Liquid Shades of Blue

Copyright © 2023 by James PolkinghornAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.ISBN 978-1-60809-550-6Published in the United States of America by Oceanview PublishingSarasota, Floridawww.oceanviewpub.com10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA To my mother, Janet Clark“… who sang like a lark, in the park, when it’s dark.” ACKNOWLEDGMENTSThis book would not have found its way into print without the selfless efforts of Michael Connelly, who provided invaluable substantive advice and insight.Larry Loftis encouraged me from the start and kept my spirits up when they were flagging.Thanks to Bob and Pat Gussin and the Oceanview staff for their enthusiastic support. PROLOGUEShe glanced at the eight pills in her hand and the glass of water on the finely carved cherrywood dressing table before her. She looked up.“I hate pain. I can’t handle it.”“So, swallow the pills,” he said. “You’ll feel nothing. It will be like going to sleep.”A pause. She considered his words, her situation, and the note she had written. She reached for the glass. CHAPTER ONEThe day began badly but the worst was coming. This is the way of many stories, although I hadn’t thought of it in a comparative way until I began piecing this together. It’s been a while since it all happened. You wonder about the effect of traumatic events on already imperfect memory and about perceived connections that may not even be real. You, at least, understand that I’m alive to tell this tale, if that’s what it turns out to be. But what of the damage done? What’s the result of all that?There I was, opening my eyes uncertainly, head throbbing and lips dry; definitely a hangover—nothing new. A shaft of light from a nearby window revealed the murky outline of furniture I recognized as my own. Safe in my own bed at least, I fleetingly thought. But then I heard the soft breathing that was clearly not mine. Turning slowly—agonizingly—to my left, I encountered the bare shoulder and silky black hair of Anna Markova, a high-end Key West sex worker I knew casually from her sporadic visits to my bar.“Good Lord, Jack! What have you done?” I whispered.I was dully transfixed by a small heart tattoo on her shoulder blade, wondering why she put it there where she would never see it. I noticed a light dusting of freckles on her otherwise alabaster skin, offering proof that she did sometimes venture out in the tropical Key West sun, although I had only seen her in artificial light. I pondered these things while my mind otherwise raced to fill the void that was last night. Needing answers, I lightly squeezed her right shoulder and watched as she slowly but fluidly rolled over to face me. Her startling cornflower blue eyes settled on me. I tried to hold her gaze but peripherally saw that she was naked, at least from the waist up. As she reached forward to touch my cheek with the back of her hand, she made no effort to adjust the sheet that partially covered us.“Good morning, Jack. How are you feeling?”“Never better, Anna. Why are we here?”She smiled, revealing perfect white teeth and soft lips made to be kissed.“You don’t remember, Jack? I think I should take this moment to be insulted. Most men find me memorable.”Her small, firm breasts and seemingly erect nipples taunted me. Still nothing.“Did we …”“No, Jack. I think it was not the right time. Maybe never the right time.”Her breath smelled like orange blossoms. I was certain mine did not. Still foggy, I pressed on.“So how did you … or should I say we … end up here?”“Such an interesting question, Jack, if you stand back from it a little bit. But I think you are looking for a simple answer, yes?”“Please, Anna, give me a little bit of a break. I’m struggling here.” My voice sounded scratchy and weak. Hers rang clearly, natural seduction in every accented word.“It really is simple. I am not teasing you. It is late Friday night and I am without arrangement, which is not so usual this time of year. I am walking along Duval Street and I notice your new sign down the alley. I really do like it. ‘Jack’s Hideaway.’ Very good description and also says something personal about you, I think.”She paused—I didn’t bite. I looked back as steadily as I could, not knowing what I told her in the hours before. She continued.“I just stop in to see how things are going. You and Tracy are behind the bar, most stools are taken, and the tables are full. I sit at the bar in front by the window. I am watching you in the mirror behind the bar. I know you know I am there, but you don’t look at me, which makes me smile. It is dim and the music is loud enough to make people speak up. They are less, what you call, self-conscious. But not you, Jack. You have been here almost two years, and I never see you speaking with pretty girls. Or pretty boys either. But I know your eyes are on me when I come in just for that second of recognizing. You have been watching me, but I confess. I have been watching you too.”Now this was interesting. It’s true that I had picked up a six-year sub-lease on the bar known as Billy & Bob’s. Both Billy and Bob lived in Ohio and never noticed until it was too late that their manager/nephew