When a typhoon strikes the island paradise where arms dealer Mason Jaymes' latest shipment is waiting for pick up, Jaymes gets more than he bargained for.
A short story featured in the collection: Goldlust - available through Amazon Create Space
A...
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The radio static increased. "The typhoon is expected to dissipate within two hours and –" Static drowned out the meteorologist. Lightning split the sky. A tree cracked. A woman screamed. The bar was plunged into darkness.
Mason Jaymes drew on a half spent cigarette. "Whisky, Twila."
"Mason, I can't see –" Twila, the bartender, stood confused staring into the darkness.
Mason reached over the bar and took the bottle, kissing her on the cheek. Twila slapped him. "I'm married!"
Mason removed the bottle's lid. "Couldn't see the ring in the dark," he chuckled, crushing his cigarette. "Give me your hand."
She reached into the darkness.
He guided her around the bar and handed her the cigarette lighter. "Be careful getting home."
"Mason – don't get yourself killed."
"Honey – the only thing I'm gonna die from is a broken heart. And that happened a long time ago."
Thunder rumbled. The barroom shook as a tree cracked, crashing through the window. Twila grabbed Mason's arm, her nails digging into his flesh. He took a draw on the cigarette, embers glowing in the darkness, rubbing Twila's tensed hands. "Maybe I'd better walk you home."
Her grip loosened. Mason smiled.
The rain beat them and the only lights available were the momentary lightning and the sparking blue from downed electrical lines. Mason draped his worn denim jacket over Twila as they rushed hunched through the rain.
"Thank you, Mason... you seem to have done things like this before."
"Dodging raindrops is easier than dodging lead."
Twila glanced at Mason's shoulders... his shirt was stained a blackened red.
Mason caught her look and pushed her off balance, causing her to stumble. "Watch the tree root!" He guided her around the fallen tree and to a small house. A thin, worried, weedy man held open the door staring at Mason.
Mason nodded, his hat dripping water. His hair and eyes matched the stormy sky and he carried himself wearily but with pride. His mustache reminded the man of an old cowboy.
The man realized he was gawking. "I was told all foreigners were off the island."
"They tried," Mason told him around a fresh cigarette, eyeing Twilia. "Got a light?"
