Resurrecting Midnight (21 page)

“Where is Scamz?”

“Buenos Aires. He had a satellite operation in La Boca. Lost communication.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re positive the package is still in Buenos Aires.”

“He’s called you. Over and over he’s called you.”

“Well, you have me on the line now. What was the emergency?”

“Is the satellite phone not working?”

“It’s working. But I’m not. That phone is not my electronic leash.”

“One day. Can you give us one more day?”

“My schedule hasn’t changed.”

“The Four Horsemen. We have a serious problem. Be ready to make your flight.”

“My schedule won’t change.”

Arizona said, “The sooner you can leave, the better. This is a major event. The package has been in one spot longer than anticipated. Other parties are interested and are organizing. I just got word that a group of assassins that call themselves The Seven Jamaicans are—”

“This Nicolas Jacoby thing. The Lebanese he was talking to. Detroit. I need that resolved. That’s a major thing on this side of the table. Like you said, give to get.”

“I need this South American issue taken care of. I need this taken care of now. Each second that it is delayed will make it more complicated. Too many parties are interested. Only God knows who else we will have to deal with in another day. Please. I need you now.”

“You said I’ve never said no to you.”

“You haven’t.”

I wrestled with Hawks and her fire. “After my next obligation.”

She paused. “What can I do to get some consideration?”

“What are you saying?”

“My words were clear.”

“He put you up to that?”

“No one owns me. You know that.”

“Nothing. There is nothing you can do. My agreement is cast in stone.”

“Okay. Understood.”

“I need that Nicolas Jacoby information. I need that location in Memphis.”

“Expect the same consideration. Expect the goddamn same. Expect
after.
”

She said unkind things in Tagalog.

I said some unkind things to her in French.

Two seconds later, I hung up the phone.

Arizona’s end had disconnected a second before.

Hawks stopped moving. “Everything okay?”

I held Hawks down on the bed, Arizona’s voice meandering inside my head as I filled Hawks’s vagina up with my frustration. Had to give to get, and I gave Hawks more then she wanted to handle, gave her enough to make her stop asking questions, stroked her hard and fast, did that until she came. And when she came I didn’t stop. Kept going until Hawks pushed me away.

But I wasn’t going away. I wasn’t going to be pushed away.

I held her, made Hawks my prisoner.

An arrogant con woman had told me that I didn’t know how to make love, said I knew how to fuck, and the better a man fucked, the more a woman would be convinced he was making love to her. The same went for a woman fucking a man. I’d learned that from Arizona.

I slipped out and Hawks moaned, rushed me back inside, held my ass and pulled me deep. Her breathing was thick, as hot as it was between her legs. Her fingernails went into my skin, marked me. I went deeper. The heat set fire to my angst-filled thoughts.

We moved together, moved until everything became urgent, labored, breath thickened as sweat rose. I jerked and groaned, fought with the fire, a battle I was losing one pant at a time. Hawks pushed me, had me sit back, rest on my elbows while she hurried on top of me, moving in her own urgent and labored rhythm. She moved like she was no longer in charge of her body, as if that fire inside her was pulling her. Hawks moved her hair away, caught her breath, then turned around until she was riding reverse cowgirl, moved that way awhile, then turned again, faced me, moved her ass up and down and smiled at my need to come.

We changed positions again, me on top, my weight between her open legs.

Hawks closed her eyes, made ugly faces as I made ugly faces and looked down on her.

Hawks pulled sheets, grabbed the covers, moved her taut ass with the frustration I gave her. My energy went deep. Her hips rose and met my thrusts until I went inside her hard, made her scoot away, went inside her hard again, made her scoot until she slipped off the bed headfirst. She fell and I grabbed her, held her as I kept stroking her, let her head slide until it touched the floor. I readjusted, gripped her thighs, stood up over her, had her upside down, our legs crisscrossed like open scissors, gripped her waist and leg, pulled her up into me over and over, stroked her as her hands found the floor, stroked her as she moaned and pushed back into me, stroked as she talked to God and turned around, moved into her as she cursed.

