Hot Lava (17 page)

Three imaginary light bulbs appeared over three not-so-imaginary heads. “I take it that some of your friends in the field have a drug problem,” Briana quickly surmised.

“Understatement,” Koni replied. “That’s why so many of them turn to tricking in the first place -- to pay for their nasty habits. In any case, a big bag of powdered coke, like this one here, should be good enough to get us some valuable information.”

“Wait,” I interjected, “but it’s not coke, it’s flour. And whoever we sell it to is going to know that as soon as they try it out, which they’ll probably do before they buy it.”

His smile doubled in size. “Yeah, Cute Dude, unless the person we sell it to is only buying it to resell it. Someone who doesn’t do drugs. Ever. Someone who can turn a heavy profit without having to wiggle his big willy.”

“Ben,” the three of us said in unison.

“Ben,” he echoed, his noggin bobbing up and down. “Sure, he can climb a tree, but that’s about all he can do, other than shake his money maker. Give him another option to make some quick cash, and he’ll take it. Luckily for us, he really does practice this Mormon stuff. Meaning no stimulants. Meaning no coke.”

“Um,” I ummed, “don’t the Mormons frown on prostitution, too?”

“And homosexuals. Still, a guy’s gotta make a living. Ben figures he’s just using what the good Lord amply gave him. He also has no problem selling drugs to non-Mormons. Weeds out the evil non-believers, he figures.”

“One problem, though,” I said. “He already knows you, and it’d look suspicious if you were selling drugs in La’ie all of a sudden. My guess is, it would get back to Jed, which we definitely don’t want to happen.”

“True,” Koni agreed, “but he definitely doesn’t know either Judy or Liza, and neither does Jed, thank goodness.”

I grimaced. “Great, first I take up prostitution and now drug dealing. This vacation just keeps getting better and better. Maybe after dinner we can do some slave trading.”

“Technically,” he corrected, ignoring my griping, “it’s flour dealing, which I doubt is a crime. Besides, Ben’s dumber than dirt. This should be easy for the two of you. Just sell it to him super cheap and then somehow get him to tell you where Jed is hiding out.”

“
Somehow
,” I reiterated. “How somehow?”

“Use your feminine persuasions,” he tried.

“But I’m not a woman and he’s gay anyway, right?”

“Stop being so difficult. The worst you can do is fail, and then we’ll just be back to the old drawing board.”

I sighed. “Fine. But remember, the guy cracked a coconut open with his bare hands, so the worst that could happen is not, as you said, failing. The worst that could happen would be that my head would be next on his list of items to split.”

“Or mine,” Brandon added.

“As if anyone could put a chink in that thick thing,” I said.

“Asshole,” he sneered.

Briana piped in. “Please, not now. Mamma’s got a massive headache. Just take the flour, strike up a bargain, and find out where Jed is hiding.”

“But...”

“No. Go. Now.”

We bowed our heads and slunk away, the baggie of flour well-hidden in Brandon’s purse. “Geez, what’s her problem?” I whispered.

“Must be her time of the month,” he whispered back.

We ducked just in time, the small coconut whizzing by us at alarming speed. “Shut up and go,” we heard shouted from behind us. Needless, to say, we did as we were told.

Ben was sitting off to the side, reading his Bible and sipping on a box of milk. Wearing nothing but a leather wrap-around, he made for an unusual sight. (I know, considering what we were wearing, look who’s talking, right?) He looked up when we approached.

“Next show’s in a half hour, ladies,” he informed us, a wide grin on his handsome, dark face, a trickle of milk trailing down his chin.

We smiled in return and stood facing him. “We caught your last one. You’re amazing,” Brandon cooed, sending our patsy’s grin into overdrive.

“Just doing the Lord’s work,” he replied. “However odd it is that it’s up a tree.”

“Funny you should say that, young man,” I said, just as the Lord, at that very moment, shot down a beam of inspiration to yours truly.

He stood up and set his Bible down on the rock he’d been sitting on. We towered over him in our high heels. “And why would that be funny?” he asked, his grin only slightly fading.

“Well now,” I began. “We’re from Salt Lake City.”

“Utah?” he asked, now staring up at us in wonderment. “I’ve always wanted to go there, to be among my people.”

“
Our
people,” I told him.

“You’re Mormons?” he asked.

