A Wanted Woman Part 61

When the lights along the coast of Bridgetown were in sight, I took out a cellular, checked to see if I had a signal. LIME reached me on the waters. In my mind, for most of the trip, I had been plotting to go to RCSI, guns blazing, shooting my way to the top floor, then kicking open the double red doors.

I had imagined facing the man who sat behind the double red doors. Instead of taking it to their office in the sky, I punched in the digits to the Barbarians. I called them. I could have gone to America on the first flight in the morning, walked into their offices, and confronted them, but I called them.

"This is Goldilocks Reaper."

"Goldilocks Reaper?"

"MX-401, when I was a part of the Barbarians."

"MX-401."

"RCSI. Barbarians. Bet you never expected to hear this sweet voice again."

"They thought you were dead. They thought you were killed in Barbados with the others."

"They thought wrong."

"Why are you calling this organization?"

"War Machine told me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Pa.s.s this message up to the coward who hides behind the double red doors."

"I don't pa.s.s messages."

"If I show up as the messenger, it will be ugly. I don't like being played."

"No one has played you, Reaper. Why would you say that?"

"Because the secret deal between War Machine and the man behind the red doors went bad, because the man behind the red doors still expected War Machine to ante up after Trinidad, because RCSI needed that f.u.c.king money to hold them over until the Rastafarians were shoved in a Chefette truck and cash started to flow from that stalled project. Tell them that they failed. Tell them I'm still standing."

"The Barbarians did nothing."

"The money that was used to pay the Rastas, the money they were burning, that money was stolen from the LKs when they were hit in New York and Miami. War Machine didn't pay the cash the company needed to stay afloat, so the company went after his ventures. Am I wrong?"

"There was no money stolen from anyone. We do collections. We're not criminals."

"RSCI will deny it. There is no proof. So, it would be pointless. I'll go up against them one day, just not today. Not while Old Man Reaper is still working for the boys. He keeps you safe from me. In the meantime, the sw.a.n.k safe house in Barbados at Miami Beach, it's mine. I have nowhere to go, nothing worth going back to in America, so I'm staying in Barbados and that seaside mansion will be my new home. Your Rasta problem is over. Your project is breaking ground on the bloodied soil and cash is flowing. Your LK problem is done. MX-401 is done. Your Goldilocks Reaper problem is just starting."

"Is that a threat?"

"My blade is sharp, guns are loaded, and the things I do when p.i.s.sed off make the LKs look like Boy Scouts. I expect my back pay, every dime, plus penalties and interest at twice the rate of the IRS, and I expect it to be delivered to me within twenty-four hours. Pay me the way War Machine was going to pay the Barbarians: in cash, in multiple currency, same as you were getting from War Machine. Read the papers tomorrow. Read about War Machine. Read about the LKs. Then be afraid. The money and that property. That is nonnegotiable. Then I might walk away. Don't try me. MX-401, out."

"Wait."

"I waited almost two months for my team to do right by me. What am I waiting on?"

"Let me talk to the man behind the red doors. Let me play this recording for him."

"I wasn't supposed to escape the roof of the Carlton Savannah. I did. I know that I was given bad intel intentionally. I wasn't supposed to escape the bank. I know about the LKs' two other drug shipments being disrupted. Two thousand pounds of marijuana, that was what you had me do."

"You're insane. You're stepping into dark, deadly waters."

"Am I? Play this conversation for the man who sold me to the LKs then gave the Barbarians the order to kill me when I refused to partic.i.p.ate in the wholesale slaughter of three generations of Rastafarians."

"Sure, I'll tell him you said that. Will ask him to listen to this recording now."

"Step up, compensate, give me reparations, make it right, or I'll make it right."

"He will never agree to any of that."

"This is not a negotiation, so don't talk to me like I'm a squatter. This is collection. It can be done over the phone, it can be done face-to-face, and you know how I do things face-to-face."

He put me on hold long enough to make someone listen to all that had been said, long enough for someone to make international calls to the Land of the Hummingbird.

