by J. M. Parker
Bannon spoke first. “It won’t hold up under a proper search.”
“Few vehicles do. It is a precaution. With the correct papers we should pass without suspicion. The briefest of searches at worst.”
“You sure? There’s room for a lot of drugs.”
“Trust me, it will work.”
Bannon was about to speak again when Alina leaned closer to him. “It will be alright,” she said. “You’ll be diving again before you know it.”
“Hope so,” said Bannon, smiling at the girl when the Frenchman clapped his hands together.
“Let us move,” said the Frenchman, tossing Bannon the keys. “Why don’t you drive? Get used to the machine.”
“I’m pretty beat.”
The Frenchman grinned, pointing to a final orange line on the hood of the car. “Take it,” he said. “For safety.”
Bannon stepped over to the hood, the skin around his nose tingling as he leaned in and snorted the powder.
“Better,” said the Frenchman.
Bannon took a long breath, his energy spiking again. His eyes watered and he could feel the powder stinging the back of his nasal cavity. “Better,” he said.
The three of them hopped into the car, the engine coming smoothly to life as Bannon turned the key. The Frenchman opened the glove box and removed a small map; a red line ran across the route. His familiar italic penmanship provided further directions. “There,” said the Frenchman. “Should be easy enough.”
Bannon set the map on the dashboard and pressed on the accelerator.
“She drives nicely,” said Alina.
“Still got a flair for it,” said Bannon, looking into the rearview mirror and watching as Alina reclined on a sleeping pad. “You alright back there?”
“Just fine. On to the next adventure.”
Bannon pulled the camper out onto the road and accelerated again. “Soon you will have it,” said the Frenchman, his voice rising above the sudden roar of the engine as he turned to face Alina. “Soon you will have your fix.”
“Perfect,” said Alina, her eyes closing. “I can hardly wait.”
*
An hour later and the Frenchman was asleep too. Bannon drove in the dead quiet of the morning, watching the clock as the minutes went slowly by. His whole body sagged into the seat, his eyes held open by the last traces of the drugs. The fuel light flashed on the dash and he stopped to fill up, feeling suddenly faint as he stepped out of the camper and staggered for the pumps. He paid the attendant and drove a few more miles along the road, the camper weaving across the asphalt as his eyes shut and his head dropped. “Fuck this,” he said, pulling the vehicle over and falling asleep.
When he woke the sun was rising. He rubbed his eyes, still half asleep as dust drifted about the camper like a pink mist in the morning light. Beside him the Frenchman still slept, sitting upright in his seat, his arms neatly crossed in front. A faint smile broke on the corner of his mouth and Bannon shook his head. “Guess that’s how vampires sleep.”
Behind him he heard a rustle of movement and he turned to find Alina huddled over the Frenchman’s bag. “What the hell?” said Bannon, flinching slightly as he saw her holding the Frenchman’s Colt Walker, the chamber popped open and the hammer pulled back.
Alina looked quickly at the Frenchman. “Oh, you’re awake.”
“Yeah,” said Bannon, watching as she closed the chamber and clicked the hammer back into position.
“I was bored. I have been snooping around for an hour or so.”
“It’s a hell of a thing, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” said Alina, tucking the pistol back into the bag. “Yes it is.”
“You seem to know how to handle it.”
“Of course, my father used to have one, not the exact same model but something similar.”
“You’re father the dentist?”
Alina nodded before she pointed back at the Frenchman. “Maybe best not to tell him I was looking.”
“Sure thing,” said Bannon, holding a finger to his lips before he turned around and started the camper again.
*
The Frenchman woke a half hour later, his eyes snapping open before he studied the scene outside. “How long did you stop for?”
“How’d you know I stopped?”
“We should be a little closer by now.”
“Little over an hour. Couldn’t keep driving any longer, not if you wanted this thing in one piece.”
The Frenchman looked at his watch. “Makes sense,” he said. “Let me take the wheel. You two stay out of sight.”
