“What whole thing?”
“Galleon Beach. The treasure of.”
“What treasure?”
“You saw the plans.” Jack gazed out the window at Mandy. “No feel for the water,” he said.
“She could be all right.”
Jack turned, gave him a look. “He didn’t see you, did he?”
“No. But what difference would it make? Does he know you know?”
The expression in Jack’s eyes changed, as though he was thinking about something. “I don’t know what he knows.”
“How can he expect to keep it a secret, in a little place like this?” Eddie asked. “What happens when the staff gets here?”
“I guess he’ll worry about that when he has to.”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow?”
“Isn’t that when the cook arrives?”
“The cook won’t be a problem.”
“Why not?”
Jack didn’t answer. Out on the water, Mandy kept swimming.
7
“Interested in herb, man?”
Eddie, screwing new planks on
“No, thanks.”
“With your hair like that, I could only aks myself.”
“I’m not in the market.”
“Market? Who be speaking of market? I just want to show you somet’ing interesting, man, if you be interested in herb. In the most friendliest way, since you and me be colleagues.”
“Colleagues?”
“Sure. Meet JFK, the new cook.”
JFK leaned down, extended his hand, fingers pointing up for a black handshake. They shook hands.
“I didn’t hear your plane.”
“Was no plane. I carry myself on this fine made-in-Japan bicycle.”
“From where?”
“All the way down to Cotton Town, on the very tip of this earthly paradise,” said JFK, waving toward the south. “The famous Cotton Town Hotel and Villas. Diving. Tennis. Sailing. Happy hour. Goombay smash. Push-push. When there be guests. Not now.”
“You work there?”
“Formerly, man. Now Mr. Packer has sweetened my pot.” He chuckled. “You Jack’s brother.”
“Right.”
“I have two brothers. They both’s in jail. Franco in Miami, Dime in Fox Hill.”
“What did they do?”
“Lost their trials.” There was a pause while JFK stared out to sea and Eddie waited for elaboration. Then JFK spoke: “Destiny, man. Destiny be rulin’ the fates of humanity.” He raised his hands slightly, as though summoning divine forces.
A black dot appeared in the northwestern sky, grew, formed the shape of a plane, turned white. It flew overhead, lost its whiteness, lost its shape, became a black dot again and disappeared.
“Don’t trust no planes,” said JFK. “Boats for me.” He scanned the shoreline, taking in the six cottages, the thatched bar, the main building, the overgrown shuffleboard court.
“This place gonna make it, man?”
“It’s a nice spot,” Eddie said.
“Nice spot. These islands is not’ing but nice spots. Except no one be making it.” He took a penny from his pocket, flicked it in the air, caught it. “Takes luck, man,” he said. “Make a wish.”
“You make it.”
JFK shook his head. “You look lucky to me.”
Eddie thought. He knew there must be things he should wish for, but all he could think was: fun in the sun.
“Ready?” asked JFK.
Eddie nodded. He wished for fun in the sun.
JFK spun the penny off the dock. It made a coppery arc and a tiny splash, then vanished.
JFK smiled. He had a big smile, with gaps here and there. “Maybe I can make your wish come true,” he said.
“How?”
“Come. I show you.”
Eddie tightened the last screw, climbed onto the dock. JFK made a wobbly circle on his bike-he had a big suitcase, tied with twine, on the rear carrier-and pedaled away. Eddie followed.
JFK rode at a walking pace, up the conch-lined path, past the cottages and the main building, onto the dusty road linking Galleon Beach to Cotton Town. “Feel the heat,” he said. “We got nice spots. We got heat.”
Eddie felt the heat on his bare shoulders, felt how it made him conscious of every breath.
“We got the heat here, that’s for sure,” said JFK after a while. “You got heat like this where you come from?”
“No.”
“Where is that you come from?”
Eddie named the town.
“That be near L.A.?”
“No.”
“I want to go to L.A. That my number-one goal in this earthly life.”
“I’ll be there in the fall.”
The bike wobbled. “Whoa. You tellin’ me the trut’?”
“I’m starting college-USC,” Eddie said. He added: “That’s the plan.”
“Then what you be makin’ wishes for? You already got everyt’ing a heart desires.”
The road went past the fish camp, past a cracked, dried-out red-clay tennis court and its sun-bleached backboard, partly screened by scrub pines, then swung inland. The temperature rose at once; in seconds, a drop of sweat rolled off Eddie’s chin, landed on his dusty sneaker, making a damp star.
“Easy, man,” said JFK, pedaling more slowly; so slowly Eddie was surprised he could keep the bicycle steady. “You on island time now.”
They came to a flamboyant tree-Eddie knew the name now-by the side of the road. Not far ahead lay the turnoff to the airstrip. JFK leaned his bike against the tree, set off on a narrow path through the bush. Eddie followed. Something bit him on the ankle. He slapped at it, received bites on the other ankle, back, and face.
“No-see-ums,” said JFK. “Not’ing to be done.”
The path narrowed; vegetation brushed Eddie’s skin at every step. He began to itch all over. The sweat was dripping off him now. He thought of
Ahead, JFK seemed to be moving faster. His thin calves knotted and lengthened in smooth motions, like water going back and forth in a tube. He began to sing.
