Chapter 1 Pt. 3
A sigh. "Uh, so I'm here for a friend. A Korean. South, not North, hah! Uh, who … rocks a mohawk mullet, listens to the Plasmatics and sucks at math."
Carrie Lee skims a puzzled look round the table. "Weird."
Anna's left eyebrow rises. "Very weird."
They ricochet glances before staring at me like I'm some pleb gongfarmer gatecrashing the Beverly Hill's Four Seasons to tell management their shitter's full.
Carrie Lee. "Is that American humor?"
"Well, if it is, I'm out of a job." I raise my hand, but the waitress speedwalks past me. "Uh, truth be told, fleeing was easier than I thought because I don't have anything … except for this weird eight-sided mirror I found buried on Bulalog Beach."
Anna perks up. "A bagua." Jon groans with a pained expression. Anna plays with her yin yang necklace, then reaches out to hold my hand. "That could be very good for you or …" She shakes her head like I've been publically condemned to death by Brazen Bull. "… very, very bad."
Carrie Lee smirks at Anna. "Wow. It seems Dougie-Boy here is an international man of mystery."
Jon takes a hearty slug off his drink and smiles at Anna. "Proper first date material, eh Love?"
"It's not a first date." Traci walks toward us. "Yeah, nah. It's a — " Her smartphone slips from her fingers and thwhacks hard against the stone walkway. She pounces on it. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus, piss on me. Me new iPhonie." She holds up her broken e-toy's screen like it's a dead skunk she's been forced to bury. "It's carked it." I can't tell if she's ready to cry or perform an exorcism. A defeated shrug. "Crapola cakes."
Traci plops herself down so hard, her chair buckles. "Now they say the typhoon's gonna hit Boracay, not Mindanao." Traci casts a confused gaze towards the ocean and trembles. "I don't think this place would be very agreeable in a storm."
Wait a minute. "Typhoon?"
Carrie Lee thumbs through her smartphone feed."Hey, anybody wanna go to the Hobbit House?"
Jon polishes off his omelette and rubs his belly. "Glad our 'otel is up on the 'igh ground. This place is a deathtrap."
"Deathtrap?"
"It's got a Lord of the Rings theme." Carrie Lee holds up her phone for everyone to see.
"More like Lord of the Flies. How big is this typhoon?"
Traci wipes sweat from her lips with her napkin, murmuring under her breath.
Jon. "Ya' know, even so, there's somethin' magical 'bout an islan'. A certain je ne sais quoi."
Anna beams lovingly at her mate. "Un mundo propio."
Jon winks at her and retorts with a perfect Castillian accent. "Sí. Un mundo propio donde tal vez nunca regresemos." They toast and give each other a quick peck.
Traci's coughing fit eructs.
"What is it, Traci?" Anna pours a glass of water and hands it to her.
"Probably the Typhoon."
Anna shakes her head. "Forget about the typhoon Jim, uh, Doug."
"Easy for you to say. Your hotel's not at sea-level."
Carrie Lee's entranced in her phone menu. "Ooh. Good eats, too. Flaming Dragon Bones and Fried Ice Cream."
Traci contemplates the lolling waves, then mutters. "Cyril. I'm sorry."
Who's Cyril?
Carrie Lee taps her shoulder. "Trace!"
Traci's blank stare vanishes as she searches our puzzled faces.
Anna interjects, "Who's Cyril?"
"Nothing." Traci takes a big gulp of water. "I don't understand this place."
Probably her boyfriend she never told me about after six months online. "Neither do I." I uncork myself off the chair and slide across the sleek, checkered floor. "I need a drink."
Jon raises his drink glasses and slurs, "Two fer One Vodka Sunrise Specials. Cheapest drinks on da islan'."