Zero Sum

by Russell Blake

“You don’t have to make your life about these people. It seems like you have a pretty nice hand of cards. You can do anything you want,” she observed.

  “Except go home. Except talk to my friend ever again, or pet my dog,” he said.

  She folded her arms, frowned. “I hope you understand that once you get what you’re after there’s a whole life ahead of you. It’s not just about these men. And like your friend, you don’t know how much time you have on this world.” She paused. “There is an after, Steven.” Antonia looked at him again. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking but it bothered him all the same.

  “Part of me is afraid to even think about the after stuff,” he finally conceded. “I’ll settle for making it through next week.”

  After lunch they stood and gazed out at the ocean. Their ocean, of late. The swell was larger than yesterday, the waves rolling the horizon in an almost biblical manner. All was silent aside from the whistle of the wind as it rustled through the surrounding structures.

  They made their way back to the main building, where one of the dolphin trainers escorted them into the dolphin area. Steven decided to stay out of the water, leaving Antonia to enjoy her experience with the animals minus any distractions. Soon she was frolicking and splashing and gliding with the velvet-smooth torpedoes of mischief. The animals seemed good-natured, and Antonia had completely surrendered to this watery heaven, kissing the female and being pulled around by the larger male, as the smaller adolescent jumped and flipped around the periphery.

  When it was over, Antonia didn’t want to leave.

  “Oh, Steven, they’re so cute. I love, love, love them,” she declared. “They’re the most gentle creatures. I wish I could stay here forever.”

  “How about you go one more round at 3:30 – my treat?” Seemed like an sure-fire way to make her happy – therefore worth every cent.

  “Ah…you know the way to a woman’s heart, Steven. Thank you. I accept your gallant offer.” She hugged him gleefully, a damp impression of her sensuous body etching into his shirt – which he minded not one iota. She held him at arm’s length, looking into his beaming face. “Quite a gentleman for a secret agent pirate, no? If only you were rich and good looking.” She smiled her fifty thousand watt best at him, then turned and dashed back to the building, with a hop and a skip, to let the staff know she was coming for one more turn. He walked back slowly, on air for most of the way. A warmth had flooded into him. He’d taken her words as compliment, not speculation.

  Brooding clouds set about darkening the horizon as they returned to the hotel. According to the desk, the hurricane was now a hundred and twenty-five miles out, and it looked like they might get the edge of it. Jenkins was on duty and offered them both upstairs suites in a different villa – sometimes the lower rooms flooded if the storm turned and hit full force. Wind speeds were reported at a hundred twenty miles per hour, meaning there was danger of a storm surge propelling water all the way up the beach.

  “What about my pool. Do I lose my pool?” Antonia asked.

  Steven stared at her. “Your pool?”

  “Yes, my pool. My room has a swimming pool in it.”

  “You’re kidding,” Steven said. And he thought his room was lavish? She had a private swimming pool? Wow. He thought about her swimming naked; not a bad visual. Not bad at all. He wondered if she needed a lifeguard.

  “No, sir, she isn’t joking. Our larger suites are available with private pools, but alas, not in the building we will be moving you to. I apologize, Mrs. Donitelli. Perhaps we can find a way to make it up to you? Some dinners, or maybe complimentary spa days?” Jenkins, always the diplomat, always searching for ways to keep the guests happy.

  “It’s not so important,” she answered truthfully.

  Jenkins smiled warmly, entranced by the easygoing charm of her nature. “I’ll give you some time to collect your belongings. Just call down and we’ll send up a bellman to take your things to the new suites. Thank you for being so understanding.”

  They hurried to their rooms to prepare for the move. Steven took the opportunity to check in with Alfred, who told him he’d found out where Jim Cavierti had spent his last days; a private super-lux villa on the other side of the island – it came with a staff of ten and rented by the week for fifteen thousand dollars; twenty in high season. Hedges House. Steven wrote it down. Alfred needlessly cautioned him that the internet and phone service could be interrupted by a significant storm – welcome to the islands – and went on to assure him they tended to get things in order pretty quickly afterwards. They agreed to touch base tomorrow.

