Chapter Text
“No one hands you anything in life, Olu,” his father told him once, handing him his dinner.
Oluwande glanced down at the food in his hand and then up at his father’s face. “But you-”
Azubuike sighed. “I don’t mean it literally, boy,” he said. “Sure, some things you might get handed to you. Some of it’s even free. Food, music, sex, friendship… those things are best when they’re free. Other things, you have to pay for, but they’re worth it.”
“Like books?” Oluwande was seven years old and learning how to read, and was fairly certain that the little books his father sometimes brought home from odd jobs were the best and most valuable things in the world.
“Like books,” his father agreed. “But the things that really matter, more than books or food or any of that, those things no one will hand to you. Like freedom, son. Like love, or another day of breathing in and out. Those things you have to fight for. And don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t have them.”
Azu was full of wisdom like that, but most of his advice focused on how to keep those things no one handed to you. Particularly life. “Look both ways before you cross the street,” he’d tell his son, gripping his hand hard enough to hurt while a maniac in a carriage raced past. And when some white fop stepped out, ignoring the dust in the roads and waving benevolently to the people he’d nearly run down, a sharp jerk of his chin. “Men like that want you to think they’re kind, but they look at you and they only see another way of getting richer.”
Olu was an eager student and he learned these rules well. Stay away from Florida, madmen, Swedes, and unpredictable women. Never let a pretty face lead you away from your home. And above all, avoid piracy.
Then, of course, Azu died. And Oluwande was alone.
Olu spoke Garifuna, English and Spanish, he knew his letters even if he couldn’t really read properly. He knew his history and he could read a map. He could even play the drums and sing. But he didn’t have a family, or an apprenticeship, he didn’t have a trade or any way of making an honest living. So piracy it was.
*
By twenty-five, Oluwande Boodhari regretted every decision and twist of fate that had ever led him to piracy. He’d been sunburnt and shot at and thrown off the ship, he’d seen and smelled more death than he’d have liked, his hands were so used to holding ropes that his fingers barely unknotted at the end of the day, and he was fairly certain he’d be lucky to make it to next week.
So when the Delilah docked in Tortuga, and Olu nodded politely when the first mate told him to be back to the ship by dawn, and when dawn broke, he simply wasn’t there.
He hadn’t been a particularly good pirate, to be fair, and it was unlikely that anyone would miss him. Even if they were, he’d brought nothing with him that he didn’t rightfully own, so they were unlikely to pursue him, at least not far enough to catch him. Still, it was two months before his legs felt steady on land.
He got a job at a bar that was more accurately referred to as an establishment, with all of the worst possible implications. Spanish Jackie said that she liked his spirit, even if he couldn’t mix a drink worth a damn. To be fair, neither could anyone else. The prerequisites for working at Spanish Jackie’s were more centered on whether or not you interested Jackie and whether or not you could handle the kind of clientele that they got than anything else. And it wasn’t like anyone came here for the drinks. Or the food, for that matter.
(Staff ate free, and Olu learned pretty quickly that free food didn’t always taste the best, actually.)
But regardless, he was getting a wage for the first time in his life, and no one had tried to drown him or shoot at him since he’d started this job. (Stabbings didn’t count.) Jackie liked him, even if she terrified him, and Geraldo the other bartender was always good for a joke and liked to help Olu practice his Spanish. He was starting to feel like he could get his land legs again.
And then, of course, because nothing ever went right for long, Alfeo de la Vaca, Jackie’s favorite of her many, many husbands, had to go to Florida on business.
What business, he didn’t say, just “business, baby, you know how it is,” in his smooth voice as he caressed her face. If anyone else had tried to talk to her that way, they’d have at least one facial feature in a jar by now, but Jackie had always had a soft spot for Alfeo de la Vaca. As much as any part of Jackie could be considered soft, at least.
Olu was busy cleaning up after a relatively quiet night as this conversation went on, and he focused on the bloodstain he was trying to get off the ceiling and tried to seem invisible.
It must not have worked, because when de la Vaca left, Jackie straightened up and called his name sharply.
“Yes ma’am?”
“You hear that?”
