Thomas Prescott Superpack (73 page)

Gina thanked her, then ordered and paid for both her and the small girl’s drinks. Her caramel Frappuccino and fruit and cheese plate in tow, Gina made her way to the opposite wall and slid down to her butt. She popped a grape and piece of cheddar in her mouth and logged onto Gmail. There was one e-mail. It was short and to the point. “Hope you got to South Africa okay. I have attached a better map. It will get you to Ptutsi. Send an e-mail when you arrive. P.”

She clicked on the attachment. It loaded. It was a detailed map, with roads that showed the exact route to the coordinates that she assumed were those of Ptutsi. At the bottom it read, “Distance 487 Kilometers. Estimated time: 8.57 hours.”

Gina saved the map, then clicked the reply button. She typed, “Just got in. G.”

She finished off her food, sucked up the last of the Frappuccino, and stood. She passed one of many currency exchange windows, the Rand was trading at 9.54, and she traded in five thousand dollars. She imagined the look of disapproval that would have washed over Paul’s face. After she stuck the money back in the envelope, she found herself at a loss. Should she make her way outside? Or just stroll around the small airport? Was this Timon character just supposed to find her? With just Paul’s description to go by? Good luck.

Gina wondered how Paul had described her.

You know that journalist lady from Blood Diamond, she looks like her, but bitchier.

In fact,
Gina did look a bit like Jennifer Connelly. She was 37, but most people thought she was 30, or even in her late 20’s. Not that she was complaining. But as a young doctor it had proved difficult to be taken seriously when everyone thinks you are a first year undergrad. Timon had probably heard, “5’5”, 120 pounds, hazel eyes, long coffee colored hair—probably pulled back in a ponytail—jeans, T-shirt,
Asics
, perfect rack.”

She looked down. Unfortunately, the last two were two of her most defining traits. An avid runner, she would not stray from her beloved
Asics
, sometimes waiting months for them to arrive in whichever hard to reach place she was calling home. As for her rack, they hadn’t come until she was 18, but they had come in a hurry. And they
were
perfect.

Gina noticed a sign for the women’s bathroom and as if waiting for the cue, an imaginary vice tightened around her bladder. She went to the bathroom, washed her hands for a good minute and pushed back out into the airport lobby.

“Gee-na?”

Gina turned. A handsome black man was staring at her, arms crossed, shaved head reflecting the white airport light. He was smiling, his teeth three shades whiter than Javier’s against his beautiful black skin. She took a step forward and said, “Timon?”

He nodded and said, “Eveybody go pee.”

She shook her head.

“Afta long plane, eveybody go pee.”

She smiled. “Yes, after a long plane ride, everybody does have to go pee.”

“We ‘ave a long way, we must hurray.”

Gina followed him. They walked through the busy airport, through the doors and walked towards an illegally parked Jeep Wrangler. The sky was a perfect cobalt blue.

Timon jumped into the driver’s seat and Gina climbed into the passenger seat, throwing her backpack into the backseat. Timon put the car in gear and zoomed from the airport lot. He took a left turn and said, “Ladysmith is four hours away.”

“Then how long to Ptutsi?”

He let up on the gas. “
Ptutsi?”

Gina nodded. It was evident Timon had not been briefed on this. She said, “I must go to the village of Ptutsi.”

Timon took a deep breath. Gina noticed him gaze at a necklace dangling from the rear view mirror. There was a charm at the end. Timon stared at the necklace and uttered silent words under his breath. He was quiet for over a minute, the speedometer stuck on 33 kph. Timon threw the Jeep into third, pushed down hard on the gas and said, “The road to Ptutsi is bad. Very bad.”

Gina took
road
to mean
the trip
. The trip to Ptutsi is very bad.

Timon said, “It will take half day if no trouble.”

If no trouble?

Timon gave Gina a sideways glance and slammed the Jeep into fourth gear.

SHOW LOUNGE

2:11
p.m.

“When can I expect those Navy Seals you were talking about?”

Frank shrugged. In fact, I don’t think the question even registered. He was too preoccupied with Susie. Susie was lying on the floor in front of Frank and Lacy—who had been dozing for the last half hour herself. Susie’s breathing was shallow, like she was trying to breathe in and out through a straw. Every once in a while Frank would pour water into her mouth. I’d been trying to take his attention off his progressively sick wife. Apparently, I’d failed. I should have outsourced the job to Mr. J.J. Watkins.

Speaking of which, I turned to my left and said, “So, how did you get into stand-up?” Yes, I was this bored.

“You ever heard of
The Last Comic Standing
?”

“Maybe. I don’t watch a whole lot of television.”

“It’s like
American Idol
, but for comedians.”

“Gotcha.”

“America votes the comedians off each week until there’s a winner.”

“I’m familiar with
American Idol
. I get it.”

“You do like a three-minute bit and then people call and vote.”

I wondered if I could vote him out of this conversation. I said slowly, “I understand.”

“Season three baby.”

“You won?”

He shook his head.

“You come close?”

“Not really.”

“How did you do?”

“I was the first person voted off.”

I couldn’t hold back a snicker.

He shrugged. “But I mean, like twenty thousand people tried out for the show and they only picked like fifteen of us.”

Well, that was something. I said, “So your claim to fame is that you were the first person voted off Season Three of
Last Comic Standing
.”

He nodded.

“And how is that working out for you?”

