“You promise one thing, boss,” Katrina says to me that next morning, naked. She’s up against me with her leg looped over mine, right up against my wood. “You don’t tell nobody about the plan.” She looks at me real serious like, with those wild eyes just dead straight at me like fresh prey. “Not your secretary woman, not family. Nobody. Not even Everton. He talk too much anyway, you know.” We look at each other, all silent, but intense. And I tell her she has my word, of course, but the mind is turning, you know. I’m thinking about how I go about this, so I pull her close to me, letting those full breasts rest on my chest while she tells me all the things I want to know about where the stash lay.

“I go up there when I was just small child, all the time,” she told me, rubbing her legs up and down mine under the white sheet. “Me, my brother, we explore the whole place. I find the money in the house one time, they got it where the boards lift up, and down in that box, under the floor. The floor there just look funny to me one day so I look. And it always scare me, you know. That money was secret money for my daddy. I knew that much but still I would go look when I was alone, and the money was always there. Big stacks, boss. I never tell nobody. Then I go two years back, before he transfer the house to my uncle so the government don’t seize it, the money still there. They don’t let me back there now. Biggest reason I think the money still there.”

“And you’re certain he don’t know you know about it,” I say, for confirmation. “’Cause if that’s not the case, you might not die, but I do, when he puts the two and two together.” She just laugh, like I worry for no reason.

“Yes, my boss,” she says. “No way he know what I know. True of a lot of things.”

Katrina gave me all the key points, far as I can tell: where it is, right down to what road to take, and what it looks like. And since its way up in the foggy sticks of Westmoreland, there’s nobody around to see a strange car go up there. Even if Joe-Dogs protects his property like I know he would, it can't be that difficult, even if I gotta contend with a dog or two. Then I just be slick and get into the house, and as long as it’s not wired, that’s a five minute deal. I didn’t say any of that, mind you, because who knows what happens once you’re in the middle of things, but she must have seen on my face that I wasn’t that concerned yet.

“I knew would be no problem for you, my boss,” she says, taking that silky smooth hand straight down my cheek, slowly. “Now you just take care of me, and let me know when it’s done,” she said, and put those full lips on my ear and sucked it. Nothing ever felt so good before, trust me. The girl just know how to make me feel good, all over, simple as that. No way I tell her anything different now and ruin this good thing, even if it all becomes a major chore.

All I want to do, after listening to her voice, and feeling her breath rise and fall against my body, is be back inside this girl, understand. It’s all I wanted ever since I first lay eyes on her the day before, like the heaviest drug laced with the strongest love. I’d do anything for her, so when she makes me promise her to keep it to myself, I gotta keep it. Not only that, but she got me thinking about Everton, too, saying he talk too much. Nobody is more trustworthy than Everton in my book. The man been by my side for ten years running, he could knock it out, man, believe me. And I could stay here and grind on Katrina the way she likes it while he do all the dirty work, far, far away. Give him the time to work it out, and once he pull the trigger one early morning, he’s back in my office with the loot by late lunch. Easy peasy, man.

Be that as it may, I know right then and there, I can’t tell him anything more about getting Joe-Dogs’ money. And that leaves only me to do it, and that’s just the way she wants it. And the strangest thing of all: telling this girl I’ll do as she asks just makes me rock hard for her, even more than usual. Not a manly thing to admit, but it’s the honest truth. Devotion to this gangster’s girl becomes like Spanish Fly or something. Who knows why, but she gives me that look: “I’m telling you, not asking you,” and I’m ready to turn this girl over just like the night before. But, she stops me.

“You save that up, boss,” she says, and gets up, shaking that juicy ass into the bathroom. “Make your plans, get that money. I’ll be here when you come back,” she says from behind the door. “Leave some money for the food and drink while you gone.” Well, okay then.

So after leaving ten-thousand Jamaican on the bed and working a deal with Mr. Adam’s right-hand man- same room, as long as I need it- I’m back on the main road back to town, back to my home, my office, back to the real world. All the sudden I realize the new things I gotta come to terms with. It’s sort of like your life turns two degrees to one side, you know? Still facing the same direction, but with key things different now.

One thing I know: I’m in love with this girl, Katrina. Love. Go ahead, say how stupid that is, for every reason there is to mention. That a man can love the pussy after one day, but not the woman. Say what you will, but the love is true, man. No use pretending it’s not. And I think she’s on her way to the same. The girl don’t even want a ride back into town. She just wants to stay there, with me coming back to her.

