Page 61

CHAPTER 60

FOURTEEN HOURS LATER, I was sitting by a bonfire on the beach. Our nightly routine. Twenty massive bodybuilders—and me.

The temperature had dipped to a tolerable eighty-three degrees. Some of the guys held sticks wrapped with raw meat over the flames, like overgrown Boy Scouts. Here and there, beers were popped. I was on my third.

Off to one side, two guys were belly-down on the sand, arm wrestling. The accents around the fire were from every corner of the world. Most of the conversations were about circuits and definition and isolation, the kind of stuff bodybuilders tend to get excited about. Not me. I mostly just listened.

I saw a flicker of light across the water and heard the churn of an engine.

I sipped my Heineken and watched as a large cabin boat approached, making the crossing from the city. Right on schedule. There was an onshore breeze, and I could already smell the perfume.

The guys who were eating wolfed down the last of their food. A small group walked down to the beach to meet the boat. The others just stood around, wiping sand off their abs and asses.

The operator drove the boat right onto the sand as he cut the engine. A few of the guys grabbed the prow and tugged it a few feet further up. Now I could hear high-pitched voices and light laughter from inside the cabin.

The cabin door opened, and they appeared. Young women. About fifteen of them. The operator lowered a wooden ramp and the women paraded their way down onto the sand. Some wore miniskirts with halter tops. Some wore clingy dresses. One wore a pink bikini under a sheer, flowing caftan. They were all barefoot and beautiful.

It was the same show every night. Most of the ladies were regulars, but there were always a few new faces, and bodies—some voluptuous, some stick-thin, some athletic. Most of the women were Middle Eastern. A few were Asian. One or two looked European. It was a virtual United Nations of escorts.

I watched the women and the bodybuilders mingling by the boat and pairing off. Some guys pulled their dates toward the bonfire. Others got right down to business, leading them up the dark beach toward the row of sleep shacks. Two couples stripped off their clothes in the surf and waded into the warm water. Lots of splashing and squealing and laughing.

I could see a few of the newcomers giving me the once-over, but the regulars knew to leave me alone. One Asian girl whispered to another as she gestured to me with her thumb. I just smiled. My hearing was excellent. So was my Mandarin. She’d called me a “lump on a log.”

The boat operator was sitting on the prow of the boat, his bare brown legs dangling off. Same guy every night. Procurer, pimp, or maybe just transporter. He had a cigarette clamped between his lips. One of the guys handed him a beer. He popped it with one hand and guzzled it in one gulp, foam dripping down his chin. Then he tossed the empty onto the beach and took another puff on his cigarette.

By now, the bonfire was burning down from neglect. Nobody but me left to feed it. I poked a few ashy logs with a stick and watched the sparks rise.

Over the crackle of the fire, I heard a creak from the boat. I looked over as the cabin door opened again. A straggler stepped out, shadowed by the cabin roof. She’d probably nodded off on the way over.

The woman had her back to me as she pulled a tunic off over her head. Underneath she was wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top. For a second, she was illuminated by the fire.

She was tall. Her skin was pale.

And her hair glowed like copper.