Berry Dekker was intuitive enough to know that his son would lunge after him ten seconds before the actual lunging took place, so he neatly sidestepped him, resulting in Tony coming close to plummeting out the open window.
“Still as impulsive as ever?” Berry asked benignly, standing at a safe distance away from Anthony. He still found it hard to believe that this man was his son; the son he’d written off as a whimpering, embarrassing mess all those years ago.
“She’s dead,” Anthony said evenly, trying to keep his fury in check. His mother was dead and this pathetic, overbearing man was asking after her. His utter audacity was unbelievable. The fact that Berry Dekker actually sought him out was unbelievable.
“What did you just say?”
“My mother is dead.” Anthony hadn’t used the word ‘mother’ in months. It tasted foreign on his tongue, like Urdu or Greek.
“How?” Berry was sure that the boy was lying. Marguerite couldn’t be dead; Tony simply wanted to hurt him.
“Do you care?” Anthony was staring out the window, at the vast belly-dancing trees outside the hotel. One hand was shoved in his pocket, balled into a fist.
“Of course I care. She is my wife. Do you realise how stupid you sound?”
Tony’s head swivelled to the side, raw hate emanating from his body. Was it possible to kill Berry then and there? Make it look like an accident?
“Why are you here?” Anthony asked after a beat. He genuinely wanted to know.
“We need to catch up, don’t you think?” Berry said genially.
The guns are by the door. Just grab one and end this. Or make him suffer.
“We both know I’m faster than you,” Berry said quietly, reading his mind. “I will always be faster than you. Never forget that, boy.”
“I’m not a boy. Perhaps the cataracts in your eyes are making you see otherwise.”
Berry chuckled. “Is a sense of humour necessary for joining the mob?”
“I’m not in the mafia,” Tony spat.
“Then what are you?” Berry’s face was suddenly in his, eyes blazing with fury. “Do you think you’re a hotshot because you own a little weaponry? Because you get to kill people?” He felt like he was staring into the face of his younger self; such was the resemblance between father and son. “I’ve let you do whatever the hell you’ve felt like for these past few years, but enough is enough. You’re tainting the Dekker name with your disgusting so-called occupation!”
Anthony stared back at him, his face impassive. “Please get out of my face. I have no desire to kiss you.”
“How dare you talk to me in that manner?” Berry fumed, resisting the strong urge to punch the arrogant look off his son’s face.
“Have you conveniently been stricken with a case of amnesia?” Tony said darkly, taking a few steps away from the man. “Do you honestly not remember what it was like to live with you? Do you think you even have the right to beg for respect from me? You don’t deserve the oxygen you breathe, you piece of shit.” Tony bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to curse. Looking skyward, he mumbled an apology to God.
Berry’s mouth became a grim line. “Does your mother share the same sentiments?”
“Wherever she is, I know she’s happier. Even Satan was once an angel.”
“Surely that’s not what you think of me?” Berry paused, straightening his tie. “I’m your father, after all.”
“I would love nothing better than to put a spatter of bullets in you and watch you slowly bleed to death.”
A slow smile spread across Berry’s face. “Then why don’t you, boy? Go ahead.” He patted his chest. “I’m right here.”
Anthony regarded him – the neatly-cut salt-and-pepper hair, the charcoal-grey suit in this heat, and the glacial blue eyes, much like his own – and wanted to inflict on him the same abuse he’d endured at his hand.
But now was not the time. No, he knew that he’d be seeing Berry Dekker again, now that he knew exactly what he looked like; now that he knew that he was the same bastard he’d been the last time they’d seen each other.
“Bullets would be a blessing,” he said quietly, bending down and gathering his bags. He straightened and glanced at his father. “I want you to suffer. Dad,” he added as an afterthought, although this man was not his ‘dad’.
Berry ignored the threat. “I’ve always been watching over you, Anthony. Always. It’s my business to know your business. And I am deeply ashamed.”
“And I deeply care,” Tony spat. “Go back to your mission work. Leave me the hell alone.”
“It’s not too late for your soul to be saved.”
Tony snorted. “My soul? Worry about yourself, old man.”
And he slid the card in and exited the room, slamming it, and his dark memories, shut behind him.
***
The door was banged open with a force that startled Savannah out of her meditation. Sitting among the pouffes and cushions Buddha-style, she saw Tony’s shadow stalk past the doorway, bags in hand. She instantly sensed that something was off. Left to her own devices the entire day, she’d thought she’d go crazy, but the exact opposite had occurred – she’d become sane and serene.
Meditation certainly had its perks. Savannah had been able to release the pent-up rage she’d felt towards Anthony Dekker, her father, and whoever had wanted her dead. Anger was nothing more than a festering disease that could consume oneself. It did nothing positive, and only made you waste precious moments. Savannah had no idea what Tony was going to do with her, but for now, she didn’t really care. She hated to admit it, but she hadn’t been this happy in… years.
Unfurling her legs and standing up, she stretched for a minute and then went up the stairs to the master bedroom, intent on hearing a human voice. It had been a long day of silence, save for nature’s noises outside.