Then the more sticky stuff, like Melinda: I go home straight away, knowing she won’t be there this time of the morning. The plan is to take a shower and put the clothes in the wash; to do away with Katrina’s scent, and figure the rest out from there. And this whole time, my phone’s going crazy, people needing this or that, Melinda checking in, Everton wondering where I am so late of the morning. One thing at a time, though, that’s all I can handle.

I get the wash going and got my shower done and was walking out with a bag of clothes when Melinda come home, unexpected. For all I know, she was driving by the house and saw my car there, but she ask me if I had to work all night, and I say yes, even though we’re talking about two way different kinds of work. The poor woman, she missed me, and theres no keeping her from wrapping her arms around me, so it’s a good thing I scrubbed down real good already and washed all the sex off.

She ask what I’m doing with a suitcase, and I tell her that I got a big job going on deep in the country, way down on the low, and it would take a long time maybe. And I can see in her eyes that she sense something, like she’s sad or worried. Maybe it’s just worry on my behalf, but the guilty part of me has to wonder if she knows I been up to no good, bedded down with another woman.

And being a guilty man, you might think it’s my place to do anything at that moment besides carry Melinda into the house and make love to her like nothing ever happened, but that’s exactly what I did. I might be in love with Katrina, but that didn’t mean I had no love for Melinda, same as I did the day before. And she is a beautiful woman, but unzipping her business dress and pushing it down her body, it strikes me how she’s kinda Katrina’s opposite-girl: blond hair, lithe, pale white woman with small everything, just taller. Nothing wrong with all that, don’t misunderstand. Come on now, I don’t fall for unsightly women, and I’ve given it to all different kinds, you’d be surprised. But Melinda was just so, so different, and so soon after. It almost didn’t feel like me fucking her, like maybe I was fucking a memory right then instead of my long-time girl. Honest truth: looking up at Melinda, squeezing her bring pink nipples while she held me inside of her and rolled her hips, it’s almost a struggle. The only thing that keeps me going with the sex was Katrina holding me off that morning, leaving me wanting it, and then me closing my eyes and pretending it was her. When I do that finally, I find a new gear, and Melinda and me both find the good agony fairly quick after that.

We’re on our backs looking at the ceiling, letting the fan and the breeze from the open windows dry the sweat. She lay there and smoke a cigarette, a nasty habit she never quit from her college days in Canada, and that’s when she hit me with it:

“Everton told me about Joe-Dogs’ kid meeting you about a job last night.”

Of course my eyes bug out at that, and after I swallow hard, I tell her that it’s true. I couldn’t lie about that at least, but why in the hell did he open his mouth like that? Stupid, man! Maybe Katrina was right about him.

“You’re not getting involved with her and Joe-Dogs, I hope,” she said, looking at me. “She ought to know that. These crime folk need to handle their own business.” Suddenly, I’m wishing I had a cigarette of my own. It would give me something to do besides just lay there and not speak up.

“M-hm,” I say, idly as I can manage. “It turned out to be nothing anyways.”

“Well, I called you late in the night, but no answer. Just wanted to see that you were safe.”

“You know I go out of pocket from time to time,” I said. Then Melinda stay silent, and that again makes me wonder what she knew, because the air is heavy with something, man. But whatever she’s thinking don’t stop her from giving me a kiss before getting up to put herself together again. She says she has an appointment down the coast to tend to, and she would call me later.

Back in my office, my secretary hands me about a hundred messages, and I can’t look at a single one. I can’t think of anything besides Katrina and the money. And somehow, past all the thoughts about her body bearing down on mine, it dawns on me how many fools have died trying to cross a killer like Joe-Dogs. I confess to even having thoughts of getting the money some other way, but I know I’m not robbing a bank, and so then I just cuss myself for wasting the time on a foolish notion.

Before long, Everton comes in and I’m still seething a bit at him, so when he asks me if we got “robin hood work” coming our way from Katrina, I stay quiet and give him the nasty screw-face.

“Why you vex, man?” he asks me, and his face is real surprised, like he don’t know he just put me in the box with the old lady. “The meeting not go well, I see.” And he tries to laugh with me, the way we try to stress down when things get tense in our line of work, but I really can’t let it go.

“So you tell Melinda I’m meeting with Katrina, and I get to answer all sorts of question now,” I say. “Since when do we just go ‘round talking about our business here?” I get up and close the door. Debra, my secretary, she’s a true pro, never says a word to nobody about what she hears. I hired her from another P.I. for that reason. But just the same, I’m in new waters here. Everton’s just looks at me and smiles.

