Lost Luggage

by Wendall Thomas

  Shit, I thought, for about the fifteenth time that day.

  The smuggler was peg-legging toward us, right between the leopard and the Komodo, who’d resumed their death match. I probably should have shot him, all things considered, but out of respect for Mrs. Barsky, I didn’t. Instead, I sacrificed my last stiletto, nailing Bunty right in the forehead while shouting, “Call your sister.”

  He pitched forward. As I grabbed Roger, I heard a hiss, then a scream. I didn’t look back.

  We caught up to the truck as it slowed for a pothole. Once we catapulted ourselves into the back, I checked on Barry while Roger shut the doors. Hugh was on his side, motionless. Roger pointed to the bullet holes peppering the walls of the truck. “Looks like a flesh wound. He’s in shock.”

  I dug through my bag for something to staunch the wound. I decided it was no time for modesty and grabbed a handful of panti-liners, tanga-style, of course. They were individually wrapped, so they were probably sanitary. I slapped some Neosporin on them for good measure and pressed them onto the wounds. Roger kissed me on the head.

  “What?” I said.

  “Resourceful is the new sexy.”

  “Stop it and help me.”

  Roger held down the makeshift bandage while I cleaned the nasty bruise on Hugh’s cheek. He moaned and shifted.

  “It’s going to be okay, Hugh. We’re going to get you out of here. We are, right Roger?” I asked as we hit a crater-sized pothole. The jolt knocked a massive FedEx box over.

  It flew open, spilling dozens of stuffed animals. How cute, I thought, until I noticed the hunks of red cottony flesh beneath the pink fluff, the gouged out eyes and missing limbs. God, had the Chief’s goat guts been right? Roger picked up a pink-and-white dolphin sporting a rubber knife through its fin. “Did that guy, the driver, have a birthmark?”

  “Gee, I guess was too busy being chloroformed to notice.”

  “It’s just that it might be Grey Hazelnut.”

  “He’s a nut, all right.” I put down the panti-liners. “Wait. You know him?”

  “He’s an extreme animal activist. Calls himself the UnaVet. These look like they’re from his Planet Reality toy line. He was probably there to save the animals.” I picked up a fluffy green monkey with an amputation scar. Roger shrugged. “He thinks children should know the truth.”

  “And you think that makes him what? A good guy?”

  “He’s blown up a few research facilities. I guess it’s all relative.” With that kind of non-answer, I finally believed Roger worked for the government.

  The truck swerved left and slammed to a stop, throwing us all against the cab wall. Then the door smashed open and the cavalry arrived. To arrest me.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Red dust flooded the truck, so it took a second to notice the barrel of a Glock 9mm pistol pointed straight at us. Roger put his hands up, so I figured I should too. My bag was too far away to hook over my raised arms. I could see a silhouette in the door. It coughed.

  Roger leaned forward. “Gant?”

  It was the guy I’d met in Atlantic City, wearing the same Eurotrash suit. It looked damp. He lowered his gun. “Claymore? Seriously? You let Hazelnut get the drop on you again?”

  “Screw you. What about Bunty?” Roger said.

  “No sign. I left the forensic team there.”

  “Hey! Could we get some help here?” I pointed at Hugh. “He’s been shot. He needs a doctor.”

  Gant stared into the truck, then turned to an agent who looked about twelve. “Flesh wound. Nigel? Medivac. And work the truck.”

  The kid ran to a black Range Rover, setting off a chorus of crazed birds. He made a call, snapped on white rubber gloves and booties, then ran back toward us and jumped in. Gant gestured me down. I looked back wistfully at my bag, then followed Roger onto the narrow, pockmarked road. There was screaming, somewhere behind the shrubs.

  I turned to Gant and held out my hand. “Cyd Redondo, Redondo Travel. We met in Atlantic City.”

  “Agent Gant. Interpol.” He kissed my hand, then snapped a handcuff around it.

  “Whoa! Roger? What is happening?”

  “Gant, hold on a minute,” Roger said, as I pulled my other hand away.