Once again, Hawks’s pretty shoes fell off her feet one at a time.

“Gideon . . . damn . . . what has gotten into . . . into . . . damn . . .”

Her hands walked up the wall, her back to me, breathing hard as her hands made it up as high as my waist. Hawks held the wall with her back arched, her head back, hair trapped in sweat as she moaned and panted. She used the wall as leverage. My strokes were a sweet repetition that lasted until Hawks couldn’t hold her weight up any longer.

I pounded her with aggravation as her hands walked back down the wall to the carpet.

I followed her, grabbed pillows from the bed and shoved them under her knees.

Her hands reached for the bed and she pulled her upper body across the mattress.

I was still behind her, went wherever she went. Her knees were on the pillows, upper body across the mattress. I grabbed a handful of her long hair, pulled it hard as I took her from behind, between the bed and the wall, used that wall as leverage, my heels pressed against the drywall as I went inside her, invaded her wetness with power, anger, a steady intensity.

Teeth clenched, I fucked her like I was trying to fuck a baby into her womb.

Chapter 19

I took Hawks
away from San Juan. We left the trendy part of Puerto Rico and went to Hacienda Juanita. Mile marker 23.5 in Maricao. Not a mega hotel, but a local
parador,
a family-owned hotel that had less than two dozen rooms. I showed Hawks the real Puerto Rico. No high-rises. No stores that brought to mind Beverly Hills or Champs Élysées. No signs announcing that the rest of the world was entering a great recession.

She thought I had taken her back in time.

I asked Hawks, “Where are you working after Puerto Rico?”

“England. Someplace called Islington.”

“Nice part of the UK.”

“Another one at Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubuna gungamaug. That’s up north in the States. Had to be drunk to name a damn lake something no one can pronounce.”

“How many points is that word worth in Scrabble?”

“Probably two thousand. Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubu nagungamaug.”

Kimbers in our gear, we hiked over trails, ate ripe bananas that we picked from banana trees, walked through coffee plants, stood in a part of the island that had green mountains and beaches with golden sand. We ate at shacks that looked like they should fall under a good breeze, then we went back to the Olas y Arenas and had a beer and plantains.

Hawks said, “Something I want to ask. The thing that has my thoughts like caffeine.”

“Okay.” I’d felt this moment coming since last night. “Ask whatever you need to ask.”

“And I’m trying to ask you as a friend, as a coworker, not as a . . . whiny woman.”

“Okay. Friend and coworker, what’s on your mind?”

A long moment went by before Hawks asked, “Is she special in some way?”

“Who?”

“The mysterious woman you’re working for.”

I paused. “She’s not special.”

“The tone of the conversation . . . the argument about you going to South America.” Hawks paused. “Are you sleeping with her? Or have you been intimate with her?”

“I have. Hadn’t heard from her in over a year. She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant.”

“Not mine.”

“Wasn’t going to ask, but okay.”

“And the job is for her and the guy she’s with now. They might be married. Not sure.”

“He used her to pull you in.”

“Nothing slips past Hawks.”

“What is her name? Or are you not allowed to say?”

“Arizona.”

Hawks asked, “Did you buy her shoes?”

“That a professional question?”

“I’m asking you as a woman. Tried to turn that switch off. Hard to do that with you.”

“Nope. No shoes. Bought her some jazz CDs once, but she gave those back.”

“Ever bring her down here to Puerto Rico?”

“Never took her anywhere.”

“Never?”

“Never. Only slept with her twice. Both times were after jobs I had done for her.”

“Guess that was a helluva way for her to throw you a tip.”

“Hawks.”

“I know. Very childish remark. Petty. But it was in my mind, so I let it roll down over my tongue. Just asking. I was a late bloomer in that department. Haven’t been with many men, but I have been with the same men many times. Feels like I’m on the wrong side of the curve.”

