Paradise (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant)

by O. L. Casper

  “It is.”

  Pineapple Fields Hotel is more like a large house than a hotel. Surrounded by palms and swimming pools, it’s right on the beach. The staff was friendly and seemed to already know Stafford. I wore shades given to me by him for the occasion. On exiting the car he told me to not let anyone get a good look at me. I got scared and apparently it was written all over my features, for he said some kind words to put me at ease. On entering the hotel he took me to a private dining room that opened out onto the beach.

  “This is where it will take place. I want to position you somewhere where you won’t easily be seen. Maybe in one of the rooms upstairs.”

  “I could sit out on the beach.”

  “These people are very suspicious people. They would think I planted you there…or that someone did.”

  I began to have serious misgivings about the nature of the operation.

  “I wish there was a way you could listen to the conversation. I can call you and put my phone on speaker, leaving it in my pocket, and you can listen in.”

  “Okay.”

  I thought about the fact that I could listen in without any him making any calls but I decided to keep it to myself.

  “When do they arrive?”

  “Another half hour.”

  “I see.”

  Stafford positioned me in a hallway on the second floor of the building overlooking the dining room below.

  “You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got to go down now because they’re here.”

  I didn’t ask how he knew. He hurried downstairs. In about thirty seconds I saw him with two others, barely visible, through a side window below. I received the phone call and answered it, putting the HTC up to my ear. I was exceedingly curious to hear what this was all about.

  There was a gruff voice and a nasally voice in addition to Stafford’s voice. The gruff and nasally voices had some form of Eastern European accent I couldn’t quite place.

  “We are riding the gun on this one, Mark,” said the nasally voice.

  “We are riding dynamite, which could blow up at any time,” said the other.

  “You both—Uri, Isaac—you have nothing to worry about.”

  “And why is that, Mark? All we have is your reassurance to go on. Can your word be enough in such a risky operation as this?”

  “You trusted my word in the beginning. There is no reason to doubt it now. If anything, that will only hurt the business. It will do nothing to help it. Nothing.”

  “There is a lot of money riding on this particular endeavor.”

  “Very much for all of us. Don’t forget I’ve got my stake in this too.”

  “Who are those people there?” the deeper voice cut in.

  I looked up. On the beach I noticed three people. There was a photographer, setting up a camera on a tripod under an umbrella; his assistant, holding a reflector; and a model, practicing various poses as they set up.

  “I don’t know them,” Mark said.

  There was a fleck of concern in his voice.

  “You don’t know them?” said the gruff voice. “Let’s find out.”

  I watched as Mark, Uri, and Isaac got up from the table and walked out onto the beach. I slinked down in my seat, so just the top of my head was visible through the window, hoping they wouldn’t see me. I watched them strike up a conversation with the photographer and company, shaking hands and smiling. I couldn’t hear the conversation because of the loud ruffling sound of Stafford’s phone shifting in his pocket as he moved. After a few moments of polite banter the three Lords of the Underworld returned to the dining room and continued talking shop.

  I sat upright in my seat. I watched the photo shoot progress as I listened to the conversation.

  “I will show you on a map. This will make everything clear…”

  There was the sound of a piece of paper being unfolded.

  “There. The transport begins here, moves across this desert land for thousands of fucking miles, and ends there. There, you see?”

  “What of it?” Stafford asked.

  “It’s a long and dangerous trek. Beset by difficulty on every side.”

  “You knew that from the start. What’s your point?”

  “My point, Mark, is this. They’re here now. Since they reached this point they disappeared from all communication.”

  “I still have communication with them.”

  “Then tell us: why don’t we?”

  “I can’t tell you anything. The merchandise will make it to the appropriate vendor. There’s another two weeks before it arrives at said location. If it doesn’t, that’s the time for you to come to me and say what the fuck. Until then, relax. Understand? I’m getting a little sick of all this impatience and this inability to trust. It wears on me. Makes business a little less enjoyable. I think you forget my position in all of this. I think you forget that I don’t have to be doing this. It’s a favor. That’s all. I’d like you to remember that.”

  “Remember where you came from, Mark,” said the deep voice. “Remember all we did for you. Think back to our part in your rise. Huh?”

  “And I’ve repaid you and then some. I give you more and more—and this is how you treat me?”

  “We think sometimes, Mr. Stafford,” said the high-pitched voice, “we are not getting a fair price. We have never gotten a fair price. We always paid you well. We did you big favor before. Remember that?”

  “Are you saying you want a piece of my pie? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  “I’m saying—we’ll see.”

  “He’s saying—we’re saying, don’t lose respect for us. Don’t become impatient yourself.”

  The model, who was in a scant two-piece before, now had on only the bottom piece. She bared her fake tits in several seductive poses for the camera. I wished I had brought my camera or the binoculars to be able to get a better look. I could tell from the window she was gorgeous, her radiant, deeply browned skin showed that she was no stranger to beaches in the nude; there were no tan lines and her skin was of an even tone from head to toe. This was further confirmed when she removed her bottom piece and posed for more pictures.