  Steven placed a call to the desk, and Simon quickly arrived at his door, armed with a luggage cart. They transferred him to a villa closer to the main building, Villa #9. His new quarters were identical to his old quarters, which is to say opulent and large. There was another bottle of champagne on ice, more flowers. He called and asked to be put through to Mrs. Donitelli.

  “Hello?”

  “Please don’t think this an obscene phone call. It's just that the prospect of another night in your company has me overcome with anticipation. Forgive the heavy breathing and tell me – is there anything in particular you’d like to request on this wonderful, tempestuous evening?” he asked.

  “How about dinner at last night’s restaurant again? I think it will be too windy at the other one, no?”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” he said. That, and some completely unmentionable lascivious misbehavior. “Eight o’clock work for you?”

  “Is good. I still need to get unpacked and shower. Poor little me – I miss my pool. How am I going to occupy my time?” She had a marvelous sense of humor. Even in a second language.

  “Okay. I’m in Villa number nine, room nine-o-four,” he said.

  “I’m in number nine-o-five. Next door again. Serendipity wouldn’t you say?”

  “That was the name of my boat; Serendipity. I’ll see you in a little while. Ciao, Antonia.”

  “Ciao.”

  Focal Point: Chapter 24

  Steven checked online, and found he had another message from Spyder:

  [I put the names through some sources. Should know more in 24 hours. I hear there’s a big storm in the Caribbean. Hope you aren’t in it. Spyder]

  Steven checked the weather sites, and saw the satellite of the storm and the simulations of the path of the hurricane. If it stayed on course, it would just brush the island; maybe some rain and a few hours of heavy wind. Probably hit very late tonight. He realized he hadn’t yet checked whether Allied had closed up or down. Incredible how quickly your priorities change when you’re hiding from killers on a tropical island with an Italian supermodel, and about to be flattened by a hurricane. Maybe he’d just needed a little excitement in his life. He’d certainly taken the long way around to getting some.

  Allied had closed essentially unchanged. He surmised Griffen was doing everything within reason to keep the price up until the website was taken down for good, and then there would be another slew of analyst upgrades and glowing recommendations. Nicholas really was the only turd in his punchbowl – the pump phase of a manipulation required unbridled exuberance, and any hint of doubt could derail it.

  Steven needed more information, a lot more, before he could construct a solid case against Griffen and Allied. Speculations and skepticism on his site were one thing, but he needed to dig up buried bodies, dirty deeds, hard evidence. Right now, all he had were suggestions of impropriety. He hoped his hundred thousand bucks would buy enough to hang the bastard, or at least galvanize the hangman into building the gallows and testing the rope; maybe sending the black hood out to the dry cleaner.

  Antonia knocked his door at seven forty-five, visibly concerned about the approaching storm. He did everything he could to calm her fears, pointing out that the hotel and island had withstood far worse. She was no less agitated.

  At the restaurant, they ordered, and when the meal arrived made small talk as they ate, b
ut Steven sensed she was uneasy about something. He asked her directly what was troubling her. The storm? The new room? His shirt?

  “I’m just confused, is all,” she confessed. “I’ve enjoyed my last few days so much, I’m starting to feel alive, after a long period of sleepwalking through life. I never thought I’d feel that way ever again, not after what happened.” She crinkled her brow. “I suppose I’m just trying to figure out...it’s just hard, is all…”

  “I’ve enjoyed my time on Anguilla immeasurably, Antonia, all because I met you. I’m sorry it’s complicated your life, or mine, but I’m not sorry about anything else. Sometimes life isn’t simple,” he observed. It was true.

  “No, sometimes it isn’t. Campai,” she toasted, clinking her glass against his.

  “I don’t know, Antonia, what happens tomorrow, or the next day, or the next – but I do know meeting you changed something important for me. Right now that’s all I need to know,” he concluded.

