Page 38 of Under the Radar
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The sign read, Welcome to Nassau. They stopped and snapped a selfie in front of it.
Vendors hawked sunglasses and henna tattoos. Two women approached Mo and offered to braid her hair. Little huts filled a tree-lined paved area offering swimsuits, souvenirs, and sea shells. Mo’s shoulders swayed in time to the Calypso until she noticed two military personnel wearing fatigues and holding semi-automatics in a far corner. It was a jarring contrast to the Caribbean music and lighthearted atmosphere.
Mac pulled her to his side. “They’re just letting you know who’s in charge. If you go abroad and don’t see the military at the entrance, it means nobody’s in charge. You don’t want to be there.”
Mo nodded. He had such a cautious point of view regarding the world. Always on guard. Probably a sixth sense he’d developed during his military service. Every time they left the ship, he went into hyper-alert mode. If it was the result of post-traumatic stress, she’d do whatever it took to help him through it. On the other hand, he’d never relax now because she’d told him about the situation in Baltimore.
She paused at one of the tables to sift through the colorful floral sarongs and picked one in turquoise and pink. Mo paid for her purchase, and slid her hand into Mac’s as they walked toward the street. “You hired a driver for today?”
“Yes. His name is Hugh. He operates a tour service and owns a small fleet of vans. He’ll drop us off and pick us up when we’re ready to go somewhere else. We don’t need to be back on the ship until ten tonight.”
Mo mentally fist-pumped. A whole day on the island. Turquoise waters, native food, rum punch, and Mac all to herself.
“There he is.” Mac steered her toward a clearing near the sidewalk. “Hugh!”
The imposing figure with sunglasses was intriguing. He was formal looking in a suit and tie until she noticed the Nikes on his feet. Six-foot plus of dark-skinned, beautiful Caribbean man with broad shoulders and a body that tapered to a V at his waist. His chauffeur cap gave him a jaunty look.
The two men greeted each other like best friends. A handshake, followed by a bro half-hug and several back slaps.
“Hey, mon. Long time, no visit. Thank you for coming to our beautiful island. It’s a ways from Iraq, no?”
“Certainly is, my friend.” Mac put his arm around Mo’s shoulder.
“And this is the Maureen you brought with you? She looks like she washed her hair in our sunshine.” Hugh clasped her hand in between his meaty paws and gently squeezed. “It is an honor to meet you and be your driver today, miss.”
“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’m looking forward to your tour of the island.”
“Ah yes. Come. Follow me. The van is right over there. It’s jam-up but I saved you two seats in the middle.” He led them to an old white van parked at the curb and opened the door.
Mac offered her a hand as she climbed in. Mo greeted the other passengers while getting comfortable. A seat spring poked her in the butt. Mac followed and pulled the door shut behind him.
Hugh charmed the van full of tourists with his British accent and stories as he drove them around Nassau. They passed by the Governor’s palace with its aqua and yellow flags with the black triangle, and through the ghetto which made West Baltimore look like the suburbs. Never before had she seen wooden lean-tos considered housing.
Many of the middle-class homes sported blue, pink, or green paint, and flaunted vibrant, tropical flowers in the front. She marveled at a two-story cactus on a corner in front of a bakery. It was lovely and in flower, but the temperature in the van had to be at least a hundred degrees. She nudged Mac to put down the window, which he had to hand-crank to roll down. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a window you actually had to roll down instead of pushing a button.
One of the tourists spoke up. “Hey Hugh, how come your van is so old? Why don’t you buy a new one?”
Hugh looked in the rear-view mirror and grinned wide. “Because the import taxes cost as much as the vehicle. A year ago, they changed the rule, and now I can purchase a used van and pay lower taxes. I haven’t had a chance to buy many yet, but I tell you what? I’m going to drop you off to shop and when I pick you up, I’ll have a different van with the air-conditioning running full blast. Okay, mon?”
Tailgating in the bumper-to-bumper traffic was the norm. Hugh swerved at every roundabout and sent them leaning into each other. A red light initiated a traffic jam as numerous scooters weaved past all the cars.
A sweaty passenger piped up. “Hey Hugh, did you grow up here?”
Hugh smiled in the mirror again. “I’m a British expat who landed in the Bahamas.” He raised his right fist and shouted, “God save the Queen,” and the passengers burst into laughter. “You give me any more lip about my van, good people, and I might just forget to drive on the left side of the road. That’ll teach you.” He turned to face them and gave a toothy grin. The cherub-faced little grandmother in the farthest back seat couldn’t stop laughing.
Mo grinned. She enjoyed Hugh’s flair for the bizarre and slid her butt up a little to avoid the annoying seat spring from prodding her. Mac leaned forward and pulled a tour magazine from the storage behind the driver’s seat.
“Lift your heinie a bit. I’ll slide this under it,” he said quietly.
She gave him a grateful smile and whispered, “I don’t mind a good poking once in a while, but that spring has got to go.”
“I’ll never stop poking you,” he said under his breath.
She set her hand on his knee and squeezed.
He set his hand on her thigh and drew circles with one finger.