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“Nah, you can keep that to sell. We’re going to put our own drinks in them.”
“For that booze brawl?”
Seems like everybody already knows about it. “Yeah.”
He lifts his arms and looks out on the mostly empty stalls. “Official provider of the coconuts for the La Jarra booze brawl right here!”
I have a feeling we might get more business than we expect tonight. It’s a Saturday, which may not mean much to the tourists, but for the locals, it’s an evening out.
Pete spots Anya, a friend of mine and Mendo’s. She’s wearing a hot-pink bikini top with cutoffs and holds a stack of flyers. “Anya, over here!” he calls.
Anya hurries over. Like Pete and Bodeen, she’s a mix of Jamaican and African, and can be fierce about her La Jarra pride. Her long black braids trail down her back, and when she sees me, she breaks out in a big smile. “Gabe! Gaber! Gaberooni!” She envelops me in a vanilla-scented hug. “Where’s the Georgia babe?”
I release her. “With my mother.”
Anya’s eyes grow wide, her long fake lashes touching her stenciled brows. “Already? You settling down? Introducing her to your mama?”
“God, no. Mom hijacked her.”
She watches me for a moment. “Of course. Can’t imagine Gabe getting serious with no-body. No-body is good enough for Gabriel.”
“Hey!” I reach out to yank a braid, same as I’ve done since kindergarten, but she predicts my move and swings her hair aside.
“Poor stone-man Gabe. Never goes soft.” She shoves the stack of flyers at me. “Hold on to these. I’m going to spy.”
I’m forced to accept the pages, already limp from the humidity. What does she mean, stone-man? I can have fun.
Bodeen elbows me as he lifts two perfectly cut and hollowed coconuts. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” I say, tucking the papers under my elbow to accept them.
“Ya want all ten now?” Pete asks.
“Ten?” Bodeen crosses his arms over his narrow chest. “I ain’t doin’ all that.”
Those two are always fighting. Bodeen is seventeen, and Pete barely a year older.
“I’ll tell our mama,” Pete says.
Bodeen scowls at his brother, then stomps back to their stall.
Pete takes one of the coconuts to inspect Bodeen’s handiwork. “Not as smooth as I do it.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s just for tonight.”
“What’s going in them?” Pete asks.
“We haven’t decided.”
He peers into the hollowed core. “I hear whoever wins gets to boss the other one around.”
I shrug. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I also heard she’s from Georgia.” Pete raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “Does she know Anita?”
Everybody knows everybody’s business around here, especially at the market. “Georgia is a big place.”
“I’m just saying.”