“You’re great. All that matters is that you’re great at everything you do.”

“I do my best. Hard keeping up with a man like you. You’re making me up my game big-time. You’re very creative. And uninhibited. You are one nasty man. Like a damn porn star.”

“Well, I grew up in whorehouses all over the world. Lost my virginity in a whorehouse.”

“We really don’t have to talk about that.”

“You know my past.”

“So South America is for her and her partner.”

“All business between me and her. All business.”

She whispered, “I don’t care about her. A woman is just a woman. I have no illusions when it comes to you and me. I like you, I care about you, but I know who you are. I know what you are, so far as the type of man you are. But on a side note, for your information, there might be a lot of women out there, but none are better than me. I can pick up a 40-cal Beretta with hollow points, run it dry while being shot at, and reload without missing a beat.”

“I know you can.”

“Don’t forget that you’ve seen me in action more than once.”

“Sure have.”

“The shit we did here, that was child’s play, Hitman 101. I can rock an AK-47, M16, combat shotgun, 50 cal, M9, LAW rocket, and a few others that I don’t need to mention. I can pop an Altoid and give a no-hands blow job that will make you cry for your momma and I can keep up with you in bed. What you give, I give it back. Sex with you is fun. You get nasty. I take that nasty and take it to a higher level. I’ll never let you outdo me. I’m like that. And I make the best sweet potato pie this side of the Appalachians. Another woman means nothing to me. You want her, get her and life goes on. There’s always somebody next, if not somebody new.”

“Hawks.”

“What?”

“You can make sweet potato pie?”

“A damn good one.”

“You’ve been holding out.”

“A woman can’t give a man everything at once.”

“Guess not.”

“My concern is the tone of the conversation. It was emotional. Tried not to listen, but I heard her. Your conversation, in my opinion, considering how long I’ve been in this business and know how it rolls, was unprofessional. My concern is simple and professional. I don’t want you to slip. Doing a job for somebody and you have some sort of an emotional attachment, not a good thing.”

“You’re right. I can lose perspective.”

“All that to say, if you need anything, let me know. I’m in the same business. I’m your coworker. We work well together. Always have. And there are excellent fringe benefits.”

I reached for her hand, expected her to pull away. She didn’t.

She gave me a sideways smile. “You sure it’s not your baby she’s carrying?”

“If it is, it would be the longest human gestation period in history.”

Hawks relaxed against me.

We’d been here a few hours and had already left a trail of blood across the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico, the island some of the locals call Borinquen.

Warmth ran through my body. Warmth that told me I was still alive.

Thoughts dragged me across barbed wire, noosed me back to Fin del Mundo.

I said, “Hawks.”

“Yeah.”

“End of the World.”

“What about the end of the world?”

“It’s at the bottom of South America. Where the Atlantic and Pacific meet.”

“This has something to do with Arizona?”

“Not directly.” I took a moment. “She used to see this man. That was how I met her. Worked for him. Guy named Scamz. I had gone to this part of Argentina that used to be a prison town, Argentina’s Guan tanamo Bay until Perón shut it down. Was on a job for Scamz. The first man I knew to wear that name.”

“The first man. So there have been others?”

“He has a son. His son has taken up his name.”

“So the first Scamz guy, you and him were . . . cool.”

“Never liked him. Worked for him because of the money. My greed got the best of me.”

“Confusing, but okay.”

“He had issued death warrants on two Ecuadorians. International con men. Ruthless men. Latin killers. A father and a son. Men in the same business he was in. The business of swindling. Men who had fled to the end of South America. To Ushuaia.”

“Where is that?”

“World’s most southern city.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’d followed them for ten days. Ten long days and nights. Watched through binoculars as they walked past Moustacchio, waited patiently and planned as they ate at Chez Manu. It was in July. Wintertime.”

“In July?”

“Seasons are reversed on the other side of the equator. If the sun came out, it was out for no more than four hours a day. Was cold at night, but not intolerable. Windy and rainy.”