“Eeee,” he says, and he’s starting to laugh. “I see! You been up to the old grindsman tricks! And I thought you gone to seed these days.” I shake my head, no use lying when I can’t pull it off. He takes a seat, like he’s gonna quiz me on it. “How’d you talk your way into those pants, man? I didn’t think she’d go for the white man, honest. Never occur to me.” I can see he meant no harm. Now he just wants to hear me brag, but I tell him I’m not feeling well, I’ll tell it another time. Then he just switch over to the work side and ask about the job she mentioned with Joe-Dogs’ money.

Katrina comes to mind again, like she ever left it. And I remember that dark chocolate skin resting on me, how her heat keeps me warm. Looking me in the eyes, making me promise. Tell no one, she said. Eyes on the prize, I’m thinking, and I tell Everton no deal.

“Ooh, boss-man, that’s not good,” he says to me, shaking his head. I ask him why and he says, “’Cause I been doing this and that for Miss Katrina for a month, two months now. She finally trust me enough to land the big one with you, and you drop it.” Now I’m vex at him again, but for a whole different reason.

“Are you crazy, man? When were you gonna tell me we was in cahoots with a drug lord?” I ask. He reminds me that as long as he had his own work, I said I wouldn’t boss him about where it come from. “That much I know, but this is Joe-Dogs, man! And you’re doing it right there in Marguerite’s, too. Like a regular soldier, and everyone can see.”

“But the girl don’t wanna be with Joe-Dogs. She wanna do her own thing, bossman!” he says, frantic-like. Everton don’t like to be under the gun, his voice gets the high-pitch and starts talking real fast. It’s why I’m glad he’s so slick at his work. That way he won’t get caught, because the man would lose his cool and quick, just like right now. But I don’t want to shout from the high horse anymore, given my doings. And besides, if he’s already doing things for the Katrina, and he’s right about her planting her own flag, then maybe that’s not a bad business thing in terms of my future with her. You know, down the road. But for now, I got to stay quiet.

“Everton, man,” I said. “No worries. Just the stress talking. The thing with the daddy and the money, that’s a no-go. But everything’s cool with the girl, all fruits are ripe. Do what you do.” He smiled again, just looking at me.

“Sounds like more than cool last night,” he said, and then we talk about the other business things floating around, none of which I can even give a second thought to. My mind is on the money, right? Time to stop the waiting and get up there, see what’s what.

Right then, she texts me, like she can read the mind.

Boss, u on the way there now? Sooner there sooner back, nuh. ;)

My blood runs just a little bit faster right then, reading that, this young sexy thing resting all her hopes and dreams on me. Waiting for me, nobody else. But I show nothing, not even a smile. Everton looks at me but can’t read the phone. I tell him I’m going to take a couple days but would be in touch soon.

“Gotta do the maintenance with Miss Melinda?” he asks, and apologizes for telling her about the meeting. I just wave him off hit the door, making my way up into the mountains.

-

That far into the country, way up in the deep green forest, you can’t count on anything that works in town, and things have a habit of going bad when you venture way back like that. The phone goes dead, and if the car has problems, you gotta walk to the next town and catch a route taxi back. That can take the whole day, and the car’s still dead on the side of the road at the end of it. Takes another day to get it back and three, four days later, still no working car maybe. The superstition runs high because of things like this. So you just plan it and hope things go right. And I’m not a boasting man, but for me, things usually go right even when they shouldn’t.

The road that leads to the house takes a quick curve just past the junction. I know I can’t drive up there and take a look without blowing my cover. The man that keeps a watch surely stay camped out right near the drive. Even if the man’s not there, facts are, not many six-foot-two white men driving around up here by accident. So I keep driving on the main road until I find a break in the woods, dodge the odd goat and chicken, and drive my car in where nobody sees it. I blend into the woods, much as I can, and I start to walk. Hide when the kids or rasta man walk by. Don’t get between the odd mama goat and her babies. And don’t take the road!

In two hours time, moving slow and steady, I get to the fence on the back side. I can see the house, plain as day, right through a grove of banana trees. A nice place. You know, country-nice. Painted yellow and green, nothing special up here. But that’s all by design.

No cars, no people. Not a sound and not a movement. I hide behind the bush for another hour, just waiting for night. And when it comes and no lights come on, I feel my heart beat fast. Not nervous, but because I know I got this thing, so easy. The bag in my shirt, it’s soon to be filled right up. Meantime, my phone cuts in and out, you know how it does way up in the country. But some pictures come through. Katrina, smiling at me. Katrina, pan down on the bikini she wears. Katrina, bikini off. On the screen, I see the thin sweat sheen on her naked body from the sea humidity, so far away from here. I can see on the bed behind her, two other girls. She text me:

I wait for you here boss, nothing but the rum to keep me.