“We okay?” said Bannon, glancing at Alina.
“Of course, but this close to the border, you never know who is watching. Better for you that people don’t make the association between us.”
“Alright,” said Bannon, slipping into the back of the camper and slumping down beside Alina.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” said Alina.
Bannon looked at the Frenchman, his eyes shining in the rearview mirror as the camper accelerated and they roared on down the road. “Yeah,” said Bannon. “In a bloodcurdling sort of way.”
*
They stopped outside a walled compound, the engine humming away as the gates rolled open. Coils of barbed wire sat on top of the walls and little TV monitors pointed into the driveway. A small stone house stood in the middle of the compound, its windows covered with bars. The gates opened and the Frenchman drove around to the back of the house, pulling the camper into a small garage. He hopped out, moving over to a barred back door and quickly working the lock. “Okay,” he said, gesturing for Bannon and Alina to follow.
Inside they found the place comfortably furnished. Little touches of the Frenchman’s style could be seen around a well-decorated living room. Art hung from the walls and deep plush couches stood next to shelves packed with books. On a side table sat a telephone, beside it a small rectangular box, a little ribbon wrapped neatly around it. The Frenchman stepped over to the table, picking up the box before he pointed to the phone. “They will call when it is time to move. Until then we wait.”
“Alright,” said Bannon, slumping onto a couch.
The Frenchman moved from the room and Alina sat beside Bannon, her skin brushing against his. Bannon sighed, another wave of tiredness coming on. “Never thought I’d end up here,” he said.
Alina grinned. “Funny how it works out.”
“You know,” said Bannon, “I always wondered. You still got family, right?”
“Yes, in Germany.”
“Well what do they think about all this? You off and running about the world.”
“They like it.”
“But they don’t know what you’re really doing?”
“No. They do not know what really I do.”
“You don’t ever feel guilty about it?”
Alina stared back, a sad look passing across her face. “Sometimes.”
“And how do you cope with that?”
“I just do. I mean you learn to cope. You get happy, you start enjoying what are you doing, and the guilt or sadness or regret doesn’t seem like such a big thing anymore.”
“That’s good,” said Bannon, leaning back into the couch and smiling as he felt Alina brush against him again, “gives me something to shoot for.”
*
The phone rang, waking Bannon. In her sleep Alina had slipped to the side and her warm body leaned against him. She let out a long yawn, turning toward the door as the Frenchman strode across the room and lifted the receiver.
“Oui”
The crackle of a reply came from the phone.
“Yes,” said the Frenchman, waiting as the voice on the other end responded, “okay”, he said, “I understand.”
The Frenchman set the receiver down. “We moving?” said Bannon.
“Soon.”
The room fell silent and the Frenchman grinned, placing a hand gently on his pocket, his fingers tracing the outline of the ribbon-tied box. “Come
,” he said. “Let us eat. The final preparations must be made.”
*
In the kitchen they ate canned food served on elegant china plates. The Frenchman had produced a bottle of wine and he poured them each a glass. They ate silently for most of the dinner, before Alina finally spoke. “So how shall we cross?”
“Bannon and I will cross at the border,” said the Frenchman, neatly laying his silverware across his plate.
“You and Bannon?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was coming?”
“They are expecting two. We will arrive with two.”
“And what about my favor? I want to collect it. You said you could get that for me.”
“I will collect it for you. Until then I have something else to keep you occupied.” the Frenchman reached for his pocket, removing the little rectangular box from the living room table. “Here,” he said, pulling away the lid. “As fine a hit of heroin as can be found.”
Bannon watched as Alina looked at the contents of the box, light glinting ever so slightly from the needle, the syringe filled with a brown fluid. “Right from the source,” said the Frenchman. “Completely untampered.”
Alina didn’t move and the Frenchman’s smile widened. “I promise you it will be a unique experience.”
Alina reached for the lid of the box, when the Frenchman grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?” he said.
“Like I told you, that stuff is not really for me anymore.”
