The Foreigner's Clothes

Sunlight blazed red through Monique's closed eyelids, filling her head with fire. As foggy dreams dissolved, she couldn't remember where she was. She sat up in hot sand, wincing as it scratched bare, sunscorched skin, and saw a lagoon ahead of her. A rocky wall lined the narrow slice of tropical beach.

Monique glanced around for her husband, expecting to see him lounging beside her. She wanted to chide him for letting her fall asleep in her bikini without sunscreen. Her eyes narrowed against the light as she scanned her surroundings. She was alone, with nothing on the shore but a chunk of driftwood. An unknown bird screeched in the distance.

"Josh? Are you here?" Monique's voice echoed, harsh and groggy. "Josh!"

She hauled herself up, slapping away clinging sand. What a ridiculous thing to happen on our island vacation. Where is he? Even her flip-flops and phone were missing, as if they were never there at all.

Monique advanced along the coastline towards an enormous natural stone archway, her eyes on the ground. Spotting unshod footprints, she rushed to follow them under the arch, ignoring the heaviness in her stomach. It was unlike Josh to vanish with all the beach gear.

Maybe he set up a new picnic area further down and he's heading back. Probably didn't want to wake me up, with the jet lag and all. She smiled faintly, discombobulated, looking forward to his cheerful face.

Beyond the archway, the land grew more scrubby, with dense, vibrant brush. Josh's tracks faded, and Monique edged closer to the lapping waves to avoid plunging into an overgrown jungle.

The hot sand was like iron filings. Her sunburned skin itched. Monique quickened her pace, wondering irritably how much further—

Behind a stand of palm trees, a dark skinned man wearing an ivory tunic and Arabian style hat knelt, with his forehead pressed to a prayer mat. She stopped, peeking between the palm fronds as he murmured prayers. A Muslim! I'll ask if he's seen my husband. Hesitant to interrupt his solemn ceremony, she hung back, marveling at his devotion.

After a few minutes he stood up, rolled his prayer mat, and headed towards a jungle trail. Monique burst out into the open.

"Excuse me, sir!"

The man pulled short, glancing back at her. His furrowed brow, tensed jaw, the way he recoiled and spun away on his heel, and most alarmingly the gun at his hip, made her breath catch in her throat. He scurried down the path without a word.

Monique followed him, trying to catch up.

"Sir! Can you please help me?" Her voice trembled now.

He kept his back to her, walking rapidly, head down. After a few paces, she gave up, watching him disappear into the brush. Maybe he doesn't understand English? Why wouldn't he stop? Why is he armed?

She sat trembling on a boulder. Her hands were sweaty; her throat tightened, foreboding tears. Don't cry! Go back to the beach, keep tracking the shoreline. Josh wouldn't abandon you on an island

Vaguely agitated thoughts tumbled through her mind like pebbles in whitewater. The warm, rough stone irritated her raw skin. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply as her heartbeat throbbed in her ears.

Crunching footsteps made her jump, eyes popping wide open. A woman wearing the headscarf and loose-fitting clothes of a Muslim lady was approaching from where the man went. She smiled, holding out a hand. Folds of extra cloth hung over one arm.

"Salaam alaikum." Her warm brown eyes met Monique's blue ones with reassuring steadiness. "Is something wrong? My husband sent me to find you. My name is Fatima… yours?"

Monique let out a ragged breath, running her hands through her long blonde hair.

"I'm Monique. Why did he run away when he saw me?"

"It is strictly prohibited for a servant of Allah to interact closely with women unrelated to him."

"What?" Monique's eyebrows lifted. "You mean he couldn't say "hold on, I'm getting my wife?""

"Then he would have had to stop and explain why," Fatima pointed out gently. "Honey, you're practically naked."

Monique glanced down at the skimpy yellow two-piece showcasing her shapely frame. She frowned.

"So what? Is he afraid to look at women?"

"We are required to guard our eyes against temptation."

"That's ridiculous! So if I was dying naked in the streets he would run away?"

"Of course not. That's why I'm here. What is your problem?" Fatima sat beside Monique on the boulder.

"I can't find my husband! We flew to the mainland on vacation, rented a boat to hang out for the day. I fell asleep, and when I woke up everything was gone, and I'm all sunburned and I don't know where Josh is and I…"

"I'm sorry. You must be very frightened."

Monique sniffled, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable like a lost little girl. She had to admit, running around in a swimsuit was starting to feel uncouth, especially considering she had no access to her clothes—or Josh. She eyed the bundle of cloth folded in Fatima's lap.

"Did you… bring me your clothes?" Incredulously.

Fatima nodded, unfolding a long, simple ivory skirt and tunic. She held a periwinkle scarf up to Monique's face.

"This lovely color complements your eyes. That is, if you like it."

"I need something to wear." Monique shrugged. "Might as well try on a headscarf too. My hair must be a mess!"

She worried the unfamiliar clothes would be hot and stiff, perhaps scratching her chafed skin. But the soft, loose cotton was light and airy, protecting her against further sun damage.

Fatima arranged the scarf dexterously over Monique's head and around her neck, hiding every strand of hair.

"There. You look beautiful. Now, let's go speak with my husband, Abdul. He knows about Josh."

Monique followed Fatima along the trail, stepping awkwardly in her skirt, as if she were wearing a costume.

"Who are you? Why are you on this island? The boat people claimed it was uninhabited."