Oh lord, I’m thinking. What am I doing here, crouching in the bush with the hard bamboo poking the pants? Get the money and get back down there, man. And so that’s what I do, making my move across the yard and to the back door. Child’s play, man, and all the while some country gunman sits at the foot of the drive like its Buckingham Palace.

So I’m in then I’m out, and it’s all I can do not to scurry through the woods like a rabbit, back to the car and back to the motel by the sea. But I’m smart, patient. It’s all that keeps me alive and in business, especially times like these.

Busting into a gangster’s house to steal his savings isn’t where the trouble is for me on this night. No, my trouble comes to me by phone. If I just throw the thing out the window when I see who called, my drive back would be much more bliss. But I’m the one that invited this band to play, so I gotta face the music.

It’s my friend who owes me all the favors, the man with the restaurant and motel: Mr. Adam. I’ve done more surveillance and item recovery for that Englishman than anybody else on the island. My credit with him and his place would run from here to death…if not for Katrina.

“My friend,” he says, once he knows he’s got me on the line. He calls me like eight times before the signal picks up where I can call him. “I wouldn’t bother you with your personal business, as you know,” then a long pause, and the poor man is just trying to form the words, to not offend me. Out with it man, I’m thinking, but my signal’s bad anyway, so I just wait. “But the young lady staying in your room, she brought many friends, and the noise upset a guest or two of mine. And I would let it go because you’ve been so good to me and mine over the years here.” Then another pause. Oh lord, what has the gangster’s girl gone and done to this poor balding innkeeper? I’m almost smiling, but not for long. “But then your Melinda arrived here, I’m sorry to say. She was very upset already, and I told her you were not here but she walked right past me and confronted the young woman in your room.”

“Oh,” I say. I mean what else can I say? So he goes on.

“The young woman said just awful, vulgar things to Melinda, they shouted some at one another, and she left. A squaddy got called by one of the guests, I’m afraid. And not to worry, your name did not come up in the matter.” I sigh a deep relief on this point! “But I don’t know where you are or if Melinda is with you. But if not, just friend to friend…I had to give you the fair warning.” I ask if he needs Katrina to leave, and he sighs and says all is calm now. That she and her friends got spooked by the squaddy and took off. I thank him for the call and scroll down my phone while I try to stay on the winding road.

Katrina won’t answer. I call three times because I’m not sure my calls go through from up in the sticks where I am, then I let it lay. She will call me when she can. Meantime, I’m thinking maybe I go by the place where I picked her up the day before, just to see.

Mr. Adam calls me again, maybe forty-five minutes later, says gunmen come by the motel, searching high and low. “I let them into your room, my friend. I had to. But I knew you left nothing there. I told them nothing, but all the same, I do wish you would find a way to keep that element away from my place.” And I feel low-down about this, I know it kills him to have to say something to me. But I also know the poor man probably is on the verge of a heart attack with all this crazy business going on there. Looks like Joe-Dogs come looking for his girl at the very least. Here we go.

I breathe another big sigh when Katrina finally text me: Meet at Clarks Villa when u done. My boss.

Got the plan! And that little spot’s perfect, I’m thinking. Up on the front hill, nestled in, hidden away. Me and my girl and a whole heap of money.

First I gotta go do what’s right. Just isn’t fair to Melinda to go through a big fight over Katrina, try to patch things up, when Katrina’s the one I feel the love for. Call me pig, bastard, that’s fine. I can take it. I have to go where I’m the most alive, but not before settle things with the poor woman. So I get to my street and turn in. I’ll leave the cash in the back seat floor, just for a few.

Other than the coffee cup she hurls at my head when I walk in the door, things go pretty smooth in there. She wants an apology from me, I can tell. She wants me to say, I done messed up big, Melinda. Let me make this up to you. Wouldn’t be the first time, mind you. But I can’t do that now. Not in my heart. So I tell her flat out: I’m in love with the girl, just like that. No sugarcoat, what’s the use? And yeah, she get vex, but she don’t beg or plead. Nothing like that. I give her credit, she always told me truth from day one, and so she does again, while I stand there and bleed from the head. She even laughs while she say it. Not the funny laugh, you know. More the laugh that says, “I can’t believe I loved somebody so stupid.”

“The girl, she’s just a kid,” she says, and she sits down and looks at me, all slump shoulders.

Just pure pity is her look, and that’s worse than having cups thrown at my head, no lie. “And you think you’ll get a blessing from Joe-Dogs? You’ll have a family with this gangster brat, and your father in law will be Joe-Dogs? You think this lasts more than two weeks?” She just shakes her head like she feel sorry for me. The woman has her dignity, and there is not one good thing more I can say about that conversation, except that I get out of it and the money is still in the car. She can have the house, I will never go back.