“I am afraid that is not your choice,” said the Frenchman, his hand still wrapped around her arm. “I must insist you take it now.”
Bannon rose out of his chair and stepped to the Frenchman. “Goddammit, you heard what she said.”
“Yes,” said the Frenchman, staring calmly back, “I heard.”
“Then why are you pushing it on her?”
“I will provide the drug she wants, these rare plants of hers, this voodoo milk. But for now, no one leaves. Not so close to the job. I must know where everyone is, what everyone is doing. The drug will keep her here until nightfall, after dark I can assure you it is not wise to leave the compound.”
“You son of bitch.”
“You and I cross, the girl remains here. I will collect her on my return tomorrow.”
“Took her a long time to get off that stuff,” said Bannon, looking at the drugs. “You keep pushing it on her and you can find someone else to do your run.”
The Frenchman smiled again, seemingly unnerved by the remark. “We have been over this, mon ami. It is too late to back out. If you fail to deliver, you will be held to account by men of the most heinous and villainous character.”
“Well, maybe I roll those dice,” said Bannon, staring furiously at the Frenchman. “Figure I’ve seen about the worst of people.”
“I can assure you, you have not.”
Bannon moved to answer, when Alina cut him off. “Bannon, it’s alright.”
“It ain’t.”
“It’s alright,” she said, dragging her arm away from the Frenchman and grabbing the syringe. “I’ll take it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“If this gets us what we need, if this gets you get clear, then I’ll take it.”
“You don’t have to, not like this,” said Bannon, his words drowned out by the sudden laughter of the Frenchman. “Magnifique,” said the Frenchman, throwing a hand toward the living room. “Bannon, would you care to watch?”
Bannon didn’t respond. He watched in horror as Alina moved into the living room, where she sank back into a couch, the needle resting on top of her leg. The Frenchman followed and Bannon stepped behind him, moving to strike the Frenchman, when he saw Alina shake her head.
Slowly the Frenchman crossed the room, unbuckling his belt and slipping it from his waist. Alina extended an arm and the Frenchman wrapped the belt around it, her muscle rising around the leather as the Frenchman pulled it tight. Three times he tapped her arm, waiting patiently for the vein to rise.
“Please,” said Bannon.
Alina just smiled, her cobalt eyes locked on his. “I’ll be alright,” she said, holding his gaze for a moment longer before the Frenchman raised the syringe and sunk the needle into her arm.
Her mouth parted in a little gasp as the Frenchman pressed the plunger and the liquid disappeared into her arm. Bannon watched as the color drained from her body, her skin blanching white as she sank deeper into the couch. A smile formed on her lips and her back arched slightly. “My god,” she said. “My god.”
The Frenchman drew the needle from her arm, a tiny bubble of blood forming where it exited and running in a trickle across her skin. He unhooked the belt and tossed it aside. “It is done,” he said, brushing past Bannon, who stood silently in the doorway. “Prepare yourself. Soon we are gone.”
Bannon stood a moment longer, watching as Alina’s chest rose and fell in slow breathes. He moved to her and pressed his hand to her wrist, her slow pulse beating against his fingers. Her eyes opened momentarily and seemed to roll in his direction. “I’m sorry,” he said, watching as her eyes closed again. He sunk onto a knee and wiped the blood off her skin. Gently, he kissed her cheek, tears welling in his eyes before he stood and turned away.
14
They crossed the border without any trouble, the Frenchman waving to the soldiers as Bannon crouched behind the bedroom door. “Won’t they recognize me on the way back through?” said Bannon.
The Frenchman smiled. “They are looking for you to flee the country, not sneak back in. Give them the documents and you will be fine.”
They left the main road shortly after, turning onto a little side road that wound up into the thick folds of the jungle. Bannon reclined on a sleeping pad in the back, thinking about Alina, and neither man spoke as the camper snaked deeper into the wilderness.
