“Bruto,” she said.
She was on the floor and her wet skirt was up around her waist. Her thighs were smooth, copper.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said.
“I wasn’t,” I replied, and then she kicked me hard in the shin. “Fuck,” I said.
“I know men.”
I smirked at her. “Sure you do. You led me to that park and left me to hang out for the cops.”
“That was not my idea.”
“The guy with the weird head?”
“Yes. Kaonabo. It was his idea.”
“Ka-nabo?”
“He’s my husband.”
“No shit,” I said and went to close the blinds and the curtains on the windows. I kept my eye and the gun on her the whole time. “So what’s up with his forehead anyway?”
“The Tainos believed that a flat forehead was a sign of beauty. Taino mothers carried their babies on their back on a board secured to the baby’s forehead to make it that way. His real name is Pedro. He is very serious about the Neo-Taino cause.”
“Shit yeah.”
“Oye me. I wanted you along, negrito, because I knew he would do something like this. Like I said, he’s very serious.”
“You were looking for a bodyguard, then, not a patsy? I don’t know about that.”
“You have to believe me.” She kicked off her shoes, lay back on the couch, her body open. Her wet hair covered part of her face. She looked delicious. “I wanted protection. Your cousin used to talk about you all the time. A big man. She told me you do karate.”
“Aikido. I used to.” Suddenly I felt like I needed a drink. But there was still a knot in the bottom of my stomach.
“She had your picture in her room. You had a kind face, a vulnerable face. I liked it.”
I was standing above her. Water dropped from my hair onto her thighs.
“What was that stuff your husband made me inhale?”
“Cohoba. A hallucinogenic.”
“I’ve had worse. I saw a dog that couldn’t bark.”
“The Tainos had mute dogs,” she said.
“Nice.” I didn’t want to tell her that the dog saved my life.
I could smell her scent, musky and earthy. Her dark, wet clothes clung to her body like a glistening second skin.
“What happened to your lady friend?”
“Her flight was delayed. Where’s your husband?”
“He went to meet the buyer.”
I was on my knees, the gun still in my right hand. Then I put my palms on her calves and began to move them up her legs, pulling her dress back and dragging the gun across the copper of her thighs. Goose bumps rose all up and down her skin.
“What are you doing, negrito?”
“Nothing,” I said, standing up. I leaned way down, looking right into her eyes. I kissed her. She let me. But her lips didn’t respond. I tried again. She stared at me.
“Are you done?” she said.
“Looks like I am.”
“Your cousin also told me you were a mujeriego — a womanizer.”
“I know what it means. Wait till I see Carmen again.”
I was half hanging off the couch. I should’ve seen it coming.
Itaba kneed me hard in the balls and yanked the gun easily out of my hand. I curled up and she kicked me off to the side. I smacked the coffee table with my head and hit the floor.
I wasn’t hurt. Coco duro. I just looked at the ceiling and sighed. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She sat up on the couch and didn’t even bother pointing the gun at me. “Oyeme, negrito. Kaonabo is coming, and he’s dangerous.”
“Looks like you can take care of yourself fine.”
“He doesn’t just want to sell the cemi to buy land. He wants to become a drug king.”
I got up on my elbows. “What?”
“He thinks we can get more land and more power if we buy and sell drugs.”
“He’s right. You’d have money coming in all the time. I—”
“It disgusts me,” she said, getting up. “I knew he was coming to Ponce to try to get the cemi from me. I knew he would do something stupid. But I didn’t know he would kill Dr. Arroyo.”
“Why did he?”
“To start his drug business without witnesses.”
Outside the wind and rain had picked up and smacked against the windows. The taped glass was throbbing like it wanted to bust.
“I need your help. I want your help.” She waved the gun like it was no more than a hairbrush. “It’s Pedro.”
“So you want to stop him?”
“He is a very violent man. I may have to use this.”
“I believe you could,” I said.
We listened to the growing storm for what seemed like an hour. It had begun a slow conga rhythm against the windows, against the walls. I was itchy for a drink. I was so used to having a drink in my hand it was strange not to have one. Itaba just sat there and stared at me. She kept the gun near her the whole time.
When the man with the flat forehead opened the door, he was drenched from the storm. He did not look happy to see me. In fact, it looked like he wanted to rip my heart out of my chest and eat it.
“Hola, Pedro,” I said. “How’s it going?”
He stood there, saying nothing. He had his dark shades on. Behind him was a short white man, late fifties, I’d guess. Bald head, yellow-white beard soaked with rain. He looked even more shocked. Probably didn’t expect a party. He had a satchel in one hand.
The conga rhythm of the storm seemed to suddenly pick up in intensity.
“This must be the buyer?” I said.
The flat-headed man said something to Itaba in that strange language. His voice was deep and came out like a growl. She spoke back to him and he seemed to calm down.
Itaba walked up to the white guy and they shook hands. “Mr. Hubbard,” she said. “Welcome to Puerto Rico.”
“Thank you,” Hubbard replied. “I look forward to seeing the amazing cemi you’ve told me about.”
He kept his eyes on me. I glanced at the couch. The gun wasn’t there.
“This is an associate of mine,” Itaba explained. “Don’t worry about him.” From where I stood I could see she had the weapon tucked into the back of her belt. She turned and said to me, “Please hand me the cemi, Papo.”
I could feel that rhythm, that storm, beating in my own head. I picked up the gift bag from where it sat on the couch. I was tired of being at the sucky end of all this. I handed her the bag and in the same motion I grabbed the gun.
“Get back,” I said.
The buyer yelped. Like a puppy. Pedro muttered something in Spanish, fast. I didn’t get all of it, but I think he called me a stupid, fat American. Itaba stared at me. Wondering what I was going to do next. I had no idea.
“Give me that satchel,” I told the buyer. “You guys can divide up your rock. All I want is the cash.”
The buyer stood still, hesitating.
Pedro spoke again before the buyer could move. This time in English, with a heavy accent. It sounded like it hurt him to say each word: “You fool. Destroyer of the Earth. You have no regard.”
“At least I try to recycle. I’m reusing this gun, for example.”
The storm continued to bang against the windows and in my head with that conga rhythm, hard and fast. And loud.
“The Tainos are a good, noble people!” Kaonabo yelled above the noise. “You are not noble.”
“And you call stealing and killing and selling drugs good and noble?” I shouted back. “You’re living in the past, my man. I know from experience that gets you nowhere.”
“What’s this about?” the buyer said.
Kaonabo turned to Itaba. “Puta! Mentirosa!”
“Hey!” I snapped. I scratched my head. “Listen up. If things were different, I could help you. I know about this sort of thing. You could probably use my help.”