Tan pulled the blanket off Zoe’s bedroom window, rolled it up and threw it at her. “Up now!” With no movement on the bed she jumped on it and began jumping up and down. “That’s nice,” said Zoe, “keep going.” Tan jumped off and pulled the covers back. “Start packing, taxi in twenty minutes. You’re off to Cuba.”

“Why?”

“Jack’s out of cigars probably.” The penny dropped and she rushed to the wardrobe. “What am I going to wear? Hell. Can I borrow your big case? Hang on I don’t have a visa, you need one don’t you?”

“Jack’s fixed everything but your undies. Go have a shower and get dressed, I’ll pack for you. Why haven’t you whined again as to why you’re going? Worked it out eh?” Zoe grinned. “I really hope so.”

The taxi was kept waiting five minutes. According to Zoe it was not clever of Tan to pack her makeup by throwing everything into the bottom of a carry-on bag, and hence she was responsible for the delay. Tan was of the opinion Zoe’s temper tantrum when she discovered the large suitcase she demanded had shrunk to a carry-on bag was the sole cause.  En route to the terminal they achieved a compromise, both accepted fault

Tan’s flight to Miami was an hour after Zoe’s and she sat with her listening to and trying to respond to her concerns, chief of which was how would she find Manhattan presuming he was in Cuba. Tan’s advice was once she got to her hotel Jack would be in touch. Overall she managed to lessen Zoe’s concern through sensible obfuscation. The pair hugged on hearing the boarding call. “Thank you Tan, I’m feeling better.”

“I’m glad. Let me know you’ve arrived safely.”

“I’m still worried about what I say to him, turning up like-”

“Shut up, just be yourself. Oh, with one exception. On the first night keep your legs together, it’s my golden rule,” Zoe laughed. “I’ll sure keep my fingers crossed. By the way you know how you always claim to be a great bullshitter?”

“I do?”

“Yes. Well I think that claim isn’t bullshit. See you.” She took three steps before Tan called out. “Isn’t it great to have only a carry-on Zoe?” Zoe provided the finger before she reached the gate.

Tan was about to board her flight when she noticed a man she had seen while she sat with Zoe. He had reminded her of Antony Banderas. It seemed odd he had been sitting in one terminal and had then shifted to another. She saw him again when exiting the plane in Miami, he had turned and stared at her and she almost buckled, taking a seat and ensuring she was last to leave the plane. In the terminal there was no sign of him. She hurried towards the taxi rank, her concern growing.  The sight of him in front of the queue being passionately kissed by a stunning woman stopped her cold. She spent a minute calming down, gently berating her overactive imagination before getting in the front seat of a taxi and providing instructions to the young driver who she suspected may have been Antony Banderas’ son. She was plagued with the family.

“Where’s that accent from?” said the driver. Tan paused for effect and declared, “I’m Austrian.”

“Welcome to my home town, greatest city on Earth. Hey do all Austrian women bullshit?”

“Yeah, so do Canucks. You said aboot back there rather than about.”

“You’re not bad for an Aussie. I don’t get many attractive women in the front seat.”

“Common sense, if I was in the back I wouldn’t see you pull out a gun and take the safety off. You could swing around and take me out in a split second.”

“You’ve got some imagination.”

“You bet, I’ve crapped myself all the way from LA imagining someone was following me.”

“Tell me, please.” Tan gave a detailed outline. “I wouldn’t relax completely lady, if I was keeping tabs on you I’d have my hit man kissed by a woman to allay your fears, then I’d have the pair follow us in a cab. The woman would then follow you from the hotel foyer to your room and as you open the room door she pushes you in and cuts your throat before you can scream.”

“Crap, wouldn’t work. You forgot about the karate chopper bell boy who carried her baggage up. Even if the killer got lucky and took out two jugulars, security would be alerted. CCTV is in all corridors also.”

“Ok, so how about this? A hit man hunk from Calgary is flown in and he’s given a fake taxi. He pays off other drivers to refuse to take her. He knows she’s a dumb Australian and wouldn’t know where she was going so in a quiet street he shoots her and pushes her body out.”

“Did your thick Canuck skull remember why I’m sitting in the front seat? And my purse is open, my pistol with safety off is pointed at your crotch. I reckon I could reach in and blow your cock off before you even pull yours out.” They stopped at the lights, he began giggling, she joined in. A car horn from behind got him moving. “Do you know Aussie that I spent four months working at Perisher in the Australian Alps. Believe it or not the local girls were very polite.”

“So you didn’t get a root?” He chuckled. “I might have meant they thanked me afterwards.”

“Aside from you being a hit child what’s a kid from Canada doing driving a cab down here?”

“The strange truth is my uncle’s sick, I’m helping out. Hey like a drink?”

“I’m guessing at your age we couldn’t get into a pub.” He pulled into the hotel. “I’m twenty three.”

“If you’re going to lie then lay it on thick. I’m sixty seven. Old enough to be your great grandma.” She handed him her credit card. “The boss won’t let me give a tip.”

“He must be Australian.”

