Reggie watched the shining caustics caused by the sunlight refracting on the rippling blue water in the swimming pool. Reminded him of that blue Tie Dye tee Dee used to wear. Had MAMA printed in glittering lettering across the chest. Damn, if she didn't look fine as hell in that top, hanging over her cut off white denim shorts. A real fine mama.
Reggie eased back on the lounger. Heard Ricky coming before he saw him. Ricky's bare feet slapping the tiles, glass bottles clinking in his hand. "'Bout time," he said without looking up, "you brewing that in there or what?"
"I hadda drop a deuce," Ricky said, blunt as a butter-knife.
"Best you washed those paws before you handling my beer," Reggie said, taking the cold bottle in his hand.
Ricky, not bothering to answer, plonked himself in the empty sun-lounger. Papers out, rolling himself a number.
Reggie drew a pull on the bottle, watching a lone puff of white cloud pass underneath the glaring yellow sun. "This here is the life."
"Uh-huh." Ricky concentrated on building a flawless joint. The man could not be bothered tying a knot in the strings of his Bermuda shorts but can roll a number look like it made by a machine.
"So, what do you make of Casa del Reggie?"
"Not bad. Grand a month, though. I'm paying three-fifty for my place."
"It's got four bedrooms, and an under-build."
"What you need four bedrooms for, you only sleep in one."
"Say I throw a party, where the guests gonna sleep?"
"If it's a party, they gonna be wasted, so on the couch. Or the floor."
Reggie shook his head. "You are the dictionary definition of primitive."
Ricky shrugged, put a light to the joint.
"You see that real-estate lady? Top buttons on her blouse undone so you see her white frilly bra every time she lean over."
Ricky blew out a cloud of resinous smoke. "Yeah."
"She putting on that big play for your benefit, eying you like you the last Rolo in the packet, and your stoned ass too stupid to notice."
"I can't be thinking 'bout women right now. Can't have nothing interfering with the thought process." Ricky inhaled a lungful of smoke.
Reggie pointed at the rose-leaved Hibiscus flowering along the lawn border and said: "That plant possess more self-awareness than you."
"You heard from Chris yet?" Ricky said.
"Three days and zip. Zilch. Nada. I don't get it."
"I told ya."
"What you tell me? You ain't tell me shit."
"I told you not to call him."
"Excuse me, Nostradamus, who we should get?"
"Dan the driver is always up for a bit of work."
"Only thing Dan is up for is a five-year bid."
Ricky sat up straight. "Whatcha ya mean?"
"Got busted yesterday," Reggie said. "The man collecting a consignment from those Dutch boys. They loading his truck with five kilos of yayo. When a bunch of scary motherfuckers with MP-five submachine guns make you shit yourself surround them like it Custer's last stand. Way I hear, that's exactly what Dan did."
"Huh?"
"Man defecated in his pants."
"Shit."
"So I hear."
YOU ARE READING
The Retirement Plan
Mystery / Thriller8 desperate people are drawn into a plot to kidnap a millionaire. But who are the shadowy forces controlling the players? And what are their true motives? * * * On...
