Hunting Taylor Brown by Rhys Hagan

Author:Rhys Hagan [Admn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brian Hagan
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Seven

Costa Rica

“Easy—a Maserati Granturismo,” I answered the freckled beauty’s question. “It’s stylish, seductive, and Italian. It’s basically like being inside Sophia Loren.” She glared at me with a cheeky frown while I chuckled at her jealousy before adding, “Fine. Monica Bellucci, then. What about yours?” I asked as I swung my club at the fourth hole of a medieval themed mini-golf course.

My dream car, Fiona sat the head of her club underneath her foot so that it would remain upright while she signed, would look like one of those cars with a sloped front.

“A Lamborghini.” I knew what she meant immediately; she could never remember the name of any car, so I’d quickly learned to decipher her descriptions.

Fiona nodded and pointed at me. It would look the same but it’d have a massive engine, she explained, without realizing that Lamborghini engines are already pretty big. And I mean the biggest and loudest engine you’ve ever seen, and there would be heaps of space inside and . . . she stopped to think with ‘that’ look on her face that meant she was about to come out with something absurd, it can fly. That’s my dream car.

I laughed at her. “So, a plane?” I joked. “Your dream car is a private jet?”

She was laughing as well now that she realized what she had just said.

It doesn’t have wings. Besides, that’s why it’s a ‘dream’ car, Jesse. What’s the point in dreaming about a car if it’s something that you can already buy?

“I thought by dream car you meant something that was possible.”

Yeah, Jesse . . . possible in a dream.

How silly of me.

“Alright, alright. So mine would be like yours, as in it can fly, except it would look like a Maserati and it’d shoot missiles and lasers and shit.”

There was now a queue behind us to play the hole we were on, so we moved along to the next one to avoid confrontation.

“James Bond would be green with envy, babe,” I continued.

Lasers! Exactly; my car would have lasers too. Fiona dropped the ball at the start of the fifth and before she lined up her next shot, she signed, Didn’t know that was an option.

Hitting golf balls under swinging axes and through horse’s legs was a strange but satisfying way to pass the time now that we’d made it to Palmares. The trip had been better than expected so far, but the reason we chose Costa Rica over anywhere else in the world was the Fiestas Palmares, which hadn’t even begun yet. It was notorious for the huge crowds, copious beer, and prowling pickpockets, but it also had a reputation for being two weeks of raging fun.

Something caught my eye through the wire fence at the boundary of the course. I looked past Fiona and saw a small crowd of brutish looking local men staring at us. One was young, maybe early twenties; the others were at least in their thirties. They were dressed well enough to look above Costa

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