John Avery - Black Cobra

Aaron wasn’t sure what she meant by that. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said. “Jason may need our help.”

“Oh, relax. He’ll be busy navigating the Gatun locks for hours. If he needs anything, his canal agent is with him.”

“But what if he catches us? Here in my room, I mean. That would not be good.”

“He won’t,” Brandy said, stepping into Aaron’s cabin. “He told me not to disturb him until we reach Lake Gatun. He won’t be expecting me until then. Besides, we’re just talking, right?”

She looked at Aaron with her head turned slightly to the side. Then, to Aaron’s surprise, she closed the cabin door and slowly unzipped a little purse, dumping the contents on the bed: a cut-off drinking straw, a razor blade, a small mirror, and a gram of cocaine.

A foil-wrapped condom fell out as well. “Oops,” Brandy said, smiling coyly as she returned it to the purse. “I don’t think we’ll be needing that .”

Aaron watched wide-eyed as Brandy unfolded the packet of coke and poured a small portion of the powder onto the mirror, and then she used the blade to chop it finely, and with one deft stroke, smoothed it into a perfect, white line.

“I used to do the heavy stuff,” she said. “You know, morphine, heroin. But after OD’ing twice, I learned my lesson. Needles scare the hell out of me now. And don’t get me started about crack. It’s way too addictive.” She left out the part about crack-cocaine being viewed as a ghetto drug, with the powdered version for the affluent, and that at this stage in her life she felt a kinship with the latter.

She offered the straw to Aaron. “Would you like to go first?”

“Oh, you go right ahead,” Aaron said. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be joining her. His experience with morphine as a pain killer was not all that wonderful, and he wasn’t sure he’d fare any better using cocaine. Besides, even if he did try it, he needed to watch and learn first, so as not to appear foolish and inexperienced in front of Brandy.

She picked up the straw, and with her index finger over one nostril, she did the entire line in one quick easy motion. She tilted her head back and repeatedly sniffed and pinched her nostrils until every last grain of powder was gone.

“I never told anyone this,” she confessed. “But I always wished I’d been born a blonde.”

“No kidding,” Aaron said, surprised at her sudden candor. “I love your red hair.”

Brandy smiled. “Why, thank you, Aaron. What a nice thing to say.”

She drew another perfect line on the mirror and handed the straw to Aaron. “Okay, big boy,” she said. “Your turn.”

Aaron hesitated, and then took the straw from her, feeling enormous pressure to perform. He leaned over and following Brandy’s example did the line in one quick snort. The powder burned slightly, but it was nothing compared to the Jack Daniels he had coughed up through his nose that night in the van before the infamous bank robbery two years earlier. The frightful memories of that morning in the Community Plaza Bank came rushing up to his consciousness, but he quickly shoved them back down into the dark abyss where they belonged.

Brandy offered him another line, but although the sensation was most certainly pleasant, he declined. Better see what happens to me first, he thought wisely.

Brandy finished off the rest of the packet on her own.

“You don’t talk much sometimes,” she said as she repacked the little purse.

“I don’t always have something to say,” Aaron said.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Aaron adjusted his position on the bed. “Of course I do, Brandy. I’m not blind . Your hair, your eyes, your —”

He stopped mid-sentence when, out of the blue, Brandy crossed her arms in front of her and pulled off her top. He took in a quick breath and his eyes went wide. Brandy looked really good in black underwear.

“We can’t do this, Brandy,” he insisted. “You’re with Jason, and he’s my friend. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

“Well, of course it does, silly,” she said, dispatching what was left of her clothing. “Trust me. He won’t mind.”

“But I’ve never —”

Brandy pressed her finger to his lips. Her touch was soft and her skin smelled sweet and wonderful. The intoxicating cocktail of perfume, cocaine, adrenaline, and hormones heated him to his core, burning away any fragments of resistance he once had, leaving him weak.

Brandy knew she had him. She reached in and pulled his T-shirt off over his head and shoved him back onto his pillow.

She unbuttoned his jeans and as Aaron started to close his eyes, something outside caught his attention and his heart leaped. He sat up and checked the window. They were clear of the locks!

“Get dressed,” he said, sitting up. “We’re through the first locks. We’re on Lake Gatun.”

Brandy sat up with her hands covering her breasts. “What? Already? But we were just getting started.”

“There’s no time,” Aaron said. He crawled off the bed and buttoned his pants and pulled on his shirt.

“Please don’t do this,” Brandy said innocently. “I can be quick.”

“I’m really sorry, Brandy,” Aaron said. “But Jason will be looking for you.” He handed Brandy her sandals.

Dazed and embarrassed, Brandy dressed and then checked herself in the mirror. She had never been snubbed by a man before, and she didn’t like the way it felt. Not one bit. Was she losing her sexuality? Did she cross some kind of line at twenty-seven? Had Aaron really wanted her? Or did she just imagine it all?

She made a few quick adjustments to her makeup, then gave herself a kiss in the mirror and told herself, I’m smart enough to know when I’ve been insulted … but I’m sexy enough not to care!

As she stepped out of Aaron’s cabin, she gave him a look that said, You missed your chance, Mister . You were about to go where most men only dream of going!

Chapter 30

Aaron watched Brandy leave, his crotch aching from the thought of what they had almost done. I guess that mystery’s going to remain a mystery , he thought sadly. Exhausted, yet still buzzing from the cocaine, he threw back a couple of shots of Jack Daniels and lay down on his bed, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep again.

“Wake up you useless sod!” a man’s voice boomed.

Aaron started and opened his eyes, frightened and confused. Where the hell am I? he thought, glancing around in wide-eyed panic. In the dim light he could make out what looked like the corroded bars of a cell door in a medieval dungeon .

The man hammered hard on the bars with what sounded like a wooden club, shattering Aaron’s eardrums. “You walk at noon!” the man bellowed with the power of five men combined. Then, without another word, the man’s heavy footsteps receded into the distance.

Perspiration stood in hot beads upon Aaron’s forehead as ice water surged through his veins. He looked down at himself and found that he was dressed in some sort of tattered robe, woven from a coarse serge. His feet were bare and crusted with filth.

The smell of human waste hung heavily in the air, and he could see that he was indeed in some sort of dungeon. The walls were of heavy, stacked stone, glistening with moisture, and polished from centuries of human agony. Bolted to one of them was the bunk on which he sat, a wrought-iron platform supported by two heavy chains. A woven-straw mat served as his only bedding.

Above the bunk a small window was cut high into the wall. Aaron quickly determined that even if he could reach it, which he could not, it would be too narrow for him to pass through.