A Wanted Woman Part 2

"Only if you pardon me for the same."

He grinned and said, "Your arms are so toned. You're fit."

"Netball. Hiking. Aerobics. Biking. Keep away from too much bread."

"You have the body of a dancer, Sam. No kids?"

"None. Maybe next year. Or the year after. My husband tells me that I need to be as fit as I can be before I decide to up the duff and have a rug rat or two or three or four."

He asked, "What's your religion?"

"Are you asking me if I am a member of the unquestioning, self-righteous faith against all rationalism and morality characterized by a lack of critical thinking?"

"What religion rules New Zealand?"

"I was born Christian, but I really have no interest in religion."

"Religion is about moral guidance."

"Rubbish, Neziah. The Crusades spread genocide, rape, slavery, torture, murder, animal cruelty, and some of the most insanely s.a.d.i.s.tic s.h.i.t imaginable, and evil was justified by saying their version of G.o.d commanded them to do it."

"Every country, every society does horrible things, allows horrible things, for the greater good."

"Good point, but it makes me wonder."

"What does it make you wonder, Sam?"

"Maybe what we see as good is just evil that has won."

"Interesting perspective."

"If evil did win, then it would call itself good, and call what was seen as good the new evil."

"What has won, Sam, what always wins is the work of doing what is best for the people."

"Talking about religion, in my opinion, is a gerbil on a wheel, gets nowhere fast."

"You're right. I tend to play devil's advocate. If you had taken one side, I would have taken the other. That's what I do. I love intellectual stimulation. It arouses me. How moral are you, s.e.xy woman?"

"How moral are you, married man? How moral are you?"

"I asked you first, married woman who is visiting my island."

"You're looking at me like you want to visit my island."

"How moral are you? Answer me. I asked you first."

I said, "I have to be off to a meeting soon."

"Same for me."

"So, if there is a particular direction you want this to go, if you have any hopes beyond us sharing a table while we sip coffee, let's hurry in that direction. I'm not much on small talk and chitchat and taking the long route, not when a straight line is always the best route."

He smiled. "How long are you here?"

"Are you interested in making something happen?"

"I am. I am very interested."

"My husband is far away. Maybe you should put your wife on hold so you can hold me awhile."

"I can come to your hotel after this event with my sister. An afternoon of pleasure."

"No. I don't want any issues with my company. Illicit behavior is frowned upon, plus I've only been there for six months. I don't want to be seen as the young, wild Kiwi on the job. If we have s.e.x, we have to f.u.c.k away from my hotel. Anywhere but the Hilton. I'm at the upside-down Hilton, by the way. So if we f.u.c.k, we can't f.u.c.k there."

"To the point. I like that. The way you say 'f.u.c.k' is erotic. It arouses me."

"Sure it's not the coffee?"

"Personal question, Sam?"

"Sure."

He asked, "When was the last time you had s.e.x?"

"May I be honest?"

"Please."

"I'd hate to come here on a business trip and not get to sample anything outside of the doubles and curry chicken before I returned to my island country. How boring would that be? This is where I stand. I'm married, have to be respectful, have to be discreet. My colleagues are also friends of my husband. Understand? I can manage to slip away at night, but during the day I have to maintain a certain look for my employer."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Only free tonight, Neziah. My colleagues are going to lime on Ariapita Avenue tonight, are going to the Aria Lounge to watch a launch for Genesis or W.I.L.D., but I told them I was too tired to hit the streets and I'd sleep in a bit. Work dinner with the colleagues tomorrow night. Then I fly out the next morning."

"I have an event tonight. It's a busy day for our organization and the people of Trinidad."

"Oh well. If I'm ever this way again, or if you're ever in New Zealand, I hope to run across you."

"You'd find someone else."

"I could sit at the bar later, maybe, see what happens, who comes in, who shows interest in a lonely Kiwi drinking chocolate martinis."

I toyed with my wedding ring, played the part of the Kiwi visiting the island on business regarding holdings for a New Zealand company, a woman who needed to let the Miley Cyrus in her run free. He toyed with his wedding band. It was impressive. German-made. Expensive.

He said, "I can come for you around eleven."

"Are you sure?"

"I can cancel my date, which will be no problem, and arrange for you to come along in her place."

"Really?"

"I'd be honored to spend the evening with you, Sam."

"How should I dress?"

"Wear something easy to remove."

"Bring your frenchies."

"Frenchies?"

"Condoms."

King Killer left the coffee shop and I watched him get inside the backseat of his private car and be driven away like royalty. I stared at the man who had killed a king of the streets and paved the way for his group. Handsome. f.u.c.kable. A wave of guilt hit me. I made sure King Killer was out of sight before I changed SIM cards in my cellular and called the man I was in love with, dialed Johnny Parker's number.

He answered on the first ring. "h.e.l.lo?"

I didn't say anything. All I could do was inhale, exhale, miss him like crazy. Missed him so much my head ached and my eyes wanted to water.

He said, "Jennifer? Is this you, Jennifer?"

