Volcano (7 page)

Turning down a narrow alley, he encountered suspicious glares from the assortment of men and boys lounging against street corners and sitting on stoops. If it weren't for the hot Caribbean sun blazing down on them, he'd think he was in a Chicago slum. The pounding beat of a steel drum from one of the bars quickly dispelled that notion.

Charlie understood the insults muttered in patois but he ignored them. One advantage of his size was that most people didn't confront him physically. The disadvantage was that he didn't consider it fair play to grab the pip-squeaks by their shirt collars and wring them out. Picking on someone his own size was difficult when everyone was smaller.

Finding the house he sought, Charlie didn't bother knocking on the front door leading into a half-empty general dry-goods store. Stepping over the rusted hulk of a bicycle, he wended his way through a littered side alley and around the back.

The stench of rotting fish assaulted him from one side; the delicious odors of a spicy island gumbo wafted toward him from the other. Hoping he hadn't completely lost touch with his contacts here, Charlie stuck his head over the sagging half of a rear door and hollered, “Jacques!”

A small, curly-headed toddler with wide eyes appeared first, taking in his alien presence and scampering away. Then with a low muttering stream of indistinguishable invectives, a tall shadow advanced out of the dim interior. Hair braided in a multitude of thick dreadlocks, the bony silhouette loped into view.

“Captain! You come back!” he said in the lilting accents of the island. “Come in! Come in!”

His graying beard tapering to a point, his black skin stretched taut over his thin frame, Jacques appeared more apparition than human. But the strength of his hug was real enough. Charlie caught Jacques's skinny biceps in a tight squeeze and practically lifted his friend off the ground.

“You haven't changed any,” he said dryly. “I'd rather wrestle an alligator.”

Jacques emitted a high, thin cackle. “Life make me strong. Sit, sit. Antoinette will give you gumbo. You have had no gumbo until you have Antoinette's.”

“Gone and got yourself married since I saw you last, have you?” Charlie took the seat offered at the rickety kitchen table and winked at the toddler peeking at him from behind a beaded curtain. He knew better than to get down to business as soon as he arrived. The chances of accomplishing anything before dusk were slim. Somehow, he would have to get word to his impatient lady. Releasing any fantasy of returning to that double bed and his irate companion, Charlie concentrated on the conversation.

They discussed local happenings over an enormous bowl of seafood accompanied by the local beer. Good thing he hadn't filled up earlier. By meal's end, Charlie bounced the toddler on his knee and had a better idea of island politics as they'd developed since he'd left. Jacques might parade his religious beliefs in public, petition the government to save the rain forests, and lead tourists on nature hikes like an aging hippie, but he had a shrewd understanding of what went on behind the scenes. He knew everything and everyone on this end of the island. And it was here that Raul had disappeared.

The sun lowered toward the sea as they took their drinks out on the back step and spoke quietly while Antoinette and the toddler slipped into the interior.

“So, what brings you back, my friend?” Jacques asked. “I hear you do big things in the States. You made friends with your papa, no?”

Charlie shrugged. “I never had any argument with Dad. It was just difficult visiting him over that distance. We developed his construction company once I got back there. It's doing fairly well now.” Charlie crushed his beer can. “Dad died last year.”

“Ahh, I am sorry to hear that. You come back now to tell your mama?”

Charlie uttered a harsh laugh. “Not likely. She already knows. She just never cared. No, I'm not here to see her. I'm looking for Raul.”

Jacques gave him a shrewd look but did not comment. He and Jacques had known each other almost as long as Charlie had known Raul. Jacques had been a father figure for them both.

The older man nodded in understanding. “There is bad hoodoo in these parts now. Money is the root of all evil.”

“Greed is the root of all evil. We're our own worst enemies. Who needs devils and demons when we have humans?”

Jacques glowered. “Don't you be preaching to me, mon. What can I do to help?”

Slowly, gathering his thoughts as he went, Charlie outlined the background of his enmity with Jacobsen, Raul's disappearance with the company money, the liens, and the papers halting the company's development project. As he reached this last, Jacques growled a guttural curse and threw his empty soft drink can at a yowling cat.

“You best go talk to your mama, boy. That man of hers has the hoodoo these days. He owns this half of the island.”

“That's an exaggeration. Emile keeps expanding the plantation, but he's never had any interest in development. I think he'd like his own private island, but a good chunk of one makes him happy. His name never came up when we were developing the site.”

“Things change. You talk to your mama. There's things out there you don't know ‘bout. I start looking down here, but the spider spins its web from the top.”

Charlie grimaced at the image. “I thank you for the help. Could I get you to put me up for the night? I have to send a lady back where she belongs.”

Jacques gave a wicked grin. “Don' worry. No problem.”

The blazing red Caribbean sun had hit the blue bank of clouds on the horizon by the time Charlie hurried down the street toward town. He didn't like taking the main streets, where he might encounter someone familiar, but he'd left Penelope alone entirely too long. He didn't look forward to a ranting tirade; he didn't want to be responsible for anything happening to her either. He had this nagging feeling that leaving a beautiful snob like Penelope alone for any period of time could be an invitation for trouble.

Curse his wretched hormones. Why couldn't he have picked out a mousy female who would nod her head and look at him with dewy-eyed awe, obeying every word he said?

Pride goeth before a fall, he muttered to himself, just before someone slammed a telephone pole against the back of his head.

***

Penelope screamed as she saw Charlie topple like a tree. The dark figures clambering over his fallen body scampered into the shadows before she could reach him. Even the mysterious man she'd followed had somehow melted into the dusk.

