Authors: James Suriano
The Antarcticans
James Suriano
Copyright © 2016 James Suriano
All rights reserved.
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Inbiotic
For Matteo, the shining light of my world
Table of Contents
Gavin knew he shouldn’t follow such a dangerous man, but if he didn’t do something, his son would be dead before Thanksgiving. He sat at a wrought-iron table under the striped awning of the News Café in South Beach, Miami, staring intently at the commotion occurring in the corner of the patio. He had been here for an hour. A black-velvet rope separated the general patrons milling about from the select group he was watching. They were laughing and clinking their glasses in another frivolous toast. Lucifer, the young man in the center of the unruly party, was lounging on a white leather chair. When the breeze from the Atlantic pushed the thin linen of his shirt against his sculpted form, it exposed a rippling, tan body. His sun-bleached hair wisped about his face, never settling over the high jaunting cheekbones and supple symmetrical features. The man’s thick lips moved over his perfect, gleaming teeth, inviting the audience with whom he was holding court to hang on every hysterical, entertaining word. The man stood up and excused himself, linked arms with a woman who was adjusting her bikini top over her voluptuous breasts, and headed inside the restaurant.
Gavin followed them to the unisex bathroom then waited outside the door. A minute later, he made his way in quietly and ducked into a stall next to the only other closed door. The smell of mandarin and lilac permeated the air. Looking down at the spotless polished floor, he saw his reflection and knew this wasn’t the average dive bar on Ocean Drive. He heard Lucifer and the woman murmuring and laughing. They were bumping against the metal wall of the stall. He waited until he heard the latch turn; then he counted to ten in his head and made his way out to the long marble sink. He turned his head toward the woman, who was still giggling, in time to see her wipe the last bit of cocaine from her nose.
She looked over at Gavin. “What’s up?” she said, mocking him with a smile.
“I was hoping I could talk to him.” He pointed to Lucifer.
“Lucifer, do you know this guy?” she asked.
Lucifer was baring his teeth for the mirror. It looked like he was checking for cavities. He looked at Gavin in the mirror and shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting him, but he’s welcome to join us.”
The woman’s eyes started at Gavin’s khaki pants then made their way up to his thick leather belt and through his starched polo, ending on his angular face. His eyes were squinty, as if he were looking at something in the distance or wincing. He could thank his Filipino father for giving him a lifetime to explain that he wasn’t doing either. She took a step toward him; grabbed his collar above the three buttons, which were tightly secured; and yanked. The top two buttons launched into the air, and his smooth, tanned chest poked through the newly created opening.
“Better, but I still feel like he wandered in here from a cornfield.” She blew a kiss to Gavin and headed out of the bathroom.
Lucifer turned to Gavin, leaned into his ear, and whispered, “First impressions are important” before exiting the restroom.
Gavin caught a whiff of the man’s expensive cologne and the fumes from his cigar. He was shaking, and he didn’t want to join a group of people partying—he wanted to talk to Lucifer, alone. He would wait. He left the restaurant, making damn sure not to look in the direction of the small party, and found his way to a flat piece of beach nearby where he could spread out a towel and soak in some sun. He could think through his next step here; his whole afternoon was free, and he knew there was more than one way to get what he wanted. He pulled off his shirt and sat down on the beach towel, his skinny forty-five-year-old body looking awkward in his khakis and socks. He’d never cared, though, what anyone thought about his physical appearance.
The lifeguards blew their whistles at a group of rowdy college students who had ventured too far into the ocean. Gavin watched the guards in their shacks wave the kids back toward shore. Although the lifeguards had posted a red flag outside their light blue hut, indicating dangerous rip currents, the kids apparently were ignoring it. Gavin saw a group of ten or so, swimming and splashing. The loud instigator, a fiery redhead who was egging on the other kids to ignore the wild rants of the lifeguards, had his hand on one of the girls. Her chartreuse bikini looked like what most of the women on South Beach wore: mere threads of fabric. The red-haired guy tugged at her bikini top, wrestled with her for a few seconds, then twirled it above his head.
Gavin chuckled to himself then pulled a book out of his beach bag. The cover was orange, with raised yellow writing that read,
Winning the Next Generation:
A Guide to Pastoring Millennials
. He opened the cover and settled into the first words. As seagulls whined over the waves, a lifeguard blew a whistle, and then a siren sounded. He looked up. The lifeguard was sprinting for the water with a red emergency flotation beacon in her hand. Panicked kids were diving under the water, yelling, “I can’t find her! She was right here! Help!” A dozen or so beachgoers were gathering at the water’s edge, staring blankly at the scene, calling their children in from the rough surf, too scared to enter the water and allowing the trained lifeguards handle the situation. A large cloud moved out of the sun’s path, and the brightness made Gavin look away. He caught the heady scent of Lucifer before he heard his voice.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it? These irresponsible kids can’t seem to follow rules these days.” He stepped into view, his gold Versace sunglasses obscuring his eyes; his arms crossed; his manicured, perfectly muscled hands resting on each of his forearms. “Oh, wait, wait. Look there.” He pointed about forty feet away from the commotion in the water.
Two lifeguards were converging in vigorous strokes to the approximate location where they had seen the girl. Gavin shifted his gaze away from the teens and lifeguards and followed Lucifer’s finger. The girl bobbed up between the waves for a moment, her bare breasts just breaking the surface.
“Oh, well, it looks like they’ve missed her.” He made a sucking noise and, pulling his sunglasses off, turned to face Gavin. His bright-blue eyes were piercing.
Gavin yelled and pointed to her, but the lifeguards were too far away to hear him.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Gavin…Gavin Pennings.” He didn’t look at Lucifer; he was trying to find someone who could help.
“Oh, yes. I don’t think you told me now, did you?” Lucifer said, pondering.
Gavin’s body language was becoming frantic.
“Gavin…” He paused. “Really, do you think she has a chance? Does she even deserve one? Disobeying the signs and then allowing some boy to snatch her bikini top while she disregarded the lifeguards’ instructions?”
“She’s a teenager!” Gavin turned to him and put his hands up. “Can’t you do something?”
“Of course I can do something, but why appeal to me? You have connections in higher places.” He pointed up and cocked half his mouth and eyebrow in the same direction.
Gavin was exasperated with panic. “Prayer doesn’t work like that.”
“I pity her then.” Lucifer was being smug.
Only the girl’s hand broke the surface this time. Gavin watched, his mouth open. He said a prayer in his head for her. He prayed if she didn’t make it that at least she loved the Lord.
“I mean, I could do something for her if I could garner your attention for an hour or so. Deal?” Lucifer asked.
“Yes, yes, yes, please.” Gavin cringed that he might have made a deal he was unwilling to follow through on.