BooksBarbecue
Back The Preserve
Chapters (56)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Half-Title Page
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. 13.
  19. 14.
  20. 15.
  21. 16.
  22. 17.
  23. 18.
  24. 19.
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. AFTERWORD
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

She headed back to the Main House as the sun went down, the last light fading from high inside the low clouds. She shook the wet off her like an island cat. She passed the bathroom, grabbed a towel and wiped herself down.

She found Selfer in his office. He was passed out at his desk, face down in crossed arms like a schoolboy taking a nap—except this boy had a bottle of Filipino rum in his outstretched right hand. He wore the same outfit—he probably hadn’t bathed. As she stepped into the dim room, she felt cobwebs at her feet. No, it was teletype ticker tape. The floor of his office looked like the VJ-Day parade down King Street in Honolulu. A metal garbage can stood over in a corner, overflowing with more of that ticker tape and papers of all sizes.

She approached the desk, dragging along ticker tape and papers stuck to her damp feet and ankles.

Selfer twitched and sat up, his hair whipping back. He blinked at her. “What, what’s happened?”

“You tell me.”

“You got caught in the rain.”

“You can see—that’s a start. Tell me, goddamn you.”

He held up his hands. “Tell you what? What do I know?”

She sighed and wrapped the towel around her hair and made it a big production like she was about to stomp out of the room.

“Just, let’s take it easy,” he said. He frowned at the rum bottle.

“I demand to know what they’re gonna do with me,” she said.

His eyes widened as he rediscovered the room. “Look at this paper trail. I’ve always gotten certain directives via teletype, sure I have. Plenty of it’s been routine stuff, most recently about closing down this command post, handing it over to you know who.”

“Frankie Baptiste.”

“He goes by Francisco,” Selfer growled. “But now? Just look. More of it keeps coming and coming and piling up. I don’t know what to do with it all.”

“Why all the paper?”

“I don’t know. But it’s directed at me, names me by name. Don’t know what they want, can’t make heads nor tails of it. It’s all code mostly. Ordering me to implement this or that or ordering me to relent from performing deeds I’m not capable of anyway and I don’t even understand their code words anyhow. It’s like there’s a madman on the other end.”

She blew air out one side of her mouth. “Auwe.”

“Ow? What’s that mean?”

“You got instructions for what to do with me or not?”