-
It’s midnight under an inky black sky when I pull into Clarks Villa. I park at the far end of the lot, away from the office and the pool. I don’t hear noise besides the frogs and the crickets, don’t see a squaddy or a commotion. Just two bad boys leaned up on the wall, watching me. Not sure if Katrina’s got them there or if they just hanging ‘round, but they pay close attention. I pick up the bag and open it in my lap, looking inside just to see those big sea-green stacks of American money one last time before I deliver it: a ritual of mine. The most money I’ll ever carry in my hands, no question. But here I am, right where Katrina waits, so I step out and walk with the bag, past the bad boys that grunt a greeting in patois. They expect me, I can feel it. Otherwise, they don’t let me walk in, simple as that.

Inside the courtyard, two dark skin girls sit on the side of the pool, legs hanging in, ganja burning from both they mouths. They young girls, too, same ones from the picture Katrina sent. “Wha gwaan?” one says to me, like she knows me. I give the head nod and keep walking. I been to Clarks Villa before, I know where the good room is, and that’s where I surely find her.

I turn the corner, ‘round the far side of the villa,right outside the bedroom: My Katrina, gangster’s girl. She’s barefoot, talking on the phone, laughing and smiling. She’s in that same bikini from the pics she sent. Maybe it's just a little too small or maybe that's the style now. Plenty of skin shows, and the lights on the outside wall set off the colors on her back just right. And I was just content to look for a second or two, but she turns and sees me.

“Boss,” she says, all mellow, and hangs up that phone, slinking herself over to me, real slow and dramatic. And I’m so excited to touch her again that I drop the money bag when she wraps her arms around neck. But, man. To soak in that smell again? Fourteen hours is entirely too long! Before she even kiss me, she give a gruesome look at my forehead, but I shut that down right away. Truth is, I don't even feel it anymore.

“Never mind that,” I said. “Let me bring this laundry inside, we talk in there.” And that’s where I dump the money onto the bed. Three hundred thousand in American bills, total. Stack after stack, man, more than I remember putting in, but I was in a hurry there. Here it’s all about the presentation. I let it tumble out slow like.

“Oh, boss,” she says. Slow, soft, sifting the fingers through the stacks on the mattress. “Oh, my lord.” The girl looks like she might cry. She looks down at the money, then up at me like a little girl. “You did it, boss. You change my life. My Lord.” Katrina crawls over the money to me and plants a big kiss. Those full lips just swallow me up and her tongue licks against mine. The door is open, the windows open, curtains open, but we don’t care. I got Katrina in my clutches, pressing her body to me while the girl soul kiss me like never before.

And so this starts the best times, right then. Fool’s paradise as it turns out, no question about it. But in the moment? Nothing better. All fruits ripe, man, including the little juicy one that just saw her plan realized by me. Boss.

Now, with the time passed, I don’t remember getting my clothes off, or peeling Katrina’s bikini off, watching all those curves meet their freedom with the luscious bounce like they always do. I don’t remember what was said or if anything was. But I remember like yesterday how her hands claw into my chest, and those nails press into my skin when she lowers that deep chocolate body on my white shaft, little by little, giving me that heat. The heat’s what I might miss the most. That perfect fever. Even among the dark Jamaican women, none ever been as hot on the insides as Katrina. When she drops it all the way in she leans down, like she’s proud of it, kissing my whole face, breathing hard, and she tells me she missed me. After the day I’ve had, that alone is almost enough to make me quake. But I’m a seasoned man, and I got too much to give this girl after waiting all damn day.

She comes at me with a hunger, like her life depended on fucking me right then. Those heavy sighs touched off with the sweetest little high pitched “hee” at the end of each one, and looking into my eyes. Not just any old way, neither. Into my soul. And the longer we hold that look, eye to eye, the more she starts to bear down in the rhythm, taking me deep. The weight of her curvy little body smacks down on mine, over and over again, just like all those times in my daydreams. Her whole body shake and bounce, from her thighs, to her titties, up to the loose cheeks on her face with her eyes shut tight, just taking it like I know she never has before in her young life. And she meets the challenge, swallowing up my big stick, not slowly, not carefully, but slam-down from the power of my hands, man, so the body feels the invasion. Feels the rough, wet fuck I'm giving her, and those pussy lips- the sweet pink brightness- flashing out each time she pops up.

