Bad Monkey

“I’ll be there as promised,” Rosa said. “Oh, major update on Stripling’s traveling arm: It’s been returned to the warm bosom of Mother Earth. The cemetery sent a man to fetch it this morning. He was dressed like a freaking Blues Brother, I swear. Said his boss sprung for a new coffin because the grave robbers ‘marred’ the other one. That’s the word he used.”

“But isn’t Eve required to sign a release?”

“They got verbal consent. He said the funeral director called her this morning.”

“In the Bahamas?”

“I’m not sure, Andrew.”

Yancy didn’t know it but Rosa was soaking in the tub. She’d been there for an hour, so the water was beginning to cool. She’d pinned up her hair and lit a candle that made the white wall tiles shine pink. It was a small candle, like the ones used for offerings in the back of the church except Rosa’s was huckleberry-scented.

Yancy said, “So, how are you doing? Tell the truth.”

“I’m okay, honest. But you know they’re going to get away, right? Both murder cases are impossible—O’Peele and your boy Phinney. Basically zero evidence, which leaves the Medicare fraud. It’ll take the feds forever to indict Stripling and get a fugitive warrant, and by then he and Eve could be in Marrakech. What the hell were we thinking, Andrew?”

Yancy said, “Look, you had a rough day.”

“I suppose you’ve already dreamed up another plan.”

“According to my new chums at the FBI, nobody calling himself Grunion has tried to leave Nassau. They believe Nick and Eve are still on Andros. And no, there isn’t a new plan. It’s the same ballsy, brilliant plan as before.”

“For God’s sake,” Rosa said.

“See? I made you laugh.”

“You most certainly did.” She poked one big toe out of the water and found herself picturing it with a tag.

Wow, she thought, that’s pretty fucked up. Definitely time for a career re-evaluation.

“Don’t forget,” Yancy was saying on the phone, “Stripling tried to kill me, too. As his only surviving victim, I intend to present myself to the county grand jury as a well-groomed, credible witness. Attempted murder is also an extraditable offense.”

Rosa didn’t want to derail Yancy’s enthusiasm, yet she feared that his value to prosecutors would be small given the messy circumstances leading to his demotion from the detective squad to roach patrol.

“You heard from Neville?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Yancy said. “I’m hoping he’s just laying low.”

“I feel terrible about Coquina’s house. The whole roof blowing off—that was insane.”

“It’s what hurricanes do.”

“It wasn’t the hurricane, Andrew. It was us.”

Rosa said good-bye and put down the phone and closed her eyes. She was smiling when the candle burned out.

Neville wasn’t worried for himself. It was Driggs who was in danger.

“Some bod mon lookin’ to kill you so do wot I say. Now get in!”

The monkey made a fuss but eventually he curled up inside the backpack, which Neville zipped up snug. He threaded his arms through the straps and rode his bicycle to the conch shack. Half the thatching was gone, so he sat on the shady side of the bar. A muffled chitter came from the backpack when Neville set it on the stool beside him.

Everybody in the place was talking about the storm, sharing damage reports, gossip, whose husband spent the night with who. Neville ordered fritters and out of guilt he slipped a small one to Driggs. The air was thick as glue, like always after a hurricane.

Egg came limping down the road, but Neville didn’t get up to leave. He was from Andros and Egg wasn’t. The others sitting at the conch shack were locals, too. If Egg got a notion in his fat skull to start trouble, he would be heavily outnumbered.

Like a half-wit he sat down squinting in the hottest patch of sun. When he finally spotted Neville he hitched around to the shade.

“Mon, I shoulda kill you down on de beach,” he said.

Neville stayed cool. He was still sore from the beating outside the trailer.

“Utter night at my old lady’s place, ’member dot? She say it was your fucking monkey did a number on my cock.”

“Wot! Ain’t my monkey, mon. I give ’im up as pay fuh summa her big woo-doo.” Neville snuck a glance at the backpack. He prayed Driggs would stay quiet.

To Egg he asserted, “Dot monkey belongs legal to her, not me.”

“When I find ’im I’m gon rip ’is head off.”

“No way! He wort good money. She dint tell you he was in de movies with Johnny Depp?”

Egg was conscious of his outsider status on the island. He lowered his voice. “I seen dot wicked ape run off wit you. Don’t lie. Give ’im up and we be done wit dis foolishness.”

“Mon, wasn’t fuh me you’d still have his filty teet in you! Lucky f’you I walked in dot shack when I did.” Neville was startled by his own strong words. The plastic fork in his hand was shaking.

“Okay. I guess you wanna die,” Egg said.

“Dot’s you, mister! You beeda one must wants to die coz dot’s wot hoppen to men who lay in bed wit de Dragon Queen.”

“Oh bullshit.”