Red Jungle by Kent Harrington

Author:Kent Harrington
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2011-06-13T21:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

He’d called Katherine and left a message on her cell. She called him back almost immediately.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“You don’t care.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m working.”

“I want you to come back to the city,” he said. “Now.”

“No. Why should I? I think it’s over,” she said. “Goodbye.”

“Please.” She hung up.

He didn’t know what to do. A bus honked and pulled around him. He moved his jeep closer to the curb. A street urchin who’d been doing magic tricks in the intersection approached and tapped his windshield. He ignored the kid’s painted clown face, the eyes big, the nose orange. Small raindrops started to hit the windshield, exploding against the dusty glass. They were going to kill Katherine and anyone with her. It wouldn’t matter how many students were in the car with her; he knew how they worked. They would all die.

He picked up his phone and dialed Carlos’s cell number. He looked out on the street as he heard Carlos’s voice ask him, in Spanish, to please leave a message. She’s innocent. What had Katherine done to deserve this? She’d only built houses for poor people, for God’s sake!

Outside, on the street, people were beginning to run for cover as the rain suddenly began to pour down. An explosion of rain hit his windshield, and everything in sight seemed to melt and blur. The young boy stood by his window waiting for money, staring in at him, his glue sniffer’s eyes red, his white painted face hideous. The paint on his face had started to run, so that Russell could see streaks of brown skin underneath the white. He dug in his wallet while rolling down his windshield. He could hear the rain hitting a long row of ragged store awnings across the street. The boy reached for the worn bill with filthy wet fingers.

“Gracias, Señor! May god bless you,” he said, unfazed by the rain.

“It’s me,” Russell said. He had called Beatrice at home in the city. “I have to talk to Carlos. It’s important. Is he there?” He had dialed her number despite his promise never to call her at home. “I’m sorry; it’s an emergency.” He could hear the maids in the background, and a child crying. “Beatrice, is he there? Is Carlos there? I have to speak to him.”

“No,” she said finally. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the city. Where is he?”

“At the office . . . I think. What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain later. Give me the number.”

“I can’t.”

He was stunned.

“Beatrice! For God’s sake, give me the number!”

“He said I wasn’t to give that number out. Ever.”

“Beatrice. Do I have to beg you?”

“He’ll know if I gave it to you. He’ll know,” she said.

“I don’t care if he knows or not. I have to speak to him now, damn it.”

She hung up. For a moment, all he could hear was the beating of the rain on the top of his jeep in a sick unison with his own heart. Everything outside was obscured, otherworldly, the traffic, buildings, and pedestrians melded into a loose wet fabric, roughly laced together by the rain’s great tension.

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