To which Brandon replied, “We’re Mormons?” And then quickly amended with, “I mean, yes,
we’re
Mormons. Osmonds, in fact. Distantly related.”

“Yes,” I agreed, nodding my head. “Very distantly. And we’re just back, in fact, from doing missionary work. A breather before we head on home.”

Brandon looked at me like I was nuts, but nodded his head just the same. “Yes, tell the dear boy where we flew in from, sister,” he said, only slightly nudging me in the ribs.

I racked my brain trying to think of an appropriate city, the Lord’s beam rapidly dimming. “Bogotá,” I blurted out.

“Colombia?” Ben asked. “You two ladies did missionary work in Colombia?” He looked at us in surprise.

“Yes,” Brandon chimed in. “Central America is so desperately in need of the gospel.” I nudged him back, hard. “Er,
South
America, I mean. We spread the word from one impoverished hamlet to the next. Wretched place. Just wretched.”

Ben nodded at us sagely. “I’d imagine. And dangerous, too. I mean, for two such, um, dainty women such as yourselves.”

Dainty. Now there’s a compliment neither of us would’ve expected. Still, we played it to the hilt. “Yes, very. Poverty, violence, rampant
drug
dealing.”

He coughed and momentarily looked away. “Well,” he eventually said, “at least you made it back in one piece.”

We vigorously bobbed our heads up and down. “And made it through the airport without getting arrested,” I said, then quickly put my hand over my mouth. “Oops,” I added, for effect.

Brandon, catching on to this part of my plan, slapped me on my arm. “Now, Judy, we’re not supposed to talk about
that
.”

“What?” Ben asked, his eyes now wide. “Talk about what? Why would you get arrested at the airport? Is Mormonism illegal in Colombia?”

I looked at Brandon, our eyes locked in silent speech, as if to say,
Is it okay to tell him our secret?
Well, that’s what we wanted it to seem like, at any rate. And then I smiled and said, “Show him, Liza. I think we can trust our new friend here.”

He/she paused and then slowly unzipped his/her purse. We looked around, to make sure the coast was clear, and then quickly removed the baggie of flour for Ben to see, and then just as quickly shoved it back inside.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ben asked, a bead of sweat now running down his smooth cheek.

“Uh huh,” I replied. “Top notch, first-rate Colombian cocaine. Our host family had no money to repay us for helping them find salvation. They gave us
this
instead.”

To which Brandon added, “And it would’ve been the height of rudeness to decline their most generous offer. It was all they had. Luckily, two Mormon missionaries such as ourselves didn’t arouse suspicion at the airport.” He gulped for effect. “It was all we could do to make it through security without fainting dead away from fear.”

Ben’s head was now bobbing along with our own. “I’d think so,” he said, clearly calculating his next move. “But what are you going to do with it now?”

“Sell it?” I said, with a shrug. “And give the money to the church, of course.”

He laughed, clearly thinking,
bingo
! “How would two missionaries go about selling a bag of coke? Who would you sell it to? And what if the police caught you? You could both go to prison for years.”

“Dear me,” I said, clutching my (fake) chest.

“Yes, dear us,” Brandon agreed. “Do you have any other suggestions, young man?”

He pretended to mull it over. (Lull and mull, two words you don’t hear much of. Oh, and, of course, the aforementioned cull.) “Well, seeing as we’re all Mormons, I could sell it for you and donate the money to the church.”

I sighed and exhaled, a smile returning to my face. “But won’t it be dangerous for you, young man?” I asked.

“Not as much as for the two of you,” he replied. “I know this island better. I’m sure I can find someone to sell it to without fear that the police will find out. And, as you said, it’s for the church.”

“Amen,” Brandon said.

“Yes, amen,” I agreed, watching as my friend again removed the baggie from his purse, and then added, “But, just in case, I’d feel better if you gave us your cell number.” He looked at us with a mix of curiosity and alarm. “You know, so we could check in on you, make sure everything went smoothly. I don’t think I could live with myself if I thought we got you into any sort of trouble.”

Ben paused, his hand tentatively reaching out to take the baggie. “We insist,” Brandon insisted, then whispered, “We’ll give you the
cocaine
for your number. Otherwise, it just wouldn’t feel right.” He bounced the baggie in his hand, to visually show Ben the obvious heft of it.

