Chereen says, “What’s this?”
“Something to celebrate,” replies Tyrone.
She glances past him to the Corolla fender sneaking out from the side of the cottage. “The car’s locked, right Ty?”
“Jussie, calm down man! Look around you, do you see anyone?”
She picks up a glass, holds it up to him. The edges of his mouth curl up, “There’s my girl.”
She downs it all. He tops her up. She has a look around. The beach is clean and the sand is smooth. No signs of people.
“What happens next, Ty?”
He slides open his Nokia, slides it back, “We wait for the call, they come to get the stuff, we get the money.”
Chereen glances back again at the car, “Are you sure it’s locked?”
He clicks his tongue, “Stop it now. C’mon, you’re making me nervous.”
She feels the vomit rising to her throat. She looks up to try push it back down. The bruised sky is smeared with red. She never did see herself reaching forty.
She can’t stop it; the booze, and something white and frothy, shoots out all over her shirt and the patio floor.
The phone rings.