by Gennita Low
“You two funny. How you know Miss Vivienne not has her own man?” Vivi asked, leaning forward a little as she peered at the them, as if she couldn’t see them too well. “Maybe she has man and doesn’t want you, or especially you, GI number ten.”
“See? Grandmamasan thinks you’re not worthy,” Hawk said.
Jazz bent down toward Vivi, his face dangerously close to hers. She stared back, confident of her disguise in the dim surroundings. Nonetheless, her heart started thudding a little faster anyway as his blue eyes fastened on hers. Nice long eyelashes too, she vaguely noted. “Does she?” He cocked his head. “Have a boyfriend? And why especially not me, Grandmamasan?”
“Miss Vivienne no like you. You sit in jail, yes? So you bad.”
“Oh, you know better than that, Grandmamasan. You helped Hawk to get me out, so you know I’m not that bad. But I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you told me not to go in.”
“Ha, too late. GI number ten wants to be GI number nine? You pay me what Hawk says—two kisses.” Vivi smacked her lips loudly.
Hawk laughed quietly, taking another swig from his beer. “I think you should bargain, man,” he said. “Two kisses should move you to number eight.”
“Heck, Grandmamasan, Hawk is very good with kissing. He comes from a family of kissers. One from him ought to move me back to at least number two in your book.”
“Oh?” Vivi tilted her head. “You kiss GI number one before?”
Hawk chuckled again at Jazz’s expression. “You’re losing this argument, buddy. What’s wrong—you don’t pay your debts?” He turned to Vivi, his eyes a muted glittering amber in the darkened café. “My friend here, Grandmamasan, is a Cajun French. Ladies tell me no one kisses like a Cajun French. He will knock your socks off.”
“I don’t need you pimping me out, buddy.”
“Just pointing out your good features, buddy. Grandmamasan needs to know.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“In front of Grandmamasan?” Hawk mocked.
Vivi squinted, scowling a little, knowing that deepened the wrinkles on her face. “You two jokers, make fun of old lady. Both bad GIs. What will Vivi say when I tell her you make fun of old lady, show no respect?” She pushed back her chair and slowly got up, mumbling to herself as she did so. “Fine, make fun of old lady. See whether you find it funny when you in trouble next time. This dinner date over. Old lady has plenty of other men to kiss.”
Jazz watched the old woman shuffled off painfully, holding to the tops of chairs as she left. “I think you hurt her feelings.”
“Hey, you’re the one who refused to kiss her.” Hawk was still amused. “Do you really want me to kiss her for you?”
“Well, you are my best friend.”
Hawk lifted a brow. Then turned to look at the old woman again. She was still mad, gesturing at them as she talked animatedly to the waiter. “In a life-and-death situation, I might kiss her to save your life.”
“Thanks, pal. Warms my heart.” Jazz shrugged at the waiter, who was showing his palms in a helpless gesture. “Ah, hell. If I don’t kiss her, I’ll never hear the end of this from you. If I do, I’ll never hear the end of this from the guys.”
“You don’t have to tongue her.” Hawk chuckled again and pushed his beer at him. “Here, have some liquid courage.”
“I’m going to tell her you’re next.”
“Hell, you said my family is great at it, so I’ll just send Cousin Steve. He’s Kisser of the Millennium. He will kiss anything.”
Jazz grinned. Hawk’s cousin had been voted Kisser of the Millennium in some Navy kook poll. When the guys had heard about it, Hawk had gotten a lot of thrashing for losing out to Steve. Damn McMillans. Ladies’ men, all of them. Thank God Steve had gotten himself a wife, but with Jazz’s luck, he’d bump into Hawk’s still unattached brother some time, and he would want Vivi, too.
Hell, he would just have to think of revenge later. And form some kind of plan to beat Hawk, who was, as usual, sitting there waiting to see what he’d decide to do. As if he didn’t already know. They had gone through too much as a team for Hawk not to be able to second-guess his next move.