Olu considered lying, but that was usually not a good idea when it came to Jackie. “Sure did ma’am.”
“Bastard’s cheating on me.”
Olu couldn’t quite control his face in time to stop himself from looking surprised.
“You didn’t catch it?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Business trip?”
“Business trip.” She scoffed. “My ass. I’ve got some very loyal people in my life, Oluwande, some very good folks who like to let me know of any rumors about my boys. And talk is, there’s been some girl up in Florida asking about the whereabouts of Alfeo de la Vaca. You think he hasn’t heard that, if I have?”
“I’d say you’re usually the first person to know most things around here,” said Olu. “But maybe?”
“I like you, Olu,” Jackie said, with an affectionate pat to the back of his head. “Jackie’s been good to you these past few months, haven’t I?”
Olu startled at the sudden change of topic. “Yes ma’am,” he said.
“So here’s what I want you to do,” said Jackie. “You’re going to go to Florida. And you’re going to keep an eye on him. And if he meets up with this girl, you’re going to come back and let me know, understand?”
He nodded.
“And Olu.” That hand was back on his head now, tight as a vise. “If he is screwing her, I’m going to want her dead. You’ll be in Jackie’s good books for a while if you take care of that little errand for me.”
*
Olu’s father had given him some very good advice for life. So far, avoiding piracy was the only rule he had broken, and that had been a mistake. But he’d added a few rules of his own to the list over the years. Currently, the very top of the list, rule one, bolded and underlined, was simple.
Don’t cross Spanish Jackie.
So Olu broke a second one of his father’s rules. He went to Florida.
For the first few days, de la Vaca didn’t do much more than drink in various pubs. He caught up with a few acquaintances, but no women so far.
It was only after the third day that Olu noticed a woman tailing them.
He wouldn’t have spotted her at all, but he noticed a loud, brash man sidling up to a very small woman and putting his hand on her leg, hiking up her skirts. Olu couldn’t help himself. His hand was on his knife before he registered what was happening. He managed to spare half a thought to regret that he was about to blow his cover before the man’s hand was pinned to the bar by a knife. Not his.
The screaming drew attention to their little corner, and the blade was back into its owner’s belt faster than the rest of the bar could track. By the time de la Vaca, who was by this point quite drunk, managed to turn around, she was gone.
This interaction happened at least three times a day in Jackie’s, so it didn’t bother Olu too much, except for the fact that before she’d been interrupted by the groper (who, judging from the way he was now cradling his hand, was at significant risk of losing said tool of his trade), he’d spotted the girl looking over at de la Vaca at least three times.
De la Vaca slept in the next morning, which wasn’t surprising, given how much he’d had to drink, but in the afternoon, as he strolled through the market and Olu tried to follow him discreetly, he spotted her again. A skinny, serious-looking figure in a plain brown dress with a hat pulled low over her face, but he still recognized her. He caught a brief glimpse of wide brown eyes as she caught sight of him, and then she was gone.
As far as Olu could tell, though, Jackie’s husband was clueless about his tail. Which might be enough for him to go back to the bar and tell her she wasn’t being cheated on, but somehow he didn’t think that he’d be welcome back until de la Vaca was with him. So he stayed.
By that evening, de la Vaca was meeting with another friend. This particular drinkery was a little smaller, so Oluwande decided to lurk outside, keeping an eye as best he could, without drawing too much attention to himself. He found a convenient patch of shadow and lurked.
A knife on his throat told him that he wasn’t lurking quite well enough.
“Stay. Still.”
The voice in his ear was soft and light, with a Spanish accent and more malice than should be allowed in two words.
“Okay,” Olu said. He lifted his hands automatically, realized that the gesture probably didn’t count staying still, and dropped them before it occurred to him that this could also be considered moving. “I’m staying still,” he promised. He could feel the body pressed up against his back move as the woman behind him breathed heavily. He tried to avoid flinching.
Finally, when nothing had happened for several long moments, Olu asked hesitantly, “what now?”
“Now,” the knife pressed closer to the flesh of his throat, “you’re going to tell me who you are and why you’re here, and then I’m going to decide whether or not I slit your throat, comprende?”
