Temptation Island (21 page)

Marek punched him lightly in the arm.  “You sure you were a Marine Corp. pilot, mon and not a relationship therapist?  You’re damned deep for a man that hauls cargo from one island to another.”

“Yeah, I have my moments.”

Marek’s gaze turned serious but the smile remained, “Yeah, you do.  I know it’s been hard for you, mon.  And I know you don’t like to talk about your past, so thanks for the talk.  I know this must hit pretty close to home.”

Landon flashed an over bright smile and shrugged again, “Hey, no problem, Bro.  Some people get the real thing, some don’t.  I thought I had it once but wasn’t clever enough to see it for what it really was and got burned.  No biggie.  I’m perfectly content with my life as it is anyway, man.  I’ve got my bungalow by the beach, my chopper and my many women friends.  Life is pretty damned sweet.”

Marek knew that was all a load of crap but nodded and let it drop.  There were some things Landon just wouldn’t talk about. His past mainly. Once a few years back they’d drunk themselves stupid and had spent the night confiding secrets.  It was the one and only time Landon had ever spoken of it. 

Changing the direction of the topic Marek cleared his throat and asked as they entered the outskirts of Road Town, “So Dr. Harper, how does a man go about convincing a woman that she’s madly in love with him?”

Landon snorted and shook his head, sending his dreads dancing.  “Dude, he romances her.  Tells her what’s in his heart.  Women go crazy for that shit.  It sucks for us men, but is necessary in the wooing of women, or so I’m told.  Man, love can be a real bitch, can’t it?”

As Landon pulled into a dim side street and rolled to a stop, Marek agreed, “
Oui
, a real bitch.  I’d rather have my balls clamped in a vise than spill my heart and innermost thoughts to a woman.  Come to think of it, talking about my feelings is
more
painful than clamping my balls in a vise.”

As Landon climbed out of the Ranger he replied dryly, “Well Bro, you’ll just have to hope Carmen massages the ache away when you’re done.  Now, quit being a sissy girl and let’s go do some business.”

Deciding that he was right, Marek hopped out of the pick-up and slammed the door behind him.  Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye as he made his way toward the tailgate.  Stopping to look, Marek cocked his head and demanded, “What the hell did that to your board, mon?  Looks like you had a run in with the rocks or a shark.”

Landon rounded the back of the truck and scratched his head, a grimace crossing his handsome face.  “I was over at Josiah’s Bay this morning.  The tides were right, man, you should have seen the swells.  You’d have loved it.  Anyway, I got to hot-doggin’ a little too much and crumpled that part of the board on a rock.  I wasn’t watching where I was going and got too close to shore.  Scraped the hell out of my ribs too when I ate it.”

Knowing Landon as well as he did Marek grinned and asked, “Was she worth it?”

“Oh, yeah.  Great breasts and an ass that’d make your mouth water.  We’ve got a date tomorrow.”  Landon wiggled his brows suggestively and laughed.

Somehow that news didn’t surprise Marek in the least.  Women were forever throwing themselves at Landon and he was always catching them.  He managed to escape before they got him tangled in their nets though.  What was more amazing was that they usually remained friendly toward him after the interlude.

Shaking his head over that perplexing fact, Marek started walking toward the ramshackle dive tucked down the poorly lit street.  Little more than a dilapidated block of concrete the bar was the local favorite for some of the island’s more notorious residents.  He did a final check of his appearance as he waited for Landon to reach his side.

Before he’d hopped in the truck with Landon, he’d run back to his room and changed into a grungy pair of jeans with holes worn in the knees and the left back pocket ripped partially off and a faded black t-shirt.  His running shoes were almost as worn as his jeans.  He wanted nothing to stand out on him and had even nixed his Rolex, leaving it on his dresser. 

Though he knew the man he was going to talk to, had done business with him many times in the past, Marek was still prepared for anything.  Times had changed and he wasn’t the quick fingered thief or drug runner he used to be.  Those days were long gone, but the instincts remained.

Flexing his hands then squeezing them into tight fists, Marek rolled his powerful shoulders like a boxer preparing for a fight.  He glanced over at Landon and nodded.  The man never dressed up and tonight was no exception, which was a good thing.  Landon wouldn’t draw attention.  His threadbare tropical printed shirt and weathered cargo pants fit the bill perfectly.