  The conversation between Stafford and the two goons stopped when she took it off. I heard a few astonished gasps followed by a long silence before conversation resumed. The model kept looking into the dining room to see them watching.

  “Now those are some rockets I’d like to get my hands on,” said the nasally voice.

  “Indeed.” Stafford laughed. “Gentlemen…have we resolved the issue at hand? Do I have your trust?”

  “Mark…let me just say this…” The deep voice paused, perhaps intentionally building suspense. “…You…never…lost our trust.”

  I could feel the smile from his voice. At least I thought I could.

  “Mark, you are a law unto yourself. How you achieve all this…how you do what you do…this is a mystery. Truly. You have krysha.”

  “Thank you, Isaac. No, no krysha. Only luck.”

  I would have to look up krysha.

  Uri chimed in, “We respect you in full. This is why we try to squeeze you. This is why we seek your company.” A pause, then, “Maybe…I don’t know…maybe we are a little jealous. After all, what is hundreds of millions to billions, right? We will never spend this in our lifetimes. Not in ten lifetimes. And look at the worry it causes. We spend all our lives, once having gained, trying to maintain. Is this not true?”

  “It is true, Uri. And don’t you ever forget…what a deep respect I have for you. And you, Isaac. It’s a respect that only matures with time. Like fine wine.”

  He was laying it on thick.

  There was a commotion as the group stood up. After a few moments Stafford emerged on the beach alone and approached the photo shoot. My phone beeped as he cut the call. I watched him give special attention to the model and focus the conversation on her. He took out his phone and entered some information, perhaps a phone number. Then he shook hands
with the photographer, his assistant and finally with the model. Walking back to the dining room, he looked up at me and smiled.

  “Were you able to get their numbers?” Stafford asked when we were on the road again.

  “I did indeed.”

  “And you can get everything else you need from that.”

  “I should be able to.”

  “That’s a nice little hotel. Maybe we should go there sometime to get away.”

  I found it curious that he felt like he had to get away from the villa, as if it wasn’t a getaway to begin with.

  “I would like that.”

  I watched the Atlantic pass on my side of the vehicle.

  “I almost forgot to mention, there was a phone conversation between Barnum and Bailey last night.”

  He laughed.

  “You mean our detective friends?”

  “Who else?”

  “And what did they say?”

  “I can play it for you later if you want but the gist of it was that they suspect your involvement in the case but were instructed by their superiors not to inquire further.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “No. They didn’t know.”

  “Politics probably.”

  “You can listen to it when we get back if you want.”

  “I don’t need to hear it. I trust you.”

  He looked at me. I smiled.

  Krysha is Russian mob slang for protection. So they are Russian. I wouldn’t have judged that by their phone numbers, registered in Singapore and Honk Kong—obviously they aren’t Asian—but now I could more or less pinpoint the nationality. And the business? It’s narcotics or arms trading. Narcotics is the more likely scenario, but I don’t rule out arms trading altogether. Stafford is a wily, crafty devil and I don’t put anything past him. Almost as soon as I put their digits into Minerva, I started picking up calls, but unfortunately they were all in Russian and I wasn’t much of a linguist.

  As I looked at Minerva something unexpected happened. A dialog box appeared informing me Stafford was placing a call to an unknown local number. It gave me the option of listening in. I plugged in my earbuds and clicked OK. I listened to it ring for a moment before it clicked.

  “Hi, Ava?”

  “Hi, who’s this?”

  “It’s Mark. We met on the beach.”

  That sonofabitch!

  “Oh, Mark. The handsome one with the two hairy men, right?”

  “That’s me. I’ve got some hairy friends.”

  “I’m happy to hear from you. I wasn’t sure if I would since I am only here for the photo shoot and leaving in a few days.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Maybe I have some work for you. Anyway, we can meet to discuss it if you like.”

  “Yes, very much. You have modeling work?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s great. My manager would need to call your company to make sure it’s legit. Know what I mean?”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “Great. Where would you like to meet?”

  “I was thinking take a ferry to Dunmore Town and see the pink sand. Or we could go to Spanish Wells. Also by ferry.”

  “Oh, I’ve been to Spanish Wells, but I haven’t seen Dunmore Town and I really want to. When can we go?”

  “Tomorrow early.”

  “I have a photo shoot till eleven, but any time after that should be good.”

  “Great. I’ll call you at 11:15.”

  “Good, Mark. I’ll see you after that I hope.”

  “Oh, you will.”

  She giggled.

  With a clicking followed by silence the box containing the audio level of the call disappeared. I was unnerved. I tried to overcome my feelings but it would take some time to sort them out. She had an accent. South American. That and the fact that she didn’t sound very intelligent should have lessened my concern, but it didn’t. I generally consider myself pretty open minded, but these liaisons with other women were getting to me. I frowned. I wasn’t angry with Stafford. He was a man and he was free. We weren’t bound to each other. I was more angry with myself than anyone for letting sentimentality get the better of me. I was shrewd and coldly methodical. Not a romantic.

