She nodded and gave my shoulder a little squeeze before she dropped her hand. "I thought maybe somethin' done happen bad when you don' answer me the firs' time I ask can I get you anyt'ing else. You all right, mon?"
"Fine, thanks." But I wasn't. I was rattled to my core. If I'm awake, I'm aware of everything around me. Except just now, this woman put a plate in front of me and touched me, and I was oblivious. She could have...
"You looked like you was somewhere far away. But mon, you was happy, wherever you was. Almos', I hate to disturb, but I was 'fraid the fish curry get cold. Sorry if I startle you, mon."
"It's okay. Thanks; cold fish curry's no good."
"You need anyt'ing else, you jus' let me know. Enjoy the lunch."
"All right. Thanks."
21
I watched as the last few people from the Miami flight entered the arrivals area. There was no sign of Mary Beth. After a thirty-second lull in the stream of passengers, the flight crew came out, and then I knew for sure she wasn't on the flight.
"Psst. Don't turn around, Finn. Five minutes, in the bar closest to the restrooms."
She was behind me; I recognized her voice. I gave her a few seconds to get clear. Shrugging, I put a frown on my face and walked to the nearest bank of video monitors.
I waited as the display scrolled through the originating cities, watching for Miami flights. Taking out my cellphone, I pretended to check my voicemail, and then I shook my head. I glanced up at the clock above the video monitors and shrugged again, turning and walking toward the bar.
There were quite a few people sitting among piles of luggage. I found an open table and tossed my mesh bag of snorkel gear on it, marking it as occupied. Mary Beth wasn't there yet, so I went over to the bar and bought two beers.
When I turned back to the table, there was a grungy girl with stringy green hair sitting there with her back to me. Wearing a halter top and greasy jeans, she rummaged in a bulging cloth shopping bag on her lap.
Annoyed, I went to the table and put the beers down while I picked up my mesh bag and hooked it to my belt, ready to look for another table. The girl looked up from the bag in her lap. My eyes were drawn to the hardware dangling from her nose ring.
"Hey, sailor. What's the matter? Don't want to buy a girl a drink?"
Stunned, I did my best to hide my surprise. I dropped the mesh bag on the floor by the table. As I settled into my chair, she fiddled with the nose jewelry and unhooked most of it, leaving a simple gold ring there.
"Gets in the way of drinking from a glass," she said. "It's really good to see you. Sorry for the drama, but I wanted to make sure you weren't followed."
"Me, too. I'm surprised you recognized me with the hat and sunglasses."
"Well, it helped that you were the only one left in the greeting area after the people got off the flight."
"I didn't see you come through the gate," I said. "The hair would have caught my attention."
"No. I wasn't on that flight. I got here earlier. You like my hair?"
"I could get used to it, I guess. There's more to your appeal than your appearance."
"Aw, that's sweet. But don't bother."
"Don't bother?"
She laughed. "You look so disappointed. I only meant don't bother getting used to the hair. It's temporary."
"Good. A darker green would suit you better."
"Same old smart-ass. I've missed you."
"Really? I hear you've been busy."
She frowned. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Long story," I said. "How long do you think we should sit here?"
"You have somewhere to go?"
"No. Not right off. I don't think the boat's a good idea, though."
"I wondered about that. We should probably cut this short, just in case."
She rummaged in her bag again, setting several things on the table. Then she shifted the bag to the table top, knocking some items to the floor. "Be a gentleman and pick those up. Palm the crumpled piece of paper."
I bent to retrieve her junk, and when I sat up, she held the bag in her lap again. She reached across the table and took the stuff I was holding.
"Thanks," she said, dropping it in the bag. "Give me a 15-minute head-start."
She took a last swig of beer and stood up, slinging the bag over her shoulder as she turned and walked out of the bar. I nursed my beer, resisting the urge to look at the paper. When 15 minutes passed, I retrieved my mesh bag and stood up.
Outside the terminal, I smoothed the piece of paper. Fiddler's Green guest house — room 213. I walked over to the end of the taxi line. After a couple of minutes, I reached the front of the line and the dispatcher asked where I was going.
"Fiddler's Green guest house."
He shook his head. "You got an address?"
"No. Sorry. I'm supposed to meet somebody there."
Nodding, he raised a cellphone to his ear. He chattered away in heavy patois for a minute, then turned to me. "They checkin'. Gon' call me back."
He moved to the people behind me. Soon, I was the last person waiting.
"They don' call back," he said. "Sorry, mon. I try again."
He used the phone again. This time the conversation didn't last long.
"They don' call because they t'ink I am joking. You sure 'bout the Fiddler's Green, mon?"
"Yes. Why?"
"They say it's not in the bes' neighborhood. Surprised a white mon want to go there. But I got the address, if you sure."
"I'm sure."
He nodded and waved for the next cab to pull up. As I got in, he leaned into the window and gave the driver an address. The driver looked at me, then back at the dispatcher, who nodded. The driver shrugged and returned the nod. We pulled away into traffic.
Ten minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of a two-story concrete-block building that looked more like a factory than a hotel. A faded, hand-lettered sign in the only window on the ground floor marked it as the Fiddler's Green. The window was protected by sturdy burglar bars.