  At that moment, two more cheap-suited Interpol henchmen climbed out of the brush carrying Grey Hazelnut, his bare, bowlegs flailing. He saw me and kicked harder.

  “You! Do you have any idea what you’ve done you, you miniature bimbo? The global implications of your little performance? The millions of dead animals on your head.” He lunged for me before one of the agents handcuffed him to the door handle of the Rover.

  “Come on, Gant,” Hazelnut said. “Show some mercy. I’ve had a bloody week. I got photos of Mr. Chu’s poachers mutilating a male rhino. Cassandra Phoenix almost got her knees broken going undercover to buy the horn.”

  Roger shot me a look. I felt nauseous, glad my purse was still in the truck.

  “We had all the documentation, a perfect chain of evidence, and—bam—last night some fucker steals it. Can you believe it? And today I had the boxes, I had the waybills, I had Bunty, until this breadhead fucked me. She’s up to her neck in it. Take her in, not me.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, if you’d contain yourself, Doctor Doolittle.”

  “Roger! What is he talking about?”

  “Miss Redondo, there’s no need to be coy. We know about your family. We know all about your smuggling ring.”

  “My family? We’re travel agents! And I’m the last person on earth who’d smuggle anything, ever.” Roger was staring at something behind me. He went pale.

  “Boss?” It was Nigel. “These were in her purse.” He held out the rhino horn, the ivory necklace, Barry’s Tupperware, and the gun. He had my bag hooked over his shoulder.

  Gant grabbed my free hand and snapped on the other cuff, while Hazelnut jerked on his cuffs while he threatened various parts of my anatomy and unborn children.

  “Gant? What actual jurisdiction do we have here?” Roger said. Finally.

  “As much as we pay the Tanzanian police for.”

  I knew from experience that was true.

  “She’s here because she’s decided to cooperate,” Roger said, moving between us. “That’s all evidence she’s turning over.”

  “Really? I didn’t get the paperwork.”

  “I’ve been a little busy.”

  “Cooperate with what?” I said. Roger squeezed my shoulder. “Ow.”

  “Graham, just ignore her. She’s been hysterical all day.” I kicked him as hard as I could with my bare foot. “Look, forget her. I’ve got photo evidence on Bunty’s whole operation. We just need a warrant for the FedEx waybills and we have him.”

  “Is this because you banged her?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I said, my eyebrows levitating above my head.

  “Apparently, you have a great coccygeal vertebra,” Gant said. All the agents laughed.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  I don’t remember much about the next couple of hours. An airlift came for Hugh, at least. Nigel and a fat agent who smelled like mothballs and cumin drove me back to Dar es Salaam. They put me in room 555 at our old hotel, with Nigel posted outside my door. The room looked empty without Barry. Or my purse. This was the first time since I was eleven that I’d been outside the house without a handbag. I felt completely helpless. My clients couldn’t contact me, I couldn’t check my makeup or take my birth control pills or mop up spills. And then I remembered my father’s compass. For a minute, I couldn’t breathe. I’d let my dad down too.

  But I couldn’t think about that while I was still covered in monkey blood, dragon spit, and mud. I needed a shower. They’d taken out the phone, so I couldn’t call Housekeeping for extra body lotion—why do hotels only give you enough for one leg? I c
onvinced Nigel to walk me down to the front desk for supplies. The desk clerk took one look at the state of me and handed them right over, gratis.

  “Thank you, Hadhi,” I said, checking her name tag. It’s important during an emergency or complete emotional breakdown not to lose your manners, especially with someone who might at some point help you escape.

  After my shower, I put on the hotel robe and looked at my ruined clothes. Had the Andersons ever gotten monkey blood out of anything? I wasn’t ready to give up that skirt. After all, I was already going to have to switch from FedEx to DHL.

  Nigel brought me some food, but I couldn’t eat. Or sleep. I decided to try cable. I flipped past CNN International, as I was afraid I might be on it, and kept flicking until the power went out. I automatically went for the flashlight in my purse. My Balenciaga was like an amputee’s phantom limb. My fingers closed over nothing and I was left alone in the dark, distractionless.