And that was all she wrote. “Deal,” he practically shouted, snatching it out of Brandon’s grip before shoving it inside his leather skirt. Then he reeled off his cell number as I wrote it down. He ran off soon afterward, clearly thinking he’d scored, big time. Little did he know that all he scored was the ability to make a few muffins.

Brandon, collapsing on a rock, looked up at me and asked, “What the fuck just happened?”

I smirked and patted his bewigged head. “Still haven’t figured it out yet?”

“What?” he asked. “Is there still more to the plan? You lost me about halfway through.”

I motioned for him to follow me to a nearby pay phone. A minute later, I had his answer for him. “That was indeed Ben’s cell phone number he gave us,” I told him.

“And?” he anded.

“Wait, let’s regroup first. It might make him suspicious if he gets the call now.”

“What call? What are you talking about?”

I ignored the question and ambled off. Brandon followed close behind as we met up with Briana and Koni. “Well?” they asked, with expectant looks on their faces.

“Yeah, well?” Brandon also asked.

They looked at my friend and scratched their heads. “What does that mean?” said Briana. “You two were together, right? Don’t you know what happened, Brandon?”

He hid his face and mumbled through his hand, “Not a fucking clue.”

They looked at me, then at him, then back at me. “Well, Cute Dude, what happened? Do we know how to find Jed or not?”

I shrugged. “Possibly. We’ll know in a few minutes. But first, we have to find a rental car company. Just in case.”

Brandon punched me in the arm, followed soon by an even harder wallop from Briana. “Stop being so damned cryptic,” she said, with Brandon and Koni nodding the same sentiment.

I smiled a wide and beguiling grin, clearly delighted at my rare upper hand. “You get more flies with honey,” I suggested.

“Okay,” Brandon replied, through gritted teeth. “Tell us your plan,
honey
, or I’m going to let the next one
fly
upside your head.”

I ignored the comment and turned around, walking back the way we’d entered. The three of them sighed but trailed close behind. Luckily, there was a rental car company in the center of town, small, with just a few cars, but we only needed one, and one was all they had available. Then I found a payphone down the street.

“Now,” I finally told them, “we find out where Jed is. Or not.” I smiled, but before anyone could hit me again, I read from the piece of paper I’d written on and started dialing. He answered on the second ring, thank goodness, because my heart was about to pound right through my (padded) blouse.

“Who’s this?” Ben asked immediately.

“Jed,” I replied, curtly, my voice even, deep -- though I hadn’t a clue as to what he sounded like.

Ben coughed, and stuttered out, “Jed? Um, yeah, Jed, how can I, um, how can I help you?”

Clearly, he wasn’t accustomed to hearing from his employer. “Meet me at my house in fifteen minutes; I’ve got a job for you.”

Again he coughed. “Yeah, okay. But, um, you never like us to come to your house. Never. Remember?”

“Don’t tell me what I do and do not like. Just get over here.” I hung up before he could reply, and looked at my friends with a look of out and out satisfaction. “Yes,” I told them, “in answer to your question, we know where Jed is. Or at least soon will.”

They looked at me in utter and well-deserved astonishment. It was Brandon who bowed his head first and began a slow clap. “Bravo,” he said. “And all done with nothing but fat cells in that pea-sized brain of yours.”

I grinned, despite the back-handed compliment. (It was, of course, the best he was capable of.) “Thanks,” I replied, humbly. “Now we follow Ben straight to Jed.”

“Then what?” Koni asked, thereby bursting my bubble.

I faltered. “Beats me. One plan per day is all I can muster. We were fortunate to get that much. I’m kind of like a leap year in that regard -- I come around once every four years. So, tag, you’re it.”

They didn’t reply, figuring, I was certain, we at least had a promising lead. So we got into our beat-up rental car and stared at the entrance to the Cultural Center. Sure enough, not a minute later, Ben emerged, walking quickly to his even-more-beat-up mess of a car, a scowl on his face, his barely-there outfit replaced by shorts and a tight tank.

We gave him a minute head start and then quickly caught up, following a couple of car lengths behind. Thankfully, the roads around La’ie were narrow and curvy, so he had to drive slowly, despite the obvious rush he was in. None of us said more than two words, tense as we were, afraid of the unknown, of what we were going to do next. Terrified at the idea that Will was almost in our grasp but seemingly unreachable.