"You sure 'bout this, mon?" the driver asked.
"Yes."
"Ten dollars, then. You want me to wait? No way you gonna get another taxi to come pick you up if you change your mind."
"Bad neighborhood?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Jus' the people here, they don' use taxis. Cos' too much. So we don' come here. Mebbe somebody call taxi to come here an' the driver t'ink he gon' get robbed, see."
"I see. I'll be fine, but thanks for offering." I paid him and got out, watching as he drove away.
The guest house entrance was a steel fire door, and it was locked. I pressed the buzzer and saw a flicker of movement through the eye-level peephole. I heard the lock release, and the door opened. The man inside looked me over for a few seconds. He was big and looked solid, like he could handle himself. The scars on his face and arms told me he survived a few knife fights.
"Twenty dollars," he said. "For up to 24 hours. In advance. Room 120. Key's in the door."
"I'm visiting somebody."
He shrugged. "Still twenty dollars."
"Just to visit?"
"I done heard that story, mon. Twenty dollars, or get outta here."
I gave him a twenty, and he stepped back to let me in. Then he closed and re-locked the door. "You know what room?" he asked.
I nodded. "Upstairs."
"Stairs at the end of the hall," he said, as he went into a room and closed the door. I walked down the hall to the stairwell, which smelled of things I didn't want to think about. There were dead roaches, cigarette butts, and a few crushed hypodermic syringes. I held my breath and climbed the stairs.
Room 213 was about halfway down the dimly lit hall. I knocked, and the door swung open. What I could see of the room was empty; whoever opened the door was standing behind it.
"Step into the room and take your chances," Mary Beth's whisper came from behind the door. "If you're not who I'm expecting, kiss your ass goodbye, because I'll kill you in a h
eartbeat."
That brought a smile to my face. I stepped inside and the door closed, revealing Mary Beth, green hair and all, a folding combat knife open in her hand.
"Why'd you open the door if you didn't know who was there?"
"I was bored. I figured it might be a diversion." She closed the knife and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans.
After she latched the door, she put her arms around my neck and gave me a lingering kiss.
"Thanks for coming," she said, still holding on.
"I'm glad to see you again." I noticed the nose ring was gone. "Nice place you've got here. Cost me $20 just to visit."
"Yeah, well, it's that kind of place, you know? But it's fairly safe in the daytime. Everybody's either unconscious or out hustling. Nighttime's a different story."
"I guess," I said, looking around the closet-sized room. It held a single bed that looked like it was World War II surplus. That was it. There were hooks on the wall for clothes and a tiny sink in the corner. "No windows. Only one way in and out. You could get trapped in here."
"They have to come through the door one at a time. That's all the edge I need."
"That's my lady. You made quick work of O'Hanlon and his friends in Ste. Anne. I came to help, but you'd left already."
"I hear Frankie's still missing."
"I'm not surprised. We won't see him again, but before he left, he told me all about you."
She laughed. "Yeah? That bastard. I hate men who kiss and tell."
22
"Kiss and tell? You and Frankie Dailey were — "
Mary Beth laughed again. "Relax, Finn. It's just a figure of speech. Frankie wasn't my type. What exactly did he tell you?"
"He had a different slant on your relationship with the Daileys."
She grinned and pushed the green hair back from her forehead. "I'll just bet he did."
Taking a step back from me, she sat on the edge of the bed. Patting the spot beside her, she said, "Pull up a chair and tell me what he said."
I sat down next to her and nodded. "The short version is that Frankie caught his parents skimming and ratted them out to O'Hanlon. O'Hanlon hired you to kill them and retrieve their files and the money they stole. Frankie said you tried to put the screws to O'Hanlon. Kept the money and were trying to use the files for blackmail."
"That's close enough, I guess. Considering it came from Frankie, anyway. Except after I took care of the Daileys, O'Hanlon set up a meeting with me. I was supposed to hand off the money and the files, and he was going to settle up with me once he got to look everything over. That was the deal I was signed up to, but they changed the plans."
"Who changed the plans?"
"O'Hanlon, I think. Could have been Frankie, but I don't think he had that much gumption."
I frowned. "Gumption?"
"Frankie could have been planning to take what I found and go into business for himself — cut O'Hanlon out. He was greedy enough, but maybe not that smart. Either way, to me it looked like a double-cross when their goons ambushed me before the meeting. That's when I decided to cut and run."
"I see," I said. "What have you been doing since Ste. Anne?"
"You said you heard I've been busy. Where did you pick that up?"
What do I tell her? It's decision time. Nora wants me to do this, and she knows about Mary Beth. Maybe as much or more than I do. I love this woman. I want to come clean with her, and for her to come clean with me. Still, trusting outsiders can get me killed. And everybody but me is an outsider. Go for it. What the hell? If I'm wrong about her, it'll be fatal for one of us. But our odds aren't looking so good anyway.
"From my client, the person who picks my targets."
"Your targets. So, I was right about you." She locked eyes with me and held my gaze, demanding my concurrence.
"Maybe. I'm not sure what you think you know about me."
