King shrugged. ‘We’ll get him, though. Don’t worry about that. It’s our first day here.’

  Slater stewed as they walked.

  King said, ‘He’s smart. He’s not tough.’

  ‘Sometimes smart is all you need.’

  ‘That old guy,’ King said. ‘He knows something.’

  Slater squinted against the sun as he looked over. ‘The hostage? Santa Claus?’

  King managed a smile despite the circumstances. ‘No. Not Santa Claus. The server at the hut.’

  ‘Oh,’ Slater said. ‘Yeah. We should talk to him now.’

  King checked the time. ‘Let’s walk it off, have an afternoon stroll. Give that place time for the lunchtime rush to dissipate. I don’t know about you but I’m turned off having civilians anywhere near this.’

  Slater said, ‘I doubt it’ll empty out completely. And what if Vince comes back?’

  ‘I hope Vince comes back,’ King said, deadly serious.

  Slater nodded. ‘Me too. Just checking we’re on the same page.’

  ‘For now, we do a lap of Freeport. You never know, we might run into Dylan Walcott and tie this all up with a neat bow.’

  Slater said, ‘Yeah. When’s that ever happened?’

  ‘First time for everything.’

  They made sure the Glocks were concealed in their holsters, then went to kill some of the afternoon by scouting the city.

  A sheen of sweat had already dried salty on Slater’s skin.

  It had been quite the morning.

  27

  At three in the afternoon Violetta got off the phone to King.

  She lowered it to the kitchen island and thought it over.

  They had exactly shit.

  They’d scared off Vince Ricci at the tiki hut, nearly got an innocent hostage killed, and now they were wandering aimlessly through Freeport, killing time before confronting the old server. The insidious thought struck her that maybe King and Slater were ageing out of the profession. They could still battle through to success with the help of their genetic blessings, but reflexes weren’t enough in this world. She knew, deep down, they’d be screwed without her. A handler, a logistics coordinator, someone to put it all together.

  But that’s the way it had always been.

  Alexis stepped inside in her bikini, her hair still damp from an afternoon swim. She padded across the tiles with damp feet and disappeared into her and Slater’s room to shower. Violetta couldn’t help noticing Alexis’ physique. It was hardening, ever so subtly turning from putty to concrete. It was no wonder, given all the hours Alexis was putting in, simply trying to get on the same playing field as her housemates, let alone the same skill level. It’d take some time, but she was evolving fast. Rock-hard legs, toned arms, a washboard stomach. She’d already been in stellar shape when she’d left the civilian life behind, and now Slater was moulding her into something she had the potential to be all along.

  Violetta veered away from that train of thought when Alexis came back out, her hair tied back, her face glowing from sun exposure. It only made her green eyes starker. She wasn’t wearing much — a tube top and tiny jean shorts.

  She said, ‘Was that them?’

  It took Violetta a second to bring her head back around. ‘The phone call?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Yeah, it was them.’

  ‘Any progress?’

  ‘Slim.’

  Alexis rolled her eyes. ‘Come on. You can be a little more specific than that.’

  Violetta told her everything.

  Alexis mulled it over, then said, ‘So they’re doing exactly what I suggested we do.’

  ‘They’re not looking for trouble,’ Violetta said. ‘They’re walking around for a couple of hours so they can lay heat off the tiki hut. It’s nothing more than that.’

  ‘Sure it isn’t.’

  ‘Alexis…’

  ‘It’s Jason and Will,’ Alexis said. ‘You can be sure they’ll find trouble.’

  Violetta shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  Alexis snatched a set of keys off the kitchen island.

  Violetta said, ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking one of the mopeds out.’

  ‘Alexis.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know what.’

  ‘So I’m a prisoner here?’ she said. ‘I can’t go for a drive?’

  ‘You can go for a drive. But that’s not what you’re going to do, is it?’

  ‘I know you think I’m some renegade,’ Alexis said. ‘But honestly, I just need to clear my head. It’s a strange time for me. I’m sure you can understand. This place is stifling if I’m cooped up all day.’

  Silence.

  Alexis said, ‘Is that a yes?’

  Violetta shrugged. ‘If you’re just gunning it up and down the beach, you don’t need my permission.’

  ‘That’s what I’m doing,’ Alexis said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Jason and Will will be out for the rest of the day, so don’t rush back.’

  Alexis smiled. ‘I won’t.’

  Violetta rounded the kitchen island and spontaneously pulled her into a hug.

  When Alexis stepped back, she said, ‘What was that for?’

  ‘You’re handling this better than I ever would have,’ Violetta said. ‘I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Handling what?’

  ‘This transition.’

  Alexis smiled again. ‘Thanks. I’m trying my best.’

  ‘Keep trying. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.’

  Alexis walked out with her shoulders straight. She held her head high. Violetta watched her go, and thought maybe this might all work out after all.

  Besides, some alone time seemed like just the remedy.

  She held the laptop in one hand and her Glock in the other and took them both out to the wraparound porch so she could watch the waves.

  A bit of light investigative work would make the afternoon go by in a flash.

  If she had to shoot an intruder in the middle of that, so be it.

  28

  The sun hit the horizon a shade after seven p.m., and for what might be the first time in their lives King and Slater had stayed true to their word and purposefully avoided trouble.

  They’d strode through town, they’d checked for sideways glances, they’d looked over their shoulders at regular intervals, but nothing needed an urgent response. A couple of shady characters eyed them from laneways and shopfronts but they never took the bait. Instead they let the day pass by veering all over Freeport, getting their bearings in case they needed to navigate the maze of streets in a hurry.

  They were sure that would happen eventually.

  They weren’t here to make friends.

  After they’d gorged on grilled fresh fish from a roadside food truck, they noticed the sun beginning its race to dip below the water, and made their way leisurely back to the hut.

  Vince was gone.

  The old server was still there.

  They ordered drinks, took a perimeter table, and relaxed for the first time since they’d stepped off the plane.

  King sipped a beer and watched the water, and Slater sipped a water and watched King’s beer.

  Eventually King peeled his eyes away from the surf gently lapping at the sand and caught Slater staring. ‘You good?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Slater said. ‘Just miss it sometimes, you know…’

  ‘I wouldn’t judge you if you had one.’

  ‘You don’t understand alcoholism, then.’

  ‘Functional alcoholism,’ King said. ‘You never went off the deep end.’

  ‘But if I had one here,’ Slater said, ‘it’d become two, and that means a third, which implies a fourth. You see?’

  ‘Just stop at two,’ King said. ‘Like I do.’

  But he said it with a wry smile of awareness, and Slater smirked back.

  It was the same thing as saying, ‘Just cheer up,’ to someone with clinical depression.

  King said, ‘I get it. You’ve revoked your own alcohol privileges.’

  Slater said, ‘Would be nice to have one every now and then, though.’

  The old British server approached their table, dutifully tucking his old cleaning cloth out of sight so he could take their orders. Trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed them earlier in the day, hadn’t interfered as they followed Vince out of the hut. It seemed it was water under the bridge if they were paying customers. But King had seen the look in the man’s eyes when they’d left, the genuine concern. The guy knew more about Vince than he was letting on.

  The man turned to Slater and said, ‘A drink for you, sir?’

  Slater smiled. ‘No, thanks. I was just reminiscing on the good old days.’

  The guy was intuitive enough to put two and two together. ‘You don’t drink?’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Then you’re a braver man than me, I’m afraid.’ He turned to King with a reassuring smile. ‘And for you, sir? Another Modelo?’

  King said, ‘Do you owe money to that man we spooked out of here earlier?’

  A pause.

  A pivotal moment where the guy tried to figure out whether to deny the accusation, pretend it hadn’t been said, or just walk away and rid himself of the trouble. But he was a dutiful employee of this establishment and he damn well knew he wasn’t leaving paying customers without a response. King knew it, too. He stared into the old man’s eyes.

  The guy said, ‘I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re—’

  ‘What’s your name?’ King said.

  ‘Teddy.’

  ‘Sit down, Teddy.’

  ‘Sir…’

  King looked around. They were the only customers. It was a gorgeous evening, the sun practically drenching the island in gold, making the surf shimmer in the dusk, but the tourists were elsewhere. There were a few strolling the beach, sure. The bulk of the foreigners would be dining at the fancier establishments, the restaurants put together a little more professionally. This tiki hut was somewhere to stop for a drink in the early afternoon or even the late morning, its meals more of a lunchtime specialty. Dishes to graze on instead of feast on.

  King turned back and said, ‘You’ve got nothing else to do, Teddy. Sit with us.’

  Teddy was paling by the second. He wanted no part of a conversation about Vince, which only solidified King’s quest.

  The old man jerked a thumb in the direction of the bar and said, ‘I’ve got—’

  Slater sat forward. ‘I’m going to stop you right there, Teddy. Unless you want us to make up some lies to Vince about how you were tarnishing his name in front of us, I suggest you sit down.’

  Now Teddy got real paranoid.

  Looked around in every direction, his mouth flapping like a fish.

  Shit out of options.

  His demeanour turned meek. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘A conversation,’ King said. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘I already told Vince that I—’

  ‘We don’t work for Vince.’

  Teddy looked King up and down, then Slater. He said, ‘Yes you do.’

  ‘Has Vince ever used enforcers who look like us?’

  Teddy took a moment to answer. ‘No. He usually uses locals.’

  ‘So we’re not with Vince,’ Slater said. ‘And it makes sense if you think about it. We were chasing him out of this place, not following his orders. Now sit.’

  Teddy pulled a cheap wooden chair over and sat.

  29

  Wind battered Alexis’ face as she gave the moped’s accelerator a touch.

  The evening sun beat down, stifling if not for the sea breeze. It melted into the sea as she raced northwest up Queens Highway. The coagulation of turquoise and gold was something off a postcard, a snapshot of paradise for all to bask in and savour.

  She didn’t want to savour it.

  She wanted something else.

  Her phone vibrated incessantly in her pocket, and she ignored it for a couple of minutes, but eventually conceded and pulled over onto the next gravel shoulder. Planted her feet on the ground, balanced the moped underneath her, and ripped off her helmet with one hand as she fished her phone out with the other.

  It wasn’t Slater.

  It wasn’t King.

  It was Violetta.

  She answered. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Are you my mother?’

  ‘Cool it,’ Violetta said. ‘We’re chasing mobsters, in case you’d forgotten. It’s a valid concern.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I just need to clear my head.’

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I just figured the three of you were on it. Or do you need me back there?’

  A pause.

  ‘No,’ Violetta said. ‘But … you’ve been gone for hours now.’

  Silence.

  Violetta said, ‘Alexis?’

  Alexis said, ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘If you need to talk…’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Where are you?’ The same question, still unanswered.

  ‘Still driving. Might watch the sunset at the beach.’

  Violetta didn’t respond.

  Alexis said, ‘Do I ever call you asking you where you’re headed? Or do I let you handle your own business?’

  ‘This doesn’t have to be an argument.’

  ‘It’s not an argument. I’ll be back later.’

  ‘Watch your back out there.’

  ‘Always.’

  She clicked off. A whisper of guilt tickled the primal part of her brain. At least, that’s what it felt like. She didn’t know the science of it — all she knew was that Violetta was onto her. They understood each other, beneath niceties and politeness. Because she was changing as a person, morphing into something else, aligning herself with the people she spent every day with. Which wasn’t a bad thing, it was just … different.

  And Violetta knew.

  Knew that Alexis couldn’t think about anything other than violence.

  She pulled back onto Queens and gunned it for West End. Unsurprisingly, the old town was positioned at the westernmost point of Grand Bahama. It wasn’t exactly frequented by tourists, at least not in comparison to the bustling sprawl of Freeport, which was exactly why she wanted to go there. Its beaches were overwhelmingly shark-infested, scaring off the majority of easygoing visitors, and a quick Google search had revealed an overall distrust of the area at night among Westerners. She was starting to understand that most people were weak and overly paranoid, so it could be a false platitude, but she figured she’d find out for herself.

  She had to.

  If she was forced to describe it, it was like realising there are cheat codes to the universe. She remembered the night she’d met Slater back in New York, when two coked-up stockbrokers who lived down the hall had forced entry into her apartment during a city-wide blackout. She’d tasered them into submission, but if she hadn’t had the weapon under her sofa she would have been screwed. Now, new doors were opening, realisations sinking in.

  She didn’t have to cower away from threats anymore. Didn’t have to avoid empty streets at night, didn’t have to cross the street when she couldn’t ascertain whether a silhouette was following her or just walking home in the same direction.

  It was an enormous shift.

  So she had to experience it for herself. Couldn’t remain cooped up in that villa the whole time they were on the island. There was crime in West End, but that didn’t mean West End was the place to avoid.

  Not for her.

  Not anymore.

  Maybe King and Slater would understand. Maybe they wouldn’t. They seemed to possess staggering insights into the human psyche, but had they ever felt that vulnerability that comes with being smaller, weaker, at the mercy of the whims of larger, powerful men?

  Probably not.

  She made it to the tip of the island as the sun finally disappeared into the ocean and dark blue took over. She didn’t head east for Bayshore Road, where foreigners likely strolled between resorts and restaurants without a care in the world. She stayed on Queens Highway until ramshackle houses materialised on either side, signalling a local neighbourhood.

  Native Bahamians walked between overgrown yards, keeping to themselves, some of them crouching in the door frames of what had once been their homes, but were now skeletons stripped bare by the hurricane winds the previous September. A great deal of them hadn’t been fully repaired yet, maybe never would be. This was the unseen economic damage. Tourist zones recovered quickly out of the necessity to impress newcomers, but disaster relief in the residential suburbs was taking far longer.

  And where there’s desperation, there’s crime.

  Alexis parked the moped in front of a cluster of abandoned buildings and left it there, taking the key with her.

  She passed several groups of locals and nodded politely to them. Most of them nodded back and kept minding their own business. A couple stared, but their gazes bore no hostility. They were simply curious that a white woman was strolling the back streets without concern. They weren’t going to capitalise on it. Alexis felt bad, aware that she’d stereotyped the local population, building an image of them in her head that didn’t match reality. These were pleasant people, trying their best to make a living, not predators.

  But every neighbourhood on earth has bad eggs.

  Which is in no way representative of a certain group.

  Just the way of the world.

  Poor, rich, doesn’t matter — there’s monsters everywhere.

  She’d dressed in tiny jean shorts and a tube top that exposed her physique. She knew she was curvaceous, knew she was tanned, knew she was tantalising. It wasn’t bait. She’d wear the same thing to the beach. Why should she have to cover up out here?

  As the last of the day’s light vanished from the sky, she turned left onto a dirt trail that led to the sea of swampy mangroves.

  Two tall skinny men in singlets and shorts crossed the road and followed.

  30