As she walks through it, the body-hugging red chemise clings to her form, set off by two thin straps over her shoulders and a filigree of lace at the tawny satin smoothness of her thighs.
“I really didn’t want to stay in my room alone tonight,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. Why should I mind?” I think to myself, I love being raped by beautiful women.
“Missing Herman, are you?” she says.
“Umm, no. Not exactly.”
“Good. That makes two of us.”
“You don’t like Herman?”
“He’s a very nice guy,” she says. “But that makes two of you, and when I’m added to the mix, three is a crowd.”
“I see. He speaks highly of you.”
“Thank him for me.” As she reaches the other side of the bed she raises a tanned, shapely knee and plants it deep in the soft muslin bedcovers. Then in a flowing feline motion she traverses the width of the bed on her hands and knees. When I look up I see her face hovering just over my left shoulder, pursed sensuous lips and oval eyes.
“Don’t look so frightened,” she says.
“Do I look scared?”
“I won’t bite,” says Joselyn. “I promise. Not unless you ask me to, and then you may have to beg.”
“That sounds kinky.”
“Silence, remember?” Joselyn has bathed and washed her hair. I can smell the perfumed soap and the scent of strawberries floating in the ether above me.
“Pick a mantra, anything, and focus on it. It will help break the fear.”
“Really?”
“Aom, aom.”
I look at her eyes, her pursed lips, almost pouting, as she stalks me on her hands and knees, staring down at me. “Before I settle in, would you like something to drink? Something from the minibar, perhaps?”
“Sweetheart, if you think I’m going to allow the moment to slip away and let you slide off the hook by bringing me a cocktail, you’re out of your mind.”
She laughs. “What do you think is going to happen?”
“I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out. At the moment I’m feeling just fine.” In fact, looking up at her face, her body encased in the tight chemise, kneeling above me like a tigress, I am feeling almost euphoric, as if someone has shot me up with heroin.
She settles down with the sweet fragrance of her hair dulling my senses and her head on my shoulder. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, yeah. I hate it.” As I lay sprawled on my back, Joselyn snuggles up against me, displacing every void of air between our bodies. Lying on her side, she raises a bent knee and rests it gently on top of my thigh. The tension causes me to stir in that place down below. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She smiles and rhythmically rolls her knee gently across my groin.
I take a deep breath and arch my back.
“Relax,” she says. “Focus on your mantra.”
“I’m trying to, but they’re pressing into the side of my chest at the moment.”
Her breasts planted in my side, her back gently arched, she starts to laugh as her body stretches out and sculpts the perfect form of sensual desire.
I lift my right arm over her head so that I can cradle her. She stops laughing and snuggles in tighter.
Like a schoolboy, my heart pounding, I slowly move my hand down the smooth, silken finish of her chemise until my fingers reach the small of her back. They come to rest in that heaven above the arch of her buttocks as my fingers start to dance. Lazily they skim across the satin finish, feeling only the bump of a single chord, the waistband of her thong under the smooth, red-silken sea of the chemise.
“I’m glad that Herman found another room tonight.” The warm, moist breath of her words in my ear ignites a sexual tingle of electricity that traverses my spine.
“Herman says I snore.”
“I wouldn’t call it snoring,” she says. “They’re actually just cute little occasional snorts.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard it every once in a while between Herman’s foghorn.”
“When?”
“When I was outside your door at night.”
“What were you doing outside the door?”
“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come to my room. Obviously not,” she says.
“I didn’t…I mean I wasn’t sure…”
She puts her finger over my lips. “Now is one of those moments when silence is best,” she says. Her lips seal over my ear, her pointed, wet tongue penetrating to its inner depth as she quickly slides her hand from my lips down my chest and stomach under the open bottom of my shirt. Her nails, like talons, rake my stomach and chest. Passion seizes my lungs. I arch my back as her knee presses into the hardness at my groin. I listen and feel her hot, moist breath in my ear until her lips move, grazing my cheek.
Like a magnet, I turn my head, finding her lips with my own, rolling up onto my side as I grab her in my arms, pressing her body to my own, our legs intertwined, our tongues doing a dance.
Suddenly she pushes with her hands. I don’t want to let go. It feels so good to hold her, as if nature itself had reached a point of equilibrium, a tender balance of two human souls.
Suddenly she disengages. She’s back up on her knees. I lay there wanton, baffled and befuddled. Then I realize her need and she starts to pull the shirt over my head. While I’m finishing with the shirt, her frenzied hands go to work feverishly at my belt.
“Maybe I should take a shower,” I tell her.
“Later,” she says. “Unless you want me to leave, in which case you better make it a cold one.”
“Later would be best,” I tell her. Before the words clear my lips, she smothers them with an openmouthed kiss as she pulls my pants down. Together we finally shed them over the edge of the bed, where the red chemise and Joselyn’s thong join them.
She is back in my arms, the warm, tawny glow of her nakedness against my flesh. Her lips press to my ear in a husky, sensuous voice: “If Herman calls now, he won’t have to worry about Thorn. I will beat him to death with his own phone.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
What they say about hell and good intentions is true. I had intended to call Herman by ten o’clock.
