by Ken Douglas
He sent flowers. Took her to dinner. Offered her all the right complements. But his old magic failed to light her fires. And the more she refused, the more he desired her. He asked if there was someone else and she’d said there wasn’t. Maybe that was her mistake. Maybe she should have told him about her relationship with Kevin a lot sooner, then maybe he would have gone away. But she didn’t. She said there was no one, but he didn’t believe her. So he watched her.
He didn’t say anything when she’d returned from Zambia. She’d done a wonderful shoot for Save the Children just hours before the president was assassinated.
He was silent when she’d come back from a shoot in Ecuador. They’d gotten great footage of her with a pair of paper thin twin boys, but no one got footage of the leader of the opposition when he was gunned down leaving for work only an hour before she left for the airport. He didn’t come calling and confront her till she returned from Sierra Leone the day after the new President was shot during dinner.
Once was coincidence, he’d said. Twice was circumstantial, but three times was the clincher, the next best thing to a smoking gun. He was too smart to threaten her, or to blackmail her, instead, he said, he had a plan. She could have more money than she’d ever imagined. She’d never have to work again, never have to do another hit. All she had to do was something she was good at. Assassinate the prime minister. Shoot Ram and she got a hefty share of the spoils. And the spoils: A small oil rich country, ripe for the plucking and the profits gained from laundering the money of one of the biggest drug cartels in Colombia. Too much money to walk away from. It was just too much.
Earl wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was sweating like a stuck pig and he hadn’t cleared customs yet. He was standing behind a large black man with no neck. The son-of-a-bitch must spend his life in the fucking gym, Earl thought, as he concentrated on a fly that was moving downward over the ripple of muscle on the back of the man’s head. No Neck swiped at it without looking, moving hand and arm like a giant paw. Earl jerked his head out of the way, barely avoiding the grizzly strike. The fly turned to mush and blood on the hump that passed for a neck. It didn’t have a chance.
“ Watch it,” Earl said, without thinking.
No Neck turned and smiled at Earl. “Sorry.” He pinched the fly between thumb and forefinger and flicked it onto the floor.
“ Just missed me,” Earl said.
“ I’ll try to be more careful,” the huge man said. The encounter was over as No Neck moved up to the customs counter and Earl realized that like the fly, he was out of the man’s memory, no more important than the dust on the floor. He was brooding, thinking of home, not even gone a day and he missed Texas.
“ Next,” the custom’s officer said, and Earl felt relief flood over him. He was tired of the line, tired of the dingy airport and tired of the sweat pouring down his back. The sooner he got Maria and got out of Trinidad, the better.
An hour later the road weary cab pulled up in front of the Hilton Hotel. Earl couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Less than two hours in the country and all he wanted to do was go home. He was disgusted by the run down buildings, the fading paint, the litter in the street and the sea of black faces. This wasn’t the good old U. S. of A.
“ Don’t you just love it here?” the driver said. “Everything is so laid back. No pushing and shoving, everybody has a smile on their face.”
“ Nice,” Earl said, wondering if the idiot was seeing the same things he was.
“ And it’s so clean.”
“ Clean?” Earl said, he had his hand in his hip pocket, digging for his money. He wanted to pay the sorry excuse for a cab driver and have him on his way.
“ Air’s fresh,” the cab driver said.
“ Bullshit,” Earl said, money in hand.
“ Eighty dollars,” the driver said.
“ Eighty dollars? You must think I’m nuts. No way. That’s robbery.”
“ It’s not robbery. It’s the normal charge. If you can’t afford it you shoulda taken the bus.”
He started to say something, then he remembered the cash in the briefcase by his foot, and he smiled. He’d brought the money with him, because he couldn’t think of anyplace to leave it and there sure as shit wasn’t anybody he could trust with it. If he’d had time he’d have gotten himself three or four safety deposit boxes down to the bank, but everything happened so fast.
“ You’re right,” he said, counting out four twenties. The cab driver’s eyes went white and wide and his hand started shaking as he accepted the money.
“ Thank you, sir, thank you very much,” he said.
“ Now get the bags.” Earl felt more important than he’d ever felt wearing a badge in a small Texas town. He was going to like having money.
Once in the hotel he walked briskly across the lobby toward the reception desk. The young man behind the counter looked up as he approached, pulled his face out of a ledger and closed it.
“ Can I help you?” he asked. He was an African Trinidadian with a wide smile and pointy ears that looked like they were cropped close to the head, like they came off of a Doberman pinscher.
“ You have a Maria Lawson staying here?”
The clerk punched a few keys and studied a computer screen. “Yes we do,” he said through his ear to ear smile.
“ Can you give me her room number?” Earl asked.
“ Can’t do that. It’s against the rules, but you can use the house phone over there. The hotel operator will put you right through.”
“ I don’t want to be put right through. I want her room number.” Earl balled his hands and felt the blood rising under his collar. He wanted to wipe the grin off the young man’s face.
“ I’m sorry, would you like me to get the manager?”
