Pirate

“The latter.”

“I know just the place.” He took out a pen, wrote down the name of a restaurant along with the address. “A lot of dangerous areas in Kingston. This area is not where I would normally send tourists, but not because it is dangerous. The people are very nice. Not like the bad parts. When you get there, you ask for Melia and tell her that Kemar sent you. It will be the best meal you have in Jamaica. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, tucking the address in his pocket.

“I forgot to ask. Were you meeting friends here?”

“No,” Sam said, thinking the question odd. “Why?”

“Two men came by and asked if you had picked up your car.”

“And what did you tell them?” Sam asked.

“The same as I tell all our other customers. We do not release that information.”

“Any chance you know what they were driving?”

“Unfortunately, no. They came inside the building, and I was with another customer.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, giving Kemar a generous tip, before getting into the car.

“Great,” Remi said, buckling her seat belt. “We’ve only just arrived and we’re already being stalked?”

“Only, this time, they’ll receive a hot reception.” He patted the Smith & Wesson in the hidden Velcro holster of his fishing vest. “One way to look at it is, we’re on the right track.”

“Unfortunately, it also means so are they.”

“At least we’re forewarned,” he said.

Due to the island’s British roots, the driver sat on the right, and, as always, it took Sam a few minutes to settle in to driving on the so-called wrong side of the road, especially when it came to the first few turns. As they left the airport, he kept watch in the rearview mirror. After a couple of miles a white SUV caught his eye. Everyone leaving the airport by the same route meant they were bound to see the same cars for a while. The SUV started to pass the vehicle behind Sam, then suddenly braked and darted back into its original position. The opposing lane ahead of Sam was wide open, with a large gap in traffic that would easily have allowed safe passing.

Whether a tourist deciding against making a lane change or Avery’s men trying to verify it was Sam and Remi in the car, he didn’t know. They were too far back for him to see who was inside. “We may have company.”

“Already?” Remi glanced out her window into the side mirror. “Which car?”

“White SUV. They were trying to pass the car behind us, then changed their mind.”

“Trying to see if we were here?”

“Possibly.”

“Now what?”

“The scenic route to the restaurant to see if we’re being followed.”

As soon as they reached town, Sam made a quick left and was glad to see the SUV continue straight. “Catch who was behind the wheel?” he asked.

“Tinted windows.”

He made another left, then pulled to the curb, parking about a half block down in front of a large truck that would, he hoped, block their view. He watched the intersection from his side mirror. When the SUV didn’t appear within what Sam thought was a reasonable amount of time, he pulled out, keeping to side streets as they drove to the restaurant. As Kemar had warned, they were in a part of town where tourists seemed to be absent. They drove past shanties and corrugated-metal shacks on streets crowded with pedestrians who darted into the roads certain that any vehicles would stop in time. Eventually the smaller buildings were replaced by larger structures. When they reached the right neighborhood, he drove past the restaurant, a bright purple building, tucked in between other businesses and restaurants, each painted a different color of the rainbow, some clashing garishly with whatever was built next to it. Distinctly Jamaica.

“Did we lose them?” Remi asked.

“Looks like it. Just in case, we’ll park away from the restaurant. No sense making it easy for them.”

He drove around the corner, reasoning that there were a dozen or more restaurants in the area and someone would have to pop into a lot of doors to locate them. That at least would give them time to eat in peace.

The walk to the restaurant took about three minutes. If anything, it seemed even hotter now than it had when they left the rental lot. The high humidity level didn’t help.

Remi wiped a sheen of perspiration from her forehead, then ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail, the sunlight bringing out the vibrant auburn color. “What are the chances this place is air-conditioned?”

“In this part of town? I’ll be happy with a good working ceiling fan.” But when they entered the purple, stuccoed building, the lone ceiling fan didn’t seem to move much air.

A woman greeted them as they entered. Tall, with short dark curls cropped close to her head, she picked up two menus from the counter.

As suggested, Sam asked for Melia.

“I am Melia.”

When he mentioned Kemar’s name, it brought a smile to her face.

“Kemar?” she said in the same lilting accent. “A good man to send you here. Please, come this way. Our special guests sit on the patio. Much cooler, with the breeze that comes in from the ocean.”