Scorpion (2 page)

A well built man pushed through the curtain from second class. The sun shining in through the windows on the left side of the aircraft reflected off something shiny in the man’s hand. A knife?

Broxton flicked open the seatbelt and charged down the aisle. The man was leaning over the prime minister. Broxton pulled him off and slammed him across the laps of two priests sitting in the seats opposite. The man had a shocked look on his face. Broxton raised his hand to strike, then he saw the chrome flask in the man’s hand.

“
Sorry,” Broxton said, “I thought it was a knife.” He held his hand out to help the man up. The grip was strong and firm and a smile glinted out from his pale blue eyes, but it vanished quickly, turning to a cold stare. Not a man to take lightly.

“
Brandy,” the prime minister said. His mask was off and in his hand. “If I have to take the heart medication I like to enjoy it going down.” Broxton noticed the liver spots on the prime minister’s hands.

“
Bill Broxton,” he introduced himself. “Again, I’m awful sorry about the mistake. For some stupid reason I thought I saw a knife. I feel like an idiot.”

“
Kevin Underfield,” the man said. “I work for Minister Chandee.” Broxton had to think for a second, then he remembered that in Trinidad the cabinet members were also elected members of parliament.

Broxton turned back toward the prime minister, who continued talking as if nothing had happened. “I used to drink more than my share, enjoyed it. I liked the way it made me feel and usually I could handle it, but from time to time I’d make an ass out of myself. That was before I came into politics, but the press never lets one forget his indiscretions, so now the only time alcohol touches my lips is when I have to take the damn medicine. They still write about my drinking, but now it’s a plus because it’s the old Ramsingh they’re writing about and everybody knows it except them.”

“
So you turned your drinking and past indiscretions into an asset. It can’t be easy to live with.”

“
So you see the two-edged sword.”

“
I see it,” Broxton said. “As long as you don’t drink you can shrug off the past and any man that writes about it unwittingly reminds his readers how you overcame your problem to become prime minister, but if you ever get tanked up again it’ll all blow up in your face.”

“
Yes, they would see me as nothing more than a common drunk.”

“
A hard way to go,” Broxton said. Ramsingh looked up at him through gray eyes that danced around his smile. The man radiated honesty and Broxton couldn’t help liking him.

“
Are you a cop of some kind?” Underfield asked. He had a British accent and that puzzled Broxton.

“
DEA.”

“
I thought we made it clear to your government that we understand the threat and don’t desire any of your help.” The attorney general’s voice was muffled by the oxygen mask. Broxton was finding it hard to breathe, but not impossible.

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Broxton said. “I thought the man had a knife. I recognized the Prime Minister of Trinidad. I made a mistake. I said I was sorry.”

“
If you’re not here to watch over the prime minister, why are you on this flight?” Chandee pointed an accusing finger at Broxton.

“
I’m going to Trinidad to get married,” Broxton said, adding, “if she’ll have me.”

“
And the lucky woman is?” Now Chandee had his mask off, too. He pulled his finger back and laced his hands in his lap. He was addressing Broxton as if he was on the witness stand, but it didn’t matter, Broxton had an answer for him.

“
Dani Street,” he said.

Chandee’s snarl shifted into a smirk that turned Broxton angry. He wanted to slap it off his face, but he held himself in check.

“
The ambassador’s daughter?” the prime minister said. “Maybe we’ve been too quick to judge Mr. Broxton, George. I’ve told you before, you have to watch that.” The prime minister looked at Chandee like a benevolent parent does a wayward child, and the man visibly withered under his stare. His fingers stiffened in his lap as he turned away from his boss and toward Broxton, offering him a thin- lipped smile.

“
I think I’ll just go back to my seat,” Broxton said.

“
That would be best,” Chandee said, his face tight.

“
The ambassador’s daughter?” Underfield said, almost laughing.

