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“Yeah, that’s harsh,” Chuck said. “On the other hand, dog, they think you’re a hottie.”
Hooker and Chuck did a complicated variation on the high five.
“Probably there’s no need for all of us to go,” I said. “Why don’t I wait here?”
Hooker locked eyes with me for a couple beats. “You’re going to be here when I get back, right?”
“Right.”
“Promise.”
“Don’t push it,” I said.
Rosa and Felicia and I watched the two men walk away, out to the helicopter.
“He might be worth a disease,” Felicia said. “Nothing major. A little one.”
“I’m gonna tell your husband,” Rosa said. “You’re thinking dirty thoughts about another man.”
“Thinking doesn’t count,” Felicia said. “A woman’s allowed to think. Even a good Catholic woman can think.”
“Here’s the plan,” Rosa said. “First we eat, and then we shop.”
We went back to Old Town, parked by the harbor, and walked up Duval Street. We sat outside at a tourist-trap café, and we ate fried fish sandwiches and key lime pie.
“I make better pie,” Felicia said. “The trick is you use condensed milk.”
A flash of black caught my attention. Not a lot of people wearing black in Key West. I looked up from my pie and locked eyes with the shooter with the slicked-back hair. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
We stared at each other for maybe ten seconds, and then he turned and crossed the street and walked toward the corner. He stopped outside a store, and I realized the store was Scuba Dooba. A guy who looked like he was in the Rent-A-Thug training program came out of Scuba Dooba and stood talking to the s
hooter. The two men swiveled their heads to look at me. We all stared at one another for what seemed like two years. The shooter made a gun with his hand, index finger extended, aimed it at me, and pulled the trigger.
Rosa and Felicia had been watching.
“Hey!” Rosa said. “Shoot this.” And she gave him an entirely different hand gesture, middle finger extended.
Felicia did the same. And I didn’t want to be left out, so I gave him the finger, too.
The shooter smiled at us. He was half a block away, but I could see the smile went to his eyes. The shooter thought we were funny.
“What’s with him?” Rosa asked.
“I think he wants to kill me,” I said.
“He’s smiling.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Men. Go figure.”
Rosa leaned forward, across the table at me. “Any special reason why he wants to kill you? Because aside from that, he’s not too bad to look at.”
I told them about the conversation at Monty’s.
“You got a lot of nerve to stay here like this,” Rosa said to me. “I’d be on a plane going home.”
“I can’t do that. It’s my brother.”
“What about the police?”