Ready to go get some answers, Marek tipped his head in the direction of the bar and murmured, “Ready for action, mon?  I’ve got a feeling about this robbery of Carm’s and the stalker on St. Kitts and Carillos should know something.  Let’s go find out.”

He and Landon strode down the dark sidewalk to the beat-up metal door.  Pulling it open, Marek motioned Landon inside then followed after.  The pungent aroma of stale cigarette ashes, booze, and cheap perfume hit them both at the same time as they stepped into a narrow entryway.

“
Merde
, smells like someone puked in here.”  Marek wrinkled his nose and stepped around a suspicious looking wet spot on the dingy red carpet.

Landon moved around it and followed Marek through the archway whispering, “Bro, I think there’s more than just puke on this floor, smells like piss too.”

And to think as a kid he’d hung around this place, picking up and dropping off packages.  It made his skin crawl now to think of it.  Thank God those days were over.

Adjusting his eyes to the low light Marek scanned the cramped room looking for the man he’d come to meet.  His eyes took in the garish neon lights blinking behind the bar, the dusty bottles of liquor stacked haphazardly beneath them, and the number of lowlifes drowning their sorrows with cheap booze.  Five total were scattered around the room. 

Locating his man in a dark corner bellied up to a booth with one hand firmly on the bottle of rum while he used the other to down shots, Marek pushed his way past a table full of drunken locals and didn’t stop until he reached his destination. 

Marek hid his disgust as he stopped in front of the balding, greasy looking man.  The rank odor emanating from him turned Marek’s stomach but he hid his reaction.  Carillos, as fat, ugly, and disgusting as he may be, was a very connected man.  He knew all the ins and outs of what went on around Tortola.  Usually knew what went on in the whole West Indies.

Marek coughed to gain his attention.  Carillos lifted his red, puffy eyes from the bottle of rum and brought them into focus.  As recognition slowly donned, his swollen face split into a grin revealing rotting front teeth.  “Well, I be damned.  If it ain’t Slippery Stokes all growed up.  I heard you was back on da island,
mi amigo
.”

Sliding smoothly onto the bench across from the Cuban, Marek made an almost imperceptible nod to Landon, motioning him to stay at the bar.  He kept his eyes on Batik Carillos but watched Landon out of the corner of his eye.  When Landon settled with a grunt onto a ripped red vinyl stool and motioned to the bartender, Marek smiled to his old employer.  “
Bonjour
, my old friend.  Good to see you.”

Marek hid his distaste as Carillos let out a juicy belch and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of a bloated hand.  Time had not been kind to the old man.  When Marek had worked as a runner delivering packages Carillos had been a stalky, strapping man with thick black hair and intelligent dark eyes.  Now his body had given way to fat and his eyes were hollow and bloodshot.  Too much alcohol abuse over the years had finally taken its toll.

Smoothing a hand down his greasy grey streaked hair, Carillos demanded, “What do you want,
gringo
?  You want your old job back?  That was a long time ago,
muchacho
.  I hear you’re a legit businessman now, so what you doing down here?”

Marek leaned back in the seat, inwardly cringed at the screech of straining vinyl and replied, “I’m not here for a job, Carillos.  I’m here to ask you some questions.  I’ll make it worth your time to answer.”

Greed and suspicion warred in the old man’s sallow eyes before greed won out.  Snatching the bottle with a shaky hand he poured a shot, spilling some of the amber liquid on the scarred wooden table.  “
Cuanto dinero
?  How much money you talking about?”

Marek placed his hands palms down on the table and leaned forward, “Depends on what you know, old man.  What have you heard about the break-in at the Green Island Inn?”

Half-focused eyes shot around the room as Carillos scanned the other customers.  Finding no one within earshot he leaned forward and spoke, his voice low and slurred, “
Por que mi amigo
?  Why you wanna know about that?”

Ignoring the foulness of the Cuban’s breath, Marek leaned in closer and whispered back, “Because it happened to someone I know.  What can you tell me?”

