Cheap Trills, page 14
I checked my pocket time zone converter, then called his cell phone. A woman answered. A woman who sounded like she had yoga arms. I almost dropped my phone in the fountain. Just as I was hanging up, I thought I heard Roger’s voice in the background. I was such a moron.
By the time I got back to the room, Scott was sitting on the couch, a blanket over him, all his clothes on. I put down my purse and saw he’d lit all the mosquito coils. He was the perfect guy. I’d just made another stupid decision.
“No, Scott, let me sleep there, seriously. It’s my fault we aren’t sleeping in the bed.”
“Nope. Don’t want to lose my cred if you’re ever in an official off period with this other guy.”
I didn’t sleep at all. I don’t know whether Scott did. After tossing and turning for a couple of hours, I arranged a couple of mosquito coils in lantern position so it wouldn’t wake him, and took out my Field Guide to the Birds of Java and Bali.
Not only was it four hundred pages long, it documented four hundred and eighty-three birds. Four hundred and eighty-three. And those were just the ones on Java and Bali. Who knew? There were gorgeous painted illustrations, grouped by type or species or something. So many of them looked similar or had at least half the same name. There were fifteen flycatchers and twelve bulbuls. I mean bulbuls! How was that for a name? And so many starlings and mynahs, which were apparently two names for the same species. How did Stu Capistranis tell them all apart? Especially in those dark market stalls?
Then I found it. The Bali Starling. And I knew its number now. 445. I could remember that one, at least.
I finally heard Scott stirring. He looked kind of dopey, which made me like him more. We had a room service breakfast together and then I walked him out to the springy helicopter pad. No tar, for once.
He kissed me on the cheek. “Be careful out there.”
“I will. Will you check in with your detective friend?”
“Absolutely. See you at nine tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll be ready.” I stayed to watch him take off. He waved before he disappeared and I couldn’t tell whether I felt bereft or relieved. Both, probably.
I went back to the room. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I tried to call my mother. It went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.
There was a knock on the door. So far, that had resulted in Peggy Newsome and durian. What now?
Something almost as bad. Franz’s “gift” of clothes, all of which were hopelessly unflattering. Does anyone look good in khaki anything? At least they might keep monkeys and snakes away, by their sheer ugliness. I needed to wear something more professional to my meeting, so I put the trekking clothes in my purse, along with my sarong, to change into later.
I decided my palazzo pants would be business casual if I paired them with a silk tank top and high-heeled sandals.
It was a gorgeous morning. Until I saw Peggy. She was laughing with a group of men in suits as they headed toward the Land Rover. One of them had a decided limp and looked like he wasn’t used to wearing a suit. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place it. As he was getting into the Rover, two Indonesian men in shorts ran up to him. He handed them something and they ran off. I waited until the Rover had left the parking lot to head into the lobby.
Happily, Franz was not in sight. Instead, someone dressed like an American executive assistant welcomed me and showed me into the main office. The open windows sported stunning views of the ocean and the savannah behind. There was a model resort on one of the tables, showing a major expansion of the existing villas, plus new pools, a small marina, and a new helipad. It looked like there wasn’t going to be much park left.
I was trying to figure out how much when a small man with too much hair and not enough upper lip entered the room. His suit was almost as nice as one of Reggie’s, but didn’t fit through the shoulders or hips. Monsieur Phillippe, as he asked to be called, welcomed me and offered me a coffee, which, out of politeness, I accepted, though I’d already had five.
“We are delighted to have you here, Mademoiselle Redondo. Franz tells me you are acquainted with Ms. Newsome and her company?”
“We live in the same city, we’re in the same business. Everyone knows everyone.”
“Ah. You must be an enfant terrible if you are in competition with her and are still in business.”
“I try,” I said. “So she is involved with the new resort?”
He laughed. “She very much wants to be. She is here, I think, on a trial basis.”
So for once, Peggy wasn’t on top. What did that mean? “Ah. So, if this works out she might relocate here?” And leave Bay Ridge.
“Oui. She would come like a rocket. It is an expression.”
“Oui, it is.”
Maybe this was the chance I was waiting for. Peggy out of Bay Ridge? It was awful she might ruin the resort, but better this than Third Avenue. Unless she was after both?
I walked over to the model resort. “Tell me more about the expansion you and your partners are planning.”
He curled what he had of a lip. “It will be the most exclusive resort in Bali.”
“And the greenest?”
“Positively chartreuse.”
“It sounds extraordinaire. Very much a place my most exclusive clients would love. Who are your partners?”
“WOCAM is made up of a series of companies. We have partners from the UK, from Australia, and a series of partners in Southeast Asia, of course.”
“Is that the prospectus?”
I reached for it. He pulled it away and put it on his desk. “Oh, it’s all still proprietary, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course. Well, then I’d love a tour and of course if there are any renovations or additions you are allowed to talk about, I’m all ears.”
He escorted me out into the gardens. He didn’t seem to know anything about the plants or flowers, but knew every villa’s square footage, amenities, and in terms of pricing, he was a walking currency exchange and, as far as that went, a man after my own heart. He showed me the lovely pool area, rife with carved fountains. It seemed dull compared to the one at the Hanging Vines.