"Abdul is an Interpol detective. He's investigating a crime ring. I'm helping him."

"What?" Stunned.

At the foot of a volcanic mountain, a rudimentary thatched cabin awaited. Fatima knocked. Abdul sat at a desk, chin in hand, with a laptop and several file folders. He glanced up, nodding curtly as Fatima and Monique took seats in front of him.

"Salaam alaikum, ma'am. Your husband's name is Josh?"

"Yes, sir."

Abdul displayed his law enforcement credentials.

"I regret to inform you of the real reason for your vacation here." As he spoke, he did not make eye contact with Monique, instead directing his gaze to the wall behind her. "Josh, though the highly respected president of an international bank, does money laundering and supply chain for a notorious drug trafficking group."

She fell back in her seat, mouth agape, heart missing a beat. Abdul's unsympathetic body language offered no comfort. Fatima leaned over to put a hand on her shoulder.

"You're kidding! I—I can't believe that. Josh isn't a criminal!"

"On the contrary, he is the worst kind of criminal. Myself and my wife are posing as pickup agents for a valuable payload he will deliver on this island. You might say he walked into a trap and brought you along."

"Oh, come on!" Monique rested her face in her hands. "So why did he disappear? Is that your plan—he vanishes with all our stuff, leaving me frying on the beach like a sardine?"

"He might have added his own touches to the plan." Abdul glanced at his smartwatch. "I'm expecting a call from him within minutes. Perhaps it will explain."

Monique shook her head dazedly.

"I'm not sure I want to know…"

The phone rang. Abdul set it on speaker.

"Hey Asim, that you?"

Josh's voice was unmistakable, bright and flippant. Monique gripped the armrests, white-knuckled, leaning forward breathlessly.

"Indeed, Josh." Abdul spoke with measured caution. "You have arrived?"

"Yep. I'm on the island. Nice beaches!"

"You bring the goods, as agreed upon?"

"Yep. Hundred-fifty kilos of fentanyl, direct from the source!"

Monique jolted as with an electric shock. She had enough presence of mind left to stifle a horrified cry by pressing her scarf over her mouth.

"Very good." Abdul remained calm. "You are alone, correct?"

"Actually, I brought my wife."

"Say what?" With a sharp edge. "Why would you do that?"

"Aw, she don't know anything. Thinks it's a luxury vacay. I gave her some pills, she's conked out on the beach. Gives us enough time to swap the goods."

Monique's eyes blazed. She wrapped the scarf tighter around her mouth, trying not to explode. Fatima laid a hand over hers.

"Fine. Do not bring anyone again. A foolhardy risk."

"Gotcha. You have cash?" Now Josh was sharp. "This load's worth double what you're paying. Better not try anything."

His threat curdled Monique's blood. Abdul flipped a pen back and forth between his fingers. His eyes never once met Monique's, communicating silently with Fatima.

"All necessary funds are ready. Myself and two assistants will handle the exchange at the appointed time and location."

"Roger. See ya."

"You as well."

Abdul hung up, typing on his laptop. Monique collapsed limply in her seat.

"I'm speechless."

"You can come with us to watch the takedown. Dressed like Fatima, with the hijab across your lower face as you have it, it's unlikely he will recognize you."

Something about that made her laugh wildly. She wondered if she was still asleep on the beach, dreaming.

"When we recover your phone, passport and other personal items, you can leave."

"Not sure what I'll be going home to, but yeah, leaving sounds great."

***

They trekked across the island, Abdul hauling a wagon stacked with suitcases.

"Are we safe?" Monique tugged on her scarf, eyes darting.

"Oh yes." Fatima nodded. "The island is brimming with armed agents. Josh is surrounded. Trust us, we've done this before."

"Both of you?" Aghast.

"We are a team."

Monique shuddered.

"You're brave."

They pushed through a final curtain of vines to the opposite shoreline. Josh paced back and forth in front of a pile of waterproof sacks, a gun strapped to his belt.

Monique and Fatima hung back in the shade of palm trees as the two men confirmed each other's payloads. Heavily armed men in black uniforms slowly edged along, hemming them in unawares.

"This isn't safe! What if he tries to shoot his way out? What if he has backup? Who are these people?"

"Relax, honey. Allah will protect us."

Abdul straightened up from the sacks, signaling the hidden men. They descended on Josh, weapons drawn.

"Hands up! You are under arrest."

Monique's eyes filled with hot, stinging tears, blurring Josh shouting and struggling as he was led away. Fatima wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

***

"I don't know how to thank you."

Monique, Fatima and Abdul stood at the airport. She clutched her luggage and passport, still wearing Fatima's gifted periwinkle headscarf somewhat incongruously over her own tank and shorts.

"It was nothing," Fatima assured her. "All in the line of duty."

"You went above and beyond. Is it permissable to hug you?"

"Entirely permissable." Fatima embraced her. "But not my husband," she added, smiling.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Monique giggled. She sighed. "I'm scared… how do I live without Josh?"

"It's the first day of your new life, honey. You'll be fine."

"May Allah be kind to you on your journey," Abdul added.

By now Monique was accustomed to his avoidance of contact. She appreciated the sincerity in his words.

"I'll always remember you," she told them both, waving goodbye as she boarded the plane. "Salaam alaikum."

Notes ▼

Words: 1960.
Written for the March 2025 Official WdC Contest, Short Shots.
Prompt: