Stuart Woods - Choke

“There, dear,” she said, “is that better?”

“Boy, is that better,” he breathed.

“So, we’re going to hold off for a while, okay?”

“Why do we always have to fuck in the car or on a beach somewhere?” he complained. “There are beds available to us.”

“You love it in the car and on the beach,” she said. “Anyway, beds are risky. You never know when someone will walk in.”

“Are you fucking Chandler, too?” he asked.

“Baby!” she spat. “What a shitty thing to say to me!”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“If I am, it’s for us, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Always remember that.”

“I’ll try to remember,” he said.

She pushed him off her and retrieved a towel from the front seat, wiping them both. “So we’re going to cool it?”

“I guess.”

“Promise me, baby. I can’t afford another attempt-failed or successful-while this cop is hanging around.”

“Why do you think he suspects something?”

“Oh, he told Harry and me flat out, when he came to the house last week. He said somebody had tampered with the car and wanted to do Harry harm.”

“And what did Harry say?”

“He pooh-poohed the whole thing, just like I knew he would. But we don’t want to start him thinking about it; that would not be good for our plans. When it happens, it happens suddenly, without warning, and it has to be final; no screw-ups next time.”

“Yeah, the screwing will have to be between you and me.”

“You want to screw me again, lover?” She stroked his penis.

“I can’t, baby, you’ve worn me out.”

“Bet you aren’t worn out yet,” she said, bending over and kissing the organ. It twitched in her hand. “See?” she cooed, and took it into her mouth.

“Jesus, how do you do it?” he moaned. “You’ve got me going again.”

“I have, haven’t I?” she said, stopping for a moment.

“Don’t stop!”

“We’re cooling it, then?”

“We’re cooling it!”

“Until I say we’re ready?”

“Anything you say.”

“Good boy; now here’s your reward for being good.”

“Oh, baby, baby, baby!” he yelled as he came again.

“There,” she said. “I knew you could do it.”

Chuck first saw the man as Harry and Clare drove up in the Mercedes. He was riding a red rental motor scooter, and he entered the parking lot half a minute after the Carrases, parked in the shade of a tree, switched off the scooter, and watched while Chuck and Victor played three sets with Harry and Clare.

Chuck looked up from time to time to see if the man was still there, and he always was. He was swarthy, very Mediterranean-Greek or Turkish, Chuck thought; tallish, solidly built, with thick, stylishly cut hair and what might be called bruised good looks. He wore jeans, a yellow polo shirt, white running shoes, and Porsche sunglasses, the ones with the big lenses. When the match was over and Harry and Clare moved toward their car, the man started the scooter and drove away. Chuck thought it odd, but he put it out of his mind. There were thousands of tourists in town, hundreds of them riding rented scooters. Then it occurred to him that the man had probably seen Clare somewhere in town and had followed the couple to get a better look at her. Nothing strange about that; all men looked at Clare.

Chuck thought no more about it until after work, when he was leaving Wooley’s, a grocery store on Roosevelt Boulevard. He pulled out of his parking space and, as he stopped for traffic at the exit to Roosevelt, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the man on the scooter two cars back. He stared at the man, the Turk, as he was beginning to think of him, until the driver behind blew his horn impatiently. Chuck looked both ways, then pulled onto Roosevelt, but instead of turning left toward Key West Bight, he turned right. The scooter turned with him.

What now? He was headed away from home, toward the upper Keys. Should he try to lose the man? If so, where? Key West was one mile by four, and its streets were ill suited for car-scooter chases; he could turn north on Highway 1, but there was only one road all the way to Miami. Anyway, there was ice cream melting in the bag beside him.

He turned into the Overseas Market shopping center, drove aimlessly around for a minute or two, then got back onto Roosevelt and headed toward home. The scooter kept pace, darting among cars a hundred yards back.

Chuck turned right on Palm Avenue and drove across the arching Garrison Bight bridge, past the naval base. Palm became Eaton Street as he headed into Old Town. He turned left on Elizabeth Street, picked up his laundry and dry cleaning, made a U-turn, and drove back to Key West Bight. He parked in his usual spot, put the tonneau cover on the car, and struggled toward Choke, burdened with groceries and laundry. He danced across the little gangplank and dumped his cargo on a deck chair while he unlocked the cabin. As he did so, he looked toward the parking lot and saw the Turk carefully not looking at him. A moment later, the man turned the scooter around and drove away.

As Chuck was putting away his groceries, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” Clare.

“Ah…” Chuck struggled for the right words.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Call me back in five minutes, but not from home.”

She was silent for a moment. “Right,” she said finally, then hung up.

Chuck mixed himself a drink and took the cordless phone onto the afterdeck. He sat and sipped, idly watching the sunset, until the instrument rang in his hand.

“Hi,” he said.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you with somebody?”

“No, I’m alone. Where are you?”

“I’m in the car.”

“Good.”

“Baby, what’s the matter? Aren’t we on for tonight?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“He’s left for Marathon. There’s some property up there he’s been looking at.”

“He may have left a representative behind.”

“A representative? What are you talking about?”

“When you and Harry came to tennis today, a man on a motor scooter seemed to follow you.”

“What did he look like?”

Chuck described the Turk.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Anyway, it’s not the first time I was followed by a man. Maybe he’s a breast man.”

“Maybe,” Chuck said, “but when I left work tonight, he followed me, too, and I don’t think it was because he liked my tits.”

She laughed. “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”

“I spotted him as I was leaving the grocery store; I took the long way home, and he was with me all the way. He just left, at least I think he did.”

“So what do you think?”

“I think there’s a better-than-even chance that Harry has put somebody on us.”

“Mmmm,” she said. “I wonder if he’d do that.”

“You know him better than I. Would he?”

“It’s unlikely, but you’re right, tonight might not be a good idea, considering.”

“Considering,” Chuck echoed. “Why don’t you keep an eye behind you for a couple of days, see if the guy turns up again? I’ll do the same.”

“I don’t want to wait a couple of days to see you,” she said, her voice low.

“Believe me, I feel exactly the same way,” Chuck replied. “But we don’t know if today is this guy’s first day on us, or if he’s been around for a while.”

“My guess is this is his first day,” Clare said.

“Why?”

“Because, as hard as Harry is to read, I think I’d know if somebody had reported to him that you and I are screwing each other blind twice a week. That would trouble him.”