Jazz was brought up to respect women. His maman had taught him to always pay his debts. He took Hawk’s bottle and chugged the beer, then got up and started to walk toward the old lady. “Grandmamasan,” he called out.
The little hunched lady peered at him from across the room. “What?” she snapped back. “GI number ten give kiss or not?”
God help him, he was going to kiss some old lady in front of Hawk. Jazz just knew that story was going to make good fodder when the guys were sitting around.
He looked down into the old lady’s rheumy eyes. She smiled that ridiculous smile again, that one shiny tooth beckoning among the blackened ones. Hell, even she was having a good time at his expense. Pulling another chair out, he sat down so he could be face level with the hunched-up woman.
“Okay, Grandmamasan. You get one kiss. The other one you have to get from Hawk.”
“No bargaining with your elders. You kiss and I think about it.”
Jazz couldn’t help being amused. She was something else; he’d never met an old woman quite as aggressive as this one. Well, better get it over with. He’d just pretend he was alone in the jungle, focusing on the enemy. He glared at the waiter till he slunk away with that stupid grin. He blocked out Hawk’s figure sitting to his left; no doubt he was laughing his head off. He would think of his roots instead. He was Zola Zeringue, grandson to the most famous gator hunter in the deep bayou, son of the fiercest woman with the best prawn gumbo. According to them, he could face anything and never back down.
Jazz tilted his face a little as he kept his focus on Grandmamasan’s puckered lips. Oh hell, let’s not think about the teeth. Misshapen by old age, her mouth looked dry and crackly, like old glue. They didn’t look real in this light. Set together tightly, the wrinkles around her mouth deepened into rivulets of crisscrossing lines. He closed his eyes and aimed his lips.
Vivi hoped she wasn’t visibly shaking. Her heart sounded like thunder in her ears, and she could feel her stomach churning as if the soup she’d just eaten wasn’t agreeable. Hunched up in her disguise, she was engulfed by Jazz’s size. He sat on the chair, rocking it forward as he held her shoulders. She kept her arms limp; tensing them might give away her muscles, but it was tough to keep her concentration as all she could do was stare at that face coming closer to hers.
Why did she always do this? Push people for no other reason than to see how far she could do it? She hadn’t wanted Jazz to kiss her “old lady”; she wanted him to kiss her—Vivi—but of course, like everything else in her life, the outlet for her yearnings had to be disguised. She understood this about herself and was helpless to stop it.
His lips touched hers. They weren’t loverlike, of course, but that didn’t stop her heart racing even faster. Thank goodness the back of his chair kept their bodies from touching. He brushed her lips with his and she couldn’t help it—she pursed hers in response, delighting in a full second of the male shape of his mouth on hers, his clean scent, and the memory of what that body looked like when he was exercising in the yard. Had it been only that morning?
He pulled back, his eyes a darker blue in the bad lighting, a strange, embarrassed smile on his lips. The thunder in her head receded, and in the background, Vivi heard howls of laughter from the nearby customers, who had no idea why the white man was kissing a dried-up old woman. She, too, pulled back. She grinned, making sure her new silver tooth faced the light. She needed to create as much distraction as possible so he didn’t analyze too much. Some of the howlers groaned, apparently disgusted by the sight. Some hooted for Jazz to do it again, this time with tongue.
“Encore! Encore!” they chanted.
“Oi, that is one kiss,” Vivi agreed, and was glad her voice was crackly. She was afraid she would sound squeaky. “GI number ten good!”
“No longer number ten,
I hope,” Jazz said, a wry expression on his face as he shrugged off the teasing comments around him.
“Oh no, GI so good, I make you number eight!” Vivi told him smugly.
“Why, thank you, Grandmamasan. Just think how you’re going to rank Hawk when you get him to kiss you.” Jazz said loudly, turning triumphantly in Hawk’s direction.
Hawk just waved his new bottle of beer at them. For a fleeting moment, Jazz caught a strange expression on his face. “He isn’t afraid of Grandmamasan, not like you,” Vivi said.
“You heard that, Hawk?” Jazz called.
“I heard nothing. You’re on your own.”