“You got the
dinero
, Slippery Stokes? Truly?”  When Marek nodded he conceded, “I might know a little something.  Ever heard of Euphoria 9?  It’s the hottest selling drug on the black market,
amigo
.  Ah, you shake your head.  You’re out of touch, used to be you knew ‘em all, eh?”

Marek leveled his gaze on Carillos and replied, “Times change.  What does that have to do with the break-in?” 

Carillos poured another shot and downed it, dribbling half of it down his double chin to his filthy shirt.  “I’m getting to that.  I overheard one of my esteemed associates mention something about the origin of the drug plant is somewhere down here in the West Indies.  Intrigued, I listened.  I want in on this, you know?  Turns out the plant is a cousin to the Poppy or something and is very rare.  Anyway, my associate mentioned that someone staying at the Green Island Inn had tampered with their product and they planned on paying them a visit.”

Marek waited for him to continue, but Carillos had lapsed into silence.  He prodded, “And?  Is that everything?”

Carillos swayed and shifted his watery eyes to Marek.  A look of surprise crossed his blotchy face and he slurred, “That’s all, I swear.  But I tell you,
amigo
, I want a cut of that pie.  Euphoria 9 is the most potently addictive drug to come along since Heroin.”

Marek quickly stood up and reached into his front pocket.  Pulling out a small wad of cash he threw it on the table and said, “Thanks, my old friend.  Buy yourself another round on me.”

Carillos stared in a daze at the cash on the table, then reached out and snatched it.  Staring past Marek he bellowed to the bartender, “Gimme another round, Don.  And a new glass, this one has a hole in it.”

Dismissed and already forgotten, Marek turned and strode past Landon and out the door without stopping.  An unsettling idea sent his mind spinning with possibilities and Marek stalked down the hall.  He had a sneaking suspicion he was right and if he was his problem was a whole lot bigger than a simple break in. 

He didn’t look behind him to see if Landon was following because he knew he was.  Instead he stalked out the door and down the dark street back toward the car. 

As they reached Landon’s Ranger a blur of movement came out of the darkness and ran straight at him.  Reacting instantly before Landon could even call out a warning, Marek spun to meet the attacker.  The distant street lamp reflected off a raised knife blade and Marek dropped down to a crouch and leapt, catching his assailant off guard.  They fell to the ground together and rolled.  Landon called out to Marek but he couldn’t make out the words over the stream of foreign swearing coming from the man he’d tackled.

Before Landon reached them, the man kicked loose and pushed, sending Marek toppling to the ground.  Leaping to his feet the man whipped out a small gun and leveled it on them.  Panting from exertion he backed away, his gaze never leaving them.

Marek rolled to the balls of his feet, prepared to strike, but the gun leveled on him and the attacker snarled, “Don’t you dare, or I’ll put one between your eyes.  You too, golden boy.  Stay right where you are.  You messed with our business, coffee lover.  Now you and your girl are going to die.  Consider this a warning.  Run while you can.”

Fury fueled by adrenaline burned in Marek.  As he moved on the balls of his feet to charge the attacker squeezed the trigger and ran.  Landon grunted and swore and staggered to the car.  Marek leapt to his feet and demanded, “Are you shot, Landon?  Merde.  Are you all right?”

Reaching Landon’s side, all thoughts of chasing the attacker gone, Marek scanned his body for injury.  Landon pushed him away and growled, “I’m fine.  Fucker grazed my thigh, that’s all.  Stings a little, but I’ll live.”  Landon reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.  “Here, you’re gonna have to drive, Bro.  I’m not sure I can work the clutch.”

Marek took the keys and draped his arm around Landon’s waist.  When he started to protest the help, Marek snapped, “Shut up, mon.  Let me help you around the car and we’ll get you to the hospital.” 

Protesting all the way, Marek helped Landon into the car and quickly jogged around to the driver side and climbed in.  After he started the engine Landon clamped a hand down on Marek’s wrist and kept him from shifting into gear.  “I’m not going to the hospital, Marek.  I told you I’m fine.  Some alcohol and a bandage is all I need, really.  Take me home, take me to your place; hell, take me to your mother’s, but don’t take me to the hospital.”