‘Same like you, mon. Panama!’ The way Tully sounded the name, it had a ring of destiny, of great deeds in the offing. ‘I been puttin’ two and two toget’er, and Panama de sum I’rive at.’
Ruy had backed to the door of the wheelhouse and was about to slip inside; Mingolla told him to stay put.
‘Who’s he?’ Debora asked; she had her own gun out.
‘Davy never tell ya ’bout Tully Ebanks?’
Tully came a step closer, and Mingolla, realizing he didn’t need the gun, tucked it back into his waistband. ‘Be wise, Tully,’ he said. ‘I can handle ya, no problem.’
‘I been ever knowin’ dat, Davy. Weren’t it me sayin’ you was goin’ to be somethin’ special? I seen dis moment from de back-time. And I still fah you, mon.’
‘Uh-huh, sure.’
Ruy started into the wheelhouse again, and Mingolla cautioned him. ‘I’m gonna start this motherfucker up,’ Ruy said. ‘You bastards wanna kill each other, go ’head. I got the fog to worry ’bout.’ He ducked into the wheelhouse, and a moment later a grumble vibrated the hull, black smoke spewed from the stern.
‘You gonna shoot me, Davy?’ Tully asked, and grinned.
‘I might,’ said Mingolla. ‘Tell me why you’re going to Panama.’
‘Ain’t nowhere else to go. Must be a fool, took me so long to figure t’ings out.’
‘What things?’
‘T’ings I been hearin’… from Izaguirre and de rest. It alla sudden start makin’ sense.’
Mingolla picked his way through the debris on the deck and confronted Tully from an arm’s length away. Tully grinned down at him, his seamed face as massive as an idol’s. Then his grin faded as Mingolla pushed into his mind, brushing aside his defenses and influencing him toward honesty. He asked Tully again his reasons for traveling to Panama, and Tully gave back a fragmented tale of clues, hints, things overheard, all leading to the same conclusions that Debora and Mingolla had reached.
‘Christ God Almighty!’ said Tully afterward, staring at him in awe. ‘What de fuck happen wit’ you?’
‘Practice,’ said Mingolla. From his brush with Tully’s mind he had gained an image of greed and strength, and underlying that, an essential good-heartedness that had been weakened by drugs and power. He thought he could trust him, but he was having trouble sorting out his feelings for him: an amalgam of camaraderie and antagonism.
‘Listen, Davy.’ Tully adopted a conspiratorial tone. ‘We got to talk, mon. Work somet’ing out ’bout dis Panama trip. ’Cause I’m feelin’ it’s gonna be deep down there. We gonna need each ot’er.’
‘Yeah, we’ll talk.’ Mingolla turned to Debora. ‘He was my trainer, he’s okay.’
She dropped her gun into a tote bag, favored Tully with a suspicious stare, then went forward. The
Mingolla muttered agreement, but shook off Tully’s arm. ‘What you wanna talk about?’
‘Well…’ Tully leaned on the rail, adopted a stern tone. ‘To start wit’ you might wanna tell me ’bout why you messed wit’ my ‘Lizabeth.’
Mingolla didn’t place the name at first. ‘Oh, yeah… I don’t know, man. I was pretty loose back then. Sorry.’
‘Mon, dat little girl be cryin’ for a month ’bout you.’
‘I told ya I was sorry,’ Mingolla said, irritated. ‘What you want me to do, go back to the island and fix her?’
‘I coulda done dat. But I lef’ her the way she was… figured dat her feelin’s keep off de ot’er flies. Naw, I just wantin’ to know if your conscience been vexin’ you.’
‘Not a lot,’ said Mingolla. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘You always did enjoy actin’ hard,’ said Tully. ‘And now you hard fah true. But dere’s good in ya, mon. Dat’s clear.’
‘I don’t need my character analyzed, man. Tell me what you got in mind… y’got something in mind, don’t ya?’
Ruy came out of the wheelhouse to stand beside Debora, who was looking back at the receding town.
‘Yeah, I got somethin’ in mind,’ Tully said. ‘Back when I was fishin’, I spend some months in Panama. Got to know de country some. ’Case t’ings go sour down dere, dere’s dis place I know up in Darien. Kinda place where a mon can lose heself.’
Ruy was talking, gesturing wildly, and his hand flicked across Debora’s breast, causing her to jump back.
Mingolla brushed past Tully and, kicking garbage aside, stalked toward Ruy. ‘You better watch where you put your fuckin’ hands, man!’
‘It was an accident, David.’ Debora stepped between him and Ruy, and Ruy smiled, shrugged.
‘Don’t get excited,
A woman popped her head up from the hatch that led to the cabins. Ruy beckoned, and she came up onto the deck. She was a little plump, but sexy nonetheless, with Indian coloring, regular mestizo features, and long black hair weaved into a single braid. She radiated a psychic’s heat, and in her left eye was the holograph of a dewy rose floating against a starless night.
‘Yeah,’ said Ruy. ‘I need a squeeze, Corazon she gimme one.’ He waggled a finger at her. ‘Open it up.’
Corazo dropped her eyes and started undoing the buttons of her blouse.
‘Don’t do that,’ Mingolla said.
But Corazon didn’t stop.
‘You tell your woman what to do,’ Ruy said. ‘Not mine.’
The blouse fell open, Corazon’s heavy breasts spilled out.
‘Let’s go,’ said Mingolla, guiding Debora toward the hatch.
Behind them, Ruy’s voice was filled with amusement. ‘C’mon back and give her a squeeze, man! Y’don’t know what you missin’!’
They sailed close to the shore, avoiding the cordon of warships that fortressed the deep water. The overcast held, and whenever the sun pierced the clouds, its vague light layered the sea with a flat uniform shine, making it seem they were crossing an ocean of fresh gray housepaint. The only event to break the monotony of the voyage was Ray’s ongoing attempt to seduce Debora. Each time she came on deck, he would pin her against the rail and regale her with testimony to his revolutionary zeal, tell stories about his villainy in service of the cause. When Mingolla asked if she wanted him to put a stop to this, she said, ‘He’s crude, but he’s harmless. And he’s really not so bad. At least his political conscience is genuine.’ Her attitude was at odds with Mingolla’s:
His initial impression of her had been that she was more than pretty, but he subtracted from that impression the exotic bauble embedded in her eye. You were drawn first to look at the eye, only then at the rest of her, and it seemed that the surreal beauty of the rose had created an illusion of beauty, that she was in reality quite ordinary. This secondary impression was enhanced by her doglike obedience to Ruy’s whims. Once, for instance, he had her dress in black pumps and an evening gown, pile her hair high and fix it with glittering jeweled pins that resembled bunches of tiny flowers, and set her to scrubbing the decks, a chore that took her most of the night and left her dress in tatters. She went about with her head down, rarely speaking to anyone, and would flinch at the sound of Ruy’s step.
But one night as Mingolla walked along the companionway belowdecks, heading for his cabin, he heard Corazon’s voice coming from Tully’s door, which was cracked an inch open. ‘No, I don’t feel nothin’,’ she was saying.
‘Hell you don’t,’ Tully said. ‘Can’t fool me ’bout dat.’
Through the door, Mingolla saw Corazon standing by Tully’s bunk, wearing only panties. Lantern light flashed off the rose in her eye.
‘Why you want me to feel?’ she said. ‘Feelin’ don’t mean nothin’. I don’t wanna feel.’
