Red Tide (Billy Knight Thrillers 2)

“The Haitians.”

“And what do the people say?” I must have looked confused. “You know, the everybody.”

“The everybody doesn’t hear much about it, doesn’t think much about it.”

“And does not care because these others are black people? So if they are dying every day, this is nothing?”

I’d been hearing this from Nicky a little too much lately. On top of everything else, the subject had dropped to the bottom of my list of Things To Talk About With Beautiful Women at Parties.

But there she was, wanting to talk about it. I couldn’t very well say, “Yeah, you’re right—hey! Wanna see my boat?” No matter how much I wanted to do exactly that. So I said, “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

She made a face. It looked like Avenging Justice. “So. And this is the answer of someone who will not say the truth because truth is looking too bad, hah? The answer of politician. The answer of so many in my country who say, but is not my problem who is killed, these are not my people.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “And so nobody is doing anything because is not their problem, and by the time is their problem they are not able to do anything and soon everybody is dead, ha? Because in my country I learn. Oppression is always the problem of everybody. You must either fight for others when you can, or you become others.”

She dropped the empty soda can into my hand. “Thank you for soda,” she said, and turned away. My mouth was still open when she walked out the door and into the night.

There were a lot of opinions I could have had about her and her attitude. That she didn’t know me and had no right to judge me like that was one. And anyway, what did I care? I was still getting over Nancy.

It was nice to see that I was finally thinking clearly. The only problem was that my body wasn’t listening; it was busy following Anna out the door.

Chapter Nine

The night was alive with the smell of things blooming, the way it can only smell in South Florida. It is a thick heady scent of orchids and rotting vegetables on top of the faint tang of low tide and it makes the hair stand up on your arms and gives you the feeling that you could live forever if you could just keep that smell in your nose.

I looked around for Anna. I saw her walking towards the center of Old Town. Still not sure what the hell I was doing, or why, I ran after her.

I caught up with her at the corner. She didn’t want to be caught. She gave me a look of icy indifference and kept walking.

“Excuse me,” I said. She did not look at me again. Now

I was starting to get a little mad. “Is this the way they talk about things where you come from?” I said. “You give your opinion, which is always right, and then run out the door before anyone else can say something that might not agree?”

“Oh,” she said without looking. “You are now having an opinion. This is very good. Very much progress.”

“It must be so hard on you,” I said. “To understand everything. Nobody else even knows enough to congratulate you.”

She stopped walking. Her shoulders went up. They did it very well. “Feh,” she said. “And you, to be judge of everything. Like all Americans, you have this thing which says, I am in right, piss on you, hah? When you have beer, who cares that others die of thirst? Feh!”

It’s funny. Sometimes even when you’re mad other things filter in and hit you. Right now, instead of shouting back at her with a really snappy comeback, all I could think of was how cute she sounding saying, “peess on yoo,” with that beautiful strange accent.

I stuttered. I had been about to say, “I’m not like all Americans,” but that was wrong, not what I wanted to say, and then she said “Peess” so cute. What came out of my mouth was something like, “I’m nee-hi hut!”

She thought I was making fun of her, so she glared at me. I glared back. We just stood glaring under a streetlight.

I cracked first. I couldn’t help it; I was suddenly swamped by an overwhelming need to laugh. I fought it hard, but I couldn’t beat it. A little snorting sound came out my nose. It was followed by a big snorting sound, a cough, a short laugh, and then, when something went down my windpipe wrong, a prolonged and crippling fit of coughing.

Anna stared at me. First with anger, then scorn, then a kind of puzzled concern. And as I slowly folded to the ground to sit helpless on the curb, she stood over me, looking down, then looking around for help, then folding her arms and just standing over me.

And just as I thought I might be able to breathe again, she said, “And so when you can’t win argument you try for sympathy to kill your self with coughter.”

It almost killed me. I think I laughed for several minutes, choking and fighting for breath.

Anna watched me. She stood with a face like one of those Greek statues, towering above me as I crouched helpless below her. And after a few more moments she snickered. Then she made the same kind of snorting sound I had made. It caught her by surprise. She laughed. And pretty soon there were two of us rolling on the pavement choking with laughter.

And just when we began to get it under control, catch our breath a little, an elderly gentlemen in a white suit walked by, trailed by an attentive elderly Filipino. White Suit stopped and stared at us with a look of the most complete disapproval I have ever seen.

That set us off again, and as we rolled together, howling with laughter, the Filipino took White Suit by the elbow and led him away, turning once to glare at us.