Page 24 of Cutter’s Lady

Chapter 5

“What?” Leslie shot straight up in her seat, all thought of sleep banished. She looked behind them but saw nothing but an empty road. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know. I suspect. Wait a minute. Now look.”

Leslie swiveled her head around again. In the distance behind them was a white car just topping a small rise.

“That white car has been the same distance behind us for the last thirty minutes. That’s when I began to notice it. I don’t know how long it had been behind us before that. I’ve slowed down and speeded up, and the white car remains that distance behind. Typically, it would run up on us or get left behind.”

Leslie glanced at the car again. “How can you tell it’s the same one? I can barely see it.”

“It’s the same one,” he replied unanswerably.

“What are you going to do?”

“Give them a test. See that stand up there? We’re stopping.” He slowed the car.

Ahead Leslie could see that the highway intersected a dirt road. At one corner of the intersection, the thick brush and trees had been hacked away and a small thatch-roofed, open-air hut had been set up. Cutter pulled off the road and parked beside the hut.

“What is this place?” Leslie asked. “What are you going to do?”

“This is a drink stand, and we’re going to see what that car does. Come on.”

Cutter opened the door and stepped out, and Leslie followed suit. It was pleasant to stretch her legs after sitting in the small car for over an hour. She trailed behind Cutter as he walked to the drink stand, which was little more than four poles supporting a thatched roof. A man stood beneath the roof, a large machete in his hand, and piled all around him were large, smooth green gourds.

“Dos.” Cutter held up two fingers and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Leslie watched, fascinated, as the man picked up one big roundish pod, whacked off one end with his machete and stuck a straw into the gourd.

He handed it to Leslie, grinning and revealing two sparkling silver teeth in front. “Señora.”

“Gracias.” Leslie smiled and took the heavy object with both hands. While the man prepared another one for Cutter, she sipped at the straw, wondering what on earth it was. There was a watery liquid inside, cool, faintly sweet and reminiscent of something—what was it? “Coconut!” she exclaimed.

Cutter paid the man and turned, smiling. “Right.” It surprised him that Leslie had drunk from the straw without hesitation even though she didn’t know what the gourd contained. He would have thought her more guarded and conservative, the kind who refused to eat or drink anything she hadn’t tasted before.

“Only it’s not quite as sweet.” She took another sip and smiled at Cutter. She felt suddenly good and happy; she wanted to laugh. Leslie wasn’t sure why—after all, they were here on worrisome business, she and her companion didn’t get along and they were being followed. But the sun was warm on her head, the drink was refreshing and she felt active and alive.

Cutter came closer, drawn by the beauty of her unaffected smile. He leaned against the trunk of the car, extending his legs out in front, crossed at the ankles. Casually he drank from the coconut hull, looking only like a man resting and enjoying the scenery. Leslie watched him. He was close to her, their shoulders almost touching, and she was aware of his warm bulk and the power of his chest and shoulders. Somehow, with Cutter there, the idea of someone following them didn’t seem terribly frightening.

“Why isn’t it brown and hairy?” she asked.

“What? Oh, the coconut. That’s inside. This is the outer shell.”

The white car passed the stand, traveling slowly. Only Cutter’s eyes, unseen behind his dark glasses, followed the movement of the car. There were two men in the car, and neither of them glanced in Leslie’s direction.

“Now what?” Leslie asked.

“Now we ask the vendor to slice off the hull and give us the meat. Are you through with your juice?”

“Yes. The only bad thing it that there isn’t more in it.” They walked back over to the hut. “But what about that car?”

“If I’m wrong, we’ll never see it again. If I’m right, it doesn’t matter that we make them wait.”

“Oh. No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Cutter handed the large shells back to the man with the machete, and he neatly split each shell in two pieces and cut each piece in half again. Then he sliced each quarter from its shell about halfway down.

Again they leaned against the car beneath the shade of the looming trees and ate the meat from the shells. After a moment, Leslie said, “Cutter…”

“Hmm?” He looked at her.