I’d chased Iaam Trouble from Memphis to Mobile to Pensacola to Jacksonville to Orlando to Miami and finally to South Beach. He’d left a lot of clues with his travels, so I was pretty sure that he wasn’t aware he was being followed. He was also dropping a lot of cash as he traveled – mostly on women and booze.
This guy was definitely not hard to trail, but it seemed every time I got close, he pulled up stakes and was on the move again. I was pretty sure he was the killer and had information that would clear Jack’s client - I just needed to pin him down and somehow get that information. So far I had not been successful in doing that.
When he finally landed in South Beach and checked into a sleazy hotel on Collins Avenue, I knew it was time to make things happen. Jack’s client was running out of time and I was running out of patience.
After getting myself a room at the Beacon Hotel on Ocean Boulevard, I took a cab over to Collins Avenue and made camp in his hotel’s downstairs bar. Trying to pace my drinking, I was struggling to remain anonymous and not bring any attention to myself. Considering all the distractions found in South Beach, that wasn’t an easy task.
I needed Iaam Trouble occupied for fifteen or twenty minutes, giving me an opportunity to get into his room and search for missing documents and perhaps a murder weapon. However, he wasn’t cooperating. For some reason he had remained in his room since checking in. I suspected maybe a prostitute or someone else had joined him and my idea of camping out in this bar wasn’t going to work.
I was contemplating my Plan B when things changed. I watched as Iaam casually waltzed into the bar, sat down at a table and ordered a drink – this was my chance. I’d gotten lucky and needed to move fast.
Walking back out onto Collins Avenue, I stopped the first hooker I saw – a tall black woman wearing a leather bra outside a tight sweater, a short red skirt and white boots with high heels. Before I could speak she grabbed my arm, gave me a big beautiful smile and introduced herself as Honey Bunn, before suggesting I call her ‘Tickles’ – her nickname. Without pausing, she squeezed my arm and began describing activities that included sliced bread, cucumbers, warm butter, olive oil and whipped cream – finally adding that if I had some other ideas for the evening she was willing to listen and learn.
When I finally got the opportunity to speak, I waved a $50 dollar bill under her beautiful nose and explained that what I really needed was for her to entertain a friend, Mr. Trouble, for thirty minutes – keeping him occupied and away from his room. After that, if he was interested in her other entertainment specialties then they could work something out. But my $50 dollars was for thirty minutes, and she was to keep him in the bar during that time. ‘Tickles’ put her fingers on the fifty, but I held it while I gave her a brief description of Mr. Iaam Trouble. When she finally nodded her understanding, I slowly released the bill. She gave me another smile, pushed the money into her leather bra and headed toward the hotel bar.
Thirty minutes would give me enough time to search his room and collect any evidence. After that I didn’t care what happened between Mr. Iaam Trouble, Ms. Honey Bunn and the numerous food items she used for entertainment. Eating and sex were always a part of the fun of being in South Beach – just usually not at the same time.
~
From the street outside the bar I watched through the window. ‘Tickles’ was smooth, and within a few minutes they were engaged in a conversation that I was glad I couldn’t hear.
He’d fell for it and was enjoying her company when I discretely made it across the lobby, then up to his room where I began my search. What I found was more than enough, and more than I expected.
A .38 revolver with one round fired was in his luggage along with enough damning information to put him and several others in jail for a long time. It appeared that his scam of false business loans had been discovered by Jack Logan’s client’s business partner, and that expended bullet in the .38 had been used to shut him up and stop the blackmail.
~
I was wrapping up my examination when the hotel room door suddenly swung open and slammed against the inside wall. I stopped my search and looked toward the noise. What I saw wasn’t pretty.
Mr. Iaam Trouble was standing in the open doorway and staring at me. Iaam was a big black man, 3 inches taller than me, 50 pounds heavier and giving me a glare that could have caused an infection. He was also holding a .45 revolver in his left hand.
“Who are you?” he shouted, and then took a couple of steps in my direction. “What are you doing in my room?”
“Exterminator…sent by the hotel,” I said, while slowly turning around to face him. “I’m in here looking for rats. I see now that one has shown up. Guess I do good work.”
“What are you doing in my room?” He repeated. Iaam seemed to be a little confused, and still surprised by my presence.
I ignored his question and pointed at the .45 he was holding. “I see you have another gun – one other than the .38 you carry in your luggage. Are there other weapons I need to check?”
He looked down at his weapon and then back at me. “Just this one,” he said slowly before pointing it at my head. “It should work just fine.”
“Hey mister,” I heard from somewhere outside the room and just before the partially open door swung into Iaam Trouble’s back. It was Honey Bunn and she’d come to join the party.
Startled, he turned to the interruption - that was all I needed. Closing the few feet between us, I used my weight, movement and right fist to hit him on the jaw with all the power I could muster. He reeled backward, dropped the .45 and fell to his knees before curling up in the doorway. He was mumbling something I didn’t understand when I pulled his big arms behind his back and slapped on my cuffs.
“Hey mister,” I heard again – this time from the open doorway. “That fellow owes me $50 and I intend to be paid.” She looked down at Iaam lying on the floor, “whether he’s conscience or not. It ain’t my fault that you done knocked him out. We had an arrangement.”
“An arrangement,” I muttered.
“Yes…an arrangement,” Honey Bunn had her hands resting on her hips and swinging them side to side as she spoke. “He owes me $50 dollars.”
Searching his pockets, I found two twenty dollar bills and tossed them toward the door. “Look sister, you just made ninety bucks this afternoon - fifty from me and forty from this guy…and all without taking your clothes off! Now, you need to get outta’ here before the cops show up – because it won’t be long.”
She gave me an odd look, scooped up the two twenties, stuffed them into her bra and quickly disappeared down the hallway.
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