  First I thought I would arrive early in Dunmore Town as not to risk discovery on the ferry. Then I thought about the possibility of Stafford changing his mind. I better follow them if I wanted to be sure. After some further thought I reasoned I would need a highly persuasive disguise in the case that the ferry ride wasn’t too crowded. I smiled at the thought, and recalled reading Sherlock Holmes as a fourth grader. Perhaps that’s where the idea came from. An idea buried for years in the depths of the subconscious. I would go as a man in a suit with some sort of hat. I would wrap my chest tightly to suppress the contours as much as possible and I would wear a mustache and goatee. I had noticed a costume shop in Governor’s Harbour.

  I buzzed down there in the 911 Turbo, found a suitable full beard, commendably realistic, short, and gray. I went next door to a clothing outlet and found a cheap suit, an English cap, and men’s shoes. Looking at myself in the full length mirror in my bathroom I was astonished at how manly I really did look. I put on some aviator sunglasses I had bought and the disguise was complete. I was expecting to hear from Stafford that night, but he did not text or call. I sat on my bed till the early hours watching the British classic A Clockwork Orange. I let the story sweep over me and strangely I found myself thoroughly enjoying the terror those boys inflicted on the helpless. Afterward I found this attitude strange and chalked it up to the turbulent emotions of the last few weeks. Unable to sleep at one a.m. I took a stroll out in the gardens.

  Under the bejeweled heavenly vault I wished I had some Hindu Kush to smoke. I’d smoked some AK-47 before I went to purchase the disguise. I sat down on a marble slab facing a forest of palms.

  “You’re caught up,” said a familiar voice behind me.

  I turned.

  “Anna, my friend.”

  “I brought you something.”

  “Hindu Kush?”

  “Better—Jamaican Love.”

  She sat next to me and removed two joints from her pocket. We blazed up looking at the sky.

  “I saw you from my window. I was having trouble sleeping too. But for different reasons than you.”

  She smiled.

  “He can’t be trusted. I’m not saying it can’t go far with you. You could probably marry him. But there will always be others. It’s who he is.”

  “I know. And I can handle it. It just stays on my mind sometimes.”

  “See other people too. It helps.”

  “I know. I do. And even though I know it’s fine I still feel like a bastard sometimes for doing it.”

  “You love him.”

  She said it as a mere commonplace factual statement.

  “Yes and I hate myself for it.”

  “Of course it’s wonderful too. And I know he loves you more than perhaps he’s ever loved before.”

  “Don’t flatter.”

  “I don’t. I mean it.”

  “How would you know?”

  “It’s all in the eyes.”

  “What have you seen in his eyes?”

  I bit my bottom lip, inwardly cursing myself for asking. I didn’t want to know.

  “You are an amazing woman. I understand his attraction completely. He never looked at Isabella the way he looks at you.”

  “I’m not good at this.”

  “Not good at what?”

  “Talking about these kind of feelings.”

  “No one really is. They’re beyond words.”

  “True.”

  She yawned.

  “I’m very sleepy now. I think the weed did the trick.”

  “I wish it would for me.”

  Anna stood up. She leaned in and kissed me on the lips before she departed. She’d left me with one of the joints and I finished it, tapping out the cherry on the marble and pocketing the tip
. I stood and strolled back toward the main house. As I was about to enter, something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. It was an awning I’d seen several times before. One surrounded by potted plants and with long tables and chairs scattered under it. Stafford sometimes conducted staff meetings there when the weather permitted. A fierce gust of wind came up and I approached the awning and sat on one of the wooden chairs. A lamp was burning at the table.

  As I attempted to cut the flame by turning a key on one side I noticed the form of a person standing near one of the plants at the edge of the awning. The figure moved slightly and by the light I saw that it was Isabella Gardner. A convulsion with the intensity of a strong electric shock passed through the entirety of my body. I realized I must have been dreaming and made an effort to calm myself from the terror the apparition caused. The hairs on my neck stood on end. But this wasn’t a dream. Was I mistaking someone else for the ghostly form of Isabella? Or was it a vivid hallucination?

  “It is I, Isabella.”

  She said it simply and with serenity.

  “Will you sit down?”

  The words sprung forth with no rhyme or reason. I heard myself say them without comprehension.

  “I cannot. You may not understand, but I only have a limited window in which to see you.”

  “I’m dreaming.”

  “No, you are awake.”

  “Why are you here?”

  I noticed the stars behind her shining through her hair, and felt faint.

  “I have come to warn you.”

  “What can be so important that it needs come from the grave to inform me?”

  I spoke irrationally and my word use did not seem to be my own. I report this more from the viewpoint of the observer than the participant.

  “You are surrounded by fire now. It is seeping in through your pores. Not long before it consumes you. Then to fire you must go.”

  For a split-second I saw a vision of a wall of fire burning before me.

  “I am in it for a time and then I am gone.”

  I saw the fire reflected in her eyes before she faded away into nothingness. I’ve had a waking dream, I thought.

  I hurried to my room, locked my door and buried myself under the bed sheets.

  I was losing my mind. I was stricken by intense guilt and that, combined with the drugs, was causing vivid hallucinations. In terrified exhaustion I fell asleep.