonde with a dagger in her chest.

FORBIDDEN DANCE 

By Twisted Wabbit 

I awoke on Good Friday to the sound of  congas beating out a lambada
which eventually slipped into something bluesy, a la Bob Margolin, only 
with a reggae beat.   Of course, I might have been mistaken.  I wasn't 
in the best of shape.  I had one hell of a hangover.  My eyes wouldn't 
focus, and I wasn't sure my ears were working right either. 

The ceiling wasn't familiar.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a
brilliantly, blue sky on the other side of a broken patio window with 
red stuff smeared all over it and, beyond, a balcony. 

I was on a bed and there was a rank smell which was, no doubt, from the
vomit all over the front of my shirt.  It must have been one hell of a 
party.  I hoped I had had fun cause I was paying hell for it now. 

It wasn't until I raised my hand and saw blood all over it that I began
to have doubts. 

It took a minute for it to register with me that I wasn't the only one
occupying the bed.  She was a nice looking blonde with a dagger's pearl 
handle sticking out of her chest. 

The last thing I could remember was having a few drinks at the Miami
airport while I waited for my flight to San Juan.  The rest was a 
blank.  Judging from the music, I had made it and was obviously in a 
hotel somewhere. 

“You look like hell, Whitely,” a balding, fat man in a rumpled white
suit said, pulling back a chair and sitting down at my table in the 
hotel bar. 

“How's Dolores?” he asked, raising his hand with a gold pinkie ring, to
catch the waiter's attention.  “You two really hit it off,” he said, 
with a knowing grin.  But the tone of his voice made me think he was 
toying with me somehow. 

“Oh, yeah, we hit it off all right,” I mumbled, sipping at my rum over
ice and wondering vaguely if he would think it strange if I asked him 
who he was.  The way things were shaping up he could have been the 
white rabbit. That would explain a lot, for I sure had stepped into 
some kind of a hole this time.  Should I tell him that Dolores (if 
that's who the blonde was) was lying in a bed upstairs with a dagger in 
her chest?  Probably not.  He might not be the understanding type. 

I had hung a ‘DO NOT DISTURB' sign on the door when I left, in case maid
service came around.  That would buy me some time.  But my mind would 
sorta freeze up whenever I tried to think any further along. 

Things didn't look good. 

“But, you know,” I said, after a long pause, “things are kinda
scrambled.”  I nodded at my drink. “Too many of these.  Can't remember 
much about last night.”  I laughed dumbly. 

“Yeah, well you were puttin' them away, all right.  No wonder if it's
all a little foggy.”  He chuckled and the roll of skin under his chin 
quivered. 

He took a cigar out of his shirt pocket and peeled off the cellophane. 
“I used to party like that when I was younger.  I know all about that.  
Can't do it now though.” 

He lit the cigar and drew several short puffs before continuing.  “You
and the blonde were really gettin' it on.  Dancin' the lambada all 
night long.  Made me wish I was thirty years younger.” 

He flicked the ash off the end of the cigar with his little finger, the
one with the gold ring and gave me a significant look.  “All I can do 
now is watch.” 

“To tell you the truth,” I said, “I can't remember a damn thing.”  I'm
sure I gave him a hopeless look, for that's the way I was feeling. 


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