“Not too bad. I mean, this is the third cruise I’ve been on this year. Free room and board.
Lots of pretty women. Not really on this cruise. Bunch of yuppies.”

“What about when you aren’t on a cruise. You get a lot of gigs?”

“It fluctuates. I sell cars on the side. Do a show every now and again. Not a bad life.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“How about you? What’s your story?”

I wasn’t in the mood to reminiscence and went with my usual, “That could take a while.”

He looked around and said, “Where am I gonna go? I’m a fuckin’ hostage.”

Touché. “I grew up near Seattle.”

“No shit. I’m from Jersey.”

“I would have guessed Texas.”

“Really?”

“Or one of the Dakotas?”

“Yeah?” he laughed. “North or South?”

“South.”

“Naw, Jersey.”

If I hadn’t mentioned earlier, Andrew Dice Clay would have done a bit on how bad J.J. Watkins' Jersey accent was.
Dis moderfuckas moderfuckin accent is soooo moderfuckin bad….

“You go to school up there in Washington?” asked J.J.

I nodded.

“Yeah? I did a couple semesters of community college, but it wasn’t for me.”

“It’s not for everybody.”

“What did you study in school?”

Here we go. “Criminology.”

“No shit.” He hit me on the arm. “You a spook?”

“That’s classified.” I hit him back.

He found this amusing and through a hacking laugh, he said, “I’m gonna use that.
Classified
. That’s priceless.” He paused. “What are you really? A Fed?”

“I’m nothing. But I worked with the Feds for a couple years.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Homicides.”

“No shit?”

I told him about how they would contract me out weeks or months at a time to help them augment a homicide investigation. He heard about the case I’d worked up in Maine and couldn’t believe that was me.

He said, “Weren’t you on the cover of
Time
?”

“Yep.”
Time
and
People.

Gilroy, who had been listening to our entire conversation, turned around and looked at me. I did my best Ice Man impression, chomping down my teeth at him. He turned back around.

J.J. asked, “Then what. You retired?”

“Tried to.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

“I moved back home to Seattle.” I told him how my parents’ house—well, it was my house, but I couldn’t ever think of it as mine—backed up to the Puget Sound. “I wasn’t there more than an hour when I saw a woman’s body floating in the water.”

This case had also made huge headlines and he said, “I remember that shit. The governor. Wolves or something?”

I rolled up my sleeve and showed him the inside of my right arm where one of the wolves—I think there had been a total of four—had latched on.

“Holy shit. You got any others?”

I showed him the nickel-sized scars on my left shoulder and right thigh.

“You got shot twice?”

I nodded.

“Fuckin’ a.”

We were quiet a minute. It was a great minute. J.J. broke the silence with, “Hey, you know how a Porsche and a porcupine are different?”

“Other than in every possible way?”

He laughed. “A porcupine has the pricks on the outside.”

How again, did this guy beat out 20,000 other people? Did the other 19,999 all tell stupider jokes than the Jersey beaver to my left. Anyhow, we got back to talking about the case in Washington and I said, “Actually, the governor’s husband gave me this cruise as a thank you gift.”

“Really?”

I looked around. The fact that I was a hostage flooded back. “Sadly, yes.”

“So you’re not rich like the rest of these yuppies?”

I didn’t think J.J. Watkins wanted to hear about my seven-figure inheritance so I went with, “Nope. I’m just like you.”

He hit me on the arm again. “Me and you. Long lost brothers I tell you.”

I thought about telling him it was closer to step-long-lost-twice-removed-third-cousins-by-marriage-who’d-found-each-other-by-accident-on-Facebook.

That’s when it happened. I’d heard a soft moaning and turned. It was coming from Susie. Frank knelt down and dabbed at her face with a wet cloth, telling her she would be okay. As I turned my head in Susie’s direction, the stage curtains had moved into my line of sight. He could
have been there for a while. Just waiting for me to notice.

I squinted at the lone eye trained on me. A finger slipped out. One finger. It wasn’t like the last time. This time it was extended. He was pointing.

“You okay man?” prodded J.J.

I waved him off and said, “Fine, give me a second here.”

“Yeah, sure man, whatever you want.”

I acted as if I was stretching my neck then looked back to the curtains, but the fingers were gone. What had he been pointing at? His finger had been pointed straight across the curtains to my right. The only thing over there was the women’s bathroom. Did he want me to go into the women’s bathroom?

J.J. leaned into me and said, “What are you looking at, bro?”

I ignored him. I nudged Lacy with my elbow. She stirred. She looked at me. She wasn’t happy.

“Since you’re awake,” I said.

She slid upright and said, “How long was I out?”

I stared at the women’s bathroom. The curtain stopped four feet from the walkway leading to the restroom. “About an hour.”

At the far right edge of the curtain the tiny black finger appeared. It was pointed down. And then it disappeared.

“Are you all right?” asked Lacy.

I nodded. Then I stood. That’s when I saw it. At the far end up the stage, just below where the curtain stopped, there was something. Something small and white. I guessed it was a folded piece of paper.

I looked around. If he would have put it on the opposite side by the men’s bathroom, I could have easily plucked it off the stage unnoticed. But if I were meandering over by the women’s bathroom, one of the pirates was sure to take notice. And the last thing I wanted to do was blow this kid’s cover who was hiding behind the curtains. But if he’d gone through all the trouble to write me a message, it must be important.

I looked at Lacy. She was staring at me like I was a rabid dog. She asked, “What’s gotten into you.”

I leaned towards her and whispered in her ear.