“ I guess you don’t hear so good. I don’t want the manager. I don’t care about your rules. I don’t want to talk to her on the phone. I want you to give me her room number.” The blood was in his head now and he felt himself turning hot, despite the air conditioning that kept the lobby only slightly warmer than a frozen North Texas winter.
“ I’ll get the manager,” the desk clerk said, spinning around. He opened a door behind him. In seconds he’d have the manager. Well that was all right, Earl thought, he knew how to deal with hotel managers.
“ I’ll be right back,” Earl said. He picked up the briefcase and felt a sort of ecstasy with the weight of it, almost as good as sex, then he was off toward the men’s bathroom. Inside he entered the first stall, closed the door, and sat on the toilet with the briefcase on his lap. He opened it and fondled the contents with his eyes before he removed a bundle of hundreds, peeled off ten and put them in his hip pocket.
He inhaled deeply, feeling the air flow deep into his belly. Then with a satisfied grunt he closed the case, left the stall and the restroom and headed back to reception. The man was different, but the question was the same.
“ Can you give me Maria Lawson’s room number?” Earl slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter.
“ Four-eighteen,” the manager said as he slipped the bill into his pocket.
“ Does four-sixteen or four-twenty have a connecting door?” Earl asked.
“ Four-twenty does, but it’s occupied,” the manager said, staring at a computer screen. “Looks like it’s going to stay that way for about a week.”
“ I’ll take four-twenty.” Earl counted out five more hundreds and slid them across the counter. Probably more than the man made in a month.
“ I can’t,” the man said, but Earl could see greed tugging at his conscience. “I wish I could, but the room is already occupied.”
“ You could tell them there’s a problem with the plumbing and upgrade them, give them a better view.” Earl passed over two more hundreds.
“ I could do that.” The manager covered the seven hundred dollars with his palm.
“ I’ll be back in an hour,” Earl said.
“ It won’t take that long
. Have a drink in the bar. By the time you finish the room will be ready.”
Five minutes later he was drinking a rum and coke in the restaurant bar when he saw Maria out by the pool, having lunch with a man. He slow sipped his drink and started drumming his fingers on the bar. So that’s why she’d left him, she was seeing someone else. He wondered how long it had been going on and why he hadn’t been able to see it.
“ Another?” the bartender asked, jerking Earl’s attention away from the couple on the other side of the window.
“ No, I’ve gotta go see if my room is ready.” He didn’t know what kind of man shaved his head, but he sure planned on finding out.
Fifteen minutes later he was back in the restaurant, the money safely up in the room, and this time he was sitting at a table instead of the bar by the window, and he was staring at his wife and her man friend. He wanted to squeeze the bastard till he popped.
“ What joo having?” Earl turned away from the scene outside and faced a young waitress. She was short, dark, and obviously Puerto Rican.
“ A rum and coke,” he said.
“ Joo know Kojack?”
“ The ugly one with the shaved head?”
“ Sure, him.”
“ Never seen him before,” Earl said. “Who is he?”
“ He’s American, I heard the accent.”
“ Really?” Earl said. How long had Maria known the man? “And the woman?” Earl asked. “She’s a looker.”
“ She’s staying solo. I think she’s a stewardess.”
“ Can I have my check?” The voice was melodic and belonged to a stunning woman at the next table. Normally Earl would have noticed her first thing, but he’d been so caught up with the idea of Maria and another man that he’d missed her completely.
“ Would you like another, ma’am?” Earl offered, ever the gentleman.
“ No thanks, I have to get back to work,” the woman said. Her blue eyes twinkled, clear as the South Texas ocean, and her smile promised hidden delights.
“ Maybe I’ll see you again,” he said. He couldn’t help himself. When he saw a pretty woman he had to flirt, and if she was receptive he had to give chase.
“ Maybe,” she said. “I come here a lot.” She handed the waitress a blue bill. “Keep the change, Elena,” she said.
“ What did you pay with?” Earl asked.
“ TT hundred dollar bill.”
“ How much is it worth?” Earl asked, a funny feeling rising in his stomach.
“ About eighteen dollars US,” she said. “There’s about six TT per US dollar.”
“ Shit.” He felt dumber than a roadkilled skunk.
“ Why?” she asked.
“ I paid the cab driver with green money.”
“ He must have been very pleased,” she said.
“ He was smiling,” Earl laughed. Then he added, “Name’s Earl Lawson.”
“ Dani, Dani Street,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Are you staying here at the Hilton?”
“ Sure am.” Earl beamed, thinking he was making headway.
“ Then maybe we really will see each other again.” She smiled and took her hand back. He watched her shapely walk till she was out of the restaurant. When she was out the door he turned his attention back toward the pool, but Maria and her boyfriend were gone.
He spent another twenty minutes nursing three rum and cokes. Normally he was a scotch and soda man, but he was in the Caribbean and rum seemed to be the drink of choice. At first he didn’t like the sweet taste of the Coca Cola, but he found he was warming up to it.
“ Joo going for another?”
“ I’d sure like to, but then I’d follow it with another, then another, and you know how that goes.”
“ Sure do.”
“ So I guess I’d better pay and get on my way.”
“ Joo can sign for it, if you’re staying in the hotel.”
