Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [25]
“Pete.”
“Pete is my brother. C’mon, Bird, what’s your name?” Suddenly the question was the most important question in the world, and Tick didn’t know why. “Tell me, or I’m going to turn on that fan, and you’ll be nothing but feathers.”
Bird sailed down gracefully and lighted on Tick’s arm. He stretched forward and pecked him on the cheek. He tilted his head to see how the peck was received. Tick stroked his colorful feathers and stood up. Bird settled himself on his chair by the table. “Bang! Bacon! Bacon! Bang!”
“Okay, okay.”
And it was a new day, Tick thought as he bustled about the tiny kitchen. In his wildest dreams he could never imagine that he would cater to a salty-mouthed parrot who was smarter than he was. As he watched the bacon sizzle in the fry pan, he remembered the day Bird had seen him clean and oil his gun. That was the first day he’d said the words, bang, bang, bang, over and over. How weird that he knew guns made a “bang” sound. It was also weird that he knew what a cell phone was. That first time he’d almost gone nuts flying like crazy all over the place. He’d been in such a frenzy squawking, “Call me, call me, Jesus Christ, call me! Get the girls! Get the girls!” Then, when Tick had closed the cell phone, the bird had calmed down, but he was still jabbering about shit happening, getting the girls, and deep water.
In his gut, Tick knew the bird was trying to tell him something, but whatever it was, he wasn’t getting it. Maybe in time. He fixed the bird’s plate, not feeling foolish at all. He set the plate down on the table and stroked the bird’s head. He really was fond of his only friend.
“You know what, Bird, I think it’s time you earned your keep,” Tick said, leaning back on the kitchen stool. “We have time on our hands now, my book is done, and I don’t have to start a new one for a few months. So, it’s easy-breezy time for us. I want you to fly down to that new place on the beach and check it out. Here’s where we’re going to see if you really are smart or if you’ve just been jerking my chain. Check it all out and report back in. You do a good job, you get ice cream for dessert tonight instead of mangoes. Comprende?”
“Sí. Muchos gracias,” Bird said.
Tick blinked, then swore. “WTF, you speak Spanish? Well, damn! Who knew? Okay, okay, I’m going to get a dictionary to brush up on my own Spanish, and maybe we’ll get to the bottom of who and what you are and where the hell you came from. That’s what we’ll do for the next few months. I’ll learn Spanish, and you, my friend, will learn some decent English.”
Bird made the laughing sound again, then flew out of the kitchen to his favorite perch on top of Tick’s small television set. He tucked his neck down into his wing and went to sleep while Tick cleaned up the kitchen. At night, he slept on the shower rod in Tick’s bathroom.
An hour later, dressed in new khaki cargo shorts and a new white T-shirt that said he was a member of the Sierra Club, Tick strolled into the village and went right to the house of the man who had sold him his parcel of land. He knocked on the door and waited for someone to open it. The elder was short on words and long on expression during the few times he’d had conversations with him. The door opened, and Tick stepped back. He was never invited in, but that was okay. He didn’t need any new friends.
Tick got right to the point. “You told me no one would be living on that strip of beach where I live when you sold me the property. There’s a building there now. Why? Who is it?”
“I had no choice, Mr. Kelly. One does not argue with the government. It is not a wise or judicious thing to do. It is temporary, I was told. I did not sell, I leased that little parcel. I will honor my contract with you. The building is what I believe they call prefabricated. It is written that it will be dismantled when their time has expired.”
Tick clenched his teeth. “How much time did you give them, and who are they?”
“One man was from the DEA and the other was from the Coast Guard. I only know that two women, who