01. Labyrinth of Dreams (27 page)

The driver, a good-looking black man who was far younger than his car, got out and introduced himself as Ben Swope. I noticed he had really big eyes for Brandy, and I didn't feel the least bad about that, even when she turned on the tease to him. This whole "country" wasn't much more than a small town, and even in big cities the taxi drivers knew what was happening. Pair taxi and small town, and you have a really nice source of information.

The cottage wasn't much—one big studio apartment with a sloping roof, really, and a bedroom created by a wall divider—but we weren't looking for the Regency here, we were looking for a man.

Ben was
very
solicitous of Brandy, and helped with our bags, and Brandy gave me a wink and started really coming on to him. I knew she had to be dead tired by then, but this was business. Mike had to be taken into town, because he was staying at a small hotel there while he sorted out the paperwork and got some gas run back to the plane, and in no time Brandy had invited herself along. "You're real tired," she told me. "Maybe Ben can show me the sights."

I played along and let her go, which surprised Jamie no end. "You seemed rather cavalier about all that," she said after the taxi had driven away, Brandy in the front seat next to Ben.

"You're the client. This and stakeouts and long sets of phone calls and interviews are what the job is really all about. She's tired, but by tomorrow the whole town will know about us, officialdom will have to insist on checking us formally into the country, and we'll have to produce real IDs with our names on them. Names Little Jimmy and his cronies will know. The description might sound wrong, but how many salt-and-pepper couples named Sam and Brandy Horowitz can there be?" I paused a second. "No, don't answer that. I mean on
this
world?"

"You have a point, but he's very young and very handsome, and he is, well ..."

I bristled at her insinuation. "Her kind, you were going to say. As opposed to your kind and my kind, you mean. I think you better get off any thinking of that sort while you're around either of us, or client or no client, Company or no Company, you will not be a part of this business and I mean that. There's enough native-born prejudice in this world. I don't have to take it from somebody who's imported."

She seemed genuinely surprised that I was offended by her comment. That was the nastiest form of prejudice, and the hardest to beat. The bigot who thinks he or she is a liberal because they don't mind eating in the same restaurant. Whitlock probably thought
he
was a liberal, too—after all,
all
his servants were black.

At least she didn't press it. For all I knew, a trained Company agent was a triple black belt and could beat me up blind and with both arms tied, but I think she sensed how close she'd come to getting belted. I had enough trouble with that kind of shit here; I sure couldn't ever accept it from somebody who worked for an organization that employed women who looked like dogs or seven-foot Japanese dancers or guys who had fur.

Yeah, I was worried about Brandy, but not in that way. She could handle poor Ben okay, but we were in a strange town on a remote island, and the only way off was a plane that couldn't get off the ground without a fill-up.

Jamie and I unpacked, and I, at least, took a nap. When I awoke, it was very dark, and nobody but me was around. Jamie had been busy, though; there was food for the small and very loud refrigerator, and I made myself a sandwich and drank a dark British beer, then went outside and looked around. I wondered where Jamie had gotten the food and why she'd gone back out, unless she was trying to make it a competition with Brandy. I hoped not. She might be a pro where she came from, but she was out of her element here and would most likely screw things up. It wasn't just waiting for Brandy and Jamie or anybody to show up that was getting to me, nor the fact that I was the only one doing absolutely nothing. What worried me was that time was marching on, and that if Little Jimmy found out about us I was sure as hell a perfect target.

I went outside into the darkness and wandered around for a bit, until I heard a car coming and went back up near the house, staying, however, in the shadows. It was Ben's cab, and he let Brandy out, and they had a very long kiss. That one really did make me jealous, I'm afraid; there's insecurity deep in the heart of every older man married to a younger and more attractive woman. She left him, and walked up to and into the house, and Jimmy backed out of the sandy driveway and went back toward town. I walked up and entered the house.

Brandy turned, then smiled. "Sam! I was beginning to think everybody had deserted this place!" . "That was some kiss you gave him."