Five minutes later he opened the door and instantly grabbed for a gun that wasn’t there.
“ Stay calm, Earl, and stay alive,” Dani Street said. He relaxed his hand and let it fall to his side. She was sitting at the desk by the window. Her handbag was on it and a chrome plated thirty-eight police special was sitting next to the purse. She was still wearing her smile and by the tone of her voice he knew she could pick up the gun and use it before he got close to her.
“ What’s going on?” he said, trying to sound calm. His money was piled on the center of the bed, still wrapped in ten thousand dollar packets.
“ There’s more going on than you could possibly understand,” she said.
Dani looked at Earl’s strong jaw. His deeply tanned face looked like it belonged on a movie poster. He was a man used to the sun. His eyes bore into her, but he was restraining himself. She took in the cut above his eye and the bruise on his chin. He was no stranger to violence. He was going to be perfect, she just knew it. She wanted someone else to pull the trigger on this one. The job was too close to home.
“ Sit down, Sheriff.” He stared at the gun on the desk and she could see the calculations going on in his head. “Try it.”
“ I been around a long time. I know when to fish and when to cut bait. I’ll sit and see what you have to say.”
“ You’re not as dumb as you look, Earl,” Dani said.
“ It was my questions about the man with the shaved head, wasn’t it? You were watching him, too?”
“ In a way,” Dani said. “You were kind of clumsy.”
“ I got my way of doing things,” Earl said.
“ The money is counterfeit,” Dani said.
“ What?” Earl grabbed a bundle from the stack. He pulled a bill out and looked at it against the light. “Looks okay to me,” he said, but she saw his furrowed brow and his shaking fingers.
“ The serial numbers are all the same, Earl, and the paper is wrong. They have two dollar marking pens all over the world that will tell even the most unaware kid behind a register that you’re passing bad money. You might as well burn it.”
He peeled off another bill and compared them. “Shit,” he said.
“ But you have bigger problems,” Dani said.
“ I can’t wait to hear.”
“ The manager told me you were a big tipper, when he figures out you tipped him with funny money he’ll be up here and after your balls.”
“ Shit,” Earl said.
“ You’ll have to go down and make it right,” Dani said, opening her handbag. She pulled out a roll of hundreds and counted out twenty bills. “Here’s two thousand. When you buy back your bad money give the man an extra two hundred. That should satisfy him and it’ll leave you an extra thousand for walking around money.”
She got up and handed him the money. She left the gun next to the handbag on the desk.
“ You’re awful sure of yourself,” Earl said.
“ You’re not a stupid man, you’re curious,” Dani said.
“ I’m curious,” Earl said.
“ Stick with me and I’ll turn that pile of paper on the bed into the real thing. You can leave Trinidad a wealthy man.”
“ I’d like that,” Earl said, as Dani turned her back to him and moved back to the desk. “I’d like that a lot.”
“ I knew you would.” She dropped the gun into her purse.
“ Who do I have to kill?”
“ The Prime Minister of Trinidad.”
“ I could do that.”
Chapter Eleven
“ Good morning, sir,” Broxton said, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he smiled at the Indian Trinidadian behind the counter. “Do you sell breakfast here?” He was still half asleep. He’d been up most of the night talking and reminiscing with Warren.
“ We see a lot of Africans with shaved heads,” the Indian said, ignoring Broxton’s question, “but I’ve never seen a white man with one, only on TV. Looks good on you. Looks like you can fight, too. Plenty muscles.”
“ About breakfast?” Broxton said.
&
nbsp; “ Do the girls like that head, or is it just you?” the Indian said. He had flashing white teeth flapping inside of withered gums and Broxton caught the laughing twinkle in his eyes. If he wanted breakfast he was going to have to play with the man.
“ I think the girls like it,” he said, running his right hand along the side of his scalp. “And it’s easy to keep up, I start shaving from the top and just keep going.” He put his hand back to his head, thumb and index finger together, like he was holding a razor, and brought it from the top of his chrome dome down along the side, where sideburns would be if he had any, over his cheek and down to his chin, imitating a man shaving. “And no barber bills either, very economical.”
“ I like you. I’m called Davidnen.” The Indian stuck his hand over the counter. Broxton shook it and Davidnen laughed. “Tough guy handshake, like a real American,” he said.
“ Do you always say whatever you want?” Broxton asked.
“ I’m ninety-six, almost a century old, a century,” he said, emphasizing his speech the way Trinidadians do. “I’m entitled, I’ve earned the right.”
“ Yes, sir, you have,” Broxton said, nodding. “Now about breakfast?”
“ Bakes is the best I can offer. Sort of like a pita bread sandwich. I can make you one with ham and eggs. No charge today, because you really didn’t come here to eat, but I might charge you for whatever it is you want to know.”
Broxton laughed again, but this time it was forced. “You’re pretty sharp.”
“ Not really. You don’t work over there,” he said, looking through the front window toward the American Embassy on the other side of the street, “and if you had business there you’d come later, after they’re open. You don’t look like you’re on vacation, and besides we’re off the tourist track. So what is it, are you some kind of spy looking for information?”