Broxton nodded, then the plane hit a patch of turbulence and he stumbled, but caught himself, gripping the back of the prime minister’s seat. Several of the passengers gasped, but nobody screamed. Most of them kept their masks on.

He looked at Chandee, met his eyes, smiled and said, “You know, George, you really should watch that temper. One of these days it’s going to land you in deep shit and the prime minister won’t be around to help you out.”

“
There’s always me,” Underfield said, his gaze turning to knife blades.

“
Right,” Broxton said. And he turned away and started back toward his seat.

“
I work for the attorney general, you know.”

“
You said that,” Broxton said, without turning around. And he quickly forgot about Underfield when he eyed a little girl sitting next to her father. Her hand was clasped tightly in his and her lips were moving. She’s praying, he thought. He smiled at her and she smiled back, lighting up her freckles. Then she gave him a thumbs up sign. He stuck out his right thumb and flashed it back.

He returned to his seat, thinking about the Barbie doll. He took it out of the magazine pouch and fluffed the doll’s hair with a finger. Then he straightened her dress. He felt the stewardess’ eyes on him. He didn’t even know her name.

“
Yours?” he said, smiling at the girl. She nodded and he handed it back to her. He was rewarded with a smile back. Would the girl’s mother be waiting for her husband and daughter at the airport? Would the airline tell waiting friends and relatives about the trouble on board or would they just say the plane was delayed? Would they make it to Port of Spain at all?

“
It’ll be okay,” the stewardess said, as if reading his mind.

“
I know,” Broxton said, but he didn’t know.

“
I’m Maria,” she said.

“
Bill,” he said, “but most people call me Broxton.”

“
You made an enemy back there,” she said.

“
Sometimes I have a big mouth, like today. My job is supposed to be kind of secret and not one day into it and I’ve not only told you, but I’ve managed to get in an argument with the attorney general.”

“
It looks like Mr. Ramsingh’s being well taken care of.”

“
You mean the muscle man?”

“
He looks like he can handle himself.”

“
He does at that,” Broxton laughed, “and I guess I’ve upset him a little, too.”

“
It would seem so,” she laughed, and he swore her eyes were sparkling.

“
Ladies and Gentlemen,” it was the captain’s voice over the speakers again, “we’re flying at eight thousand feet and although it’s possible to breathe without your oxygen masks I would recommend you keep them on. Our speed is two hundred and fifty miles an hour, less than half of our normal cruising speed, and I’m afraid that will put us forty-five minutes behind schedule for our landing in Port of Spain. So our new ETA is 2:45, If you haven’t already reset your watches, now would be a good time to do it.”

Maria took his hand again and he felt her leg pressed up against his.

“
I’m sorry, I shouldn’t kid you,” the captain continued, “we have a problem and we don’t know what it is, but we seem to have control of the aircraft. I don’t want to risk climbing or adding any more power. The situation is delicate, but I’m confident we will arrive safely, and in that light I’m requesting that you all, flight attendants included, stay seated with your seatbelts securely fastened until we are on the ground and the engines are off. Thank you very much.”

This time he was telling the truth. Broxton preferred the lie.

“
It’s going to be a pretty tense hour and a half,” Maria said. She was still holding his hand. She gave him a half smile, as if she just realized it, and relaxed her grip. He noticed her face turning the embarrassing shade of pink.

He smiled back, “Thanks for the moral support,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“
Thank you for that,” she said, her color returning to normal. Then she asked, “Will she be waiting at the airport, your girl?”

“
No, she doesn’t know I’m coming. It’s a surprise. How did you know about her?” he asked.

“
You were fiddling and fidgeting with that engagement ring, like it was a hot rock burning your fingers, all during take off, remember?”

“
I’ve known her all my life.” He let go of her hand and dug the ring out of his coat pocket. He looked at it, turned it over in his fingers. “Our folks always assumed we’d be married, but things just didn’t work out.”

“
What things?” she said. She pulled her long hair back and met his eyes.