“You’re going to give her the second kiss.”
Vivi turned to Hawk. “If you agree, then I let this GI off. If not, your friend will suffer big dishonor. He will forever owe me one kiss.” She smacked her lips. Patted her gray head of hair. She couldn’t help it. The idea of Hawk backing off amused her. “Kiss or no kiss?”
“Oh-oh, what about my honor, buddy?” Jazz watched Hawk take a swig from his beer, narrow-eyed, as if the situation was grave and the request impossibly difficult to reply. His friend had saved him in many tight situations. Admittedly, never one involving kissing an old woman. He added, for good measure, “Afraid?”
Hawk’s eyebrow raised a notch. “Moi?”
Jazz was relieved that the old lady was helping the cause, vigorously nodding her head in agreement with his challenge. He didn’t think he should suffer alone in this.
“A soldier always help his friends. One for all and all for one,” she said, obviously enjoying herself immensely as the other people raucously cheered her on.
Hawk shook his head and lazily peeled part of the label off the beer bottle. He eyed her thoughtfully. “Grandmamasan, you’re too good. Tell you what. I’ll kiss you another time.”
“Why not now?” she demanded.
“Because I don’t want to taste another man’s lips on yours so soon,” he came back lazily, his eyes glinting. “He may be my best friend but there are some things I’d rather not share.”
Jazz laughed. Trust Hawk to slide away with a good argument.
The old hellion considered for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, number one. You gave me money for tooth. You listened to me the other day. You good boy. I’ll let you off tonight.” She turned to the amused men around them. “What, what, you want to kiss me now? Be off! Or I make you all kiss me one by one! Busybodies! Bad men!”
She moved off, going after a man with a threatening hand. They dispersed, still laughing, and Jazz got up to return to his table. Hawk pushed a bottle in his direction.
“Need to gargle?” he asked, voice tinged with laughter. “How does an old lady taste?”
“You’ll find out, won’t you?” Jazz countered. “Unless you don’t pay your debts for your friends, sailor boy. One for all and all for one.”
Hawk grinned. “I’ll kiss Grandmamasan for you when the time comes. I just don’t intend to do it yet. Maybe I’ll do it behind your back.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Sure it does. Nothing says you have to be around.”
“Then how would I know you did it?”
Hawk finished peeling the label off his bottle. “Oh, I’m sure Grandmamasan will let you know. Besides, I’m saving your honor, so quit being so fucking demanding. You ought to be grateful, man.”
Jazz’s plans for the night were all shot to hell. He wanted to get to know Vivi, not carouse with a bunch of men. She’d made it clear tonight that she didn’t intend to do anything just yet. There was also Hawk. He supposed it was small comfort that she didn’t choose to be with him, either. He ordered another beer.
“Next time you offer my lips to someone, make it Vivi Verreau, and I might be grateful,” Jazz told him. He offered the bottle in a silent toast.
Hawk threw his head back and laughed. He saluted back with his bottle. “Drink up, my friend. Our girl is a good runner.”
Vivi slipped out of the café unnoticed. It was easy enough. Who would give an old bag like her a second glance when they were deep in the cups? Especially a group of men talking about women they had kissed.
She walked slowly, giving the café owner a tip on the way out. The night air was sticky, with a feel of rain coming. That wasn’t good news. It would mean muddy roads the next few days. She would have to bring this up tomorrow. Of course, those SEAL guys wouldn’t appreciate her telling them how to run things.
She hadn’t come out just for this little bit of fun, however. There was still one more thing to do. A block away. The sound of music became louder. Turn left. And the street was already crowded. As she had dozens of nights before, she walked into the popular red-light district, shuffling awkwardly down the block of bars with the lights and blaring music, with the girls gathered outside, dressed in micro-minis and high-heel boots, some holding hands, a few standing off by themselves. They didn’t pay any heed to the little old woman passing by.
Vivi, I’m scared. I don’t want to run away. I don’t want you to run away. Vivi, don’t go!
