Sharks, Matt Rogers [shoe dog free ebook TXT] 📗

on Grand Bahama. The sun beat down relentlessly, and each of them broke a light sweat, but that was just a byproduct of being as fit as they were. They thought nothing of it.

No one looked at them twice out of maliciousness. A scattering of pasty pudgy tourists didn’t hide their stares, but their looks were harmless. They were mostly in disbelief at how two people could be in such incredible shape and not take hundreds of photos of one another to upload to social media. Was it possible to be that physically fit and not try to monetise it online?

Apparently so.

Slater spotted the tiki hut first. It was set back off the beach itself, in a natural clearing next to a parking lot that someone had scattered sand through to make it seem like part of the shoreline. There was something resembling a midday rush, but Slater got the sense that outside of lunch and dinner peak hours the hut was dead. There weren’t many people in front of it on Coral Beach, which at least made the views better.

As they got closer to the short flight of steps in front of the entrance, they both spotted the old man waiting tables, moving with practiced poise from customer to customer, a warm smile on his face. He had kind eyes and deep wrinkles accentuated by decades of sun exposure. He was slightly stooped, frail in his ever-increasing old age, but he still beamed ear to ear when he served someone. He was a man that put his all into his job, no matter how much it might seem to be beneath him.

Slater admired it straight away.

And it only made him angry that the harmless old fellow was caught up in all this ugliness.

He took the steps two at a time and signalled to the old guy.

The man was clearing a table of empty plates and drained cocktail glasses. ‘Be with you in a moment, sirs.’

Slater nodded his appreciation.

The old man’s accent was British. It was strong, hadn’t faded at all even though it seemed he’d been living in the Bahamas for years.

Seconds later, he was there. He was tired from a long and arduous shift, but that ever-present kindness in his eyes kept it at bay. ‘Two for lunch?’

King said, ‘Yes, thank you. We’re hungry.’

‘You’ve come to the right place.’

He led them to a spare table one row in from the outer perimeter, just shy of overlooking the water from beside the hut’s thatched waist-high wall. They pulled up chairs and spent a long minute pretending to peruse the menu before they looked around.

One by one, they noticed Vince Ricci sitting alone in the corner.

It couldn’t be anyone else. He had eyes like a beady little rodent and he wasn’t even pretending to look accommodating. His hair was thick and wet with hair gel but he kept it short so he could sweep it up off his forehead, making it stand on end. Despite the heat he wore a long-sleeved button-up shirt and tight jeans. Both items clung to his small chubby frame as if he didn’t realise that he wasn’t showing off anything impressive. Slater guessed the loan shark had a bit of spare strength — his hands looked big, and he wasn’t entirely unathletic, but he was a lazy man, failing to take advantage of genetic gifts and letting a beer gut develop over his waistband.

Slater made sure to lower his voice before he said, ‘I don’t like him.’

King said, ‘Were you ever going to?’

‘He’s a slimy rat. You think he needs to be here? You think that old guy needs to be in any way intimidated? What are the chances that particular debtor takes off and is never seen again? Looks like he’s been living here for most of his life. And that’s not even addressing the main problem, which is that these monsters are exploiting people at their most vulnerable, when they’re rebuilding out of the ashes. There’s no lower category of human being.’

‘Not most of his life,’ King said.

‘What?’

‘You said that old guy’s been here most of his life. You heard the accent. He’s British.’

‘Still…’

‘So we’ve established you’re not a fan of this loan shark,’ King said. ‘Now what do you want to do about it?’

Violetta’s words rang in the back of Slater’s head, but somehow he couldn’t listen to them. ‘I think I’m just going to stare at him.’

‘You think that’s wise?’

‘It’ll prove what sort of a man he is,’ Slater said. ‘We’re a fair bit bigger than he is. Will he confront us or will he run?’

Slater swivelled his head and proceeded to death-stare Vince Ricci like the man owed him money himself.

It didn’t take long for Vince to notice.

He pretended he couldn’t tell for a long ten seconds, which proved to Slater exactly what sort of man he was, then swivelled his own head like one of those plastic clowns in a circus game and met Slater’s gaze.

Right then, the old waiter approached. ‘Sir?’

Slater didn’t look away. ‘Yes?’

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Just fine,’ Slater said. ‘We need a little more time to decide what we’re eating.’

The old guy lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time. They both knew why. He was involved in this, but he didn’t want to betray himself. He didn’t want to get in the middle of something that might result in a slap from Vince.

Slater said, ‘Did you not hear me?’

The old man tried to mask a sigh. ‘I heard you, sir, it’s just…’

‘It’s just what?’

The waiter’s head drooped. ‘Never mind.’

He shuffled away, radiating sadness.

Slater didn’t so much as glance away from Vince, who had been returning the favour the whole time.

King said, ‘Should I join in?’

Slater bored his attention into the loan shark, seeing all Vince’s weaknesses laid bare, seeing him for who he truly was. He said, ‘Be my guest.’

King shifted his considerable weight and turned around.

Vince got up and walked out.

Slater said, ‘There we go.’

King said, ‘You really don’t mess about, do you?’

Slater got up. ‘No.’

King