When the phone rings, somewhere muffled and distant, I gaze over and the clock on the nightstand reads 9:10. I rouse from a deep sleep to the feel of her warm body against me. Joselyn’s tousled hair covers her face as it nuzzles into the cranny of my neck, her limp arm and sharp nails draped across my chest. Each time I move she sticks her claws in me like a cat.
When I see the sliver of bright light breaching the blackout curtains, I panic. “Oh, shit.” The phone is still ringing. But it’s not night, it’s the morning after.
I struggle to get up.
“Emmmmm!” Joselyn stirs and digs a fingernail into my nipple. “What time is it?”
“Morning,” I tell her. I free myself from the claw.
“Where are you going?” She yawns, covers her mouth, and stretches under the covers.
“Looking for my phone.” It’s not on the nightstand. When it rings again I realize it’s still strapped to the belt on my pants, down on the floor under the tangle of garments.
I lean over and fish my way through the red sexy thong and the chemise, trying to focus my eyes. I find my pants and feel for the phone, slide it out of the holster, and check the screen. It’s Herman. I push the green button. “Hello!”
“Where were you? Took you long enough,” he says.
“Couldn’t find my phone.”
“Hope you slept well, ’cause I’ve been up since six,” he says.
“Where are you?” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up.
“I been on the road since six thirty,” he says.
“You’re tailing Thorn?”
“Yeah, and you’re not gonna believe what I’m lookin’ at right now.”
“Where are you?”
Joselyn kneels up behind me o
n the bed and puts her arms around my chest, her chin on my shoulder from behind, and starts to graze me with her nails again. “What’s happening?”
“Stop it.”
“You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
“Is that who I think it is?” says Herman.
“Yeah. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You first,” he says.
“Never mind. Just tell me where you are.”
“Well, right now I’m on a narrow ledge of ground, on a hillside off a dirt road, lyin’ on my stomach lookin’ at some farmer’s field through a pair of binoculars,” says Herman. “According to the odometer, I’m about 12.8 miles south of Ponce and about a half mile east of the main highway. Thorn’s got himself a makeshift landing strip out here.”
“Is the plane there?”
“Yep. I’m looking at it right now. He’s got it tucked away under some camouflage netting and a bunch of equipment down there. He’s got one, two, three guys working with him. Looks like they’re getting ready to do some painting and one guy’s doing some welding.”
“How do I get out there?” I ask.
“You want me to come get ya?”
“No. Stay there. Keep an eye on Thorn. If he leaves, follow him. I’ll grab a taxi.”
“Not without me you won’t.” Joselyn pushes off behind me, pulls the top sheet off the bed, and wraps it around herself. Then, as if in a gown with a long trail, she parades toward the bathroom, where she closes the door.
“I need to take a shower,” I tell her.
“Go ahead, the door’s unlocked,” she hollers. “And you don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.”
“Sounds like you had a better night than I did,” says Herman.
“Yeah, well, what can I say?”
“You can give me a briefing,” he says.
“Later. First tell me how to get out there.” I grab a pen and the pad from the nightstand. Herman gives me detailed directions. I write it all down.
“Do me a favor,” he says. “Have the driver stop so you can get me a cup of coffee and somethin’ to eat. Thorn gets up early and he moves fast. I can smell military all over him,” says Herman. “I didn’t get any breakfast.”
“What do you want?”
“Steak and eggs, hash browns, side of pancakes, and a pot of coffee.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to have this catered?” I say.
Herman laughs. “Driver might know where there’s a good doughnut shop. Get me a big cup of coffee, one of those sixteen-ounce jobs, and a dozen doughnuts.”
“You know those aren’t good for you.”
“Have ’em throw in some tofu,” says Herman. “And make it two dozen if you guys are eatin’.”
I check my watch. “It’ll take me at least forty-five minutes to get there.”
“Hurry up. I’m hungry,” he says.
It takes us twenty minutes to shower, clean up, and get dressed. We grab a cab out in front and have him take us to a doughnut shop with a small market next door. Joselyn buys a couple small containers of fresh cut-up fruit and two plastic cartons of yogurt at the market while I get the doughnuts and three coffees.
She and I sit in the backseat of the taxi feasting on yogurt and fruit as we down our coffee. When I lift the lid on the doughnut box for an inspection, she slaps my hand and seals the box shut.
“You sapped my vital juices,” I tell her. “I need to keep up my strength.”
“Sounds like Superman needs Viagra,” she says. “There’s nothing in that box but kryptonite. I noticed last night that your speeding bullet is already a little too quick.” She glances at me sideways and smiles. How fast women become possessive.
“Is that so?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe I just need more time at the range,” I tell her. “It could be that I’m out of practice.” I squeeze her thigh through her jeans and she jumps, dropping a piece of fruit off her plastic fork into her lap.
She starts to laugh, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, well, you start eating doughnuts and you’ll be shooting blanks,” she tells me. “And I got a flash for you. You won’t be jumping me in a single bound. Stick with me and I’ll keep you healthy,” she says.
