A Wanted Woman Part 44

o.r.g.a.s.m came. When it ended, I rode him until another one arrived.

FIFTY-ONE.

Air-conditioning hummed, sent cool air over hot, dank skin.

We lay naked without touching. I didn't rush to end my conjugal visit, not this time. Nothing was outside this room but heat, bugs, and death. Weapons within reach, I fed him seedless black grapes and American cherries. I fed him and looked at my injuries, then at his scars. Three deep cuts.

My phone rang. The one I had left on, the one used to contact Big Guy. I left my lover where he was, picked up my phone, picked up a gun, stepped into the luxurious bathroom, left the door open, kept my eyes on my blindfolded escort, on the chilly room.

"Reaper."

"What's up, Big Guy?"

"Bad time?"

"I'm on the way to grab a bite and was just about to send you a text."

"Swing by here. I have your pa.s.sports."

"How many?"

"I have all eight."

"All eight?"

"Just like you asked for."

"How do they look?"

"Clean. Need to you come to Collymore Rock and pick these up so we can be done."

"What's the rush? Not like you have regular office hours."

"You know about the change in the weather and the storm, right?"

"Been busy. What storm?"

"A tropical storm formed. Now it's racing toward the Lesser Antilles."

"Didn't know. I don't watch local television and n.o.body BBMs me."

"It's the storm that people have been blogging about for the past couple of days."

"I don't read blogs."

"National Hurricane Center issued an advisory. Barbados, St. Lucia, Dominica."

"Like I said, while it's calm, I'm about to grab a bite to eat."

He paused and swallowed. "Where are you going?"

"Masala Grill."

"How long will you be there, Reaper?"

"n.o.body seems to be in a rush and no one is talking about a storm, so I should be here at least an hour, maybe an hour and a half if I meet a s.e.xy Bajan to chat and drink a beer or two or three with."

"Come here when you're done. Would like to get these pa.s.sports out of my hands."

"You know what, I'll just order and bring my food with me."

"No, it's fine. Stay there and eat. I'm working on something and need to focus."

"Okay, see you after I eat. Will get there before the storm hits."

He killed the call first. I pulled my bottom lip in, nodded.

Big Guy had said eight pa.s.sports. I had ordered six.

His voice was smooth, I understood the message. Eight people were there with him. At least eight. That's what he was telling me.

They had linked me to him and they were trying to get my location.

Barbados was a noose tightening around my neck.

Someone was eager to kick the chair from underneath my feet.

I put the phone down, kept the gun at my side, went back near the bed. The money I was saving, my stash, it was down at Six Roads. Wished that I had kept it with me. Wished that I had stolen as much as I could from the dead cricketer's crib. Wished I had been the first one on the island to rob an armored car, three banks, and four gas stations on the same day.

My date asked, "Everything okay?"

I dragged my fingers down my face, grinned at my last meal.

He repeated, "Everything okay?"

"Everything is as it should be."

"What are you thinking?"

"A storm is coming. I should leave, but I want to f.u.c.k you again before it arrives."

"You're wicked."

"Every f.u.c.k I f.u.c.k is like it could be my last f.u.c.k, so be ready for a good f.u.c.king."

I turned on the television, the local news. The world had changed in the last hour. Unending queues at every gas station, all Trimarts and Super Centres overflowing with customers rus.h.i.+ng to buy bottled water, batteries, torch lights, and canned food. Buses had stopped running. Workers were being sent home early, especially those who relied on public transportation to get to the other side of the island. Barbados was in a state of controlled panic.

He heard the broadcast and said, "Tomas left a bad taste in our mouths."

"Everyone's trying to be prepared this time."

"Not everybody. Just the smart people. Most won't do anything but play in the water."

I turned the TV off, licked my lips, went to him, and said, "You're not Bajan."

"Guyanese."

"How did you end up with this gig?"

"After the injury, after I lost my job, one thing led to another and I did ma.s.sages for a while. Randy customers kept flirting and asking for ma.s.sages with happy endings."

"Female s.e.x tourism. British and American women travel the world to misbehave."

"I was nave to what women did. Times were bad, was behind on rent, behind on bills, my boys needed money for camp and needed new shoes, and a British woman offered me a large amount of money. She paid me more in thirty minutes than I could make the entire month. Took pressure off me."

"Before this, what were you doing to make a living?"

"Before I was stabbed, I worked telecommunications. Was made redundant. Big men in England cut off our phones and cable and gave us our walking papers without notice. Ruined my life."

