Chapter Forty One
12:55 a.m. EST
Zack noticed the pickup turning onto a soft sandy drive and inch forward. Ahead, lit by moonlight and headlights, he scanned a small pinkish bungalow silhouetted five hundred feet back from the road. As the truck got closer, he surveyed the one-story stucco-and-wood structure. He noted a light in a small rectangular window in the front. The outline of a scrawny outbuilding sat fifty feet behind the house, and thick foliage grew to the left of the driveway. He sniffed the dense tropical palm_sweet fruity air buffered with humidity. Farther out, the tropical storm grew nearer.
“Interesting little place,” he said.
“Looks like a chicken coop,” Jim said.
“What were you expecting, the Presidential Palace?”
“At least.”
Zack sniffed the air again. He could smell a good cigar a mile away, and there was definitely a good cigar around.
“Jimbo, we’re very close to a good cigar.”
“So gladwonderfulhow lucky are we.”
Ignoring the remark, Zack glanced at his watch then looked back to the house. “A light is on, somebody must be waiting for us.”
“Firing squad.”
“Relax.” He crushed his cigarette out and flipped the butt over the side.
The truck came to a stop, the olive-complexioned lady stepped out and looked at Zack.
“Okay, this is it, follow me.”
“I guess we move out here, Jimbo.”
“I think I’ll stay in the truck.”
“Come on.”
Escorted around the house to an iron-gate entrance, Zack wondered if Jim might be right. Seeing another 3.14 baseball hat perched on a stout male with some funny-looking crystal thing hanging around his neck, his wondering took on a harder edge.
Zack nodded hello.
The stout male nodded back.
The lady escort motioned for the gate to be opened.
“I don’t like this,” Jim said under his breath.
“Looking for the truth,” Zack whispered.
“Like I said, there’s an easier way.”
The gate swung open and the lady escort said, “Follow me.”
“My blood is on your hands,” Jim murmured to Zack.
“Looking for the truth,” Zack whispered.
They walked through the gate and arrived at an unpainted wooden door. Zack sniffed the stronger odor of cigar smoke.
“We’re close, Jimbo.”
“That’s what scares me.”
The escort knocked. A familiar voice from inside called “Entrar.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jim said.