Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

I try to make my smile look as sane as possible. “It was an
inside joke.”
It was actually the name of the jailed drug king’s wife in
the movie Traffic, but I’m not going to tell her that.
After a moment’s hesitation, the concierge starts typing
again. Then a look of relief replaces the concern on her face.
“Yes. Here it is.”
I almost scream, Holy shit! but restrain myself. “What does
it say?”
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s just an address.” She quickly
scribbles it onto a small pad, tears off the piece of paper, and
hands it to me.
“Is this nearby?”
“It’s about a nine-hour drive.”
When my eyes bug out, she adds hastily, “Or an hour on a
plane.”
Feeling every mile of the journey from Tahoe to here in
my aching bones, I close my eyes and exhale. “Okay. Thank
you. I guess I’m headed back to the airport.”
“There will be a ferry ride, too.”
When I open my eyes and stare at her, she takes a single
step back.
My crazy must be showing.
“It’s an island, señorita.”
I repeat slowly, “An island.”
“Would you like me to get you a taxi?”
She’s already picking up the phone. Poor girl can’t wait to
get rid of me.
I retrieve my bag from the floor, dig a twenty-dollar bill
out of my wallet, and hand it to her. “Yes, please. And thank
you. You’ve been very helpful.”
I take mercy on her and wait for the taxi outside.