A Wanted Woman Part 28

"It's that way, a few b.r.e.a.s.t.strokes before South America."

"Like I give a rat's a.s.s."

"If New York and Miami are all you guys know, you really should buy a globe or a world map or get a few more stamps in your illegal pa.s.sport. All of these places you don't f.u.c.kin' know are on maps."

"You're mocking me?"

"I'm mocking your stupid Brooklyn accent."

"Stop mocking me."

"Stop mocking me."

"Stop it."

"A man who doesn't have sense enough to buy a map deserves to be mocked."

"Don't f.u.c.k with me. All the trouble it took to get here, getting lost, driving on the wrong side of the road, don't f.u.c.k with me, MX-401, or Reaper, or whatever the f.u.c.k they call you. I am from America and I use f.u.c.king GPS. We don't need no G.o.dd.a.m.n maps on paper. We ain't used a Thomas Guide or a f.u.c.kin' road map in over a G.o.dd.a.m.n decade. Have you heard how people give directions here? We stopped and asked some shoeless Bob Marley on the side of the road how to get from being lost to being un-lost and direct us here. 'Make a left at the coconut tree after the roundabout and don't go past the brown cow and don't turn at the road with the green fence.' What the f.u.c.k? There are no f.u.c.kin' legible street signs and n.o.body knows where any-f.u.c.kin'-thing is. All they seem to know is where they live and how to get to work, and most don't know the name of the road they live on. I saw a dead monkey in the middle of the road. A dead f.u.c.kin' monkey. To top it off, my G.o.dd.a.m.n Siri don't f.u.c.kin' work down here. What kind of malarkey is that s.h.i.t? Who in the f.u.c.k lives on the planet without GPS and Siri?"

"You can use Google Maps."

"They told us the G.o.dd.a.m.n safe house that we had been a.s.signed was gray and unpainted and next to a yellow-and-peach gallery and we drove on the wrong side of the G.o.dd.a.m.n road all morning looking for a G.o.dd.a.m.ned art gallery. It's called a G.o.dd.a.m.n porch. I f.u.c.kin' hate being anyplace they drive on the wrong side of the road and use the wrong words to describe s.h.i.t. Who does that? n.o.body stocked the d.a.m.n place with any water or food I recognize. Ain't no McDonalds. No 7-Eleven."

"There's a Burger King."

"f.u.c.k Burger King. Why would they have a Burger King and not a McDonald's? Who does that? The Miami Beach here is nothing like the Miami Beach in the real Miami, and that p.i.s.ses me the f.u.c.k off as well, and we have been from store to store and no one sells stool softener on this d.a.m.n island."

He took a harsh breath, straightened his collar, anger leaving his pores like rain.

He asked me, "How the f.u.c.k can you stand this d.a.m.n heat?"

"Sorry to hear about the problem with stool softener. Try soft bananas. Eat them. Don't use them as a suppository. Unless that's what you're into. If you are, start with a green banana."

"I'm jet-lagged and need coffee."

"Ah, the reason you're going off the rails."

"I need Starbucks."

"It's the invisible building next to the McDonald's that they haven't built yet."

"Is there at least the equivalent of a Barnes & n.o.ble here?"

"You're standing in front of it."

"f.u.c.k. I'm dying for a G.o.dd.a.m.n grande iced half-caf triple mocha latte macchiato."

Zenga said, "Tell me a-f.u.c.kin'-bout it. I'm dying too. I need a f.u.c.kin' quad venti half-caf breve no foam, with whip, two Splenda, stirred, skinny ten-pump peppermint mocha."

The black guy wiped sweat from his nose. "I'm partial to an iced half-caf quad venti nonfat six-Splenda, with whip, extra-ice, extra-caramel, upside-down caramel macchiato."

In a silly Valley Girl accent I said, "Like, oh my G.o.d. I prefer one java-chip frappuccino in a trenta cup, sixteen shots of espresso, a shot of soy milk, caramel flavoring, banana puree, strawberry puree, vanilla beans, Matcha powder, protein powder, and a drizzle of caramel and mocha. For sure."

All three well-suited men grimaced at me as the heat a.s.saulted them.

Zenga stared at me. Stared at me too long. f.u.c.ked me with his eyes.

I said, "What's the problem, Hercules?"

"There an issue, Goldilocks?"

"Did you lose something in my cleavage?"

"Was trying to read the message."

"It's a Jessica Lee T-shirt. Elements from the periodic table. Stop moving your lips while you read and let me p.r.o.nounce them for you so you don't make yourself look bad. Fluorine, uranium, carbon, pota.s.sium, bis.m.u.th, technetium, helium, sulfur, germanium, thulium, oxygen, neon, yttirum. I doubt if you have the IQ that would enable you to comprehend its meaning and decipher the message."

Zenga kept ogling my chest and he grinned. "Black parents, white baby."

"Get over it. Eyes off my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a.s.shole. Take a picture and go kick rocks."

"You sure wear those pants short and tight on your little round a.s.s."

"Seriously? Can you be professional? This is a meeting, right?"

Dormeuil asked, "So where's a coffee shop that compares to Starbucks?"

"I'm not your tour guide. Get a map. Work it out."