"How much time did you lose after you were attacked?"

"Six months."

A moment went by. I gave him another condom.

I turned over, was facedown on the bed, pillow underneath my waist, my hips raised, and he found me, entered me.

I moaned.

He held the edges of the pillow like reins, rode me, my hands grabbing the sheets. I should've done this over forty days ago. Should've done it every day since I'd been here.

FIFTY-TWO.

I tied my date to a chair, his restraints not tight but not loose. It was time for me to take my georgie bundle and move on to the next episode. I put my backpack on the bed, took out my gear, began to dress. He sat in the chair, listening to me move, listening to me get organized.

I said, "Thanks for the getaway from reality."

"I like you."

"What?"

"I like you."

"You don't know me. Having s.e.x didn't make us acquaintances. This is business; that's all."

"You're amazing in bed."

"What nationality do you think I am?"

"Ethiopian, maybe Somali, but raised in America."

"You're good."

"I would love to take you on a date."

"You have two kids and an ex-wife who likes knives."

"She and me, we done. She can fall into a latrine for all I care."

He said that and something inside of me s.h.i.+fted. I said, "You'll never be done. Your sons will always want Mommy and Daddy to be in bed together, like in the movies. They will root for you two to reconcile and remarry. Even if that won't happen, they will still want that. Kids are like that. Even if I dated you, even if I took them to eat at Bubba's four times a week, took them to Casa Grande to play games, to the Harrison caves for kicks, to a different beach every weekend, and did their laundry once a week and cooked their meals three times a day, even if I were the perfect lover to you and sucked your d.i.c.k like a p.o.r.n star and swallowed and was the perfect stepmom for them, they would still want you and Mommy together. Kids fantasize unrealistic fantasies, just like adults. Don't be unrealistic. Your scars-someone tried to kill you, marked her territory. You have been cut open and st.i.tched closed."

"You can see my scars, but I can hear yours. Pain in your voice like a chigger has burrowed in your skin and making you itch bad."

"She'll start calling you for no reason, will call early in the morning while you're f.u.c.king me good and ping you late at night while you're getting sucked to o.r.g.a.s.m, will blow up your phone just because she can, making up emergencies, will do it because she knows you're with someone else, and that disrespect would provoke me, and that would turn ugly. You come across as a father your kids will be more than proud to call their daddy. Sounds like you sacrifice for them. You do this, sell your body, take health risks, compromise yourself, whether you enjoy it or not, and you do it to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. You might not be with the ex-wife, might not be f.u.c.king her at the moment, but she has her hooks in you, in your life, in your mind, in your wallet. You have to communicate. You're still family, a broken family, like it or not. She has the right to ping you when she wants your attention."

"Is that what happened to you and your ex?"

"New d.i.c.k never cancels out old d.i.c.k when a woman is in love."

"Are you talking about me or you now?"

"Was it after s.e.x? Why was she trying to win Deb.o.n.e.r of the Year?"

"When she was served papers, she was outraged. She thought it insane that a woman should help take care of the children we made, said it wasn't her responsibility. So I said let the court sort it out so we'd both be clear. She talked to her lawyer. I talked to mine. We had a court date. Then she called me to come over and sort it out, said that maybe we could do this without having to do it in public court, and when I arrived she was calm, smiled, invited me in for dinner. We ate, talked, started a reasonable negotiation. I had my list of custody issues. Nothing extreme. Pick them up a couple of times a week from school. Spend a couple of hours with them. Or keep them overnight and take them to school the next day. She loved to party too much to have the boys overnight. Fine. We went over them one by one. She had excuse after excuse after excuse. Things were tense. We had drinks. You know how it goes."

"So it was after s.e.x. After you had your o.r.g.a.s.m, while you were weak, distracted. You're bigger than her, stronger than she is, but once you busted that nut, you were vulnerable, a black-bellied sheep."

"I feel stupid now."

"She played you the way many men have been seduced, s.e.xed, and killed. p.u.s.s.y and poison, the two weapons a woman has used since she realized she could outwit a man."

"She threatened to kill me if I didn't take her name out of court."

"I bet her name comes up every day. The kids ask for her. They bring up her name in the middle of conversations that have nothing to do with her. Can't break free when you share a kid, not if you're responsible. You and she have two kids. Her name is on the birth certificate. On insurance papers. On school papers. Her name is on every doc.u.ment regarding the child."

"It was really bad for you, the relations.h.i.+p you were in."