“ 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.
He started to cross the street when he saw a group of young people headed his way. They looked like they were between fifteen and seventeen, four boys and three girls. One of the boys was wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap. He sat back down on the bench and waited for them to approach.
“ Wanna sell the Yankees cap?” he said when the group was within hearing distance.
“ Not really,” the boy said.
“ Fifty US, right now,” Broxton said.
“ It’s yours.” The boy tossed Broxton the cap. Broxton reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“ You’re crazy, right?” one of the girls said.
“ No, I just like the Yankees.” Broxton handed the kid a fifty.
“ I like ’em, too,” the kid said.
“ Yeah, about fifty bucks US worth,” another one of the girls said and they all laughed and continued on their way.
Broxton set the cap on his head, looked both ways, remembering that they drove on the opposite side of the street in Trinidad. Then he crossed and started toward the path that led up to the hotel. His underarms felt like Velcro as they attempted to stick to his skin with each stride. He tried holding them straight, without swinging them, but it was no use.
They were out of sight, but that didn’t worry him. They’d probably gone to the restaurant for a quick bite to eat or a cold drink. It didn’t dawn on him that they might be in one of the many rooms till he entered the lobby.
He pulled off the cap and looked around. He headed toward the restaurant, glanced in and didn’t see them, then he put the cap back on and started toward the front desk, ready to pay for information from the desk clerk, when he saw the girl’s picture encased in glass on the wall outside the restaurant.
She was wearing a skintight, hip hugging formal in the black and white photo, and she looked like a glamour queen. The caption on the poster read, ‘Stormy sings the blues live at the Hilton every Sunday night.’ Stormy. Broxton wondered what her real name was. He knew he couldn’t go to the front desk and ask about her. Any questions he asked, no matter how much he paid, would be repeated back to her and he didn’t want that. So he turned back toward the restaurant, went in and took a seat by the back wall, facing the door.
Thirty minutes later, as he was finishing his ham and eggs, she stopped by the front of the restaurant wearing tight Levi’s and a pale pink, loose fitting silk blouse. She was beauty personified, she could make old men quiver and young men swoon. Broxton was neither young nor old though, so he raised his hand to get her attention, but he dropped it as quickly as he’d put it up when Kevin Underfield came into view wearing a beige suit and tie.
Not the running sweats he’d come in with, Broxton thought. He watched as Underfield gave her a slight kiss on the lips and he looked away when the man roamed his eyes around the room. He turned his head back as Underfield patted her on the rear, before turning and walking through the lobby and out the front door. Then he raised his hand again as she entered the restaurant.
She saw his waving hand, caught his eyes and started toward his table. He stood as she approached. She was stunning and each step she took stole more of his breath away. Her deep brown eyes were clear as windows and they seemed to be laughing, and her perfect teeth, gleaming from her smile, seemed to light up the room.