Dormeuil frowned, nodded, and took a breath. "Maybe we got off on the wrong foot."

"You think?"

Zenga said, "There are three of us."

"If there were two more of you, then the odds would almost be even."

"You'd get cut down."

"Just try me. I'll rip your f.u.c.kin' spine out and wear it like a necklace."

Zenga said, "Somebody is hot under the collar."

I said, "First you disrespected me, then you insulted me. Yeah, I'm hot under the collar."

"Thought n.i.g.g.as liked calling themselves n.i.g.g.as. I mean n.i.g.g.as say and sing and rap the word 'n.i.g.g.a' so much. Look at that white n.i.g.g.a b.i.t.c.h, looking like a n.i.g.g.a with an att.i.tude."

I grinned. "Sure you want to push me until I explode? Sure you want to do that? Want to keep acting like you're in preschool or high school until I snap and blow your f.u.c.kin' brains out?"

Zenga said, "Jesus. Will you look at this s.h.i.t coming this way?"

A woman crossed the road in front of the library. Tall and in a blue uniform, like one the girls wore at the banks in the area and in town. She carried a black umbrella, and her slow and deliberate high-heeled walk was hotter than high noon. Her attractiveness had created silence, but her walk created awe. She had a West Indian t.i.ttup, an exaggerated prancing, a sashay that made everything bounce.

As she pa.s.sed by us, in a strong Jamaican accent she said, "Good afternoon."

When she vanished inside, the men looked at one another.

Zenga said, "That fine-a.s.s b.i.t.c.h looked like child support waiting to happen."

Dormeuil said, "On another note, where can my boys rent a few women?"

Zenga said, "How much for a clean, white n.i.g.g.a b.i.t.c.h?"

I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and asked, "Are. We. Done. Here?"

Dormeuil said, "Not quite. We're going to need a large refrigerated truck. Big enough for sixty cows. While we are handling other aspects of this a.s.signment, I need you to make that happen."

"I need pa.s.sports, cash, and my f.u.c.kin' pay. Get me what I'm due, then get back to me."

Zenga said, "White n.i.g.g.a b.i.t.c.h needs to be bent over and brought down a few notches."

I grinned and said, "Sweetie, call me out of my name, say one more word to me, I'll kill you."

The men looked at one another again. The pyromaniac stepped to the side, body language saying he didn't agree with Zenga. He was the weak link, not a hand-to-hand man.

I said, "The people up top, have them arrange your d.a.m.n truck. Tell them I said that I work on your level. I don't take orders from you. I'm not a f.u.c.kin' Miss Moneypenny at a desk. I'm guns and roses without the roses. If you have a problem with that, pa.s.s it up the chain of command and have them call me. Tell them, before they make that call, to have my money and pa.s.sports waiting at the front door."

Zenga stepped forward. I put my hand at the small of my back, on my weapon.

Dormeuil stopped Zenga from whatever he was about to say to test my last threat.

Dormeuil motioned at the briefcase and said, "MX-401, this is your package."

"I didn't order a package."

Zenga kicked the briefcase toward me.

Dormeuil drew my attention and said, "Squatters."

"The singing group from the fifties. Second time hearing them mentioned."

"You know the laws down here?"

"Never studied law. Would hate to find out that what I've been doing is illegal."

"Looking at that Chefette place. They refrigerate their goods. Maybe we can appropriate one of their trucks and pull this off. Sixty cows. We'll need one that can hold about sixty cows."

"Are we doing collection on a farm? Will somebody man up and tell me what is going on?"

He looked toward the fires. "Don't open the package until instructed."

I said, "This wasn't confirmed. They didn't tell me about a package."

Dormeuil said, "Follow my orders. I'm the leader down here."

"You're not my leader. Again, no one told me I'd receive a package."

Zenga said, "Must have been none of your f.u.c.king business, then."

"Bet you make the same face when you're giving a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b."

"What the h.e.l.l did you say to me?"

"You heard me, b.i.t.c.h."

Dormeuil grabbed his shoulder. My hand was already at my back, on my gun.

They turned around and started walking.

I said, "Hey."

They turned around.

I said, "Easy-on-the-pocket hookers are near town. Ask for the Garrison. Just remember that you get the diseases you pay for, and the ones you get are the ones that men like you left behind. Don't blame the Garrison Girls if you wake up the next day and your d.i.c.k has a bad cold and looks like a foot with infected toenails. Like every car on the island, the STDs were imported, only they arrived duty-free."

Dormeuil asked, "So where's a coffee shop that compares to Starbucks?"

"A few Italias are here and there. Coffee Beans are all over. Stables Coffee Shop is near the Garrison. Overall, I'd recommend Novel Teas Teahouse in Hastings. Small shop. Quiet."

"What's near here?"

"Nothing."

"Where are those places you rattled off so fast?"

"I'm not your tour guide. Ask at the Sh.e.l.l gas station. Maps are free. Work it out."

"Stool softener?"

"Knights Pharmacy. Plaza, other side of roundabout."

"'Roundabout?'"

"The traffic circle."

"Why don't they just put up f.u.c.king red lights like normal people?"

"Revenge at Americans for breaking away from the queen."