Beauty Queens Part 29

"Did you find out his contact first?"

Harris's shoulders sagged like a flotation device losing air. "I killed him. Me. I did it."

"Without finding out his contact first."

"See, the way you say it, all negative like that, makes it sound like I messed up."

"You did mess up."

"No. I was proactive. The suits love it when you are proactive."

"The agency loves it when you are effective."

Harris's mouth tightened, sphincterlike. "You're a b.u.mmer, Jonesy. I'm gonna shoot some hoops."

"You do that," Agent Jones muttered. By the time he finished his darts, he'd made a decision: He wasn't telling the Boss about the pirates.

The elevator carried him down to the fifth floor. The fifth floor housed the weapons and detention cells.

It was time to get some information out of Tane Ngata.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Rum is made from sugarcane and aged in barrels. There are various forms of rum - dark, golden, white, spiced, aged, flavored - but they all share one distinctive quality: They will get you drunk. And if you've spent quite a bit of time on a deserted island eating coconut and grubs, rum will get you drunk rather quickly and thoroughly.42 "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest. Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of freaking awesome!" Adina said in a loud voice. She slurred a bit so that awesome came out more like aweshumme. "I changed my mind. I don't want to be an inveshtigative journalist anymore. I want to be a professional rum drinker."

"There are people who do that," Duff said. He'd barely sipped his rum.

"Really? What do you call them?"

"Alcoholics."

"Good to know. Three little maids from school are we..." sang Adina. "My dads took me to see The Pirates of Penzance last year in New York. That song goes very fast. It's a pit ... a potter ... pas ..."

"Patter song?"

"That." Adina took another swig.

"Speaking of fast, you might want to slow down on that grog a bit, matey."

Duff went for the bottle, but Adina yanked it away, spilling some in the process. "That is an example of a man being paternalishtic with a woman."

Duff shrugged. "Or it could be an example of a friend who really doesn't want to clean puke from your hair later."

"You would clean puke from my hair?"

"Well, it wouldn't be my preferred activity, but I would."

"Awww. That ... is so romantic. Still. My body, my bottle."

"Whatever you say, captain."

The bottle was pa.s.sed to Shanti, who shook her head. "I'm total straightedge."

She pa.s.sed it on to Nicole, who took a whiff and made a face. "Yikes. I'm pretty sure I could clean a wound with that." She shoved the bottle at Captain Sinjin, who dabbed some behind his ears like aftershave and then threaded a stale block of marshmallow onto a stick for Petra.

The captain had been watching Petra all night, Nicole noticed. "I need to get something from my hut. Shanti, will you come with me?" She flicked a glance in Petra and Sinjin's direction.

"Sure," Shanti said, picking up on the inference. "Party's moving to our hut, everybody."

"Captain?" Duff asked.

Sinjin glanced furtively at Petra. "Nah. Catch you blokes later."

Sinjin and Petra were alone.

"So."

"So."

"Nice night."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Just so we're clear, you've got a, um, a ... a ..."

"Yeah."

"Cool. Just, y'know, making sure."

Petra looked up to the moon as if appealing to its grace. She liked this one and wanted more, but she was afraid there was no hope of that.

"Sorry, I just ... So you used to be a guy. J. T. Woodland. Of Boyz Will B Boyz."

"Yes." "Right."

"It's okay. I can tell you're freaked out."

Petra started to get up. Sinjin took her wrist gently. "Well, yeah. But mostly because you used to be in Boyz Will B Boyz. That's unbelievable! I mean, you played Top of the Pops!"

Petra allowed a small smile. He had surprised her. That didn't happen often. She sat down again. "Should I tell you the story?"

"Yeah."

"How much should I tell you?"

"Everything."

She did, and when she finished Sinjin nodded, taking it all in. "Blimey. Your manager sounds like a right b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Now it's your turn," Petra said. "What about you?"

"Me?" Sinjin thought for a moment. He wasn't good with disclosure. And he had nothing to compare to Petra's tale. What if she thought he was shallow or boring? Unworthy? He wasn't used to being taken off guard, but Petra made him feel both comfortable and nervous at the same time, as if he knew he was safe from the elimination round but he wanted to do his best and impress anyway. More than anyone he had ever met, he wanted her to like him. Because he really, really liked her.