"Those people in St. Vincent? You killed them, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"On orders from the government?"
"Yes, I think so."
"You think so?"
"That's as good as it gets for me, Mary Beth. It's fuzzy; I trust the person who gives me my targets. If I have a problem with the choice, in theory I can turn it down, just like you can."
"In theory? Do you ever turn them down?"
"Not yet. I've never killed anybody who didn't deserve to die, by my reckoning. I'm not sure what would happen if I were to refuse an assignment."
"You've been doing this for 20 years?"
"Yes, give or take."
"Wow!" she said. Swallowing hard, still looking me in the eye. "I can't believe you're telling me this. You trust me? After all the lies I've told you?"
"It's not easy, but I'm trying."
"Finn, I don't scare easily, but you're frightening me. What happens if I'm not… If I don't measure up to your expectations?"
"One of us will die, for sure. You know that. I'm not sure if it'll be me or you, but only one of us will survive a betrayal."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you decide to trust me, at this point?"
"Life's a gamble. I figure my odds of surviving are better if I work with you. That means I have to trust you."
"Your odds of surviving?"
"Yes. I think both of us have a better chance of getting through the next few months alive if we're working together. You already said you needed my help. Now I'm telling you I need yours."
"You? Or the government?"
"Me. I'm not sure about my relationship with the government now. Things have changed in the last few days."
"Are you freelancing?"
"I may be. I don't know. I've still got my old contact. She may be able to give us some help. It's an unclear situation. Even more unclear than usual. I can give you more details later, but they're not going to be of much use to you. My contact wants us to work together."
"Us? Like, you and me?"
"Yes. You and me."
"To do what?"
"To follow up on whatever leads we find in those files of yours."
"Your contact knows about the files?"
"Yes. And maybe she can help with some intelligence. I gave her the files."
"She? You work for a woman?"
"She's been my contact for a long time. There are other people I talk to sometimes, but they're just for technical support. Like the guy I called for your passport that time. To say I work for her? Not sure that was ever accurate. But it's definitely not accurate now. Like I said, she's been cut loose. Think of her more like a silent partner, for now. She's got informal access to information that might be useful, and she wants to help us finish what you've started."
"What's her motivation?"
"Good question. I've never known. She's been my contact for a long time. Her track record with me is good."
"Did you tell her about me?"
"No. She knew already. Maybe from the passport, maybe some other way. She's okay with our relationship, with us working together."
"Will I meet this woman?"
"I don't know. I just met her for the first time two days ago."
"But you said she's given you targets for 20 years."
"That's right. I still don't know her real name. And I'm not sure I'd recognize her if I saw her again. That's part of the way the government can get away with denying that people like me exist."
"Is she going to put any constraints on us?"
"That's up to us. We make the final decisions. She's there for guidance and support, not to give us orders. And if we do something she doesn't like, there won't be any way to tie it back to her. That’s the way it’s always worked; it hasn't changed."
"How can I say no? Sounds like a perfect setup. And I get to hang out with a hot guy on a boat, in the bargain."
"Yeah. Speaking of that, we need to figure out what to do about the boat. There's that tracking device that Frankie's bunch planted in Bequia. I'm 99 percent sure that Kelley knows
about it."
"Kelley?" Mary Beth interrupted.
"The crooked FBI agent in St. Thomas. I mentioned him in one of my emails."
"Oh, right. But not by name."
"Special Agent George Kelley. They're bound to be watching the boat. Sometime while I was gone, somebody broke in and went through your stuff. But they didn't find the microSD card."
"You think Kelley's behind that?"
"Yes. He tipped his hand when he rattled off our itinerary after we left Bequia. The only way he could have known was if he had access to the tracker, or Frankie told him."
"So that's why you think he's crooked?"
"Partly. There's more, but I've got a question for you first."
"Okay. Ask."
"Kelley said Frankie was a confidential informant. You believe that?"
"No. But if he was, then Kelley might be straight. Is that what you're getting at?"
"Well, I thought that might be a possibility, but not any more."
"I've been mistaken before, Finn."
"Maybe, but there's more. My contact — let's call her Nora. She used that name in St. Martin. It's the only name I've heard for her."
"So you met Nora in St. Martin. You said you were away from the boat for two days. Were you with her that whole time?"
"No. I accepted a job I thought would be in St. Barth. I flew from here to St. Martin and chartered a boat. Left Island Girl in the BVI to keep Kelley from tracking me. I ended up sailing to Antigua to finish the job. When I returned the charter boat in St. Martin, Nora surprised me by showing up there. I told you, I never met her before."
"She pretty?" Mary Beth asked.
"Don't, Mary Beth. She's attractive, but she's not my type. Like you said about Frankie."
"Touché. I'm just teasing you, Finn."
"Okay. I'm feeling sensitive; I don't have a lot of experience with this he-she stuff. There's a generation between you and me. I don't want to mess up with you."
"Sorry. Why did Nora meet you in St. Martin?"
"To tell me that after she made an inquiry about Kelley for me, her boss's boss got his ass chewed. Nora got suspended, or maybe fired. She was vague about that. But she confirmed that Kelley is working with what's left of the O'Hanlon crowd."
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