Ken Douglas - Scorpion

“ But I invited him.”

“ Yes you did. You invited him. You also invited the prime minister.”

“ One of these days, woman.”

“ Hush up, Freddy.”

“ Where’s the little lady going?” Freddy said.

“ I’d like to go to the Hilton,” Maria said.

“ You take the man to the embassy,” Bee said. “I’ll see to lady.”

“ Fair enough,” Freddy said, and after a few minutes of goodbyes Broxton found himself on the way to the Embassy in Freddy’s small Mini. Once there he promised to have dinner with Freddy and Bee a week from Saturday. He’d been assured that several important people were going to be there and he promised that he wouldn’t miss it. Then he was out of the car and headed into the embassy as the sun was going down.

Dani Street raised her wrist so that the porch light lit up the face of her Rolex. It was the maid’s day off and she had two hours before her father came home, plenty of time. She was leaning against the porch swing, long legs barely covered in a bright, very short summer dress. The ambassador would be shocked, she thought, but the ambassador wasn’t home.

She looked past the circular driveway and out across the Queen’s Park Savannah, the tree-lined park that dominated the center of Port of Spain, on the other side of the street. Although it was just after dark, the lights around the park were on, keeping the night alive, and safe. A young couple was jogging along the Savannah, followed by a pair of frolicking German shepherd puppies. Off to her right a man was selling hot dogs and lemonade. Boys were playing cricket in the park. Lovers were strolling, holding hands. A young Rasta man was sitting, playing the guitar, his case open at his side, and every now and then a passerby would drop some coins into it.

It was a typical Friday night at the Savannah. Cool tropical breezes fanned a myriad assortment of trees after a hot and humid day. People were bustling, the night was alive. The sounds of the Rasta’s deep voice drifted across to her. She started to lose herself in his song of love and love lost, when her reverie was interrupted by the black Mercedes rolling up the circular drive.

She looked at the watch again. An hour-and-fifty-five minutes till her father bustled in the front door. The ambassador was always punctual, something that was close to impossible in Trinidad, but it was his punctuality that unnerved the Trinidadian political and social set and gave him his edge. The world, even Trinidad, marched to his drummer. He’d even taught the prime minister a thing or two about being on time.

The Mercedes stopped in front of the porch. She silently watched as Kevin exited the car. He closed the door with a soft push, barely enough to latch it, and even that slight movement made his biceps ripple. He looked over at her and smiled, then he moved toward the back of the car, running his hands lovingly along the top as he made his way. The car was only two weeks old.

“ I brought a case of that Venezuelan rum your father likes so much,” he said, opening the trunk.

“ He’ll be home soon.” She flicked the long blonde hair from her face. “What took you?”

“ We got in late. I’d still be at the airport sweating customs, but I whisked right through with Chandee and the prime minister.” He looked at his watch. “We have plenty of time,” he said, echoing her earlier thought.

“ How did it go?” she asked.

“ Good as gold, picked it up on the stop over in Caracas. Carried it in my shoulder bag the whole way, no problem.”

“ You have a sample?” she said, backing through the doorway.

“ Of course.”

She turned and he followed her into the house.

“ You want me to set this in the kitchen?” he asked. He was holding the case of rum as if it was feather light. He had a good body, the result of six days a week in the gym at Starlight Plaza.

“ Sure.” She led him through high-ceilinged rooms, first through the entryway, then a sitting room, then the formal dining room.

“ The table, is it new?” he asked of a massive oak table surrounded by nine chairs, four on each side and one at the head.

“ Yes,” she said, without turning around.

“ Nothing but the best for old Warren,” he said.

“ That’s right.” She pushed a swinging door aside and stepped into the modern kitchen. Her father loved the old house, but he’d had the kitchen completely redone. Cobalt blue tiled floor and counters, stainless steel range and oven that would be at home in the best of the world’s restaurants. She spent a lot of time in here with him, cooking, talking, laughing. The kitchen was his unofficial office, and on a small breakfast table sat his laptop and numerous papers.

“ He’s still working on that book? I thought he’d given it up,” Kevin said.

“ Still at it,” she said.

“ Nobody will ever print it,” he said.

“ I’ll get it printed. I still have a lot of clout in the publishing industry.”

“ Even so, it’ll never sell. Nobody cares about a race of people that died out two hundred years ago.”

“ They’re not all dead, but that’s not the point. It’ll sell because it’s good. People will want to know their story, how they lived, what they believed, because through them we learn more about ourselves. This book is so well written it would make you cry. He makes them come to life.”

“ Give me a break. Nobody wants to hear that Columbus killed the Caribs. Nobody cares about naked Indians. Nobody wants their idols trashed.”

“ Columbus didn’t kill them.”

“ You know what I mean. He started it.”

“ That’s like saying if my father gets drunk on your rum, your grandmother’s responsible. If she hadn’t had your mother, your mother wouldn’t have had you, and you wouldn’t have bought the rum. Where’d you get it by the way? You surely wouldn’t try and slip a case of rum by customs while you were smuggling in the coke.”

“ Margarita, last trip. I stopped by my place on the way over.”

“ You can set it by the sink,” she said, wondering if getting the rum for her father was the only reason he’d stopped off at his apartment.

“ Fine,” he said. By the time he’d laid the case on a long tiled counter she was leaving the kitchen and headed for the hallway. He turned to follow.

She heard him behind her as she entered the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. She opened a bureau drawer and took out a mirror and handed it to him. She eased the drawer shut with the eager anticipation she always felt when she did a test. It was the only time she allowed herself to use the drug.

“ Are they ready to ship?” she asked.

“ They sent five kilos with me. It’s all up front, to show their good faith. They want my principal to know they’re ready to go. Soon as I call them, the goods will be in route.” He untucked a shirt tail and wiped the mirror off. Then he blew his hot breath on it and wiped it again.

She pushed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears as he lay the mirror on the bureau and pulled out a brown glass vial from his shirt pocket. She wet her lips with her tongue as he unscrewed the cap, and she started drumming her fingers against her thighs as he tapped the vial against the mirror, spilling out some of the white powder.

She sucked in her upper lip and gently bit down on it as he pulled out a credit card and a blue hundred dollar bill from his shirt pocket. He set the bill on the bureau and divided the cocaine into two equal white lines with the credit card. He picked up the blue bill and started rolling it up.

“ Put it away,” she said. “We’ll use mine.”

“ Got a problem with the local currency?” he said, tucking the bill back into his pocket.