The man walks in, holding my hand. I follow and look around. The unmistakeable smell of sea is there. A small kitchen, even smaller toilet in a corner. The sitting-room is relatively big though, with a dining area. The atmosphere is airy and full of paintings from various artists. Van Gogh is the major look here.
'And where is she from?' I hear the woman say in Spanish and wander about, trying to make it look like I'm unaware of what they are saying, but I watch from the corner of my eye. 'America. I don't know what she's doing here, though'. 'You brought a stranger into our home?' the woman's shock is obvious in her voice. 'Why would you do that?'
'She was in danger, Abuela', he replies calmly and pecks her forehead. 'I had to get her out of that area. As fast as I could'.
'You could have dropped her in a nearby inn, not brought her to the house. Now those people chasing her would be looking for her. We'd be accomplices'.
'No ma. I made sure we were alone'. He holds her hand. 'Don't worry ma. You trust your son, don't you?'
Relief floods the woman's tone. 'Yes. I do. But she'll have to sleep in your room. You know your father and I stay in the other available room. And the attic is not proper right now'. He nods. 'Okay. I'd take the other bed for her then'.
She kisses his forehead and turns in my direction. 'Ivory'. I turn slowly. 'Ma'am'.
'Unfortunately we do not have a single room. You will have to stay with Chico'. Knew that. But...who's Chico? I voice my question. The man quirks a brow. 'I am. Have a problem with that?' 'No', I reply, though I do. Who wakes up one morning, looks at her child and allows him to be called such name?
Matilda Santiago, that's who.
After Chico helps me with my bed, I place my head on the not-so-soft pillow and turn in his direction, watching him as he arranges his. He looks at me, confused. 'What is it?' 'Why are you called Chico? It isn't a normal name'. What I mean in context is; 'It's the craziest name I've ever heard'.
'My real name is Yeray. It's a very peculiar name. People look at me with strange faces when I say that. So I call it Chico. It's shorter and sounds more Cuban'. He raises his shirt and I see muscles. I turn away until I'm sure he's done. Then I turn back.
I nod. 'Wow. That's, uh...a great story'. 'I like your little show of sympathy. But you do not seem like a sympathetic person. Who are you?'
If someone like Roman asked me this, I'd laugh and tell them I'm someone better than they'd ever be. But I'm tongue-tied, because I've never had such a question asked from me before. And it seems off to be asked such. 'Ivory', I reply.
'Yes. I know that. But I didn't ask for your name. Who are you? Why are you here? What do you want to do here? And don't lie because I saw those men. I know what such people are capable of. They were after you, so there's a slight connection. Who are you?'
'None of your biz brother. I dislike people in my business'.
I feel some movement behind me and hold my breath when I feel someone else's at the back of my neck. 'You haven't thanked my for saving your skin yet', he drawls, his breath tingling the hairs at the back of my neck. I push him back with a hand, raise the blanket even higher, then shut my eyes tight. Go to sleep Ivory. Go to sleep.
I cannot. It's when I hear heavy breathing that I turn back and take in his room. Not a typical male room, I can tell you that. More like a regular room; with surf boards. I guess he must love the beach.
The next day I wake up to a bright light. A very bright light.
'You are a very late riser, I must say', I hear Chico's voice say. Oh. It's a torch. I open my eyes and push him away. 'And you're a very annoying person, I must say'. He chuckles. 'Abuela is looking for you'.
'Why do you call her Abuela? She's a lot younger than that', I note as I stand up. When he turns to take something I perceive my breath. Ugh. Disgusting. 'When I was born I called her Abuela. And as I grew older, the name stuck. Any other strange question you want to ask?' 'No. Thanks'.
He indicates the door. 'Come on. She'll be waiting'. I stand up to follow him, then sit back down when I realize something truly embarrassing. I forgot my sanitary equipment. Oh brother.
He turns back, confused. Then I see his gaze move to my back, and I scoot a little. Please don't see it. 'What happened to you?'
'Nothing'.
* * *
'Ivory, are you listening to me?'
'Roman I need help. And I need it fast. Recently I was almost killed. And now I'm stuck beside a beach with a family. I don't know where else to go from here'.
I hear a sigh from the other end. 'But you know the rules concerning this, Ivory. You chose it. I wanted to see how I'd help you get someone from here, but...my hands are tied. You have to do this by yourself. That's the rule'.
I almost crush the phone in my hand. 'Right. Thanks', I reply stiffly and end the call. I should never have called him in the first place.
'And what help do you need? Is it regarding Operation Ivory?'