  She considered his eyes, the seriousness in his face. “You’re full of surprises, Steven. The water runs deep on your side of the table. I just need some time.” She took a sip of wine. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Steven. I was only looking for a few days away from the crowds.”

  “I’ve got nothing but time, my friend. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Eh, and so, we have some wine, and wait for the storms to pass, clear skies to come, no?”

  “To clear skies,” he said, offering his glass up in tribute.

  They finished their meal and retreated into the bar. No live band tonight. The island was hunkering down for hard weather, with just the solitary bartender on storm-watch duty. The night’s drink special was ‘The Hurricane’. That was funny. He ordered one, and Antonia had her usual Sambuca. They contemplated the rising wind and churning seas in silence, alone with their thoughts. She reached out and held his hand. Electricity crackled between their once lost souls.

  And that’s how they spent the next hour, holding hands and watching the sea protest the flailing it was enduring from the mounting wind. Steven estimated it was blowing a good thirty knots. They needed to get back to their rooms soon or the journey would be unpleasant. He signed the chit, and the clerk gave them a ride back in the golf cart.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a good one, huh?” the clerk offered, shouting over the wind.

  “Seems that way to me. Any news on the path of the storm?” Steven asked.

  “Now they say it’s coming straight at us, but that’s changed twice already. Nobody knows at this point but the good Lord, and he’s not telling. Have a safe night.” The clerk dropped them off in front of their villa, quickly spinning the rocking golf cart around for his return trip to the hotel.

  They ran up the stairs, and stood in his doorway. She looked up at him, suddenly grabbed onto him, and hugged him very tightly. He hugged her back. They stood that way for a long time.

  “Tell me that it’s all going to be fine. Everything will be all right. Tell me that, Steven Cross.”

  “It will. Everything will be all right. You’ll see. You have nothing to worry about, Antonia Donitelli.”

  “Thank you. I needed to hear you say it. Goodnight, Steven.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, gently, on the lips, taking her time with the kiss as he held her. She was trembling when he let go. And the tears were back again. Complicated girl. A lot going on behind those hazel eyes.

  “It really will be okay, Antonia.”

  “I know it will. Goodnight.” And then she was off, battling the gusts assaulting her door a dozen yards away.

  The inclement weather increased steadily and within the hour a hammering downpour let loose on the island. The staff had stocked the room with candles in case they lost power, preparing for the worst. The storm shutters were closed against the angry lashing of horizontal rain, and the wind had taken up a low, eerie wailing as it forced its way through the complaining rafters. Steven eventually drifted off into uneasy sleep state, again dreaming of Antonia, long brown hair blowing in the wind as the porpoises caressed her feet.

  A pounding woke him. The shutters? No. He looked at the clock: 2:30 in the morning. It sounded as though the room was in the middle of a wind tunnel. The pounding was coming from the front door. Evacuation? He pulled on a pair of shorts, padded to the door, cautiously opened it, and was almost knocked off his feet as Antonia burst through the door and kissed him – kissed him hungrily, her desire ravenous and palpable. He kicked the door closed as she clung tight to his stirring body, locked onto his face, devouring every bit of his mouth she could get. He grabbed her hair, tugging it gently while pressing her to him as she moaned with increasing urgency.

  He was astonished by the ferocity of her passion; as deep as the fury of the storm. She was chaos epitomized, the dam of her libido burst open wide, with a fire of passion blazing out of control.

  They couldn’t get enough. He pressed her against the wall as they consumed each other. His hand moved down the back of her summer dress, grabbed her buttock, and then slid greedily along her slick opening. She pushed his shorts down and grabbed him, stroked him, never disengaging her mouth from his. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips, guiding him into her. Their utter need for connection was elemental and brutal and total, accompanied by the howling of the wind, the crashing of the surf and the hammering of the rain; the wailing of the hurricane’s wrath melded into their cries of passion and lust and release.