"I grew up in an orphanage in London. Horrible place."

"Really?"

Sinjin nodded. "Mmm. Saffron Hill."

Petra raised an eyebrow. "Saffron ... Hill?"

"Yes, Saffron Hill. And a terrible place it was. Made us work all the day, never got enough food. Mr. b.u.mble - the headmaster - used to beat us."

"Sounds like you had a d.i.c.kens of a time."

Sinjin glanced at Petra's impa.s.sive expression. "Indeed, indeed. Finally, at fifteen, I couldn't take it any longer. I ran away. Lived on the streets with m' pal, Jack D -"

"Dawkins?"

"D'you know him?"

"Our mutual friend? Purely coincidental. Go on."

Sinjin's grin spread. "I had great expectations about how my life would go and then ..."

"... Nicholas Nickleby! - you fell on hard times and were living in a real bleak house."

"Absolutely. I was totally scrooged."

"What a pip." Petra's smile wobbled into a laugh. "If you figure out how to work The Mystery of Edwin Drood into it, I'm yours for life."

Sinjin laughed. It was a good laugh, Petra thought.

"So what's the real story?"

Sinjin shrugged and leaned back. "The real story is dead boring. I grew up in London with me mum and dad, sister, brother, and a parakeet named Benny Hill."

"Come on!" Petra laughed.

"Swear!" Sinjin raised three fingers on his right hand like a scout's pledge. "M' parents are still very much in love. We have this old piano, and on Friday nights we'd sing and eat beans on toast and watch telly all together and have a laugh. It's a nice, comfortable life. That's the tragedy of it. I've got no dark secrets. I love my family and mates. I'm just as content playing darts as I am waiting for the bus. I see beauty in everything. I'm a happy person," Sinjin said with utter sincerity. "G.o.d. That's awful, isn't it?"

"I think that's lovely."

"Thanks," Sinjin said, almost shyly. Carefully, he tucked a strand of hair behind Petra's ear and let his hand rest for a moment against the soft, wide plain of her cheekbone. "I think you're beautiful. And brave. And really f.u.c.king cool. And you can make Charles d.i.c.kens puns."

Petra leaned the weight of her face into Sinjin's palm. "You know who and what I am. So, if this is just the old curiosity shop, you can stop right now."

Sinjin looked her in the eyes. There was not a trace of smirk in his expression. "'I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world.'"

"David Copperfield," Petra whispered, positioning her lips close to his.

"Why are you bringing magicians into it?" Sinjin said and kissed her tenderly. It was a kiss small in its ministrations but epic in its feeling.

Petra broke the kiss. "Your mates may give you a hard time about this."

"I don't care. If I like somebody, I like her, and that's that." He thumped his chest and made a scowly face. "Let 'em come for me. I will stare down the mob with their pitchforks! I will make a speech about tolerance and love! I will show them the folly of their ways! And then I will grab your hand and run like h.e.l.l because, Jesus, a mob with pitchforks?"

"Sinjin, I think we may have just found your talent."

"What? Chest thumping?"

"Humanity."

Sinjin wanted to toss off a witty comeback but found he had none. "Thanks, luv," he said softly, sincerely.

"It's the truth, Ruth."

Sinjin put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know it's s.h.i.+rley. I could never be a Ruth."

"You know what I'm going to give you, s.h.i.+rley?"

"What?"

"A makeover."

Sinjin crawled over her, going for the kiss. "What if I look Droodful? Edwin Droodful?"

Petra winced. "Oh, good G.o.d."

"Sorry."

"Just for that, you're getting the works." Petra took Sinjin by the hand and dragged him into her tent.

Guitar at the ready, Ahmed sidled over to Nicole and Shanti's hut with Charlie in tow. "Can I hang with the nondrinking party? Not a big fan of slurring my speech and walking like a toddler with a p.o.o.py diaper."

"Totally," Shanti said, making room.