The Crocodile God

Part 14.

A guard squints at Haik: He's folded up neatly, one arm linked to Mirasol's through the bars.

Haik lets go.

But she catches him again. "What's up?" She asks the guard. "Is he too pretty for you?"

"Did you get out earlier?" He asks her. "There were some prisoners in the control room."

"Um... no?" Mirasol gestures to the cell door, locked again. "You're the ones who locked us in, bro. If they got that far, they must have had help."

"Who would help a bunch of illegals?"

Turtle Island would, she thinks.

"I don't know, bruh," she muses. "Maybe some of the crew's doing their job, but not liking it." She's put in mind of what Haik said about the corvette: He thought he'd be keeping an eye on real criminals, not children and civilians. Did the ship tell him that? Or was it a feeling Haik could pick up on, like Mirasol catches from the paraw?

"Hmm." And the guard leaves.

Banog laughs. "Does he expect the guys who got loose to tell the truth? 'Yes, it was I who tried to escape. Please punish me MORE, while you're already deporting my ass.'"

"It can't hurt to be thorough," Hadassah chuckles. "What are your names? I'm Hadassah Oreb."

"Itak Buwaya," she answers, shaking hands. "That's my little brother."

"Banog."

"Mirasol Gonzalez," she introduces herself. "This is Haik."

"Gonzalez?" Banog reaches for Haik's free hand, since the other is preoccupied with Mirasol.

"No." Haik tries to lean into Mirasol's arm, and his hoodie's sleeve gets pushed up by the bars; his crocodile scales gleam in the dusty light. "It doesn't matter."

"Come on." Banog jostles Haik's shoulder, and chuckles when it takes some effort to make him budge. "Everyone's got a last name. Unless you're literally from one of the tribes."

"Did he ever tell us?" Hadassah wonders, and Mirasol swallows.

"Oh boy," Banog laughs. "You're really undocumented now."

"It doesn't matter what my last name is," Haik pleads. "You won't see me again."

He isn't looking at Mirasol, but she feels very much like he's accepting--or hoping for--the return of their reincarnation patterns. (Although she'd rather be deported with him than be stuck waiting again.) "Doesn't buwaya mean crocodile?" She says to Itak.

"Yeah, but it's not a good fit," Itak says. "If anyone should have 'Buwaya' for a last name, it's him." She motions to Haik's tattoos.

He sighs and tugs his sleeve back down.

"Does the Filipino surname mean you were nobles?" Hadassah asks. "I heard that Spanish names were usually for commoners, but they let the royalty keep their names."

"Not necessarily--most likely, we just lived near the water and some Spanish dude told us to pick a name in five minutes," Itak muses. "Buwaya used to mean 'dragon,' too. But most Filipinos say crocodiles are dirty cops."

"Or politicians," Mirasol adds bitterly.

"You never told me that," Hadassah says to Haik, but it's gentle. "With your crocodile scales."

"Well, tattooing's been around a long time before dirty cops or politicians." He has to decide between letting go of Mirasol again or simply turning his head, and does the latter. "I'm going to sleep now. Wake me up if we're in trouble, lovey."