Page 40 of Sunburned
“What will they do, the developers?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, no?” His phone dinged in his pocket, and he checked it, his face darkening as he read whatever message was there. He tapped out a reply and pocketed the phone. “We should go.”
He offered his arm to steady me on the way back, and I took it, holding the inside of his bent elbow. But he was preoccupied by whatever message he’d received, and all business, his movements efficient, no lingering glances or light touches, as he ushered me into the van.
The sudden shift reminded me of the secrets Tyson had mentioned. Laurent was helping me not because he wanted to, but because Tyson was holding something over his head, as he was with me. I wondered if Laurent’s secrets were as dark as mine.
He turned on the radio as we pulled onto the narrow road and the sound of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar wailed from the speakers as he answered a call, telling whoever was on the other end in French that he was dropping a guest in Gustavia and would have only thirty minutes.
We came around a bend and Gustavia appeared at the bottom of the hill, green mountains sloping down to the red-roofed buildings that circled the port. Sailboats and catamarans were moored in the center, a variety of pleasure boats docked along the promenade, with larger yachts closer to the mouth of the harbor.
When we reached the town, we turned onto a one-way street, immaculately clean and paved with gray cobblestones, lined with well-maintained palms and benches where shoppers rested in the shade, licking cones of gelato. It felt like a perfect blend of European andCaribbean culture, sophisticated yet laid back, the architecture colonial, the brands luxury. The usual suspects were there: Louis Vuitton, Chopard, Dior, Bulgari, Prada, Cartier, Hermès, their storefronts featuring selections from their resort collections, nestled among restaurants and upscale boutiques.
Laurent stopped at a corner and pointed to a shaded alleyway that ran between two buildings. “This is the nearest I can go in the van,” he said. “At the end you will see the white building with two balconies. Text me when you’re ready for pickup.”
I nodded, opening the door. He didn’t move to help me down. I wanted to read into it, but I didn’t let myself. “Where is the council meeting being held?”
“At the pink civic center building a block east of Gary’s. But they won’t let you in without an appointment.”
I nodded. If I wanted to find a way in, I would, but I didn’t think it would be necessary today. “You’re driving them home after?”
He nodded.
“I’d like to be in the car.”
“Then be outside the civic center at one.”
—
After trying on a number of suits in the sunlit changing room of Gary’s, I selected a black-and-green zippered shorty with long sleeves, a black mask, and the cheapest dive watch they carried, which was still far more expensive than any I’d ever owned. It had been years since I’d updated my gear and I was grudgingly thrilled by my new duds, regardless of who was paying for them.
Shopping bag in hand, I stepped into the warm day, contemplating the nearly empty street from beneath the brim of my sun hat. It was twenty ’til one.
I located the civic center in my maps app and set off toward it in the shade of the palm trees, stopping in front of shop windows to gaze at mannequins wearing crocheted bikinis and designer sunglasses, jewel-encrusted sandals and four-thousand-euro Missoni cover-ups. I lookedinto a real estate office whose windows advertised newly built villas not unlike the one we were staying in for the low, low price of eighteen million. The cheapest one I could find was a one-bedroom apartment with no view for one point six million.
Where did the people who worked here live? Surely Laurent wasn’t paid enough to afford a two-million-euro apartment? Or maybe he was. Maybe I was the only asshole around here who couldn’t afford twenty euros for a minuscule lemonade in the shop next door.
I was about to continue up the sidewalk when I recognized a picture of the developers’ land overlooking the site of the De-Sal center Laurent had just shown me, paired with renderings of the houses they planned to build there. There were ten of them, ranging in price from fifteen to twenty-five million. Roughly two hundred million gross for the developers. I wasn’t sure what they’d paid for the land, but it couldn’t have been cheap, and with the cost of building on an island, their margins likely weren’t wide.
It made sense that they were angry about the placement of the De-Sal center. I would be too, if I were them, regardless of what it would do for the island. It’s one thing to be civic-minded when you’re not the one being asked to sacrifice your livelihood for the good of the community; it’s quite another when you’re the sacrificial lamb.
Across from the civic center, the Sprinter van was at the curb right where it should be, engine running. Laurent waited outside the open back door, typing on his phone. He looked up as I approached, reaching out to take my bag. “You found what you needed?”
“I did.”
The front door of the civic center flew open and Tyson stormed out, his face a mask of fury. Allison and Cody were on his heels, looking none too pleased themselves, followed by the two guys I’d met at the house when I arrived yesterday and a handful of other worried-looking people I guessed were their assistants.
“Sit in front,” Laurent murmured.
I accepted his hand into the front of the van as Tyson, Cody, and Allison piled into the back.
“Go,” Tyson barked before Laurent had even closed his door.
Laurent fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb as the side door slid shut.
“What the fuck was that?” Tyson spat. “They should never have had that information. Someone on our team leaked it to them.”
“We’ll hire someone to dispute it,” Cody said calmly. “It’s only a delay.”