Back at his office, I pled jet-lag and asked if I could trouble him for one more cup of coffee before I left. Happily, I snagged a prospectus and put it in my Balenciaga in the twenty seconds it took him to duck his head out the door.
When he walked me out, there was a man standing there who said he would be taking me to the park entrance, where I would meet my private guide. He basically pushed me into the vehicle, so I had no time to change clothes or question the situation.
We drove a bit further inland, where I could see both dense areas of trees and wide grasslands. It was one of the only places I’d been so far in Bali where I didn’t see a rice field.
We pulled up next to the entrance, where the man handed my ticket over and the ranger asked me to wait. I pulled out my travel-size bug spray, since I hadn’t really had time to prepare for a trek.
I could already hear fifteen birds I’d never heard before. After I had doused myself, I reached into my bag and pulled out my Field Guide, as if that was going to help. I was on the kingfishers when a man in cargo shorts, a pocketed vest, and a backpack exited the gate. I recognized his hat.
Chapter Thirty-two
He stopped. “Ms. Redondo?”
“Mr. Capistranis.” I smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“I think I’m your tour guide. What are you doing here?”
I held up my Field Guide. “You inspired me.”
“I mean why are you in West Bali? Just checking out the island?”
“Partly. For my clients. But just between us, my archenemy is staying here and I’m trying to figure out what she’s up to.”
He snorted.
“I know that sounds melodramatic, archenemy, but it’s really not.”
“No. I understand. Archenemies are real. It’s just, you sounded like our mutual friend just then.”
“Well, that’s terrifying.”
“May I ask who this enemy is?”
“Not that it would mean anything to you, but sure. It’s a woman named Peggy Newsome.”
“The ditzy blonde? The WOCAM woman?”
I stared at him. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Our friend warned me to keep an eye on her.”
I had told Hazelnut some of the Peggy Newsome stories, but what could she possibly have to do with endangered species? Besides wearing them?
“You’ve talked to Mr. Alias?”
He nodded. “There’s something going on out here. A new influx of poachers. We’re both worried about the starlings. And the white-rumped sharmas.”
“And the straw-headed bulbuls, right?”
He grinned. “Yes, and the bulbuls. And this company wants to expand onto park land, to ‘preserve’ it. Which gives them an even less safe habitat, not to mention more jerks tramping through here.”
“So they’re getting it from two sides.”
“Yeah. The weird thing is that Hazelnut, well, he can be paranoid, but he thinks the two might be connected.”
“The poachers and the developers? How?”
“Something that happened in London. He just says he’s working on it.”
“That is weird. Well, I wouldn’t put anything past Peggy. Though she’s not usually the outdoorsy type. So does that mean you’re undercover here?”
“Yes, and no. I do freelance guided bird tours here for money, but I asked for this weekend. There’s some kind of powwow about expanding the resort. Plus, with the competition coming up, there are too many buyers in Bali. Some of them are here. There’s one Hazelnut is particularly worried about. So it’s prime poaching time. Are you up for a bit of undercover work yourself?”
“Of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Follow me. You don’t mind walking, do you?”
“Of course not. I dressed for it.”
We headed toward a thin trail, one with high grasses that kept catching my flowy pants and nicking my ankles. Were there ticks in Bali? I decided to believe the birds ate most of them. We arrived at a clearing with a view of the sea. The terrain was completely different than the jungles I’d seen near Ubud.
“This looks like Africa.”
“You’ve been to Africa?”
“Tanzania. That’s where I met Hazelnut.”
“How did you meet him, anyway?”
“He tied me up and threw me in the back of a FedEx truck.”
Stu laughed. “Typical.”
“I know.”
I thought I heard a new kind of bird. My heart leapt. “I guess the chance of seeing a Bali starling is pretty much nil, right?”
“I know where two of the nests are, but we shouldn’t get anywhere close. If they feel the nest is compromised at all, they abandon the eggs. This population can’t afford that.” He must have seen the disappointment on my face. “I have really good binoculars, though.”
“Are the birds in the Conservation Center breeding, too?”
“We’ve let them out in the wild for their breeding season.”
“But aren’t they safer at the center?”
“Theoretically, yes. But they’re much more likely to choose a mate and breed properly in the wild. Captive bred birds keep the species alive, but they’re just not the same. It’s like comparing a VW Bug to a Ferrari. No offense to Volkswagens, if you have one.”
“None taken. I drive a V8.”
“So not actually an eco-tourist, then?”
“I’m easing myself in,” I said. “Is there a way to keep track of the birds once you let them out?”
“Kind of. We got funding to chip a few, but not all. There’s never enough funding for anything that’s important.”
We both heard the rumble of a vehicle in the distance. Stu sped up. As we moved into an area with denser trees, I heard the trilling and peeping birdsong again. “Is that a starling?”
Stu stopped and nodded upward.
“Where?”
He nodded again.
“Okay, I know it’s rude to point in Bali, but in Brooklyn it’s like a condiment. Where the hell is it?”
