Weecho: First Shots

Chapter 37 - Closure

And where was Dara? 

She’d gone on a dance tour as part of a cultural cruise, an exclusive event held aboard the luxury yacht of Mr. Ming Jay Yoon. The event was cut short, however, when one of the guests, a Mr. Harlan Bigsby, was reported missing. It was feared he’d fallen overboard and was lost at sea. Weecho knew how that could happen, having gone overboard from that very same vessel, maybe even from that very same spot. Before the yacht returned to port, one of the dancers, having strained something in rehearsal, had been helicoptered ashore, to a Gulfstream G650 private jet that had flown her back to Israel. 

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At the one-mattress loft downtown, Weecho was feeding Wanda, listening to a visitor’s familiar voice: 

“So Alex got his prize.” 

“Yoon was good for nine figures, I’m told.” 

He set Wanda’s bowl down on the floor and turned to his guest – Nina Galleon’s ghost, Nina’s beautiful ghost. Her face was now flawless, her dress from the crash immaculate. She was once again the stunning model she’d been in real life.  

“And what did you get?” Nina said. 

“Alex put the money from Lynch’s safe into accounts for Juna and me. Plus we’re on the magazine payroll. Your father, too.” 

Nina looked around the loft. “Where’s her stuff?” 

“Now she can afford it, she took a place of her own. Besides, I’m going to Israel, some training.” 

“Well then, I guess that’s a wrap.” 

“I gonna see you again?” 

“I’m history. You did your thing with Lynch and I thank you.” 

“We were pretty good, you know, the stuff we did.” 

“We were.” 

They held each other’s eyes – then across the room Weecho’s phone rang. 

“Take it,” Nina said. “Take care.” 

She smiled, turned and crossed the floor in perfect model fashion, graceful as the wind, heading for the freight elevator. Which of course she didn’t need. 

Weecho watched the ghost of her fade. 

The phone rang again. He stepped over to the workbench and picked up. 

“Yeah?” 

The tattooed grunge guitarist Sludge, who Weecho had been talking to just before Nina’s crash, was standing by a sound-mixing board, speaking on his cell. 

“Where the hell you been, man?” 

“I was just gonna call you.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

“Seriously, I got a gig with Cover, the chick mag. They’re doing a big punk fashion spread, wanna feature you guys, down ‘n dirty.”   

“Are you shittin’ me?” 

“Hey, sometimes life works out.” 

Weecho sat down, put his feet up, and for the moment was back in biz.

And so the first book ends. There will be more Weecho adventures, but now he must get through that commando and intelligence training in Israel.

New York Cuban street kid does Tel Aviv.

Many thanks for your company and support. I look forward to sharing with you what our boy gets into next.