Tony was spilling clothing out onto his bed, most of it women’s wear. Back turned to her, she could see the tense muscles through his T-shirt.
“What happened?” Savannah’s voice seemed loud in the echoing silence.
When he didn’t answer her, she tiptoed into the room, closing the door behind her, which was silly, as they were the only ones in the house.
Anthony flinched when her hand touched his shoulder. Spinning around, the look on his face visibly sent shivers down her spine. He’d scared her.
“This is all for you. I apologise if our tastes differ,” he said brusquely, stepping aside so she could look at the clothing he’d spent all day picking out for her.
“Who cares about fucking dresses? Something’s bothering you, Tony.” She fought the urge to reach out and touch him again. “For Pete’s sake, don’t pretend with me.”
Tony ran a hand through his hair and gazed down at her. “Savannah, could we please skip this? I’m starving, and I know you haven’t made dinner.” He pushed past her.
“Don’t you want to know what I was up to while you went on your little shopping expedition?” Savannah sang from behind him, watching his retreating back as she padded behind him.
“Enlighten me.”
“Nothing,” she told him, once they’d entered the kitchen, where she noticed the bags of groceries on the table. “Ooh, did you get chocolate for me, by any chance? And yeah, yeah, the island has its cocoa, but I’m dying for a Cadbury slab.”
Tony rolled his eyes at her as she rifled through the bags in search of her ‘oxygen’.
“Tony, you’re an angel.” Savannah produced a slab of nuts-and-raisin.
“I’m not. Far from it,” Anthony said darkly, staring into space.
Savannah bit her bottom lip. “Did the guy who hired you discover that I’m not pushing daisies?” she asked, trying to guess what was currently troubling the man sent to kill her.
Tony managed a cynical smile. “He thinks you’re dead, so I’m guessing you can never return home.”
“That’s OK. I want to travel anyway.” She let out a laugh. “Don’t you find this incredibly weird? You’re a hitman. I’m your hit. And we’re screwing each other in a jungle. Sounds like a bad sitcom.”
Anthony busied himself unpacking the shopping, listening to the sound of her ramblings. There was no reason for them to stay at his place any longer, so why did he buy groceries as if they were actually living together, sharing a home? Wasn’t he the same guy that didn’t want to be tied down?
“Earth to Tony,” Savannah was saying, snapping her fingers in his face.
“What?”
She held out the chocolate. “Want a bite?”
He shook his head in response and gave her a faraway look. “Why don’t you go –”
On impulse, Savannah pulled him in for a long, passionate kiss, meshing their lips together. She had been aching to do that all day, whether from loneliness or need, and Tony tasted amazingly perfect.
“Why don’t I go do what?” she asked serenely, when she’d pulled away.
“Huh?”
“You were saying?”
“Don’t do that, Savannah,” he said fiercely, and went over to the pantry, admitting to himself that he was unable to think clearly when she was around.
“Whatever, Jamie Oliver.” Savannah popped a brick of chocolate into her mouth. “You’ll confide in me sometime.”
“Mm-hmm. Not likely, Oprah.”
Savannah smiled at his back, turning on her heel to leave. Why didn’t he joke more often? Hell, why didn’t he act human?
***
“The Mother Teresa Outreach Programme is so happy to have you here, Pastor Dekker,” Julio Santiago said brightly, leading the other man to his quarters. “We have heard about your work from the UN, and, quite frankly, we are so honoured to be in your presence.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Santiago,” Berry Dekker said lightly, “but I am just a servant of the Lord, as are you.”
“I hope this bedroom is to your liking?” Santiago so desperately wanted to please this enigma. How often did bigwig men of God like Dekker come to Montepega? Literally none.
“Mr. Santiago, as long as there is a bed, I am more than happy.” Dekker gestured at the California king-sized bed before him. “This will do just fine.”
“I am glad.” It was only then that Santiago noticed the glaring lack of luggage. “No bags, Pastor?”
Dekker pasted a smile on his face. “Just as I am.”
“Tomorrow, I can take you shop-”
“Nonsense. I’m quite all right,” Dekker insisted, holding a large palm up. “Goodnight, Mr. Santiago. I shall see you tomorrow. I look forward to meeting the children.”
“As do they,” Santiago smiled. “Have a good night, sir.” He turned to leave, loping out the door and closing it gently behind him. It truly was a blessing to have this great man on their island. ‘Impromptu visits’ were rare from people like Dekker. Perhaps he would make a donation to the charity. Looking at the peeling wallpaper in the corridors, Santiago couldn’t think of a greater blessing, but even if Dekker didn’t contribute, they’d manage all right. Humming a hymn, he made his way to his own room, happy to see the light of the next day.
Meanwhile, Dekker removed the gun from his pants and concealed it under the poor excuse of a pillow on the bed. It was always better to be safe than sorry, in his opinion. Tonight, he had to think about how he’d drop the bombshell on his son the next day. If what Tony had said about his Marguerite – and he was doubtful about that one – being dead, it was up to him to do what she had clearly failed to do: Tell the truth.
If Anthony despises me now, Berry thought, lying back on the bed and kicking his shoes off, he’ll be one hate-filled missile when I’m through with him.