He pointed. On a tree branch above us, a bird was staggering back and forth like someone who’d had four too many margaritas. He wobbled on the branch and almost fell.
“Oh God. Is he all right? Or she?”
“It’s a male. Orange-headed thrush. The males go into a trance when they sing.”
We watched him. Then we saw him flap his wings and try to fly away. He seemed to be stuck.
“Dammit,” Stu said.
“It’s bird lime, isn’t it?”
He stared at me. “How do you know about bird lime?”
“I’ll tell you, but we have to help him, first.”
The branch was about eight feet up, which we might just be able to reach if we were Shaquille O’Neal. Stu looked around for anything that might serve as a ladder.
Having been stuck in bird lime myself, I couldn’t bear the idea of this poor thing weaving around like an inflatable tube man outside a car wash. “Between us we could reach it.”
Stu considered the situation. “Think you could hold me up?”
I snorted. “No chance. I think I have to be on top. What do you bird guys use to dissolve it? There’s an antidote, right?”
“Not really. We just try to pull them off as gently as we can.”
I looked up at the tiny bird. I was so afraid I would hurt it. I reached into my Balenciaga and found my travel-sized tub of Vaseline, hooked my bag over my shoulder, and looked at Stu. “How do you want to do this?”
“You can leave your purse down here. It’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s what you think. The bag stays with me.”
“Okay. Your choice. I apologize in advance for any awkwardness.”
“It’s okay, it’s an emergency.”
He squatted on the ground, holding on to the trunk of the tree. “Climb on,” he said.
At least I wasn’t wearing a sarong.
I put my legs on either side of Stu’s shoulders. Once I was situated, he grabbed the tree to stand up, then gripped my thighs to keep me stable.
“You feel pretty strong.”
“Kickboxer. Three-year champion Fort Hamilton and Bay Ridge. Not afraid to use my skills and you are right in the middle of my danger zone.”
“Message received.”
I used the trunk for balance, then put my hands on the branch as he moved me up and closer to the thrush. The poor bird was frantically trying to get away, but the bird lime held. I felt like a monster. The closer I got, the more he started crying out in unmelodic panic. His tiny, pumpkin-latte-colored head shook back and forth. He wasn’t going to let me get near him. I wanted to punch whoever had done this.
“Stu! How can I calm him down?”
“Since you’ve got your bag up there, do you have anything you could put over him? Any kind of fabric? That sometimes works.”
Well, of course I had fabric. Who did he think he was dealing with? I always had two scarves with me.
“Cotton or silk,” I asked, hoping he’d say cotton.
“Silk, it’s lighter.”
“I need to be a little bit closer.” He moved me down the branch.
I steadied myself with my left hand and reached into my Balenciaga with my right. I finally located the only Hermès silk scarf I’d ever owned—85% off at Loehmann’s 2001 Blowout Sale—and lowered it down over the frantic bird.
It seemed to calm him a bit, at least long enough for me to rub his tiny feet, or claws, or talons, or whatever they were, with Vaseline. I was just about to try to grab him when he detached and flew away. With my scarf.
I watched it flutter and land somewhere in the grasslands beyond—I hope on top of something that would appreciate the craftsmanship.
Sid gave a whoop.
“Great job! What was that?”
“Vaseline. It works on beach tar, so I thought it was worth a try. Will he be okay? Won’t he try to come back here? Is it his territory?”
He thought for a minute. “Probably.”
“Should I cover the branch with Vaseline while I’m up here?”
“Better for us to cut it down, it’s evidence. Plus, we may need that stuff again. If there’s bird lime here, it’s probably all over the forest. How flexible is the branch?”
I gave it a shake. “Not very. Not at all.”
“Got anything sharp in that red bag of yours?”
“A pair of cuticle scissors and a nail file. How about you?”
Even though I was still balanced around his neck, he managed to reach into his backpack à la Indiana Jones and whipped out a metal case about five inches long. He snapped the case open and shook out a collapsible ten-inch saw.
“Holy crap! I need one of those!”
“Be prepared.”
I laughed. Somehow he managed to hand it up in a “safe scissors” way, so I grabbed the handle and tried to remember what my Uncle Ray had told me about the smartest way to cut wood. I missed him. And I still wanted to do him proud, so I whacked the teeth hard into the branch and started to saw. It was going to take a while and Stu was going to have to hold pretty tightly on to me to keep me stable. Otherwise it would be me falling onto a ten-inch saw.
Stu didn’t let me, or the saw, down. After three long minutes, I had cut through enough of the four-foot branch to break it off myself. “Incoming,” I yelled as it fell to the ground.
“Hey, Cyd?”
“Yes?”
“Good job.”
“I try.”
He was just about to lower me down when I heard a gunshot.
Stu fell to the ground, taking me, ass backward, with him.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Stu? Oh my God, Stu, are you okay?”
I could see blood, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, because I was upside down. Happily, I hadn’t landed on the saw. Just when I was about to sit up, another shot flew over us and shattered a branch about ten feet away. There were animal cries. Then silence. Finally, we heard that rumbling motor start up again.