Olu considered telling her that she was terrible at compromises, but thought better of it.
“I’m following Alfeo de la Vaca,” he said instead. “His wife thinks that he’s cheating on her.”
The knife eased up just a fraction. It would barely have been noticeable, if it hadn’t been his throat it was pressed onto.
“Alfeo de la Vaca is married?”
“He is. Did he tell you otherwise?”
A quick twitch of the wrist holding the knife reminded him that he was definitely not supposed to be the one asking the questions here. “I’ve never spoken to that pendejo in my life,” hissed his captor.
“Look,” said Olu quickly, “your business is your business. I saw you watching him in the pub last night, that’s all. I assume Jackie didn’t hire you?”
“That the wife?” There was a little huff of breath next to his ear, like the woman was laughing. “No, she didn’t hire me. I don’t know anything about his family.”
“Okay,” Olu said. “That’s good for you. And I don’t know anything about you, okay? So let’s just put the knife down, I won’t get in your way, you don’t get stabby, and we’ll both be happy. Alright?”
For a second, he thought he’d pushed his luck just a little bit too far. But then, with a muffled Spanish curse, he was released. The knife at his neck disappeared, and he was shoved further into the alleyway.
Facing the stranger, he could see black hair refusing to be contained by a braid, a too-big hat, and a face that could probably slice surer than any cutlass.
“Thank you,” he said, when the stranger didn’t make any further moves.
“You’re welcome.” There was no trace of irony in her voice. “Do you know Los Siete Gallos?”
Olu rubbed his neck. “Seven Roosters?” he asked. “Is that a restaurant?” For a crazy second, he thought this knife-wielding maniac might be trying to ask him on a date. For a crazier second, he thought he might not say no.
His maniac scoffed. “Los Siete Gallos are a mercenary gang. Alfeo de la Vaca is their leader. I am sworn to kill him, to avenge my bloodline. I will strike him down. My blade will know the taste of his blood, and my face will be the last thing he ever sees.”
“Right,” said Olu. “Well, I don’t know anything about that. He told his wife he was going to Florida on a business trip, and she’d heard there was some girl in St. Augustine asking about him, so she assumed he was cheating on her, so she told me to follow him. But hey! He’s mostly just been drinking with crusty old dudes, and I don’t think he swings that way, and the girl was trying to murder him, so problem solved!”
“You don’t think your boss is going to mind him getting murdered?”
Olu thought about it for a minute. Probably less than she would mind him stepping out on her, but his new friend was right. While he’d been sent out as a spy, not a bodyguard, he doubted Jackie would take that as an excuse if he let someone murder her favorite husband. “Shit.”
There was a commotion outside the alleyway, and both of them froze. A mass of people were spilling out of the tavern. Somewhere in the group, he thought he could see de la Vaca. Knife girl tensed next to him.
“Easy,” Olu hissed. “You want to get yourself killed?”
He could feel a glare like a blade sticking between his shoulder blades. “I can take him.”
Oluwande didn’t point out that it wasn’t de la Vaca but the dozen or so ruffians crowded around him who would be the problem, but that seemed to register anyway. He heard a growl in his ear, and the body next to him relaxed, just a little bit. A downgrade from “about to jump into murder mode” to “considering murder mode”, which seemed like a win, all things considered.
The crowd passed them by without incident, and Olu found he could breathe again.
“What’s your name?”
For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to respond. “Bonifacia Jimenez,” she said finally. “Don’t embarrass me by butchering it, just call me Jim.”
“Bonifacia,” Olu said. He was showing off just a little bit, rolling the name around in his mouth, testing it out. He risked a glance over to his companion, who somehow seemed to be glaring at him even worse. “Or Jim works too,” he said quickly. “I’m Olu. Oluwande Boodhari.”
“You know where Alfeo de la Vaca lives,” Jim said. “You’re going to take me there. I’ll kill him where he feels safest.”
“Oh- okay,” Olu stuttered. He told himself that he could back out. Catch up to de la Vaca and get his help throwing this maniac off his trail, lose her in transit, or hell, even sell her out to Jackie, see if she’d pay a bit for the woman who was after her man.
He already knew he wasn’t going to do that.