“How dare you, just because we pay slaves at home a decent living wage. Ok fuck you, stick thirty bucks on. Fuck him too. Well go on, I’m serious.”

“Thanks! If you want someone to drive you around here’s my card.” Tan stared at the card. “Carlos Garcia? Sounds dodgy.”

“Tom Brown, my name’s written on the back. The card’s my uncles.”

“Tanami Schwarzenegger. Thanks for the ride.”  She grabbed her bag and looked around for any sign of an assassin then made her room on her own, after being informed everyone was busy and she’d have to haul her bag upstairs. Tom Brown would have smirked at one leg of her theory being wrong. She slumped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Hello new roof over my head.”  Her phone rang and no caller number was shown. “Who is calling?”

 “It’s me. I’m in Cuba at the terminal. I’m on a payphone, haven’t got set for here yet. How about you?”

“Just got into the hotel. A cute kid driving the cab tried to pick me up.”

“Why?”

“Thanks. I said no because I’m not into boys. Oh shit, I’ll change my mind when I’m all alone in a dark damp restaurant. Won’t I?”

“You do have a flexible mind. Did you get Bill’s advice on your minder? Quick, I’m out of shekels.”

“Yeah, I was thinking on the flight it’s not a bad idea. I might even get a nice child cabbie I know to take me tonight. He could protect me if my minder turns out to be weird. I’m hopeless. See you.”

“Just be sensible Tan. Bye.” Zoe managed to escape from customs without a fuss and a few steps out was confronted by a small middle aged man who may have descended from a turkey. “Please come with me Miss Ashton. I shall take you to Mr. Manhattan.”

“Who are you?”

“Alan de Souza, I am in the employ of Mr. Manhattan?

“How do I know?”

“Please, I have no time for nonsense.” Zoe looked around, noting two heavily armed police nearby. “I’ve got all day. Prove it. How about ID?”

He pulled out a US passport, she looked at the photo. “Please hold it, I’d like to take a photo. Right, I’ve sent it to our security people. If anything happens to me…..  Now, anything to show you do work for him?”

“You are most annoying. I can understand what he meant when he said you were very special.”  Zoe frowned. “He did? He didn’t say very to me. Ok, let’s go.” The man took off in a huff, she hurried after him. “Could you please slow down, I have a heavy bag.” He turned and took the bag from her. Outside a car pulled up, the driver jumped out and took off while Alan dumped the bag on the rear seat, then pointed at the front passenger seat. Zoe was surprised by the near new status of the car. Her understanding being most in Cuba were geriatric but in her miffed state she declined to ask the finger pointer for elaboration.  Ten minutes after driving off she asked him where they were going. He refused to say citing security concerns. She curtly responded by informing him she had a pair of eyes and would find out in due course. He responded in kind. “I doubt very much whether you would have a clue as to where you will end up.” She began to note street signs, and took the occasional photo until the landscape took on a decidedly rural look. The driver seemed to have a smirk on his face. Half an hour later she began to wonder why they had not run out of island before chiding herself for her ignorance. Her research before leaving had extended to learning Cuban beaches were sugar white, the country pumped out popular cigars and the island was more than thirty times that of the state of Rhode Island where she had once driven around lost for an eternity. Since that time Rhode Island had become her benchmark for islands, despite most of it being on the mainland. With the light fading and the car bumping down an unsealed path she gave up pondering on her whereabouts and reminded herself the only other island she had been on was Australia. This raised an interesting philosophical question – how many islands do you need before one can be called the benchmark.  She began questioning whether a continent could also be called an island when Alan saved her brain.

“We are nearly there Miss Ashton. I will sort out your phone when we arrive to allow you to send my ID to your friend for security purposes.”  There was sufficient light for her to determine he enjoyed smirking, yet insufficient for her blush to be revealed. She resolved not to respond.  “Mr. Manhattan is due back shortly. In the meantime Mrs. Manhattan will look after you. And here we are.” She stiffened then sighed. He carried her bag to the front door of a two storey somewhat scruffy white walled home with her dutifully scurrying behind. “You will be attended to shortly.” He walked back to the car, she called out. “Are you leaving?” He nodded. “I shall be back in a few minutes.”  She heard the door handle move and quickly brushed her hair with her hand. The door opened to reveal an elegantly dressed elderly lady. Zoe broke into a wide smile. “Hello, I’m Zoe.”

“My, my, you are as pretty as he said. Enter please.”

“Thank you, so you are Michael’s mother?” 

“I like you, that is a lovely compliment but I am his grandmother. Please call me Gwyneth. Now Alan is setting up your room so come with me to the lounge room and we can perhaps have a drink while we wait.” A bottle of white wine in an ice bucket greeted them and Gwyneth asked Zoe to pour. “I trust Alan looked after you, isn’t he a lovely man?” Zoe nodded while handing her a glass. “Thank you Zoe, but there is no need to patronise me. The man can be a little shite sometimes. Especially to any particularly attractive piece of skirt he might perceive as likely to interest his employer. I imagine he would rate you as a frightening prospect. Cheers.”