Hours had pa.s.sed. By now someone had found out what had happened in Trinidad.

When he came back on the line, he gave the answer from the man behind the red doors.

His voice was different, carried more than respect, carried fear, unfathomable fear, and each word trembled when he said, "You will have to agree to noninterference."

"You treated me like I was Tilik.u.m, like I was just another performing killer whale. You better remember that after cruel treatment, Tilik.u.m attacked, killed its trainer. Until I get a complete confession, a complete apology, one that makes sense, I agree to nothing, but you will agree to my terms."

Nothing would be confirmed. They would never say why they did what they did, why they treated me the way they had. Killer whales at SeaWorld were abused and mistreated, but they were treated better than I had been treated. That was as close to a confession as I would get.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and asked, "Where is my father?"

"Safe. On a mission."

"Where?"

"Undisclosed."

"How long?"

"Indefinitely."

"What did he do wrong?"

"Cla.s.sified."

"Can I join him on the mission?"

"You're no longer part of this corporation."

"I'm somewhat of a bulls.h.i.tter myself, but occasionally I enjoy listening to an expert."

"Meaning?"

"I want him set free. He's been off-grid too long. You have him imprisoned for something."

"You're not a Barbarian. Remember the first rule of the Barbarians."

I nodded. "One more thing."

"What's that?"

"Big Guy's debt is to be erased. n.o.body touches him. n.o.body collects."

"You're really pushing it. Push too hard, they'll come after you."

"The LKs came after me. You can come next. Come meet my aggression."

"Surprised you survived."

"You knew all along."

"What?"

"You're surprised that I survived. You knew all along."

"I just answer the phones."

"You take all calls, so you're like the mailman and see all debts, all transactions; you're an administrative a.s.sistant of some sort. You're a male Miss Moneypenny, so you know; you're the butler, the maid, the secretary, the fly on the wall. You see and hear and know everything that's going on."

"I just answer the phone and make hot chocolate."

"I want to know one thing, from you. Why me? Why did they sacrifice me?"

"It was a decision that was made."

"Did it have anything to do with my father?"

"Cla.s.sified. Sorry."

"I want a brand-new Mini Cooper left in the driveway of my new house."

"Really pushing it."

"I want it there by noon tomorrow. It better be sitting next to a new Wrangler and Ducati."

"The man behind the red doors is already outraged."

"What the f.u.c.k do you think I am?"

"You're pushing the Barbarians."

"They pushed first. I'm pushing back. Tell the man behind the double red doors if I have to I will come up there and push, and when I stop pushing, it's because they've fallen over the edge. And tell the man up top this: I have rules too, only three rules. The first rule of Reaper: don't f.u.c.k with Reaper. The second rule: never forget the first rule. If you do, there is the third rule."

"The third rule?"

"That one gets told face-to-face, right before you take your last breath."

"Three rules."

"Make that four."

"The fourth?"

"I'm. Not. Expendable. b.i.t.c.h."

I hung up the phone, then looked down at the trunks of cash, calm, in control.

Petrichor said, "Why would they do that?"

"Maybe because I'm a girl. I'm just a girl."

"Really?"

"Or maybe because I am a Reaper."

A moment pa.s.sed.

She asked, "You're staying in the Caribbean?"

"For now. Barbados will be my home for now. Until I get sorted out."

"You should've made them buy you a million-dollar condo on the West Coast."

"Should've made them buy me Ilaro Court, ten Chefettes, two beaches, and Novel Teas. Should've made them build me a Starbucks, a Barnes & n.o.ble, Target, Sears, Best Buy, Old Navy, and a Walmart."

"And a Victoria's Secret."

"f.u.c.k yeah."

"Thought you hated it here."

"I hate it everywhere. Hated Memphis. Hated Huntington Beach. Hated Florida. I'm like my mother. I'm just like my mother."

"You're staying."

"Had my first o.r.g.a.s.m here."

"Want to see him again?"