“
Another woman,” he said.

“
Ah,” she said.

“
But that was over a long time ago.”

“
She knows this, your girl?”

“
Dani? Sure. She never stopped loving me and I guess I never stopped loving her. She’s been part of me almost as long as I’ve been alive. When someone’s been that close for that long, well, I took her for granted. I’ll never do it again.”

“
Good for you,” Maria said, “I hope it works out for you.” And she started to get up.

“
Where are you going? The captain said we should stay seated.”

“
Someone has to check on the passengers. I’m the senior flight attendant.”

“
But the captain said.”

“
He’s got his job and I’ve got mine, and besides you sure didn’t stay seated.” She smiled.

He unbuckled his belt and stood to let her pass.

“
I’ll be back soon,” she said, squeezing his arm. He watched her make her way back toward second class, working her way down the aisle, steadying herself by grabbing on to the seatbacks.

Then the plane jerked to the right and started to go down again.

Chapter Two

They were doing fifty on the interstate when the ’65 Chevy Impala flew by at eighty-five. Windows down. The driver was sipping a coke. The rider was hunched down low. The car was over thirty years old, but it looked as if it had just been driven off the showroom floor, candy apple red with tinted windows, reverse chrome rims, enough polish to supply a car wash and it was wearing California tags.

“
Let’s go!” Jackson White said.

“
Hold your water.” Sheriff Earl Lawson smiled to himself. Speed always got Jackson’s heart a pumping. He eased off the gas and let another car pass. Solitude was a small town, most folks knew his unmarked Ford and he didn’t want to take any chances.

“
Did you hear that engine rumble?” Earl said. “I’ll give you dollars to donuts that it’s a full tricked out 327 ’Vette engine powering that baby and it sounds like he’s got glass pack mufflers in front of them chrome tailpipes. I woulda killed for a car like that when I was in high school. Hell, I still might.” He laughed. As a kid he loved cars and he’d been particularly partial to Chevys. The first time he’d gotten laid was in the back seat of his own ’65 Impala, but his wasn’t souped up like that, he couldn’t afford it.

“
Come on, Earl, you’re gonna lose him,” Jackson said. Jackson White was the only black deputy on the small force. He was the darkest black man Earl had ever laid eyes on, and although he didn’t like blacks in general, he made an exception in Jackson’s case. The man was a good deputy, a good friend and knew how to keep his mouth shut. Earl liked riding with him, they made a great team, but he was going to have to talk to him about that newspaper girlfriend of his and her story in last night’s Evening Standard.

“
Stop champing at the bit, Jackson, he’s not getting away.” The sun was hanging directly overhead. It was August hot, but the heat never seemed to bother Earl. He drove with a casual flair, left elbow flopping over the side of the open window, two fingers on the wheel, seat pushed all the way back, like he was out for a ride in the country.

“
They’ll be across the line in a couple a minutes, then we’ll have to call in the county,” Jackson said. He clenched his hands into fists, relaxed them, then clenched them again. He was sucking in deep, fast breaths. He was ready and hoping for a high speed chase.

“
Stop talking like a man with a paper asshole,” Earl said. “He’s ours.”

“
Yeah, he’s ours,” Jackson said. “I just don’t want to give Mayor ‘Shit-for-Brains’ any reason to be on our case. Things are bad enough as it is.”

“
It’s your fault about Sheeter. Your girlfriend prints that crap and he’s all over us like white on rice. Why she believes a coke dealer over me, I don’t know.” Earl turned and looked sideways at his deputy. Jackson was good looking, the way a woman might call pretty, and he was tall, not NBA basketball tall, but a full six inches taller then his own six feet, and he was certainly dark. Tall, dark and handsome. But his good looks didn’t keep his latest flame from printing that cokehead’s story.

“
I just think we should go by the book for a while, till things cool down. It wouldn’t hurt to pull them over before they crossed into county.”