Gregson needed to see the dangerous parts of people; the things kept hidden. It was a spirit that drove him and was only kept at bay on the razor’s edge. Gregson pushed his horse up the volcanic ridge. His imagination solved crimes and every now and then he peered out from it.
He soaked in the island air and smelled sweet in the tropical heat. “I’ve got to lay off the sugar.”
“Let’s see if you can catch up,” Tiffany said.
Death was one mis-step over the rocky ledge as they tore down the valley.
A red biplane flew out of the blue sky.
Gregson and Tiffany charged through a faded barn that exploded in white powder. They were higher than kites and thicker than dusted donuts.
“Cocaine, I think,” Tiffany said.
“Hold the reins.” They went through a curtain of green and found themselves falling towards the ocean.
Tiffany hopped on Gregson’s belly and they floated to shore. They lay in the sand and Gregson felt Tiffany’s dangerous parts; those regions that enslave a man. Danger is a thousand different things to a thousand different people. It makes horses go. The ocean was beautiful and under the dark water a black thing emerged. It moved towards them and crawled onto the land. It was a submarine. A death head popped up.
“If it’s not the gambler that took me for 50,000. I’m going to take more than my money back. You put your stomach where it doesn’t belong.”
The skeleton pointed at Gregson’s belly. “You’re covered with cocaine. The sharks will love you. You’ll be like a raspberry dusted donut. We’ll launch you through the torpedo tubes, if you’ll fit.”
Bad guys always came up with creative ways to kill him, but Gregson didn’t mind. In times of stress, the solution always presented itself when he ate.
“Can the condemned man have a last meal?”
“Excellent! What will it be?”
“Caviar and Champagne.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“Our dance with death.”