Vivi always looked at their faces, wondering whether Sia-Sia had ended up like them. Sometimes she fancied she saw her friend standing there with them, but of course she didn’t. If Sia-Sia had walked the street, her days in micro-minis would have been long ago.
Don’t go, Vivi, please. I’m not brave like you.
The familiar pang of guilt made each step down the block heavier. Logic told Vivi that she should give up. There was no way she could find anyone from her past, not after so many years. But her promise haunted her. Surely, if she had died, someone would have recorded it at the old nunnery where they had hidden. Surely the nuns would have known.
But the old nuns were dead and the temple had been ransacked by hooligans. They said the first robbers had been after the golden statue of Buddha, had beaten up the women and kidnapped the girls before taking the artifact with them. Not many people would dare to steal a god, even made in gold. It had to be one of the Triad gangs.
Vivi paused to cross the street, dispassionately taking in a nearby scene of a girl calling to another man with suggestive words. Her dress was very low-cut, her push-up bra emphasizing her small breasts outrageously. She beckoned; the man followed.
This was the Triad section. No one messed with their women here.
Vivi had taken this path enough times to memorize the names of the gambling dens and to recognize the faces of the pimps. They seldom paid any attention to her, and she had come in various disguises. In her search and her interrogation of soldiers, she had narrowed it down to the three most likely places young girls might be imprisoned.
She might not find her friend again, but she would find a way to help other girls.
She crossed the small road, then walked into the dark alley behind the hawker. It was a shortcut to her apartment building and she was very familiar with it, having grown used to its smell of refuse. Glimpses of light from the windows above gave her enough illumination.
She was almost home when a shadow cut across her path, silent as an alley cat. She paused, one hand tightly gripping her walking stick. The shadow came forward slowly, holding his hands up, showing that he was unarmed.
The first thing Vivi noticed was his face. It was covered by some dark material, with only tiny holes for the eyes. Without any lighting, she couldn’t make them out, except they seemed to be dark, too. He was taller than the average Asian—if he was Asian—wearing dark clothes. He stopped a few feet away.
“I know who you are,” he said in English. His voice came out in a gravelly whisper, muffled behind the material. “I have been watching you. I know what you want.”
“I’m listening,” Vivi said.
“You spent many months asking around. It gets back to certain ears. Since I can go in and out of certain places, I hear quite a bit.”
For the first time Vivi straightened a little from her hunched position, enough so she could really look at the stranger i
n front of her. His disguise merged superbly with the shadows, making it difficult for her to gauge even the shape of his face.
“What have you heard?” she probed, deliberately dropping her accent.
“A name. Sia-Sia.”
“And what information do you have?” She pushed away the rush of elation at hearing the name. Lowering her voice, she added, “What is your price?”
“What is it worth to you?”
There was slight mockery in his tone, even though his stance remained the same. His stillness told her more than anything else about what kind of person this man could be. Information around here wasn’t that reliable and sources that wore masks weren’t very trustworthy. But she had her ways of finding things out. She allowed her training to take over.
She tapped her walking stick on the ground. “You sought me out, young man. You appear to be the one in a hurry to bargain.”
There was a short pause. “True. You’ve been patient for two years. What’s two more?”
“Unless you’re growing impatient yourself. Unless you want something only I can give.”
His mirth was unexpected. The soft laughter didn’t sound cynical or mocking. Vivi cocked her head, studying him silently. Very few people could follow her without her knowing, so he must have been waiting here already.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he asked, and now there was amusement in his voice. “You forget, I told you I know more about you than you think, old lady.”
His emphasis on the last two words didn’t escape her. “Are you here to blackmail this old lady, then?” she challenged, then smiled. “Bargain, wasn’t that your word? And what could I possibly have to bargain, since you know so much about me?”
The masked man lowered his right hand slowly. “I have something tucked under my shirt. Can I take it out?”
“Can I stop you?” Vivi asked, injecting humor in her voice.
He laughed again. “That cane might stop me,” he replied in a low voice. “I know what damage it can do.”
Vivi nodded, ignoring the last statement. “You can take it out.”