The girl grunts deep, forced out of her mouth each time we meet in the middle, a clash of force that keeps on building up. I got her in both hands, pushing up into her, meantime, she's slamming that backside down and rolling it up. I’ll never forget the sounds we make, grinding and slapping, moaning and groaning. Making that pink pussy squish around and splash against me, her wetness knows no end. Meantime, the heat’s cooking us big time, and for all the vivid memory, I know that frenzy don’t last more than about five minutes before I can’t hold on no matter what I do. Katrina wasn’t gonna hold on, neither. She grunt and mumble, intense, like she speaks in tongues, and I’m lifting up at the hips, screwing the girl, and she eggs me on!

"Come on, nuh," she says, until she can't make the words anymore. Maybe I go too hard, thinking back, but she just yelp and growl, too deep in the trance to feel the pain. And when I feel it rise up in me, no turning back, I grip that ass with all my strength and slam it down, last time. The skin smacks and I holler out, gushing into her, far in as I can manage. I’m way up in there, womb-deep. Every inch of her cunt gripping down on me while I pump it all out. She just flop down on top of me after that, all out of breath and my wood’s still lodged in, twitching and jumping like it’s got a current running through it. And she still sighing, with the sweet, quiet little “hee” on each breath. Like I say, it’s like a drug with her, and nothing short of that.

Any normal night that ends right then, that’s a good night. But we’re in a grinding zone, just pure fuck and love that night, better than the wildest dream. And the lights are on so I soak it all in, fucking my dark beauty, watching her body move and writhe and stretch under mine. You still accuse me of loving the pussy only, but it’s the girl I love, and I know this beyond any doubt. It’s the pussy that I wanted to wear the fuck out all night until it wants no more. To show her what it means to be the boss, to never let her forget, to make her the feel my authority. Just so happens, that moment don’t come with Katrina. Not then, not ever. Fitting to be up in the woods, because this is some serious jungle sex going on, understand that, and her jungle booty was the one that wore me out by the end.

Best I can tell, the girl never gives out when it comes to sex. And by the time I give out, we’re nothing short of a mess. The girl just leaks the foam and the cum from between the legs, all slick and whiteness against that ebony skin. I’m all caked in her juices too, and the whole room smell of it: sweat and sex batter. But after all the rough slapping, shaking and quaking the curves on this tiny girl, I hold her to me, listen to her breathe, let her settle down in my arms. “Hee…”

-

Next morning, I wake up and we’re still lying on the bound bills, same position as when we fell out tired the night before. Both our bodies have the marks from them, but with the doors still wide open and the mountain breeze flowing in, I’m just relieved the money’s still there.

“Nobody here take from me, love,” she says, rubbing me down when I mention it. “They all with me, we all together now.” We take a shower and I get my first good look at that big tattoo on her back: all flowers, plantlife, animals, and sunshine, flowing top to bottom in every color until the bottom tendrils reach and curl around on her round ass. “’Tis my country,” is how she describes it, and I trace the lines of it with my fingers. She turns around to love me, same intensity as the night before, right there under the shower spray.

First day of the rest of my life , I’m thinking. And the days after that fell in much the same. We put the money in the bedroom closet, spread a little ‘round to the ones we got with us, and really just slack out. Everton reaps the benefits in town, does the work, makes the money. Fine with me. So I’m all set up here in the hideaway. Got the best ganja, jerk chicken, and good rum, all at the fingertips. Me and my girl, joined together at the loins practically as much as apart. Clarks Villa royalty.

Understand, all this time, I still got my feelers out in town. Everton knows where I am and who I’m with. And he don’t care too much in the scheme of things. Personal life is personal life, but to me, he owe loyalty. I also got a couple squaddies that work downtown with ears to the ground. Anything happens that affects me, I should hear about it. Sure enough, I did, too.

“It’s Dogs,” Everton says. He calls me on a clear night outside, smoking one with my girl and watching the distant lights from town sparkle and slur in red and white. The bad boys and friends gone away, Katrina got tired of giving them the handout to just loiter about. We feel safe anyhow, foolish as that may be, just Katrina, me, and the cook and cleaner. “You gonna have trouble, bossman. The word got around about Katrina and you.” Now, that much I conceded to fate, sooner or later, even though it did unsettle me to hear it. She can’t hear what he’s saying, she’s got her buds in, jamming to her mix, laying in my arms.

“He’s none too happy I take it,” I say. “You hear anything else?”

“No, boss. Nobody know where you are, but when he find out…I worry.” And then I think about the bad boys in the lot, and Katrina’s friends hanging 'round. Even the staff people here. She pays them well, but anyone can be bought for a few little words, you know. Curses for being so blinded, but with a little notice I knew I could steer us clear of danger. “Maybe it’s time to cut her loose, bossman. Not to tell you what you should do. But a whole heap of trouble is gonna find you this way.” I thank Everton and tell him not to worry too much, that I always find my way through the choppy sea. “One more thing, boss. Tell me where you are, at least then I know to steer somebody clear if I can.” This give me pause, of course, and I almost tell him but stop just short. Instinct.