Last month, before this Trinidad a.s.signment, I had an almost normal life, had used the name Jennifer, a form of the Welsh Gwenhwyfar, a name that meant "white fairy"-a little self-deprecating humor. Johnny was my boyfriend. We'd spent most nights together for four months. And had taken vacations together. The last was from Florida to Denver. During our helicopter tour of a mountain range in Colorado, we saw several s...o...b..arders taking on the steep terrain of the couloir. The next day we both had done the same. He was as daring and athletic as I was. I had been living the perfect lie. Dates. Movies. Birthday cards. Too bad his ex-wife had become a problem that had to be dealt with.

I cleared my throat, turned on my Brooklyn accent, and said, "Parker. I miss you, baby."

Then I hung up.

TWO.

I had to cut away from my thoughts about Johnny Parker and regroup, had to hurry and climb into my car, become someone new, and follow King Killer to his next destination. He'd gone only a few blocks away. I knew where. I already knew about the morning event. It was in the intel. If contact had failed at Rituals, I would have gone there and tried to get in good with another member in that group. I'd become more than a little curious about this organization of LKs and its relationship to the island.

Intel said most of the members had killed, some while still in their single digits. I needed to see what kind of security and guns they had, who I was dealing with. Plus, if the target was already there and showed up, I'd take care of that. I'd do it my way, and tell the Barbarians to kiss my a.s.s.

Hundreds, if not thousands, were out in the heat of Port of Spain, lined up outside of the business offices of the Laventille Killers, the LKs. On a day that was in the mid-nineties, a day in the middle of the rainy season, it looked like everyone from Port of Spain, San Fernando, and Chaguanas had shown up for a protest, but it was anything but. King Killer's sister was the face of their organization; that had been in the Intel. Mrs. Karleen Ramjit. King Killer had said that only a few were allowed to refer to her as Karleen; intel said only the poor of Trinidad were allowed to refer to her as Karleen, and the poor were calling out Karleen's name like she was Jesus in high heels. Cla.s.sy as Elizabeth Taylor, but she was dressed in jeans and wore amazing shoes, smiled a Bollywood smile each time. Small woman. She was innocuous, desired by men, envied by women, loved by all the children. People touched her like she was Mother Teresa, hugged her like she was Princess Diana, lauded her like she was Eva Pern.

I had never seen people respond to anyone that way, not in my lifetime.

She had something that could not be bought. She was special.

If I owned fear, I would've been more afraid of her than any man carrying a gun. Men know to fear men, but the only thing more deadly than a man was a woman.

A fleet of trucks were in front of the LK offices and so were all the island's news channels. They covered Mrs. Karleen Ramjit's every move like she was the head of state. The LKs were handing out top-shelf toys to poor children. Mrs. Ramjit let it be known that her organization had bought equal amounts of toys from all Trini businesses, wanted to give something to her people and help her island's economy. Unparalleled and exquisite, Mrs. Ramjit took photo after photo, kissed babies, even invited the elderly to come up and take a toy. An old woman cried. She had grown up in Laventille, had had it hard all of her life. She was seventy and had never owned a toy. Mrs. Ramjit held the old woman, hugged her and cried with her. Cameras flashed. BBMers. Instagrammers. It looked like tomorrow's front page in the making, but after the hit tonight, that moment would have to be moved to page six.

Soon I called RCSI. That was the business name for the Barbarians.

Once on a secure line I said, "MX-401."

"Status?"

"Neziah De Lewis aka King Killer went for the Kiwi. I have access to their private party."

"Did you do your research on being a Kiwi?"

"f.u.c.kin' seriously? Do you question men regarding their competence?"

"No room for feminism in this organization."

"I'm not a feminist. I'm a professional."

"After what you did in Florida, after the risk you created, we tend to disagree."

"That was personal."

"The man behind the double red doors still has doubts concerning your competence."

"This a.s.signment hasn't been double verified. I need double verification."

"Hold. Let me talk to someone on the next level."

When they came back on the phone they told me the man behind the red doors wanted me to proceed. The more I read about this group, the more I had hoped the job had been pulled. These were the LKs. They killed men, women, and children alike. Most had been killing since they were nine and already had fifteen years in the business. It felt like I should've been here with a team of Barbarians.

I said, "I need a driver, someone who knows the island and these roads for this a.s.signment."

"Denied."

I hung up, angry, nervous. Had been angry since birth, was only nervous before a job.

The man who sat behind the double red doors, only a few had ever met him. Old Man Reaper had said that the mysterious man was like a mob boss who ran Las Vegas back when Vegas was controlled by the mob. Bugsy Siegel, Fat Irish Green, Two Dumb Tonys, Frank Sinatra. He was all of them. I think that my father, Old Man Reaper, had met the man behind the red doors once.

That was one time more than the rest of the Barbarians had met him.

From what I heard.

Barbarians rarely met other Barbarians, unless one was about to be put down.

We were like sleeper agents.

Only we didn't get to sleep much.