She smiled coyly. "Aw. ... You care!" She came over and put her arms around me. "You know there's only one man in my life. God, I'm dead tired, though. Where's Jamie?"

"Good question. I took a nap, and when I got up there was beer in the refrigerator and cold cuts next to it, but no Jamie. I been sitting around praying she isn't out there trying to be Supergirl and screwing us up."

"Yeah, particularly since I know where Little Jimmy's hidin' out."

"What!
Thanks for the news bulletin! He
is
here, then?"

"Sure is. Right on schedule, too. Him and three foxy-lookin' ladies who seem to be his wives, bodyguards, and whatevers. A regular United Nations. One black, one white, and one Oriental, they say. I'll say this—he knows how to hide out in style. Seems he's got some relatives and old business pals around here, but nobody's real close to him."

"He's got a house?"

"Uh uh. Boat. Big sucker. Not a yacht, but you could make South America with it. He and his girls live on board—they're also the crew. I hope he's payin' 'em well. There's only one decent harbor and that's right downtown, or what passes for downtown here. This ain't exactly New York City. In fact, this ain't even Asbury Park. He's been layin' low but he's hard to miss, as you know. Callin' himself Joseph Mohammed, if you can believe that. He's spread the word around that he's some kind of Muslim and those are his three wives."

"He's one short of the maximum for the old style, but Little Jimmy always was cheap. Think he knows we're here?"

"Oh, he's spread some money all over to make sure of it. Ben got twenty whole American dollars to report any newcomers who show up without advance long-term reservations. The mob does move dope through here, but not on a permanent basis. A boat comes in, a bunch of men get off, they stay a couple of days, go out fishin' every day, then one night they meet a plane, and then when the plane goes, they go. It's fairly regular, but never the same boat, men, or plane. They got a decent commercial airport the other side of town. No jumbo-jet city, but it's all right for this place."

I nodded. "Any of these mob men in since Little Jimmy's been here?"

"Just once, for two days. Little Jimmy sailed away almost while they were gettin' off the boat, and passed 'em in the harbor when they sailed out. He's bein'
real
cautious."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Still, he wouldn't even stay around here if he had everything he expected to get. He's hanging loose, taking a risk here while he waits. This was where his slush fund was set up, and where he always probably intended to wind up. Now even here's too hot for him, but with two-plus million you can really disappear into Guyana, or maybe all the way to Brazil. Who's he waiting for?"

She yawned. "I dunno, but I don't think they're comin' tonight. I'm dead. I think tomorrow may be soon enough to go ask him, if Jamie don't spook him tonight. I'm done, Sam. I got to get some sleep."

"You go ahead. I'll keep the watch here for a while. I never completely woke up, though, so we'll see how long I last."

When my new watch beeped at four in the morning, I counted five beers and no Jamie, and dozed off myself in a chair.

I awoke when I heard the sound of a car pulling up to the house, and looked at my watch. It was about ten in the morning, and Brandy was still out cold. I went to the door and looked cautiously out. It was Jamie, driving one of those tiny English cars that make Volkswagens look like Cadillacs. She was made-up a little, but barefoot and wearing an oversized shirt and bikini bottom and not much else, although she took a shoulder purse out of the car and put it over her shoulder before she came in.

"Well," I said, "you look like you've been busy."

"Oh, it was most productive." She put the bag down, reached in, and pulled out a fist full of documents. "I couldn't get passports without your photos, but these papers will do in a pinch for here, and we are all clear with customs and immigration. You are a wealthy American businessman named Jacob Brodsky, and I'm afraid I took the liberty of making myself Mrs. Brodsky, and Brandy your personal secretary, since I wasn't sure what sort of line she was using with the cabbie and how long she wanted to maintain it."

I looked over the papers and they sure as hell looked official. "Pretty good for a night's work, but this names Brandy as Brenda Hawkins. That's probably not the name she gave Ben last night."

"Won't matter. I explained We were here incognito while the solicitors fended off some nasty lawsuits and cleaned up a few things, and they seemed to understand that easily. Apparently about two thirds of the foreigners on this island are using assumed names and this is a rather common practice here. They're honest enough that I think they would turn in really major fugitives from justice, but not the passive sort with lots of money and no danger to the community here."