She didn't know how her informant could have known this would happen, and she didn't care. Fury overrode any sense of self-protection. There had to have been half a dozen men and a big stick to bring Charlie down from behind. Not that he probably didn't deserve it and that she hadn't considered it herself, but she'd always had contempt for cowardice.

By the time she kneeled beside him, Charlie was pushing up from the dusty street, shaking his head, and groaning.

“I should have known they couldn't hurt you by hitting you in the head,” she murmured more in distress than disgust as she touched the bloody lump. She dug through her purse for the packet of moist napkins she always carried when traveling.

Not attempting to rise, he rested on one elbow and, nearly cross-eyed, glared up at her. “What in hell are you doing back here? I thought I told you to stay near the beach.”

“You told me you'd be back in an hour too. You tell me a lot of things. That doesn't necessarily mean any of them are true.” She ignored his wince as she applied the towelette to the back of his head. It wasn't bleeding much and seemed more scrape than cut.

“Look, we have to get out of here. Those thugs could come back any minute once they realize you didn't bring the cops with you.” Pulling the towelette from her hand, he struggled to sit up.

“Any normal person would be nauseous, have a splitting headache, and be dizzy as all get out after a blow like that. Why would you want to be normal?” she asked sarcastically as he pushed to his feet.

“Any normal female would be weeping and carrying on and offering to take me back to rest my poor head on her pillow,” Charlie countered, staggering slightly as he straightened. “Let's just accept that we're different. Come on, let's see if we can still catch that taxi. I want to get you out of here.”

“Can you walk?” Penelope asked doubtfully, for the first time admitting a measure of fear, whether for herself or this man she couldn't quite determine. She glanced nervously at the narrow street, wondering who watched from the darkened doorways beneath overhanging balconies.

“I'll manage.” Finding his balance, he proceeded onward with only a slight hitch in his gait. “I've been hit from behind by a two-fifty tackle and survived.”

“I daresay you were wearing a helmet at the time,” she reminded him.

Charlie glanced at her wryly. “You're enjoying this, aren't you? Did you hire those guys, just to teach me a lesson?”

“Well, I wish I'd thought of it, but I haven't learned my way around that quickly. I think it more likely some of those old chums you're hiding from hired them.”

“Chums don't come after a guy with a tree. Did you see what the hell they hit me with?”

“A big stick,” she said calmly, although her heart still raced and perspiration slithered down her back. “Shouldn't we call the police?”

“Unless you can identify them, it wouldn't do any good. The town's inhabitants don't normally attack tourists. They're smarter than that. Gives the place a bad name. It's me they were after. And I'd rather not let the police know I'm here.”

Penelope made a noncommittal noise while mentally tallying all the reasons he wouldn't want the police to know of his presence. The list was far from reassuring, yet still she walked beside him and worried about his welfare instead of running as fast and far as she could. Maybe his incompetence at covert activities reassured her. She'd helped Zack out of his various scrapes throughout their college years. Maybe it was just habit, one she really ought to break.

They walked the rest of the way to the dock in silence. Penelope imagined Charlie's head hurt like hell so she obligingly kept her opinions to herself. By tomorrow, she would be back at the work she knew best, and he could fall into the ocean for all she cared. Somehow, they just had to struggle through the night ahead. With his head pounding like a kettledrum, Charlie shouldn't present much problem. From the right perspective, she could almost feel grateful for his attackers.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered as they reached the dock in time to watch the sun ease into the sea in a blaze so hot it should have produced steam.

Ignoring his profanity, Penelope watched the magnificent sunset with awe. The lapping of the waves at her feet, the cool sea breeze, and the tropical setting of riotous flowers and palms soothed her shattered nerves. She could almost wish they had those champagne glasses in hand now. With a little music and moonlight, she'd be completely lost.

“The taxi's gone,” he explained, pointing out the obvious if she'd just had the presence of mind to look.

Jerked back to reality, Penelope gazed at the deserted dock that had swarmed with people not half an hour before. Nighttime fell quickly in the Caribbean, and darkness shrouded the beach. “Won't it come back?” she asked tentatively, hoping he'd give the answer she wanted to hear. “It's probably making a run to the resort.”

She couldn't see his exasperated look, but she felt it. “It's gone back to the resort, all right, and that's where it will stay. It doesn't run after dark.”

“But what about all those other boats?” she asked in bewilderment. “Surely someone could take us around?” She couldn't believe she wouldn't be sleeping at the resort tonight. It wasn't all that late. She needed to be at work first thing in the morning. All her clothes and toiletries were back there, for heaven's sake. She certainly couldn't spend the night on the beach.

“Those are fishing boats, and all the fishermen have gone home to supper. They keep early hours. Come on. We'd best not stand around gawking; those thugs might come back looking for us. Let's see if Jacques can provide us with transportation.”

She was beyond exhausted as they trudged back into town. She'd been up before dawn, traveled a thousand miles, been accused of drug smuggling, kidnapped, and watched a mugging all in the course of one day. She just didn't have the strength for much more. If by
transportation
he meant another van ride down that treacherous excuse for a road, she would sleep in the streets first.

Silently cursing her lack of choice, she followed Charlie's lead. This was all his fault. The sooner she lost this great lummox, the better off she'd be. He was definitely what her mother called bad news.

The lights of television sets flickered through shuttered windows as they passed by. Reggae music poured from a balcony above them. Lilting voices sang from doorstep to porch and back, but she couldn't see the speakers. Uneasy in this alien environment, she edged closer to Charlie's large presence.

He didn't take the opportunity offered to slide his arm around her, as many men would have. Now that she noticed, she realized he avoided touching her, thrusting her away quickly whenever circumstances forced them into contact. She thought that exceedingly curious considering the unmistakable look she'd caught in his eyes more than once.