Page 26 of The Worst Best Man
“Jesus, Franchesca. Will you shut up for two seconds so I can think?”
“Think? How about we do something? How about we find the driver with the stupid gold tooth and dirty red ball cap and beat the ever-living shit out of him until he talks?”
“By all means. Go ahead and find him. Call me when you do,” Aiden snapped back.
“Do you mean Papi, miss?”
Frankie and Aiden both whirled around. And then looked down. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. Skinny with a big grin. He wore a white short-sleeved Oxford and neatly pressed khaki shorts. The ball cap he wore on his head was clean but rakishly askew.
“Papi?”
“Yeah, gold tooth.” The kid pointed to his own pristine front tooth. Gray hair. Greasy hat that looks like it was used to soak up motor oil? Calls all the ladies Mami?”
Frankie dug her fingers into Aiden’s arm. “That’s him.”
“Does he drive a white van with a red square sticker by the taillight?” Aiden asked.
The kid’s head bobbed. “Oh sure. He borrows it from his brother-in-law sometimes when he has a driving job.”
“Where can we find Papi?” Aiden asked.
“You want a taxi? Glass bottom boat ride?” the kid asked.
“No—”
He snapped his fingers. “I know. Swim with the turtles. Snorkeling, lunch, lots of rum punch.”
“No—”
“Ah, drugs then? I can get you better than Papi,” the kid promised.
“Excuse me?” Frankie blinked at him.
“Ganja, coke, X—”
A natural born salesman, Aiden decided.
“Christ kid,” Frankie groaned. “Look, we need to find Papi he knows where a friend of ours is.”
The kid clammed up.
Frankie looked like she was going to shake him like a ragdoll until he coughed up some answers. Aiden put his hand on her arm. “Let me handle this businessman to businessman.” He opened his wallet. “You look like an entrepreneur who recognizes a good opportunity.”
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“Are you even old enough to drive?” Frankie asked clutching the back of the passenger seat as the little van climbed a steep hill.
The boy—Antonio, their new personal tour guide—shrugged and laid on the horn as a car swerved into their path to avoid a pothole the size of a city block in Manhattan. “What’s really in an age?” he waxed philosophically. “Over there is where my grandfather grew up.” He said pointing into the dark. “And Rhianna, too.”
Aiden’s wallet was significantly lighter thanks to Antonio’s entrepreneurial nature.
“We don’t need the full island tour,” Aiden reminded him mildly. “We’re looking for Papi.”
“Papi’s got five, six rum shops he hits after a good night’s work.”
“Does Papi kidnap people often?” Frankie wanted to know.
Aiden laid his hand over her thigh and squeezed, telegraphing a message to shut the hell up.