“Cheers Gwyneth. I’m guessing you hail from England.” She gave Zoe an exaggerated look of disgust. “Dear me, never. One hundred per cent Welsh.”

“My apologies.”

“As I would expect. I come from a long line of illustrious Welsh warriors. I can trace my ancestry back to an English smuggler unable to go back to London and the Old Bailey and the daughter of a Moor reputedly dark in both complexion and morality. An illegal immigrant of the eighteenth century. And hello Alan, I was just explaining to this decent lass what a shite you can be.”

“As I would expect. Your room is ready and your sim card and details are on your bedside table. Should you have a problem I will assist you in the morning after ten. Good evening to you both.”

“Thank you Alan,” said Zoe.

“Yes bugger off. We girls do not need a grouch hanging around.”  Gwyneth waited for the door to close before whispering to Zoe. “He’s from the Balkans, a fair dose of gypsy stock and able to trace his lineage back to gypsy kings not long after they left India.  Probably pinched his name from a movie. My mother said I never should, play with the gypsies in the wood, if I did, she would say…..” She beckoned to Zoe to finish it.

“Naught naughty girl to disobey.”

“Oh, you are a clever girl. My mother of course would deviate from that racist nursery rhyme by threatening to send me away if I disobeyed any command. Back to you. Michael tells me you are an investigative journalist dedicated to finding salacious material relating to him in order for you to make a grubby dollar or two.”

“He said that?”

“Of course not, he’s too naïve. I on the other hand understand the ways of the world. Please bear in mind I have been diagnosed with early onset dementia, or was it early stage dementia, I can’t remember.” Zoe laughed. “I’m sorry Gwyneth, that just came out.”

“You need manners young lady. I need a fresher joke.”

“Would it be rude of me Gwyneth to suggest you often talk shite?”

“I’ve just remembered I should have got your consent to making our little chat off the record. Henceforth off the record, agree?”

“Ok.”

“Good. Of course I talk shite. It is much more fun. Particularly when one is indulging in chemotherapy.” Zoe frowned and opened her mouth with the intention of expressing sympathy. The sight of Gwyneth sipping her wine between smiles suggested more shite was being tossed her way and rather than toss it back she settled on seeking clarification? “What brand of chemotherapy is involved?” She dropped her smile. “I did not think you would dare ask. If you must know you will need an understanding of Chinese characters. Glyphs or something like that. Regardless I think it is a thoroughly acceptable white.” Zoe picked up the bottle and nodded. “Got it. The health warning at least. My interpretation is the side effects of this product increase exponentially with age.”

Gwyneth’s smile returned. “You certainly know how to use a bullshit detector.”

“I had a brilliant personal trainer, an Australian. She claims they are all taught from the cradle. I imagine they’d need it to survive down under.”

“Indeed. I presume that is your colleague with the unusual name.” Zoe failed to hide her surprise. “Yes, Tanami. How did you know?” 

“It was part of Michael’s research. I loved the photograph of the pair of you holding hands and running through a field of daisies. Photo shopped no doubt. You made a most attractive couple. You seem surprised dear but of course copious research was undertaken, one needs to know everything prior to prostrating themselves before an investigator of your calibre. I find prying helps keep Alzheimer’s at bay, the mind can be revitalised by the shocks one finds. I note you are in a relationship.”

Zoe laughed. The old lady was as sharp as a tack. Her matter of fact relationship statement avoided being seen as prying. “I am not in any relationship with man or beast. Your information was simply wrong.”

“Really? I do hope you do not make a habit of misleading the public on your social pages thingy.”

“Oh, that. I didn’t do it.” Gwyneth poured Zoe more wine. “Oh goodie. I’m finding this fascinating. Please entertain me with your answer. Perhaps a partner with control issues forced you to declare your relationship?”

“Well, Tanami can occasionally be a bullying know- all. The idea was by saying I was in a relationship it would stop men I interviewed from putting the hard word on me.”

“Nonsense. I always found telling a man I was happily married was like a red rag to a bull. A challenge. Well dear, stick up for yourself, remove it.”

“I’d forgotten all about it. Actually I should confess it was my idea.  I mentioned it to Tan jokingly and she took action.  Regardless, the before and after didn’t change.”

“Well I need to change. Piddle time.” She managed to stand and turn in the required direction with Zoe wondering whether she would kiss the carpet or fall backwards. “Me too Gwyneth, would you mind if I came with you.” A nod later Zoe jumped up and locked arms with her. “So will Michael be home shortly?”

“I am not expecting him until perhaps teatime tomorrow.”

“Right.” They reached the passageway where Gwyneth stopped and eyed Zoe. “He was most eager to see you. I assure you he had no choice with respect to his absence.”

“That’s fine Gwyneth.”

“Fine? Young lady, you’re on your way to a piddle and I am sure you’ve already started on the shite.” Zoe gave a deep sigh before putting an arm around Gwyneth. “I know, promise I’ll put a cork in it.”

Next Chapter: Chapter SEVEN