“ I knew you would.” She dropped the gun into her purse.
“ Who do I have to kill?”
“ The Prime Minister of Trinidad.”
“ I could do that.”
Chapter Eleven
“ Good morning, sir,” Broxton said, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he smiled at the Indian Trinidadian behind the counter. “Do you sell breakfast here?” He was still half asleep. He’d been up most of the night talking and reminiscing with Warren.
“ We see a lot of Africans with shaved heads,” the Indian said, ignoring Broxton’s question, “but I’ve never seen a white man with one, only on TV. Looks good on you. Looks like you can fight, too. Plenty muscles.”
“ About breakfast?” Broxton said.
“ Do the girls like that head, or is it just you?” the Indian said. He had flashing white teeth flapping inside of withered gums and Broxton caught the laughing twinkle in his eyes. If he wanted breakfast he was going to have to play with the man.
“ I think the girls like it,” he said, running his right hand along the side of his scalp. “And it’s easy to keep up, I start shaving from the top and just keep going.” He put his hand back to his head, thumb and index finger together, like he was holding a razor, and brought it from the top of his chrome dome down along the side, where sideburns would be if he had any, over his cheek and down to his chin, imitating a man shaving. “And no barber bills either, very economical.”
“ I like you. I’m called Davidnen.” The Indian stuck his hand over the counter. Broxton shook it and Davidnen laughed. “Tough guy handshake, like a real American,” he said.
“ Do you always say whatever you want?” Broxton asked.
“ I’m ninety-six, almost a century old, a century,” he said, emphasizing his speech the way Trinidadians do. “I’m entitled, I’ve earned the right.”
“ Yes, sir, you have,” Broxton said, nodding. “Now about breakfast?”
“ Bakes is the best I can offer. Sort of like a pita bread sandwich. I can make you one with ham and eggs. No charge today, because you really didn’t come here to eat, but I might charge you for whatever it is you want to know.”
Broxton laughed again, but this time it was forced. “You’re pretty sharp.”
“ Not really. You don’t work over there,” he said, looking through the front window toward the American Embassy on the other side of the street, “and if you had business there you’d come later, after they’re open. You don’t look like you’re on vacation, and besides we’re off the tourist track. So what is it, are you some kind of spy looking for information?”
“ It’s not like you’re thinking,” Broxton said.
“ I’m hearing you good,” Davidnen said. “Keep talking.”
“ It’s about a woman.”
“ Ah,” the old man sighed, then twinkled, “which one?”
“ Dani Street.”
“ And why are you wanting to know about her?” the Indian asked, his eyes narrowing.
“ I came to Trinidad to marry her,” Broxton said.
“ I see, so it’s Kevin Underfield you’re wanting to know about?”
“ Yes, no, I don’t know. I was just going to sit here and watch her come to work, that’s all.” He was talking like a man wearing his heart on his sleeve and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it.
The Indian put a hand up and played with his mustache as he studied Broxton. After a moment he said, “You should have come sooner if that’s what you’re after.” And the room was quiet save for the sound of the Indian sucking on his upper lip as he tried to reach his mustache with his teeth.
“ There were problems,” Broxton said, continuing to confide in a man he didn’t know.
“ Yes, for sure, you married the wrong woman, Mr. Broxton.”
“ How do you know my name, and how do you know about me?” Broxton asked.
“ We talk, me and Dani. We’re good friends. She eats here every day, most of the other Americans from the Embassy don’t. They go to Rafter’s or one of the finer restaurants. I guess they don’t much like the local food.”
“ Is he a nice guy, this Kevin Underfield?”
“ Not so nice, I don’t think,” the Indian said.
“ What do you mean?”
“ I think I’ve said enough, but Dani says you work for the DEA, you’ll be able to figure it out.” He paused and ran his tongue over his mustache, like he was checking to see if it was still there, then said, “And as we speak of the devil, he arrives.”
Broxton turned back toward the window again in time to see Dani kiss Kevin Underfield firmly on the lips. Then she turned and walked into the Embassy and Underfield started off down the block. He was wearing a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, sweatpants and running shoes. He looked like a Nike commercial, with his poster boy good looks and strong athletic build.
“ I think I’ll go,” Broxton said, thinking that Dani must place a lot of trust in this old man. She even told him that he worked for the DEA.
“ That would be wise, and remember one thing.”
“ What’s that?”
“ I wasn’t telling you anything here. For myself I don’t care, but I have children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, them I care about. Trinidad is a small place.”
“ I wasn’t even here,” Broxton said, starting for the door.
“ And we never met.” The Indian winked.
Broxton closed the door behind himself and started off after Underfield. It was a cool morning, promising to be a hot day, and Kevin Underfield was walking at a brisk pace with the morning sun at his back. That was an advantage for Broxton. If Underfield looked behind he’d be staring into the light.
He half wondered why he was following the man. He also wondered why he showed up at the Embassy and hid in the small restaurant across the street. It didn’t seem right, snooping around after Dani. They’d been friends since they were children. If he wanted to know about her relationship with Kevin Underfield all he had to do was ask. But there was something about Underfield he didn’t like. Maybe it was just the fact that he’d stolen Dani’s heart, but maybe it was something more.
Underfield stopped, waved, and met a cafe au lait colored woman with a drop dead gorgeous face wearing black Danskins that hugged her curves like the white line hugs the center of the highway. Just the sight of her set Broxton’s heart pumping. Like Underfield, she was wearing running shoes. It took Broxton less than a second to figure out that they’d be coming back his way, because they were probably going to the Savannah to run. He looked left, then right, then dashed between a small auto parts store and a bakery three doors back, toward the embassy.
They jogged by seconds later and Broxton let them get down the block before leaving his hiding place and going after them. Two blocks brought them to the ring road around the Savannah. He watched while they crossed it and turned left. From where he stood it was about three quarters of a mile across the large park. He guessed that it would take them longer to jog the two miles around it to get to the spot where he’d be if he kept straight on at a brisk walk.
Twenty minutes later he was sitting on a bench, looking up the hill across the street at the Hilton Hotel as the pair came jogging toward him, but they didn’t pass, instead they turned left, crossed the ring road, and continued jogging on up toward the hotel.
“ Shit,” he muttered as he pushed himself up from the bench. He’d been so sure that they’d jog on by without noticing him, but then he felt the morning sun on his shaved head and he knew that Underfield would have pegged him right away.
