[h2][b][center][color=ed145b]Taryn Rogers[/color][/center][/b][/h2]

The meeting hadn’t really gone as smooth as she would have liked. The enormity of the stakes had gotten to her. That never happened before and she conceded to herself that she would have to get better at holding her nerve. Still, the deal was done and as she walked along alone now, it was impossible to hide she was absolutely beaming, giddy even. Her smile arced to one side slyly under her hat and she almost wanted to skip. Passersby on Ave Pura Vida seemed to sense this and some smiled back. It was a good day. [i]A really good day[/i]. She was a player now. They were going to get on that boat and bring this whole house down. 

[i]The boat.[/i]


She remembered.

The mayor’s boat wasn’t just going to give them an idea about what happened to Esteban Flores. The navigational computer was likely full of clues to every secret about Azul for the last half century, maybe more. Her mind swimming, she finally had to step aside and leaned against the wall in an alleyway to fan herself at the thought of it. Relief, exhilaration, dread and uncertainty all combined in a rush. She stared up at the sky between sun bleached architecture and the lively sounds of the evening. She couldn’t explain why, but she had to stifle laughter bubbling up like a cauldron. In the heat of the moment with Cori she sort of… neglected to mention it. [i]Oh well[/i]. She was entitled to her finder’s fee. For a moment she considered how she was even going to extract anything from the ultra-high end systems of the Flores’ expensive Italian yacht, but decided not to worry about it. There was plenty of time to figure it out. She took a deep breath to compose herself and relax before she started walking again.

Ave Pura Vida, pronounced, ‘[i]Ah-vaye Purah Veedah[/i]’ was the main drag of Isla Zafrio, running nearly the length of the island before it divided off into side streets, alleyways and footpaths. The name, a combination of British and Spanish nomenclature, was nonsensical in the native dialogue, but stuck over time as it had a particularly exotic sound when spoken among Westerners and to the locals seemed to make the visitors readily part with their freshly converted Pesos. Being one of the oldest streets on the islands, it was also scarcely wide enough for two small cars to pass so most traffic was either on foot or via small bike or kart and like most Caribbean towns the idea of traffic flow was more of a [i]suggestion[/i] than a hard and fast rule. The throng of the late evening shifted and moved no differently than currents passing along boat wakes. 

Taryn was accustomed to this and she walked along with her eyes again hidden behind sunglasses, undistracted by happy-hour celebrations or the bright colors of skillfully presented open-air venues painted in elaborate murals depicting Mayan history and life around Azul. In some places even further adornments were being added in preparation for Azul Days and there was no shortage of candlelit effigies or hastily assembled memorials for the late mayor. Differing music and conversation filled the air and occasionally a street vendor would mistake her for a tourist. There was nothing on Ave Pura Vida that she needed. She was just walking to walk and clear her mind, though over her shoulder her beach bag gave her the appearance of a young woman looking to spend. Along the side in crisp, but faded stitching read [i]Palm Royal Yacht Club - Ft Myers[/i]. In Azul this meant nothing, but back home, it was a status marker of the most hoity-toity sailing club in Southeast Florida, each bag being handmade from the used sails of past members: state senators, executives, celebrities and philanthropists. It was tradition for suitors to gift the bags to the young women of the club. Though he was long gone, Taryn still liked the bag and it had a distinctive red, white and blue pattern and the edge of a multi-pointed star where the sail had been cut. The worn tag on the inside read simply: [i]Donated by J. Blake[/i]. She had no clue who that was, something to do with an early phone company, but it sounded very chic. 

She stopped somewhere between Casa de la Contessa and La Casa Del Sol Nasciento, just to look unimpressed with a street stand. Occasionally it was possible to find a suitable trinket she might send back home to her dad, but the man was essentially impossible to shop for, even here. The vendor tried to offer something encouraging in Spanish, but she knew the game and ignored him completely. It crossed her mind to send something cheap to her mother just as a slight, but decided against it as she continued to peruse the various trinkets and wares. 

[@AndyC]