The Landing Strip

I was bored.

Being the "IT Guy" on a business trip usually meant setting up a secure VPN in the hotel room and then sitting around for eight hours while Cata yelled at people in boardrooms.

I had already hacked the hotel Wi-Fi (password: Columbus1492, pathetic) and re-routed the bandwidth so I could stream 4K movies in the guest house.

But the silence of the Casas del XVI was creeping me out. It was too quiet. Too many ferns.

"I need noise," I muttered to myself.

I grabbed my backpack and headed out. Max had mentioned a print shop. Imprenta Mercedes. He said he was getting business cards, but the look on his face when he said it? That wasn't a "business card" look. That was the look of a man who had just discovered fire.

I needed to see this fire.

I followed Google Maps through the winding streets. The heat was no joke. I was sweating through my Bad Bunny hoodie, but I refused to take it off. It was my armor.

I found the shop. It was small, squeezed between a cafeteria and a lottery booth.

I walked in.

The bell jingled. The place smelled like hot paper and chemicals.

There was no one at the counter.

"Hello?" I called out. "¡Hola! ¡Que lo que!" (I had been practicing on Duolingo).

A head popped up from behind a stack of boxes in the corner.

It wasn't the "Jefa" Max had described. This girl was younger, maybe my age. She wore huge hoop earrings, a t-shirt that said NASA, and she was holding a bag of plantain chips.

She looked me up and down. She looked at the hoodie. She looked at the expensive sneakers.

"We don't sell vape pens," she deadpanned.

I laughed. "Ouch. Harsh. I'm looking for Max. Tall guy. Looks like he’s in a funeral procession? Probably wearing a shirt that costs more than my rent?"

The girl crunched a chip. "The Architect. He left an hour ago."

"Damn." I leaned against the counter. "I'm Tony. His cousin. The cooler cousin."

She raised an eyebrow. "Debatable."

She stood up and walked over. She was holding a tablet.

"I'm Yulissa," she said. "Head of... Digital Strategy."

"Digital Strategy?" I looked around the chaotic shop. "You mean you run the Instagram?"

"I mean I keep this place from imploding while Sofía plays therapist to the clients," she corrected. She pointed a chip at me. "So, you are with the Gringos. The hotel people."

"I am with them," I admitted. "But I am not of them. I'm just the guy who makes sure the emails send."

Yulissa narrowed her eyes. "You look like trouble. New York trouble."

"Jersey, actually."

"Even worse."

She went back to scrolling on her tablet. I should have left. Max wasn't there.

But there was something about her. She was sharp.

"So," I said, trying to find an opening. "What's the Wi-Fi password here? I’m getting zero bars."

"It’s for customers only," she said without looking up.

"I'll buy something." I looked around. "I'll buy... fifty flyers."

"For what?"

"For... my services," I improvised. "Tony’s Tech Support. 'I turn it off and on again so you don't have to.'"

Yulissa finally cracked a smile. It was small, but it was there.

"Fifty flyers," she said. "That’s five hundred pesos."

I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

She took the money. She wrote down a code on a sticky note and slapped it on the counter.

"Welcome to the Dominican Republic, Tony," she said. "Don't get robbed."

"I think I just did," I grinned.

I took the sticky note. I didn't leave. I sat on a plastic chair in the corner and opened my laptop.

"What are you doing?" Yulissa asked.

"Digital Strategy," I lied. "And waiting for Max. He left his... aura here."

Yulissa rolled her eyes, but she offered me a plantain chip.

I took it.

Max was right. This place had gravity.