“And what about happy?”
She turns to look at me. “I don’t know. You’ll have to judge that for yourself,” she says.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The taxi driver finds the dirt road and a few hundred feet in I see Herman’s rental car parked halfway into the brush off to the side.
We pull up. I pay the driver, grab Herman’s coffee and the doughnut box, and Joselyn and I get out.
“Over here!” I hear Herman’s voice beyond the brush.
We make our way between some bushes where Herman’s big feet have beaten the grass down to make a narrow path.
He rolls over off his stomach and sits up as soon as he sees us. “Thought you guys were never gonna get here,” he says. “I’m dyin’.”
“Not to worry. Your friend brought you a box of poison,” says Joselyn.
He reaches up and takes the coffee in one hand and hands me the field glasses with the other. I give him the doughnuts. He sets them on the ground and plucks the lid off the coffee. “Ah, good, cream,” he says. “You remembered. Any sugar?”
“In the box with the doughnuts,” I tell him.
He opens the lid and finds six packets. Herman holds them together in his big fingers and rips the tops off all of them in one move. Then he pours the contents into the hot coffee, stirring it like syrup with a plastic fork.
“We could just get a long needle and inject twenty pounds of sugar into your heart,” says Joselyn. She stands there motionless looking at the steaming cup in Herman’s hand as if it were a viper.
“What did I tell you when I first saw her?” says Herman. He talks without looking at us, picking through the box of doughnuts for his first victim. “All shapely and sexy like that. She’s gotta be a health nut. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Course there are advantages…”
“Yes, one tends to live longer,” says Joselyn.
“That wasn’t the advantage I had in mind,” says Herman. “But I suppose it’ll do. Watch the glasses.” He looks at me as I scan the open field down below through the binoculars. “You’re not careful, Thorn’s gonna pick up glare off the front lens. Morning sun,” he says.
I lower them. “So what do I do?”
“Baseball cap on the ground there,” says Herman. “Use it to shield the front end a little bit. Keep the sunlight off them.”
I settle onto the ground on my stomach, lay the baseball cap over the top of the fifty-power glasses with the bill sticking out over the two lenses. Then I focus them.
“Look to the left there, in the trees up at the end of the field,” says Herman. “See the camouflage?”
“Oh, yeah. I see the plane but he’s got it covered pretty well. Unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t see it.”
“Wouldn’t see it at all from the air,” says Herman, “not with the naked eye anyway. My guess is that’s what he’s worried about. Drug interdiction flights. Last few years that’s become a heavy part of the action down here. If the cartels can bring their product in here, they’re already inside the U.S. Customs zone.”
“So what do you think Thorn’s up to?” I ask.
“Haven’t seen enough to know yet,” he says. He grabs another doughnut and gulps some coffee.
“I don’t know, but I doubt that it’s drugs,” says Joselyn. “Not unless he’s changed. It’s true it’s been a long time. But I don’t think so.” Joselyn sees a small rock outcropping a few feet away. She steps over and dusts it off with her hand, very feminine, then turns and sits on it. “Do you see him down there? Thorn, I mean?” She looks at me.
“I don’t know. I see three men working around the plane. One of them is up on a ladder, big extension thing, against the tail section,” I tell her. “Another one’s got a shorter lad
der working against the side of the plane up forward, just in front of the wing.”
“Yeah, he’s been taping down paper,” says Herman, “some big pieces. Looks like they painted the fuselage white, then did the whole tail section that dark blue. Sort of a cone shape on an angle all the way down underneath the tail.”
“I see it,” I tell him.
“Now they’re gettin’ ready to put up a logo or some letters. I’m not sure,” says Herman.
“Yeah, I hear the compressor, but I don’t see it,” I tell him.
“They must have it in the plane to keep the noise down. You can hear that thing all the way out here every time they fire it up,” he says. “They had it going a few minutes ago, just before you got here. They were clearing two spray guns. Shot a lot of red and blue paint all over the grass.”
“Looks like we got company.”
An old beat-up Ford F-250 pickup truck is coming down the runway, moving fast, coming this way. For a moment I wonder if the driver has seen us.
“That’s Thorn’s truck. I followed it on the way out here,” says Herman. “We better get out of here.”
“Hold on. He’s stopping,” I say.
Herman turns to look.
Joselyn is on her feet, standing next to him, shading her eyes with one hand and staring down at the field.
The truck is stopped, no more than a quarter of a mile away. The driver is getting out. He goes in the back to the open bed of the truck and lifts out a cardboard box. He carries it over and sets it down on the field. Then he walks back to the pickup.
“I don’t think he’s seen us,” I tell them.
This time he reaches inside the cab. He steps back and closes the door. He has two items, one in each hand. The one in his right hand looks like a laptop. I can’t make out what the other one is. It’s too small.
“What’s he doing?” says Herman.
“I don’t know.” I have the field glasses fixed on his face at the moment. “I think that’s our man.”
PM11-The Rule of Nine Page 26
