Ronnie was glad to be out of the van. Even if it was just for one night before getting on the road again. She’d never been to Texas. Never even heard of Belling.
She hoped she liked it.
They could get the evidence, get it to the world, and then back to normal. If they could even get back to whatever normal looked like on the other side of this thing.
Stan rushed to the front desk where he had been met with a greasy courtesy usually reserved for rich people. Then Ronnie had to admit that the money required to stay at a resort like the Green Reef qualified a person as rich. That meant she was rich. At least for a day. Mo had been happy to load everything up into the room. Suggesting she and Gen go ahead and find somewhere to sit for a while. Get a few drinks. Watch the old white men and their trophy wives walk around in clouds of self-importance.
She pulled her wide-brimmed hat down to help hide her face, but these were the kinds of people that didn’t bother looking each other in the eye. They would be far too distracted by her body.
She trusted Gen to lead her, keeping the hat so low she could barely see in front of her. To a nice corner table in the open-air lobby next to the bar. Soft music playing so low there was no way to identify the songs, competing with louder pulses of dance music coming from the patio next to the sprawling pool past the grand posts in the rear.
Mostly older men moving stiffly with younger women. Like a bizarre father-daughter dance. Then a pocket of gray couples in a line-dance approximation.
Gen threw her braid over her shoulder. “What is this, a retirement destination?”
Ronnie watched two of the gold diggers put their heads together in dramatic conversation. Probably comparing allowances. Then she burst into laughter.
“What?” Gen said.
“If Stan and Mo were just ten years older, we’d fit right in.”
Gen tipped her head in confusion. Then understanding dawned on her, and she covered her smile with both hands. “Oh my God. Mo is already older than me. Like enough to be self-conscious about it sometimes. We have to make sure we dig that in in a little.”
Ronnie held her stomach as she tried to stifle more giggles. “But right now, it’s kind of true.”
“What is?”
“They’re our sugar daddies.”
Gen laughed harder. “From our beachfront mansion to a resort in a luxury camper.”
“Mansion? Everything I cooked there tasted like rust.”
“But it had a tennis court.”
“It had a jungle inside a chain link fence. I think I heard a tiger growl from the shadows in there.”
Gen wiped tears from her cheeks. “I think a monkey came out and tried to steal my beer.”
As Ronnie tried to catch her breath, she realized none of this was terribly funny. It just felt so good to laugh. What she and Gen had been doing for days.
So many unanswered questions. Swept under the rug so they could move on.
Gen’s giggling trailed off as Ronnie lowered her head to keep the hat covering her face. Even if she wasn’t on the news, they — she guessed they were going to call them “the office” now — surely knew what they all looked like. And she was very recognizable. So was Gen. Mo was very handsome, but it was his size that made him stand out. She thought Stan was gorgeous, and she didn’t think she was in the minority with that opinion, but he blended in with the older tanned sugar daddies — she snorted fresh laughter.
He was in such good shape though. That might be an identifier. She wondered how each of them could change their appearance.
She was the hardest. Couldn’t just put on a new face. She sighed.
Gen gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder. “There you go again.”
Ronnie shrugged. “How else am I supposed to be?”
“I’m not criticizing.”
“I know, sweetie. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know what you meant. I just don’t have an answer.”
Ronnie lay out on the table. “I want to dance.”
Gen rubbed her back. “I know. Me too. Or a good workout.”
Ronnie propped herself up on one elbow to look over at her. “What kind of workout?”
“I don’t know. I always liked leg day.”
“Really?”
Gen shook her head. “Well, no. Nobody really likes leg day. A lot of people claim to. They like to say they’re sick that way. They just love the pain, but I always tell them to save it. Leg day isn’t something you love. It’s something you survive.”
Ronnie sat up. “Why do that?”
Gen shrugged. “Because it works. And maybe that’s what people like about it. Effort feels good. Results feel good. If two days later, you aren’t having trouble sitting on the toilet because you’re so sore, you didn’t work hard enough.”
“That sounds like punishment.”
“I guess it kinda is. But that’s what it takes. It’s kind of a point of pride.”
“It sounds like you actually do like leg day.”
Gen covered her mouth as she laughed. “I guess I do.”
“Just sick that way?”
“Maybe.”
Ronnie leaned back and tried to see Stan at the bar, but the angle was too sharp. Just plants and polished oak. Uniformed waiters hustling along with trays full of drinks balanced on their palms.
One of them cut straight across the lobby. Head down like he was on a mission. Receding hair slicked back. A dark tattoo running across his scalp.
He leaned forward to slide two drinks across the table. They smelled like coconut and lime. “On the house,” he said, keeping his face down as he reached for a stack of napkins.
A folded piece of paper sat on top. It opened as he slid it toward her hand.
He bowed before spinning around and hustling away.
Gen leaned over her. “That was Ian,” she hissed.
“The creep?”
“Yeah, but Stan loved him. I guess he’s on our side.”
Ronnie pulled the paper into her lap. Opened it up and looked down.
You were followed.
She looked up with a gasp.
“What?” Gen said.
“It says we were followed.”
“The lady?”
Ronnie shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Is that all it says?”
Ronnie looked back down.
Dodge Charger parked by the rear service door. Two contractors. Please advise. Call 022 on house phone.
When the table rocked toward her, she jumped with a breathless squeal. Mo dropped into the seat across from her, reaching up to steady the drinks with a sheepish look of apology. “Oops.”
He settled in. Licked some of the spill from his fingers. “Only two drinks. Nothing for a poor working man?”
Ronnie slid the note to him. His good humor slipped into concern. Then to anger. When he jumped up, his thighs hit the table and more drink sloshed out.
Good thing Ian had left a stack of napkins.