“Passport”

Nikki pushed open the door to Al-Kamil, took a breath, smelled the food and smoke, sat down.
The place was filled with bustling pregamers, all getting loaded before the Revels. They howled and wooed from behind their fancy masks, punching and hugging and rubbing fake faces together.
Opeyemi set two glasses down in front of Nikki, said, “Annyeong, Nik. Top o’ the morning to ye.”
Nikki rubbed her eyes, blinked. “It’s just me.”
“I thought I might drink with you.”
“Okay.”
Opeyemi sat as Nikki sighed.
“Hi, Yemi.”
Opeyemi smiled, long along the lips. “Not feeling yourself today?”
Nikki looked past Yemi, toward the kitchen. “It’s nothing really.”
“Your usual, then?”
Nikki nodded, took a drink.
Yemi took a careful sip from the full glass, set it down on the mica table, batted at the umbrella in a lemon wedge sucking the rim.
Nikki lit a cigarette, blew out the smoke. “You texted me.”
Yemi smiled the same. “Indeed I did. I have what you asked for.”
“On you?”
“Close by, yes.”
Nikki smoked. “That doesn’t sound like a yes.”
“It may as well be.”
Nikki rolled her eyes, inhaled more smoke, turned to look out the window. “Tell me where it is already.”
“You have my word. It’s all just as you asked.”
Nikki took the drink, drank it down. “Fixed your sugar problem.”
“Isaiah is afraid of you.”
“Yeah. Listen, I’m gonna need to go. Revels are tonight.”
“What’s that to you?”
“Too many things to do.”
“You have the money on you?”
Nikki showed her empty hands, then put them palm to palm, peeled them apart to reveal a key.
Yemi looked at the key, took it. “I appreciate the discretion this time.”
Nikki put the cigarette out on the tabletop. “Sure thing.” She looked toward the sound of feet on polished floor in the kitchen. “Tell Seong-Min I’m sorry. I know I said I’d stay a bit longer this time. But I can’t do it.”
Yemi relaxed, twirled the key idly. “Stay long enough for me to use this. If everything’s okay, I’ll text you a number.”
Nikki nodded, leaned back, took out her phone, read.
A few moments later, a text came with the number 357.
Nikki stood, pushed through the drunks and hopheads, out the door, down Lighthouse Avenue to the boardwalk lockers to number 357.
Locked.
Nikki waved her hand over the lock, heard the click, opened the locker. She pulled out the passport, the gun, the ammo, the fingerprint set, the mirror, stuffed it all in her blazer, lit a smoke.
Nikki hurried to the ferry, last one leaving for Revels. She looked down the street to the lighthouse. The timing was tight. It might be one or the other.