“I’ll get back to town tomorrow sometime,” I say. “We can talk more then.”

That night, I doze off in a haze. Ganja and rum still numbing the brain, but I can’t escape something tugging at me from the inside. A tap on the shoulder saying “hey, be ready man, not sure what for.” In my minds eye, I see the coming danger. It’s a small island any way you slice it. Too many people know where we are, none have good reason to protect us. I’m in and out of sleep, coming to terms with what we do from here. Her hand rakes down my chest, past the belly, and onto my dick. The daddy stirs the fear, the girl stirs my desire. Both are potent, undeniable, and grow by the second. I squirm and stir, listening to her hum a song and stroke my wood in her hand. The fear and the desire. Deep in that black night, slipping between her legs and sinking deep within them, I’m seeking to quell them both. It’s not a sleepy fuck, I’m wide awake now, on my side. I cup her breast and push in from behind. Her little leg locks with mine, just the way she always likes to now, and I make love to her slow and deep. I listen to her gasp and suck with that sweet breath. I listen to her pussy slurp when my thick cock push the air out, steadily, deeply. And everybody says this, but holding her tight and taking her like that, so close, we become one. Never before and never after has it felt that way, no lie.

Time stopped that night, like the whole world paused for us to mate, staving off the dawn. Her luscious ass pressed against me and my finger on her wet button, Katrina shakes and catches her breath, holding it. Her hips jerk around and I know I just took her to that rare place in the pit of every girl’s desire. That sweet spot, I got her there. I always do, and when she can breathe again, she hollers out almost like a cry. Never let her go, never let this end, I’m thinking. And the whole time, pushing in deep, feeling her pulse around me, I want nothing more.

I was never going to change the girl, and didn’t want to. She was a true diamond, shining just as bright in the rough as she would under the full polish. She knew she was beautiful even without all the spoiling. Even so, Katrina would never go without it. Why should she if she had the means? She was real, though. Think about that. How many real people do you know?

But none of that would matter if she didn’t know how to get to me, the real me, deep down inside me. And just like that first time, she turned her head around and planted the second seed in me with those wild eyes, knowing I am losing it inside of her. I grip her thigh so tight, and hold her by the throat. Not to choke the girl, just to clutch her close.

“Mmmm” she hums through her groan, arching her back, giving that ass to me. My cock grows bigger inside her and I growl real low in her ear. Pulsing and pouring, everything I got inside, I give to this girl, and I can’t feel anything but her body, her pussy, her breath on my face, for so long.

-

In the dark silence, Katrina sits on my lap and we have a smoke. Her skin, so creamy, keeping me warm on the cool night, and I feel my own batter pour from her body and down my leg.

“Tell me what you want to do next, Princess,” I say to her. She says she wants to sleep, but I tell her that’s not what I mean. And she looks at me.

“I want to do this,” she says, still no clue what I’m asking her. “I want to stay here.”

“I heard from my man in town,” I say. “Everton. And I haven’t said anything about where we are, but he heard we were together. And so did your daddy.” The girl is quiet, just looking down at the sheets. “And you know he looks for you. How long till he finds you here, baby? With me, and then what?” She gives me that look again, like I worry too much.

“Boss, nobody know we here,” she says. And even though I explain about her friends and the two bad boys, she still say I just fret for no reason, that we are in good shape. We got the money to stay as long as we want, and then I get more,” she says. I almost ask “from where”, but figure there’s no good answer to that.

It’s right then that I realize how Katrina copes in her world. The gangster’s world, I mean. She absorbs what she wants, blocks out the rest, you know? Absorbs the money, blocks out the danger. But she’s a young girl still, I know this too. What I also know is what I told her that morning after we first fuck: that when Joe-Dogs walks in the door, whenever that may be: she is the one grounded, and I am the one dead. And he will find the money, and it’s a matter of when, understand that. But again, no use in saying it.

“Realize this, Katrina,” I say, and her head looks over quick-quick. First time I ever called her Katrina to her face, I’m almost certain. “You can’t steal from your daddy like we did, hiding from him like we are, and just wait for something bad to happen. You got twenty-seven million Jamaican, sitting in the closet. Sitting on a lit fuse. What did you want to do with all this money anyhow?” She never thought about this at all, it shows on the face. Hard for a planning man like myself to believe, but the more I think about it, I’m sure of it. Be that as it may, something clicks inside for her, I can tell.