  I know the whole point of “if onlys” is that it’s too damn late. Still, they were a great way to occupy yourself when you were deprived of cable. If only I hadn’t gone looking for Bobby, if only I hadn’t called FedEx, I wouldn’t have been chloroformed or exposed to toxic saliva. And if only I had kept my bag attached to me at all times, I’d still have two more vacation days.

  Of course I was avoiding the real issue: if only I had listened to Uncle Ray and stayed in Bay Ridge, I wouldn’t be humiliated, heartbroken, and the target of an international criminal investigation. I couldn’t stand that he’d been right and I’d been so wrong. Was I destined to live in the attic, paying penance, for the rest of my life?

  At about five in the morning, there was a knock on the door. I pulled my robe tighter and looked through the peephole. It was Roger.

  “Go away.”

  “I have your clothes.”

  “Leave them with Nigel.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you, ever.”

  “It’s about your uncle. Do you want me to broadcast it in the hall?”

  I unhooked the chain, opened the door, and slapped him as hard as I could.

  “Ouch,” Nigel grinned.

  “You’re next,” I said, and let Roger in. He was holding a plastic bag with a few of my things and rubbing his cheek. He had a black eye and his knuckles were bruised.

  “Here.” He handed me the bag. “I could only find one malaria pill.”

  “That’s because I gave all mine to you.”

  “I’ll get you some more. I’m sorry.”

  “About which part? The sex part, the lying part, or the surveillance part?”

  “All the parts. Well, actually not the sex part.”

  “Ah yes, the recorded sex, thanks for that.”

  “I had nothing to do with that, I swear. Besides, that’s more humiliating for me that they were listening in, than it is for you. You don’t work with those guys.”

  “Apparently, thanks to you, I do now. Just tell me about my uncle.”

  He took the armchair. I stayed where I was, trying to keep a height advantage. He handed me a document. “Your ‘confidential informant’ paperwork. Please sign it and do what I tell you, so they’ll let you go.”

  “Absolutely under no circumstances am I doing anything you tell me to. Was the thing about my uncle just another trick to get in here, or what?”

  “No. Interpol thinks Bunty’s been working for your uncle, that he’s the U.S. distributor. They’ve been interested in you and your family for months. That’s why your hotel room in Atlantic City was bugged.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It doesn’t look like bullshit to them. Everything points to Redondo Travel as the perfect cover. You hooked up with Adventure Limited—a shell company, by the way. You arranged the trips, it’s your clients who have the animals in their luggage, and you got us dodgy shots and visas. You’ve probably done at least twenty illegal things just since we met. Jesus, Cyd, you stole that diplomatic bag, not to mention all the evidence they found in your purse.”

  “But you can explain all that.”

  “Yeah, well, I tried. But they figure I’m compromised because of…well, our relationship.”

  “We didn’t have a relationship. We had an accident,” I pulled my robe tighter. “I certainly hope you enjoyed yourself, you opportunistic son of a bitch.”

  “When I slept with you, it wasn’t on the job. I was just on assignment at the Reptile Expo. I didn’t know you might be involved until later. That night, I swear, it was just me.” Part of me wanted to believe him, but it still didn’t add up.

  “The first night, maybe, but what about since then?”

  “We haven’t had sex since then. I didn’t feel like I should.”

  He was right. In the midst of all this craziness, he had technically been chaste. This was too confusing to think about because, right now, I wanted to stay as mad as possible.

  That was easy after he had the nerve to tell me that it was really my fault. When I introduced myself to Gant in Atlantic City, the agent recognized my name. Once he knew Roger had an “in” into the family, they ordered him to come on the trip with me. He said he had hated lying to me, but figured at least he might be able to protect me if I were innocent.

  “If? Great job with that, Rog. Thanks a lot. You’re just trying to rationalize completely despicable and unforgivable behavior.”

