Chapter 37
ZINZI
Accompong, Maroon Village, Cockpit Country, Week Seven
Byron is late. I stand in the lobby of the Myrtle Bank Hotel, nursing a headache that has worsened since Othella and I left Accompong.
My mother professes that the pressure from the waves and wind causes my pain.
These headaches are a harbinger, a warning sign that a hurricane is approaching, and my body senses it.
Changes in the wind, sunlight, clouds, and the violence of the sea course through my veins, rest on my skin, and sink into my bones.
My mother describes my abilities dramatically, but they aren’t real.
It’s a theory she has conjured. I wish she would stop telling these lies to the villagers.
But Momma Hazel doesn’t care about me being stared at while the village waits for doom to fall from the sky.
When Byron arrives, I don’t ask questions like what took you so long.
Instead, I hurriedly lead him to the veranda where Othella has company.
It can only be Tony Schaefer sitting across from her at the table.
He holds a cigarette at the corner of his mouth, blowing smoke rings into his unblinking eyes.
I immediately think of a snake slithering through the grass.
Byron speaks first. “You’ve met Othella, I see.”
“That’s right. She’s a real doll.”
I don’t wait to be introduced. I extend my hand. “My name is Zinzi Green.”
“Tony Schaefer, sweetheart. Did you say your name was Zinzi or ZZ?”
He quickly makes me regret shaking his hand.
“You had it right the first time. It’s Zinzi.” I don’t bother to wait for him to invite me to sit. I’ve already decided I don’t like him, and so much so, I don’t feel up to faking politeness.
“Oh, okay,” he replies. “I was just talking to my old friend from Chicago. We go way back.”
“I’m not sure how far back that might be,” I say, “she’s nineteen.”
I glance at Othella. She nods almost imperceptibly, and I know she is okay for the moment.
“The only reason Othella is here is that she trusted me. So, Byron,” I turn to him, “are you sure this man is someone you can trust?”
“Nobody talks to me like that,” Schaefer interrupts gruffly.
“You’d better calm down, sir.” Byron’s tone is firm, and the man from Chicago flinches slightly. After a tense but brief silence, he adds, “So, what else do we need to discuss now that everyone has met?”
“We’re still on track,” Schaefer responds.
“Our deal is working. A large shipment of Tynesdale goods will be lost at sea, and your father will lose his shirt. I’ll step in, save his business and reputation.
Oust him, and you’ll take over.” He lights another cigarette.
“That’ll open up the international trade for me, which doesn’t interest you.
Our dealings will end. You’ll be the local good guy who brings the union to Tynesdale Estates.
And I’ll have my hooks in so many different pies, I’ll end up happy as a lamb. ”
There isn’t much more to say, and soon Othella and I are boarding the train back to the Cockpit. None of us was interested in spending any social time with Schaefer. Besides, he and Byron had some final touches to make on sabotaging his father’s shipment.
“Did he threaten you?” I ask Othella, afraid of her answer.
“Yeah. But he’s going to double-cross Byron.”
“He said that.”
“He didn’t have to. I know the man that he is and will always be.”
‘Othella, I’m so sorry to get you involved. I didn’t know.”
“He knew I was here. It was just a matter of time before he found me, and I never would’ve wanted him to show up in Accompong.”