  They made love five times that night. Every fantasy he’d ever had, every want, every need, she matched with an intensity and desire that was relentless. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t be wanton enough to satisfy her hunger; the craving and desire that implicitly drove her. When they finally drifted off to sleep, scents intermingled and wrapped around each other, exhausted, it was finally dawn; albeit a dark and rainy dawn, cast in grey from the turbulent clouds overhead.

  The storm had passed by the island and they’d been spared the worst of it. The wind had eased to a moan from the night’s strident shriek. The swollen raindrops fell heavily from the sky, and they slept, deeply, she cradled in his arms.

  Focal Point: Chapter 25

  They awoke at midday. The tail of the storm lingered overhead, the rain still slanting down on the roof of the villa. When Steven’s eyes opened, Antonia was leaning on her elbow, looking at him. He took in her face and her eyes, hair wild and unruly from last night’s adventures. He surely must be the luckiest man in the world.

  She spoke first. “Not too bad…for an old guy,” she summarized, smiling that smile at him.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything from last night; must have been drunk. What are you doing here?” he asked, straight-faced.

  “Don’t you remember? You collapsed in the lobby. Everyone thought you’d had a heart attack or something. I came back to help them get your diaper off. The staff insisted I stay,” she replied.

  “Oh. Dammit. I do that sometimes; it’s the heroin. I hope the other guests weren’t disturbed.” Wasn’t this fun. “I swear, one day soon I’ll quit. It’s just so hard.”

  They stared at each other for a few beats of time. Both began laughing simultaneously. Good laughter. Comfortable laughter.

  “Good morning, Signore Cross, will you be requiring anything more today? A nice breakfast, or maybe a full day of calisthenics in bed?” she asked.

  “If they could invent a way to do both, now that would sell like VWs.” He studied her. “You’re phenomenal. I can’t get enough of you.”

  “So maybe breakfast can wait...” She smiled, and her head slid beneath the sheet. They made love three more times, dozing dreamily between each bout.

  When they awoke it was dark out. The clock next to them was blinking, so at some point they’d lost power. Steven got up and tried the lights. The hallway lit up. Good sign. He walked into the bathroom and tried the shower. It got hot. Also a good sign. He climbed in and began the
cleansing process, and then the glass door opened and he was joined by a guest. Cleansing got sidetracked temporarily. Eventually they made it out, and he opened up a package that he’d gotten at the hotel gift shop. It was a small nail clipper. He started snipping at the sutures.

  “Ai, don’t. Go lay down. I’ll do that. Do you have, eh, pincers?” she asked, standing there very tanned and very naked with a white towel wrapped around her head. If Steven died tonight, he’d be okay with that. Not a bad way to go.

  “Tweezers? Right behind you. Same plastic bag as the nail clippers.”

  They went into the bedroom, and he lay on his right side as she snipped away at the stitches. She started pulling them out. He felt his skin pulling, but no real pain. Good sign.

  “I think I caught part of your intestine. Sorry, caro,” she quipped. He ignored it. She was done in a few minutes. “There, finito.”

  They went back into the bathroom, and he studied his scar. Then he got distracted and studied her. Much more interesting subject matter. The back of the G-string had left a small T-shaped tan line, and he could see that she was really very tanned compared to her natural color. He turned to her and kissed her hungrily.

  “You’re pretty tanned,” he murmured, between kisses.

  “You get that way from lying in the sun, I hear,” she said.

  He held her. They gazed into each other’s eyes. He looked down.

  “You took off your wedding ring.”

  “It’s back in my room, in the safe. I don’t need it anymore,” she said. “That time is over.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are you. I wonder how we can get something to eat. Do you think the restaurants are open?” she asked.

  “I’ll call and see.” Steven dried off, and made for the living room to call the front desk. He was informed the restaurants were all closed, but limited room service was available. He asked them to bring up whatever they could find to make a meal for two very hungry guests. The staff happily agreed to put something together and have it up within a half hour. He was told most of the lower rooms had flooded, and maid service had been suspended until the following day so the local staff could put their lives back together and attend to their homes and families. Fresh towels were available in the lobby.