Vampire Slayer Murdered in Key West - Mick Murphy Short Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

downstairs,” I took a deep breath, “stay upstairs, but call Charlie and tell him someone has died at the bar …”
    “Mick!” She didn’t let me finish. “Who?”
    “You’re going to have enough cops upstairs in a little while, just call Charlie and prepare yourself …”
    “For what?” the gravelly whisper began to sound nervous. “What’s happening?”
    “Call Charlie, Tracy, and don’t mention my package, please. All you know is Lucky asked for me, so you called me, nothing else. The cops are on their way. Put the package in the safe, please,” I disconnected the call and lit a cigar. I needed the package and I trusted Tracy to put it away and keep our secret, but knew it would cost me a lunch and twenty questions, in a day or two.
    A squad car screeched into the parking lot, lights flashing, and siren wailing. The Chief pulled in a few seconds behind and had the cop turn them off. He held the uniformed officer back and walked toward me. He stopped and looked down at Lucky, then motioned me to meet him.
    “You said he was Lucky,” he shook his head. “I guess he isn’t anymore.”
    I chomped on the cigar, but there wasn’t the foul odor that the boat cabin had, I was just nervous.
    The Chief got closer and bent down to the body. “Stab wounds,” he said, more to himself than to me.
    “There’s a trail of blood from the raw bar to where you are,” I pointed to small splatters of blood on the cracked concrete floor.
    “Why are you here?” he stood up. “Were you meeting him too?”
    “I was having coffee with Padre Thomas and Tracy upstairs called and told me Lucky was here looking for me.”
    “The crazy priest! Don’t you know any normal people?” he shook his head and watched the crime scene van drive in. “Did you touch anything? The sword?”
    “You’re the most normal person I know, Chief, and no, I didn’t touch anything.”
    Sherlock stopped at the entrance and looked down at Lucky. He scanned the stage and the raw bar and he saw the blood spatters. He walked to where they began and waved the Chief over. Pretending he was holding a sword, Sherlock twirled his wrist and thrust forward like Errol Flynn in an old swashbuckling movie, forcing the Chief backward.
    “Tell me something,” he stabbed forward and the Chief backed up. “Tell me something, tell me something,” he repeated as he thrust forward. In four or five steps the Chief had his back against the stage railing and Sherlock turned him to the bar, “Tell me something,” he yelled and the Chief almost tripped over Lucky.
    “The killer is getting messy and nervous,” Sherlock said, dropping his imaginary sword. “There was a conversation, he didn’t like what he heard, or didn’t hear and killed the guy quickly and cleanly on the boat. Here, he stabbed the vic,” he looked down at the body, “maybe six times from what I can see. He’s after something or someone and he’s getting nervous. Who’s left of the three?”
    “Wizard is back at the station, so we know he didn’t do this,” the Chief looked at me. “The other old guy is Bubba?”
    “Yeah,” I sat back down. “If he’s not on his boat, he’s probably at a bar.”
    The Chief took Sherlock’s radio and called dispatch. He wanted Bubba picked up.
    “What is it with the swords and pirate flags?” Sherlock checked behind the body.
    “You know their story about finding the treasure, right?”
    “Yeah, I’ve heard so many versions, I don’t believe any of them.”
    “You’re probably right,” I took the cigar out of my mouth. “Tony was helping them write their memoirs and my guess is someone’s afraid of something in the story.”
    “Why?” the Chief moved closer.
    “If I knew that, I’d know who the killer is, wouldn’t I?”
    “This sword looks as old as the other one,” Sherlock studied the sword handle. “There can’t be that many pirate swords on the island … maybe we’re looking for a collector.”
    “Since the Pirate