"And how did you accomplish all this?"

She shrugged. "It's a small town. I got bored here and wandered in, found a grocery and got the supplies here, then went back after dark to see what the place was like. Everyone was
very
nice, and someone pointed out a rather important official to me. Since he was in a pub trying to pick up girls, it wasn't difficult to get to know him."

I raised my eyebrows. "So I've got a cheating wife now?"

"Perhaps. He
is
rather attractive, and it's been a long time."

I couldn't resist. "Is he—your kind?"

She winced. "Please. I needed that lashing of yours to remind me of the basics. I apologize. That's really what sort of pushed me into action."

I wondered if it was really that easy. Still, I had suspicions. "If he's attractive and important, why is he picking up girls in a bar?"

She grinned. "I don't know. Perhaps you can ask his wife, or, better yet, his three ex-wives."

"You didn't—press about Nkrumah, did you?"

"Oh, my, no! That would have set off every alarm in the town. I mean, surely a strange white woman asking questions about the likes of him the first night in town would have caused him to panic. I know my job. Do you know yours?"

"We know where he is, who he's with, and what name he's using," I informed her. "I think today we're gonna try and find out why he's hanging around."

"Why
who's
hanging around?" I heard Brandy ask sleepily. She wandered in, looking shot to hell, the way either of us usually looked in the morning.

"Little Jimmy. Care to wake up and go into town for some brunch, and wander down maybe near the docks? We have a car now. Rented, I assume."

Jamie nodded. "At the airport. They almost fight with each other for your business. I left the keys in it. Who's going to steal it around here?"

"You want to sleep or come in with us?" I asked her.

"Oh, just let me change and I'll come in. I got some sleep last night, and I function on very little."

Brandy was never a big coffee drinker, but I made some while Jamie showered and changed, and Brandy drank almost as much as I did. The adrenaline high was gone now, and she was feeling the effects of first-night ambition. While this took place, I showed her the papers and briefed her on the cover story and identities. She was generally impressed, although she wasn't sure she liked my change in marriage partners— even though I could hardly blame Jamie for doing what I would have done, flying blind and handed an opportunity, myself. Since she'd told Ben she was Sandy Parks, from Philadelphia, we had the crazy situation of having cover identities for our cover identities. It kind of appealed to my sense of the perverse.

Jamie emerged wearing shorts, sandals, and a colorful shirt, and Brandy was now awake enough to get dressed herself. She, too, went for shorts and sandals, but picked a very tight tee shirt and no bra, a combination that left nothing to the imagination. It was kind of funny watching them, in a way. Brandy was dressing to show off her most outstanding attribute, and Jamie was wearing loose and oversized tops to hide her lack of same. Brandy was wearing a string bikini under her clothes, though, and I figured she might have something in mind.

The town was no tourist mecca; it was populated by real people, the kind the tour boats don't show you. It was Caribbean poor, and that was pretty poor indeed, even poorer than our old sections of Camden; but at least they didn't ever worry about a heating bill here, and even the most run-down shacks seemed to have cable TV along with five or six kids and two or three mangy-looking dogs, and about every fourth house had a car in front in some stage of repair or disrepair. The harbor area and marina were pretty nice, though, and the people were friendly, courteous, and English speakers all, so that helped. There were several restaurants near the yacht harbor, and we passed by the ones with native soups and great seafood and took the dingy one that would cook you breakfast anytime. An English breakfast, too, which was a real meal.

After, we took a leisurely stroll around the harbor area and got a fairly good look at Little Jimmy's hideaway. It was one of those large cabin cruisers with a lot of room belowdecks, and it looked imposing. It was docked all the way at the end of a large series of slips, and in its position, really at right angles to the dock, it only took hauling in the gangplank and undoing two lines and he was ready to roll. We didn't dare actually walk up the pier, but on the rear deck we could see the big man himself relaxing with a drink and reading something.