Dying for Revenge (33 page)

I trembled too.

She said, “You better stop being all mannish.”

“Come here.”

“Stop.”

I lifted Hawks as I kissed her, a hand on each of her petite buttocks, and she wrapped her long legs around mine. The water made her buoyant, made her so light, her vagina grinding against me as her hand went into the water and found my erection. Hawks kissed me harder as she put me inside her.

I didn’t expect her to do that. It caught me off guard. Gave me fire.

Hawks moaned like she had wanted that for the last two years.

I whispered in her ear, “You have wonderful curves.”

She moaned.

I told her, “I love your weight.”

“Do you?”

“You were too skinny at first.”

“I’ve never been skinny.”

“You filled out the most important parts.”

“Did I?”

“The curves, like the way you feel.”

“Do you?”

“I remember Dallas. When you were on top of me, damn. Loved it.”

“Did you?”

“You were one hell of a rider.”

“Hush talking to me like that before you get me riled up.”

“Bet with that new weight, that ride would be devastating.”

“Hush. I’m not playing. Hush.”

“You feel like a woman should feel.”

We moved around the heated pool and copulated slow and easy, then I let her turn around and hold the edge of the pool as I took her from behind, pushing deep, splashing water with every stroke.

Her moans were sexy, continuous, euphoric, and preorgasmic, all drawn out.

We came separately the first time, held each other, kissed, laughed, and swam for a moment, then touched again, kissed, back to the water sex, and our orgasms came together the next time.

My orgasm was titanic, had momentum, and came with fervor, like it was long overdue.

Orgasm slowed my blood flow. My erection declined, slipped out of her. I held her tight, kept her body next to mine, caught my breath, my sense of hearing returning as I looked around.

The orgasm weakened me. Felt vulnerable, out in the open, naked in more ways than one.

I carried Hawks closer to the edge, where three guns rested underneath our clothing.

I smelled cigarette smoke. In the distance I saw Konstantin heading in the opposite direction, his white shoes fading into the darkness, those white shoes that were the last thing many had seen.

Guess he had come down to make sure Hawks hadn’t shot me and caught himself an eyeful.

Either Hawks didn’t see him or she didn’t care; she put my hand on her sex and she moaned.

She remained on fire, kissing me, moaned while I put my fingers inside her. Hawks bit my shoulder and moved against my hand, her thighs tightening. I was holding fire. After she came she went underwater, took me in her mouth, didn’t do it that long, wasn’t that good at holding her breath and engaging in oral pleasure at the same time. She came up, wiped water from her face, moved her long hair away from her face, smiled at me.

She said, “Don’t think that changed anything. I still don’t like you.”

We didn’t have towels so we pulled our clothes over wet bodies. It took Hawks a while to wring out her long hair. It was like watching somebody wring out a mop. Then she gathered the loose part and made it one long braid. While she did that I spied around, checked the grounds, listened; every little sound made me tense. Detroit had me fucked up. On edge. Hawks held her boots in one hand, the fruit in the other. She hopped on my back. I carried her, a gun in each hand, each held by its grip.

“You might’ve unloaded my wagon, but I still think you’re a bona fide jerk.”

“Shut your trap.”

“I mean the jerk of all jerks. Don’t let this cloying voice make you think otherwise.”

I stepped over duck shit and passed by dozens of the waterfowl. I eased Hawks off my back at the lake and threw my gun and silencer out into the darkness. The middle of the lake opened up and swallowed the smoking gun and its companion. Hawks took her gun from me, pulled the other from the small of her back, tossed both of her shooting irons. That told me both had been used down in Homestead. She had teamed up with my favorite Russian, a man only God could put in the ground, and God was having a hard time making Konstantin take his last breath. Homestead was probably soaked with blood, the way most of Florida was soaked with the blood of Seminoles. I would have hated to see the carnage they’d left behind. Now we were naked in a different way. Windows in all the condos were dark. No one outside but us. All of the residents were dead to the world, hoping to wake up to see another day.

Hawks hopped on my back again, kissed my neck as I carried her up the concrete stairs.

I asked, “Sure you gained only fifteen pounds?”

That made her curse, her curses ending in laughter.

She said, “What you want to do, do like the airlines and charge me for being a little overweight?”

“Don’t tell me you’re pissed at the airlines too.”

“Don’t get me started on talking about the airlines.” Hawks yawned. “Can’t believe that they’re gonna start charging fifteen dollars to check a bag at the airport. Fifteen for the first bag, twenty-five for the second, and a hundred damn dollars for a third. Then if my bag weighs too much they will want another twenty-five bucks. Now they charge to have a baby in your lap. And to bring a pet that will be under your seat. They might as well charge fat people a little more since they make the plane burn more fuel.”

“Yep.”

“The way they are itemizing everything, things that used to be included in the ticket price, they might as well post an airline menu at the counter, have a stewardess come out and take your order.”

“They don’t like being called stewardesses.”

“Well, that’s much nicer than what I want to call those rude, no-’count heifers.”

“Oil prices. Jet fuel. Consumer pays.”

“Ridiculous. Soon they will start charging to use the toilet. More for doing number two than doing number one. Trust me, when that air mask thing drops down, you better have a charge card in your hand because I know the oxygen won’t be free. Hell, it’s worse than riding on a Greyhound bus. To top it off we pay all of that money and still have to buy food on the plane. On top of that, can’t take liquids on the plane and damn near have to get naked at the airport. Damn orange alerts every day.”

“You know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you gained more than fifteen pounds.”

She cursed me again, this time the swearing not ending in laughter.

Outside the condo we stopped and kissed like teenagers, the kind of kissing that made a minute feel like a second, wet skin under damp clothing. Kissed until the door to the condo opened and there stood Konstantin in his suit pants and a white T-shirt, no socks or shoes on his feet, his gun at his side.

