Scorpion by Ken Douglas Page A

you cry. He makes them come to life.”
    “ Give me a break. Nobody wants to hear that Columbus killed the Caribs. Nobody cares about naked Indians. Nobody wants their idols trashed.”
    “ Columbus didn’t kill them.”
    “ You know what I mean. He started it.”
    “ That’s like saying if my father gets drunk on your rum, your grandmother’s responsible. If she hadn’t had your mother, your mother wouldn’t have had you, and you wouldn’t have bought the rum. Where’d you get it by the way? You surely wouldn’t try and slip a case of rum by customs while you were smuggling in the coke.”
    “ Margarita, last trip. I stopped by my place on the way over.”
    “ You can set it by the sink,” she said, wondering if getting the rum for her father was the only reason he’d stopped off at his apartment.
    “ Fine,” he said. By the time he’d laid the case on a long tiled counter she was leaving the kitchen and headed for the hallway. He turned to follow.
    She heard him behind her as she entered the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. She opened a bureau drawer and took out a mirror and handed it to him. She eased the drawer shut with the eager anticipation she always felt when she did a test. It was the only time she allowed herself to use the drug.
    “ Are they ready to ship?” she asked.
    “ They sent five kilos with me. It’s all up front, to show their good faith. They want my principal to know they’re ready to go. Soon as I call them, the goods will be in route.” He untucked a shirt tail and wiped the mirror off. Then he blew his hot breath on it and wiped it again.
    She pushed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears as he lay the mirror on the bureau and pulled out a brown glass vial from his shirt pocket. She wet her lips with her tongue as he unscrewed the cap, and she started drumming her fingers against her thighs as he tapped the vial against the mirror, spilling out some of the white powder.
    She sucked in her upper lip and gently bit down on it as he pulled out a credit card and a blue hundred dollar bill from his shirt pocket. He set the bill on the bureau and divided the cocaine into two equal white lines with the credit card. He picked up the blue bill and started rolling it up.
    “ Put it away,” she said. “We’ll use mine.”
    “ Got a problem with the local currency?” he said, tucking the bill back into his pocket.
    “ The paper on these is better, they roll nicer.” She rolled the green US hundred dollar bill. She approached the mirror, put the rolled bill to her left nostril and inhaled. Then she did it again with the right. She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath through her nose and let the cocaine rush to her brain.
    “ Well?” he said after a few seconds.
    “ Exhilarating. You’ve done very well.”
    “ I try.” He sounded smug, and from the tone of his voice she knew the real reason he’d stopped by his apartment. She could never prove it, because she’d never met the Salizars. It had to be that way, both because of her father and because there was no way they’d ever deal with a woman.
    She opened her eyes and nailed him with her stare. He met her eyes with his own and for a few seconds they were locked together, a contest of wills. He grinned, looked away and she bit into her lower lip, enjoying the euphoric high and resisting the triumphant smile. The bastard had stolen some of her cocaine.
    “ You made the papers again,” he said.
    “ Really? What was it this time?”
    “ Picture of us leaving the Red House Ball last week.” His voice had a haughty kind of sneer in it that put her on her guard.
    “ And what else?” she asked. There was no reason the paper would print a week old picture. She was popular, but not that popular.
    “ Headline implied that there might wedding bells in our future.”
    “ That’s not so bad then,” she said.
    “ Why did you agree to marry me?” he asked.
    “ You’re exciting, you take risks,