The Miracle Strip Read Online Free Page B

joint that juts out along the edge of Front Beach Road, its sign screaming to passersby. And if that’s not enough to grab your attention, there’s always the giant shark hanging out in front of the entrance.
    I was looking at the sunset and the people wandering up and down the beach in front of the back deck bar. A couple of young guys in white shorts and shirts were lowering the blue beach umbrellas and hauling equipment up to a nearby hotel for the night. This was the time of day I liked best in Panama City, the brief lull in the action, when sunburned nymphets napped and tired men showered, preparing for another round of partying.
    It was hard to believe that less than ten miles away, at the Blue Marlin, life had turned ugly just before dawn. Now the sun was sinking and people went on about the business of excess, oblivious to the rest of the world.
    â€œI got here as soon as I could.” Denise had slipped onto the stool next to me and I hadn’t even heard her coming. She was wearing dark glasses and her thick red hair was pulled into a severe topknot. Her face was pale, despite the makeup she’d carefully applied. The only color on her at all were her huge gold and amethyst earrings.
    â€œI thought we oughta talk before we go in tonight,” I said.
    I had an agenda. Denise and I had hung around with each other for a year, and what really did I know about her? Everybody got to know Arlo, but who really knew Denise?
    â€œI thought about it, Sierra. I’m gonna try and reason with them. I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars, anybody oughta know that. Maybe somebody thinks I’m somebody else.” Denise shook her head and shrugged like it was all a mystery, but her hands shook when she reached for an ashtray.
    â€œAre you?” I asked.
    â€œAm I what?”
    â€œAre you somebody else?”
    Denise looked irritated.
    â€œWhat the hell kind of question is that?” she asked. She fumbled in her oversized black leather bag for her cigarettes. I signaled the bartender for another piña colada.
    â€œWell, I see it like this, Denise. I’ve known you since you moved here a year ago, and what do I really know?” I paused as my piña colada appeared. “You’re twenty-eight, grew up in Miami, got divorced about a year ago, and now you got a dead guy lying in your place and your dog’s gone. So I’m thinking: How well do I know you?”
    A cool breeze was blowing in off the Gulf. Denise turned her head away, shielding her face as she tried and failed to light her cigarette. Exasperated, she flung the lighter on the counter and turned back around.
    â€œMan, you and the cops.” Her tone was bitter. “Everybody wants my fucking history. There’s no way to get a break and start over, is there?”
    â€œCops is one thing, Denise, but I thought we were friends.”
    Denise pulled off her dark glasses. Her eyes were red and swollen.
    â€œWe are.” She sighed. “But I don’t know what kind of friends we’ll be when I tell you about me.”
    â€œDenise, everybody’s got something they don’t want anybody else to see, something they’re ashamed of. You’re not so different from the rest of us.”
    â€œI know that. It’s just … Well, all right,” she said, apparently making up her mind to get it over with. “Here goes. I was married to this guy, Leon, for five years.” She looked over at me and I nodded. “At first everything was wonderful. He was so good-looking. He always had money and nice things. The part of Miami where I grew up, nobody had nothing. He treated me like I was a queen, for a while. Then I really saw what he was like, how he made his money. That’s when I started getting scared. He was a real bad person, Sierra.”
    â€œHe hit you or what?” I asked.
    â€œOh yeah,” she said matter-of-factly, “that was part of it, but he was