He apologized, yawned, and told me, “Antigua upped the offer.”

“Not interested.”

“By
fifty
percent.”

“Not interested.”

“This is a lot of money. Think about it overnight, talk to me before we part ways.”

I nodded and he closed the door.

Hawks asked, “You getting offered work like that in Antigua?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess I need to branch out. Become international and all. See some new places. Get some culture. Got time on my hands now. Seeing how I’m divorced and managed to lose my job and all.”

“Sorry you lost your job because of me.”

“That job was worthless.”

“Thought you liked the nine-to-five.”

“Thought I liked the man I married too. I lost a husband and a job, but I don’t want to lose the roof over my head. My boots look too good to end up collecting cans and sleeping under cardboard.”

She was a proud woman. She needed the money but never would admit it.

She said, “Konstantin was talking about all the places he’d been. All over the world. The only Athens, Rome, and Dublin I’ve ever seen are up in Georgia. Maybe I need to get to Manila, Seoul, Zurich, Barcelona. Might be time to take these boots off and see what the rest of the world is about.”

More kisses as my tongue remained with her and my mind went on its own journey.

She bit her bottom lip, rocked, had a hard time getting her words to come up, but finally said, “If you’re serious about passing on the Antigua thing, mind if I take a look-see?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Never been to the West Indies. What else is down that way?”

I told her about Montserrat and Guadeloupe, white sand, azure seas, and coconut trees, about taking a ferry from Antigua to Barbuda, where the sand was pink, a good place to rest and reflect. Nevis, St. Kitts, St. Barts, and St. Martin a short flight away. Told her Dominica was unspoiled and beautiful.

She said, “I definitely need to trade these boots for some sandals and let the sun kiss my skin.”

“You should.”

“I could. I have a lot of time now. You want to mentor me?”

“I have this problem I have to take care of.”

“The Detroit thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, anyway, can I help you out on that?”

I shook my head.

A year ago in London, Arizona had thought that the hit was on me because of a contract she had passed on to me. And Arizona had wanted to be involved, wanted to vindicate herself, that vindication almost getting her killed. She had been beaten while I was on the ground in front of her, captured, helpless. She had been thrown in the Thames. Because of me. She had been shot at as her body went into that frigid and murky water. I hadn’t been able to save Arizona. I hadn’t been able to save myself.

I didn’t want that to happen again.

People romanticized Bonnie and Clyde—Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty made that film look good—but they failed to see the reality of that union, that if not for Clyde Barrow and his problems, Bonnie Parker would not have died, wouldn’t have been gunned down because of her partnership in crime with Clyde.

Everything was romanticized, even the harshest of deaths.

Somehow, as they died, as bullets riddled their bodies, I don’t think romance was on their minds.

Detroit was my bête noire, my black beast to deal with, my problem, and the mistake I claimed.

She said, “Well, if my assistance is being rejected, ask Konstantin.”

“He has his own problems.”

“The cancer.”

“Yeah. How is he holding up?”

“He don’t really talk about it. Not with me. And I wouldn’t know what to say. I’m not good at that kind of stuff. I want to ask him a lot of questions about it, but I don’t want to at the same time.”

“How was he tonight?”

“That man is the nicest man I ever met, but when he works, talk about vicious.”

For a while we stood out in front of the door, two stories up, Hawks in my arms, looking out on Skylake Plaza and Miami Gardens Drive, watching traffic go by, some speeding toward Dixie Highway, others speeding toward I-95, her humming an Elvis Presley song as the sun began to rise.

The women in London. They were dead. That haunted me. Weighed me down.

I said, “You were asking me if the job got to me . . .”

“I know.”

“What happened to you? What went wrong?”

She took a breath. “You can’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean, even if Jesus comes back and asks you, you can’t say a word.”

“Okay.”

She took another breath. Struggled. “I had a contract on Big Ed.”

“Was that a mafia guy or something?”

“A racehorse.”

“You had a contract on a horse?”

“On a Thoroughbred.”

“Racehorses and show dogs. Lots of contracts on those.”

“Going after a defenseless animal, well, that got to me more than going after people. I mean, people are evil, but an innocent, defenseless animal, that stuck with me like you would not believe.”

“A horse.”

“People have wanted people put in the ground over parking spaces. That’s insane, but this was different. I executed a doggone horse. I went to Kentucky, put Big Ed to bed, and that messed me up.”

“What did you do, shoot a horse?”

“Arsenic. Made it so it was untraceable, for the most part.”

“Damn. You killed Mister Ed.”

“That is not funny.”

“Not laughing. No horsing around.”

She cursed me, then we laughed, her laughter like sadness as we held each other.

Hawks said, “I never feel that way about people.”

“I know.”

Hawks took a deep breath. “Can’t remember the last time I was that upset.”

I faced Hawks, gazed in her bright green eyes.

Hawks whispered, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I kissed her again. Her arms came up around my neck, her moans growing deeper. Hawks kissed me like she didn’t want to be the one to stop first. I kissed her the same way.

Hawks said, “I bet they have real nice beaches down in Antigua, huh?”

“Three hundred and sixty-five.”

“And you said you have a few days before taking care of your Detroit problem.”

“What are you saying?”

“Wonder what it would be like to have sex on all those beaches.”

“You’re trying to tempt me.”

“With something money can’t buy.”

“Why don’t you show me what money can’t buy?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“Prove it.”

“Ain’t that wagon empty yet?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Little less conversation, little more action.”

We went inside the darkened condo, the curtains facing the lake closed, Hawks holding my fingertips, yawning, tiptoeing past Konstantin as he slept on the sofa, leading me into the bedroom.