For a split second my hand hangs in mid-air, then I look up, surprised. 'What did you say?'
Chico raises the file. 'This. I've been reading through and...I must say, you love science. Or...you love something else. Secret Agent Ivory Irvine'.
I don't cough. My eyes don't water. My mouth doesn't hang open. I don't fall on my knees and beg.
My hand moves instinctively to my purse. My gun smiles at me, as if knowing I'm calling for it. 'You try that, and I promise you this would be sent to a billion people around the world in just a second', he says, smiling slyly. I continue pointing my gun to him. 'Don't you dare'.
'I wouldn't if you do what I say and drop the gun'.
My hand moves in such a way that the gun lands on the floor beside me. If he tries any nonsense, my legs will do the shooting. He smiles and walks towards me. 'I knew there was something peculiar about you. I snuck around a bit when you were in the bathroom'.
And I didn't hear anything? I take a palm to my ear. He notices the movement and chuckles. 'I do things in ways that make them hard to understand, Miss Irvine. But that's not the point right now'. He sits on his bed and rakes me with his gaze. 'Explain to me the meaning of the information in this file, and I promise I will not tell anything. On my honor'.
I sigh inwardly. From what I'm seeing in his eyes, he's not playing. Neither is he lying to me. He's sincere.
And for the first time, I let out every secret I've been hiding regarding the issue to someone I've just met. I know I can be crazy, but...never mind. When I'm done his brows furrow and he looks lost in thought for some minutes.
'You are in so much trouble right now, aren't you?' he asks. 'The only way to find that out is by having someone to watch my back. And I don't have one'. I drop my head. Life sucks. A lot.
'I could do that for you. You just need someone to watch your back, right? Nothing else?' 'Nothing else...but, are you sure you want to do it? I move around a lot'.
He snorts softly. 'Of course you do. Don't worry'. I feel satisfied, but then...'I don't really know you. I can't trust you'. 'To trust me you'd have to believe me and everything I say, and completely too. I doubt you can do that, considering the nature of your job'.
He's right, I can't. But I can't make him know that. 'That's a lie. I can trust you'.
'What if I told you I was from the Mafia? Would you believe me?'
I'm sure I heard right.
Or did I?
You know that moment when you want to believe you didn't hear something...but you did???
I'm baffled. It's not possible for a Cuban to be part of the Mafia, is it? No, really. Reason it out with me. How on earth does a dirt-poor guy living in a dirt-poor house get to be part of a dirty-playing but stinking-rich society as the Mafia?
'That's impossible. I can never believe that'. He smirks. 'Exactly what I thought. You cannot trust me completely then. I guess we can't be partners'. He stands to go but I hold him back. 'Tell me you're joking'.
'I wish I was, but there's a time to joke, and a time to be serious'.
I'm talking to a member of The Mob. It's exhilarating to know that, but also scary. He doesn't seem ruthless...but then again, they never do. I remember working with Hunter Quinn, a former member of the agency, until they found out he was a member of the Mob and had been leaking some secrets out. Hunter was the meekest man I had ever known. He always said his p's and q's and we never got to fight. It was months later I found that he owned a large island on the Carribean and had sent more than a hundred men to torture cells. In his case, looks were obviously deceiving.
Roman killed him the moment he found out. But he did it cleanly and expertly, so we didn't have any Mafia members bursting into our office.
So this shouldn't really surprise me, should it?
Various thoughts start running through my head. First of all, Hunter had a place in a Carribean country, and Cuba is a Carribean country, right?
What if Chico's related to Hunter? Maybe now that he knows that I'm from the agency he'd want to take revenge? Maybe he'd wring my neck the way Roman did Hunter's and send a picture of my lifeless body to Roman?
I suddenly find myself thinking; does Abuela know about it? If she does, then I'm dead meat. That'd mean mother and son working hand in hand, and...
'You can let go off my hand now. I've decided not to expose you. Goodness, you think a lot', Chico's voice interrupts my thoughts. I let go of his hand. 'You're really from the Mob?' 'I didn't say I am, did I? I only asked if you'd believe me if I said I was'. He releases himself from my hold with a chuckle and leaves the room.
So he isn't from the Mafia? Then why did he make it seem like he was? I yell inside of me as my gaze follows him out. Then I pass a hand through my hair. I don't know what to do. It's obvious he has good fighting and spying skills, but I need someone I can trust. And right now I'm not sure I can trust him.
'Abuela says you should come and have lunch. You look white. What is it?'
I don't say anything; I just stand and go out with him.
The red envelope sticking out of the pocket of his shorts is enough to rouse my suspicions.