  “I know it’s unforgivable, but Cyd, come on—I was just doing my job. You more than anyone should understand that. And my job is important. Surely you see how many bad people are involved and what’s happening to these animals.” I kept my eyes on the stained carpet. “I know you’re furious at me. I get it. But don’t try to take that out on Gant. That man has no sense of humor, believe me. He’s a Swede. And the thing is, Gant doesn’t really want you. He wants your uncle.”

  “Godammit, if you insult my uncle one more time…” I said, coming at him. He caught my wrists before I could make contact and held me in front of him. My robe had come loose. He took a quick look, then averted his eyes.

  “Cyd, this is exactly why I’m telling you this. Gant’s bound to say worse. And an assault charge is the last thing you need.”

  “I assaulted you. You’re a federal agent of fish or something, right? Aren’t you going to arrest me?”

  “Self-defense.” He let go of my hands.

  We were standing too close. That mole was still beside his mouth. I backed up. “I swear on my life my uncle doesn’t have anything to do with this, and neither do I.”

  “I know you’re not involved. You care too much about your clients to put them in danger on purpose. Someone used you. Maybe that’s why your uncle didn’t want you going on this trip, to protect you. Did you ever think of that?”

  “He didn’t want me to come because he believes the world is a dangerous place. And he is fucking right,” I said. “Are there any donuts in this godforsaken country?”

  “Here,” Roger handed me a granola bar out of his pocket. “Sign the papers, please.” He opened the door. “And don’t kick Gant in the balls.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to find them. Get my purse back and check on Barry.”

  “It wasn’t an accident, Cyd, you and me. Fate, maybe. Take that malaria pill.”

  The agents were coming for me in an hour. I used the room iron on my rust-colored pencil skirt and my white tie-front blouse. I put on my last pair of shoes, the Soffts three-inch. I felt nauseous every time I remembered that I had been a suspect, not a girlfriend, for the whole trip. I guess it was fitting I’d met Roger at a reptile convention.

  But the worst part was that everything I’d done, from getting us shots to stealing the rhino horn, had put my uncle in danger. I knew there was no way Uncle Ray, who had bought my confirmation dress and taught me how to figure out compound interest, could do any of the horrible
things Roger thought he had. Then I remembered the dead parrot, the computer break-in, and the idea Uncle Ray didn’t like me coming to the docks, and for a tiny instant, I was worried.

  At seven, Nigel knocked. I opened the door. Standing in front of him was Akida, dressed in full room-service attire. Thank God I played Five Card Stud on alternate Thursdays.

  “Come in,” I said. Nigel held the door open as Akida entered. He nodded at me and started to lay out the breakfast. On the tray was a note that said What can I do, Cyd Redondo? When Akida handed me the check, I wrote Get me an outside line, thanx, and gave him a huge tip on the room, as Interpol was paying. After he left, I figured at least I had one friend. Or did I? Maybe this was another setup. I had a piece of toast and three cups of coffee. Ten minutes later, Nigel took me downstairs.

  The Serengeti Ballroom was their interrogation suite. I guess the Tanzanian jail was too awful even for Interpol, or at least for Gant, whose razor-sharp polyester creases hadn’t budged in twenty-four hours. His grooming suggested the primal cruelty often inherent in frat boys and certain Catholic nuns. He had a fat lip, though. Had he and Roger actually come to blows? I handed him my paperwork.

  “Smart girl.” Gant looked at my breasts. “Smarter than you look.”

  “Believe me, with that tie, you don’t have a chance,” I said.

  “Come on. If Claymore was in, you can’t be that picky.”

  “She’s not that picky.” A woman in a pinstriped suit came through the door. It was the Eileen Fisher woman from Bay Ridge and Atlantic City.

  “Miss Redondo, Agent Fisher.”

  “You. I knew it,” I said. “I knew there was something dodgy about you. You never pulled off that Eileen Fisher, by the way.” I turned to Gant. “Your undercover operatives suck.”

  “Well, you would know,” he said. “Coffee?”

  I declined for fear I might throw it in his face. I sat down at the conference table, and watched Agent Fisher lay out dozens of photos. They were all of me: me paying off Lieutenant Panza, me at gunpoint at the airport, me buying the ivory necklace. Me, me, me.