“Let’s go to the big city,” I say. “We can take the car there. Go shopping, stay at Strawberry Hill, maybe downtown at the Wyndham. And I know where you can keep the money safe there. I’ll take care of it.”

“We talk about it tomorrow,” she says, and she’s woozy. Maybe not two minutes after that, the girl’s fast asleep. I don’t get to sleep until after the first faint orange of sunrise appears on the horizon, just too much still kicking around upstairs. Mainly that my instinct says leave or die, within the next day.

The heat of the sun is already swamping the bedroom when I finally wake up. Katrina sees me stir and calls for Angella to make and bring coffee. She sits under the shade of the verandah, beyond the wide open doors, texting on her phone. She’s nude, looking like she was made by the good Lord to never wear clothes. A model waiting for her artist. By the time I shake cobwebs, the cook brings the coffee in with a good morning. One in the afternoon, but it’s courtesy first, you know.

“When you wanna go today, boss?” she says, smiling at me. Big relief washes over now. We’re gonna make it, I’m thinking, and I tell her I’m ready anytime, but the sooner the better. “And you wanna go in the rag tag clothes you got here?” She’s teasing, but even clean, the clothes I got with me are work clothes. Beat up a little, stretched a little. I could go for a little style. Been a while since I worried about it, to tell the truth.

Down at the shops by the Ritz-Carlton, I pick up some sharp slacks and a couple shirts. I could barter for the same thing cheaper in town, but I don't risk that. Plus I gotta be quick so we can get across the mountains to the city before dark. All around me, beautiful tanned people, all of them tourists, not a care in the world. I’ll never be like that, but will be a whole heap closer to it once I get us further from Joe-Dogs.

I check my phone every two minutes like a basket case, twitchy for any sign of trouble. It’s almost 3 P.M. when I pull into Clarks Villa again. No calls, no texts. The coast is clear. I walk around to the bedroom and find it still lived in, but empty. Bathroom, courtyard, great room: no Katrina. A panic hits me, and I run to the closet to check for the money: gone! In the bare floor lay an envelope. My name is scrawled on the front. I never once saw the girl write anything, but I know it's from her hand just the same.

Inside, stuffed rough but still fitting inside, is ten-thousand American dollars. I sift through it and a note falls out the bottom.

Thank you boss. I knew you would do this for me. I knew it when I first ask you, and I knew it when you hold my body, that you would do anything for me. You were right about the money. I was the one said I wanted to be my own thing, so I am gone to do that now. Maybe I should let my daddy know you were good to me? I do not want you hurt, so I just go. You take care and know I am safe.

Love, Katrina

So I stand there and hold this note plus ten thousand dollars, and know she is gone forever. What comes to me in that instance is not how she left me, the man that loves her, with no warning. Or that I took the wrecking ball to my own life inside of one week for a nineteen year old girl, a gangster's girl. No, what comes to me is that first time she walks into my office and she gives me that confident smile. Or when she turns around to leave and I see what perfect looks like! I never stopped being in awe, really. Leaving Clarks Villa wasn't even that sad for me. What good is a paradise without the one that made it so?

So now, life goes on a year down the road. Joe-Dogs never put a price on my head, but I know when Katrina disappeared, I was what the squaddies would call a “person of interest” to him and his. He search pretty hard from what I hear, but I know how to stay gone when I need to. In the end, the Ministry of Justice picked a fight with him- you know, new government and all- and since then he’s had his hands full. Can’t help but think by now, somebody in his crew went after the money that I stole, legal bills and such to pay, and imagine that surprise! Daughter gone, money gone, the law bearing down: not Joe-Dogs’ best year.

And me? I set up shop in a little town further east on the coast. It’s smaller there but I always had contacts all over the island, it’s just as well. I still make it into my old town sometimes for the odd job, to help Everton out, but not ever again for good. Even if Dogs let bygones be, I know when a good thing is gone. Out here, I got a nice country house up the hill, and a sweet, young Jamaican woman that takes care of me real special. You know, the nurturing type. Good woman, good cook. Not Katrina, but nobody is. That something will always be missing.

My memory of all that- Katrina, the money, Clarks Villa- will never be simple, you know. Sometimes it’s a bittersweet feeling, sometimes I have regrets, sometimes I feel stupid. I know now it would never work. The girl was too young, too rough yet too accustomed to the finer things. I do fine for myself, don’t get me wrong. But I’m a working white Jamaican man of thirty-four. Two worlds, simple as that. But the main feeling I get, thinking about the girl, is a good, sweet one. The kind of goodness you keep deep inside. And when things get lonely and sad, I find it again and I pull it out. I take it all in, and in those few moments, I am back in that place, with that girl. Back when for a few days, life could never be sweeter.