*
The screech of the brakes turned Bannon’s attention back to the road and he watched as they moved out of the jungle and into a little clearing. A simple-looking outpost sat against a backdrop of trees, the last light of the day falling across the dirt lawn around it. The door of the building swung open and a man emerged. A dark-skinned Thai, an ugly-looking machine gun swinging across his chest. He spotted the Frenchman and bowed before he thumbed the safety on the gun.
They exited the camper, striding on to the little concrete adobe in the back of the clearing. Inside they found a small kitchen area with two doors leading off to different rooms. Another machine gun lay on the kitchen table and three more stood propped against the wall. From a side door Bannon heard a loud snoring and he wondered how many men were there. In the corner of the room a telephone was placed on a rickety table. The Frenchman sat, gesturing for Bannon to do the same, as the Thai man stood guard behind them. The three of them waited in silence in the sticky heat of the day, sweat beading on Bannon’s skin, when the shrill sound of the telephone rang out into the room.
The Frenchman moved across to it, lifting the phone from the hook and speaking in a language that Bannon didn’t recognize. He set the receiver back down and looked in Bannon’s direction. “In the morning we move. We wait here till then.”
Bannon nodded.
The Frenchman disappeared from the house, returning a moment later with a sleeping pad. He tossed it to the ground and pointed to a side door. “Rest in there,” said the Frenchman. “I will see you in the morning.”
With that the Frenchman stepped off into another room. Bannon caught a quick view of a dormitory as the door swung open. A large man slept soundly on his bed, an opium pipe rested on a table beside it. Behind him the dark-skinned Thai coughed and Bannon turned in his direction, watching as the man pointed his machine gun at the sleeping pad. Bannon rose, picking up the thing and turning back to the man. “What now?” he said.
The man jabbed the barrel of the gun at the second door, waiting as Bannon moved inside before he slammed the door shut behind him.
In the room Bannon found a stack of crate
s and he placed the pad on top, slumping onto the edge of it and letting his head fall into his hands. Outside he heard the steady hum of a bug lamp, its unnatural blue light falling in a small square through a barred window of the room. He heard the first crackle of a bug hitting the wire, then another. He stood up, moving over to the window and watching as insects swarmed around the light, all different types and sizes moving in a flutter of little wings. An enormous butterfly cut through the crowd, its painted wings glowing strangely in the light of the lamp as it hammered into the wire. It fizzed in the electrical current before it dragged itself away, circling once more around the bugs before it plummeted in again, the shock stiffening the thing, and it fell dead to the ground.
“Fuck,” said Bannon, grabbing a joint before he tried to find a lighter. He returned to the bed and grabbed his backpack, more anxiety coming on as the sizzle of dying insects seeped out into the room. “Where is it?” said Bannon, searching through his bag and coming up with the box of matches, the little silhouette of the woman on the front, Moonshine Dive written in italics above it. He felt his anxiety turn to anger as he looked at the box. He thought about the first time he ever met the Frenchman and all the trouble that had happened since. He drew out a match and tossed the box aside, matches spilling out as it skipped across the floor. He lit the joint, taking a long drag as he tried to relax. He felt his breathing quicken as he remembered Alina lying on the couch, blood trickling across her arm, the color draining from her skin. He wondered if she was still there and he stood in a sudden panic. “I need a drink,” he said, moving back out of the room, stopping as he saw the dark-skinned Thai, the machine gun resting on his lap as he sat facing the room.
“Drink,” said Bannon, pressing past him and rummaging through the drawers. He found a label-less jug of something, the dregs of it sloshing about the bottom of the container. He quickly unscrewed the top and smelled the thing. It smelled of alcohol and he took a hard pull, grimacing as the booze worked its way down his throat. He took a quick breath and raised the bottle again, pulling harder this time and feeling the panic ease. He lifted the joint to his lips and took another drag, then he drained last of the fluid. His throat burned as he swallowed the dregs and he reached hurriedly for the tap. Brown drips of water broke from the nozzle and then it croaked dry. Bannon turned back to the Thai. “Water,” he said.
