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Seven Mile Beach, Grand Cayman
Monday, August 11
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JACK LET HIS guard down. God knows it wasn’t the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last.
In the hotel bar, where he was nursing a drink, he caught sight of the bank officer from CapTrust. Keri Parris. The prissy clerk with the crooked front tooth and conceited airs. She seemed to be out of her element and slightly edgy, probably having spotted him well before he noticed her. A swarm of talkative patrons separated them. She smiled winningly in his direction before unfolding her long legs and hopping down from a barstool, bringing along her drink. She sidled up to his small table set in a dark corner of the saloon and lowered her eyes. “I hope I’m not intruding. If you’re meeting someone, I can always ....” She gestured back toward the bar, giving him an easy way out.
He swept out a hand of invitation. “Not unless you have other plans.”
She glanced around as if looking for anyone else of her acquaintance, but Jack wasn’t fooled. He knew why she had come. To seek him out, possibly on her own initiative or possibly at the behest of someone else. In either case, she wasn’t here because she found him attractive. Nor was it to have him sign an official form or provide a businesslike answer to a pointed question. No, she was here to draw him out or draw him in, the spider having already woven her web despite her timid smiles, nervous tics, and patrician mannerisms.
Jack surveyed the room, skimming his eyes as if taking in everything at random while searching for anyone interested in what was going on in the far corner, allies of hers but enemies of his. He didn’t see any suspicious characters, but then again, he was new to the spy game. Bringing his eyesight around full circle, he smiled at her pleasantly, putting her at ease. She was still dressed in the same business suit from earlier in the day, a tailored navy-blue affair, the jacket cut in a bolero style, the skirt stopping just short of her knees, the heels showing off her shapely legs. She was even taller than he remembered. More graceful. Less severe. The only accommodation she made was to spread apart the white blouse at the collar and expose a modest amount of flesh below the suprasternal notch at the base of her throat.
He reached over and pulled out an adjacent chair, inviting her to sit. She did so with grace, sliding onto the cane chair and setting her drink onto the tabletop. She had schooled herself to move her body in calculated ways, conscious of the nuances her gestures conveyed, as if she were in control and no one could manipulate or persuade her. Her fingers were long and graceful but manicured like a boy’s, with stubby fingertips and clear nail polish. She removed the jacket and shrugged it over the back of her chair, a nimble effort that enhanced her slim figure but also conveyed a blatant sexual signal. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Once again she gripped the drink she brought along with her and lifted it to her mouth but did not drink, instead smiling broadly.
“Can I order you a fresh one?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” She seemed more at ease than she had been at the bank. In the darkness of the bar, her eyes were hazel colored. The mismatched tooth along with the slightly curved nose imparted a vulnerability that made her seem more human and less robotic.
“Did we make a date?” Jack asked.
“You left the impression your evening was available. Or was I mistaken?”
“You had other plans.”
She shrugged embarrassment. “He stood me up.”
“You must be hungry then.” He extended his hand across the small table and covered one of hers, the skin silken to the touch.
“Ravenous.” Her British accent was curt but her underlying meaning clear. She was practiced in hiding her emotions, those telltale indicators of what she was thinking and feeling. Her smooth brow rarely creased in joy or in consternation. She possessed the classic British stoicism that revealed little. She tilted her head, allowing her cropped hair to swing forward. It made her come across as slightly spoiled and inauthentic, as if she were playing a part, in this instance the role of an ingénue with coquettish charm and posh bearing.
Compliments cost nothing, and he gave her one. “I like your smile. You should smile more often.”
“Should I?” The comment seemed to throw her. She didn’t know what to make of it. Or else she knew precisely what to make of it.
“Well then,” he said, “shall we go eat?”
They retired to one of the hotel restaurants. Candlelit and swank, it was also intimate and soft-focused, and catered to locals as well as tourists. The cuisine was Caribbean with a hint of high-brow that would satisfy the most discriminating of tastes. They started with a rum cocktail (her choice) and locally brewed beer (his choice). For the main course, Keri suggested a conch stew fricasseed with vegetables, mangoes, and a hint of honey. Afterwards came fried crab with rice and beans, the dish searing to the pallet and spicy on the tongue. Over the meal, they exchanged pleasantries of the flirtatious kind. Eventually they engaged in a conversation about the island’s main commodity: financial services. She was eager to talk about her job so long as it steered away from Mr. Fox’s immediate business concerns. He had heard it all before. The laundering of money meant to conceal ill-gotten gains and avoid taxes wasn’t new. Neither were the winks and nods that allowed drug trafficking, terrorism, human trade, corporate malfeasance, and a thousand and one other sneaky enterprises to avoid detection. In the parlance of bankers, a financial service was just a Ponzi scheme designed to maximize profit. The smart profiteers got away with it. The reckless criminals often didn’t since there was a line to be drawn between dirty money and elite money.
Keri discussed the ways of detecting suspicious behavior. “For instance, clients who deposit funds and almost immediately withdraw or transfer the money to another institution. Or a client who advises that the funds will come from one source but they arrive from a different source. Or a client requesting the return of funds only days after receipt.”
It was her way of getting around to the subject of interest to them both. “Such as the money in my account,” Jack said.
She didn’t show the least embarrassment. “Yes and no. Yours was handled efficiently. Hertford’s, CapTrust, and Cayman BWI are all associated with one another. It keeps everything in the family, so to speak. As Americans like to say, No harm, no foul.” She lifted timid eyes. “I find that speaking about money, large sums of money that is, works up an appetite. And a thirst.” Her meaning was direct and unmistakably suggestive.
He signaled for refills. Having gotten past the preliminaries, they finished eating over business of a more direct kind. He admired her obvious assets and her evasive talents. It was clear she was picking his brain without being direct. He reciprocated.
“Where do you suggest my client invest his assets.”
“Once you relocate them, you mean?” She gave him a secretive smile. After swiping the linen napkin across her lips, she set it carefully aside and leaned forward, hands folded beneath her chin, eyes amused. “Shall we pretend I’m your financial adviser ... interim, if you will ... presuming, of course, you find your missing ninety-five thousand, which I trust you will.”
“I’m all for pretending.”
Her smirk exposed the crooked tooth. “You may wish to consider investing in gold, diamonds, or palladium. Metals are very hot these days, an ideal way of hiding whatever you wish to hide.” She looked down at her drained glass.
He signaled the hostess for the check and said, “We can get one to go.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Sightseeing.”
“Really?” she said with a little laugh. “Sightseeing? Sure. Let us see the sights.”
They strolled along the shoreline, sniffing in the tropical perfumes, inhaling the sea spray coming off the water, exchanging casual love pats and brisk kisses beneath the stars while testing the willingness of the other’s desires against the hunger cries of sea birds.
“Why don’t we go to your hotel room?” she suggested. He was tempted to take her up on the offer, but there was something too eager about her dazzling smiles and her oblique glances. And her directness.
To her dismay, he saw her to her car, giving her a polite kiss through the rolled-down window. He didn’t trust her. Nowadays, he trusted few. Perhaps he was being too cautious. Most probably he wasn’t being cautious enough. When she drove off, he gave her a friendly wave. Her parting expression hadn’t been at all friendly.
Pushing hands into pockets, he threw his head upward and washed his face in moonlight. The crescent moon was positioned high in the sky, reminding Jack of his aloneness in a vast universe. He turned and made his way back inside. The hotel bar was filled to near capacity, catering to vacationers wearing island clothing, flipflops, and newly minted tans, business professionals unwinding at the end of a tedious workday, romantic couples exchanging superficial conversation, and singles searching for hookups. Because he didn’t fit into any of these categories, he ventured onto the terrace and chose an isolated table where an outcast searching for hidden truths and elusive justice could be alone in his thoughts.
He noticed a woman inside the bar, laughing with a bevy of other twentyish women, most blonde and blue-eyed, and one or two brunette and brown-eyed. This one was stood out. Asian from the looks of her. And exotic, from her nearly black hair to the supple way she held her body, to her glowing almond skin, rounded sun-kissed shoulders rising above a snug-fitting top, short swing skirt occasionally ruffling like a parachute and exposing red-laced panties beneath, and finally to the sneaking glances she sent his way. Her laughter was affected and her coquettishness, sublime. Her every movement was a pose, and her every pose a triangulated experiment to see what effect it would have on this or that man, but especially on the man sitting by himself.
She lowered herself from the barstool and sauntered across the room, sputtering candles lighting her circuitous route. She stepped out onto the terrace, her slender figure silhouetted against the darkness. Her eyes briefly landed on Jack before searching for someone else. She approached a twittering group of likeminded young ladies as if she were one of them, though it seemed she was not, only a pretender who didn’t want to appear as though she were trawling the club alone. Just a working girl just trying to get by. Or a member of the lonely-hearts club, although with her stunning good-looks, it seemed unlikely she was hardly ever lonely. After introductions, they welcomed her into their clique, probably because she was one of their ilk though clearly a notch above, and added a touch of style to their middling group. Sitting amongst them beneath the thatched roof of the outdoor bar, giggly, flashy, and on the make, she was a fine specimen of a woman, probably in her late twenties. She was flirtatious and bare-armed and long-legged and a delicious morsel for any man with roving eyes. Her own eyes took an inventory of all the available men. That one was too tall. This one, too ordinary. The one over there, too boring. And the one sitting next to him, too staid. She ordered a second drink even though she barely touched the first. Her gaggle of newfound friends laughed at her ribald remarks and pithy jokes. She crossed her legs, one sandal propped on a crossbar and the other crossed at her knee, the posture emphasizing the muscled tone of her thighs. She planted her chin in the palm of an upraised hand and glanced vaguely around. A balding guy sat beside her. She twisted around and spoke to him, licking her drink rather than drinking it. Her eyes were moony and her eyelashes constantly batting. The balding guy chortled a trifle too loudly, joking with buddies gathered at a nearby table. It was a game guys played until the bets were placed, the cards drawn, and the hand exposed, even while the queen of hearts acted as if she were above it all, when clearly she was entirely engaged, though not with this lackluster gent. Oh no, she was coming onto Jack.
She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place her, probably just saw her around the hotel.
She held up a spiked fingernail and ordered a third drink. When it arrived, she twirled off the barstool, her eyes focused on a single man. She sidled across the deck, bringing along her drink, acting tipsy. She sat on the chair opposite Jack and leaned forward, placing the angle of her jaw against her fist and staring into his eyes. “My name is Dani. Dani Nguyen. What’s yours?”
“I’ve seen you before,” Jack said. His comment wasn’t just an ice breaker. He had seen her, he was sure of it now.
“On the beach?” she said.
“Dani what?”
“Want to have a little fun?”
“Bet you have lots of fun games.”
“You’d be surprised how many.” Her nose was small, her lips thin, her eyes blackest black, her cheekbones lovely, her skin lovelier, and her stare unsettling. Overall, a delectable beauty accessorized with dimples and audaciousness.
“How much have you had?”
“Only a little drunk,” she said, smiling wickedly.
“I don’t think so. I think you’re sober.” He’d been watching her closely: what she drank and most especially what she didn’t drink. She might have been on her third wine but she barely touched any of them.
She set down the wine glass, slipped out a billed cap from her waistband, and slapped it onto her head at a playful angle, making her look like a young boy up to no good. She smiled with her cheeks but her eyes were lackluster. “Only a little drunk,” she repeated.
“You’re very lovely, but I’m going to pass.”
She pouted. “You don’t want to have a good time?”
“I’ve had enough good times to last a lifetime.”
The smile disappeared. “You need someone to talk to, don’t you?”
“Need more than that.”
“I’m a good listener.”
“I’m still going to pass.”
“Have it your way.” She slid off the chair and ambled away, her bottom grinding as if to say he was missing out on a good thing, even though both knew she was trouble.
