The Arrival

by Riley Moreno

  He rudely replies with, “you don’t need that. No foreigner needs to know who I am. Your stay here will be short. This is no holiday destination.” He walks out, and the men follow like bodyguards protecting him. He’s shorter than they are so it’s quite a site to see.

  Angelina speaks to Lee from behind quietly, “I will come with you. You most likely will get a written warning.” They exit the café with the two men waiting a couple of yards away.

  Lee speaks with Angelina briefly. “Can you not? I need you to find the man friend I was with? He should be a modern looking man out here. Was at the scene giving orders–“

  Angelina interrupts, “Yes. I know him. I’ll do my best to find him for you.”

  “I appreciate this. I know you don’t know me–”

  “It’s fine.” Interjected again. Lee had to bite her tongue. “Maybe we can soon help each other out with what we need.” Angelina walks for about 38 – yards and then makes a right down a graveled alley. Lee saw that route, it leads to a set of dirty stoned steps that leads to the higher grounding of this town that is sitting on quite a few hills and raised earthly bumps.

  Lee approaches the three men, “She has left you to go where?” The man arrogantly asks.

  “That’s her business. Don’t you think?”

  In a reviled way, he replies with, “You are very much like her.” The other cops agree and walk off. “But Angelina knows better than to hang around for too long. Take a leaf out of her book and you’ll do fine. The vehicle is just up here. Please follow me?”

  Lee could really fly-kick this guy back to the stinking decay of the smelly docks. She would love to use his head as a candle wick and light him as her bedroom display. Never has a man vexed her so early with his superciliousness. But she keeps it on a keychain and will behave with her short temper that’s working itself up. Because when you’re a foreigner in a new home, you need to see how the people like to play. So, she’ll damn play it right!

  Chapter 4

  “What brings you and Lee here, Darren?”

  Darren is shutting the passenger door of Hona’s Honda. He amusingly sees the humor in Hona’s Honda and wonders why he went for both vintage and downright ugly. The thing is lime green beyond the natural color of anything appealing, and no way can the mileage marked be able to cover 50-miles with no problems.

  It ran smooth enough when he was inside. But now and again, Hona would have to kick-start the thing and ask for a push because the steep hills around the town were not suited for its endurability. Darren would run to the back and heeeeeave, and Darren would switch it on and hear the car cough out of exhaustion like an out-of-breath throaty human.

  The wheels would roll backward, and Hona wound wind down the window and check to see that there was nothing on the tarmac before telling Darren that it was ok, its heart was functioning again.

  And then when they approached a 2-way intersection, which is where they have gotten out when they drove a little closer to a wide space picket fence and parked. Hona claimed that’s it’s better to walk to where they needed to go. But in truth, he was out of petrol. The 4-seater apparently drinks more gasoline than a drunken sailor.

  Hona’s question was the last thing on Darren’s mind when he leads him to his home which was located just outside the town. The intersection parted the way they had come with Ringo from the airport, which included the farms, a few factories, and the poorer outsiders and high grass fields.

  “That way,” Hona and Darren stand to observe the north-west route, “That’s where a more private settlement lies. I haven’t seen it. The rebels, although not officially staying there, are known to visit from time to time and face no backlash. They welcome their kind and cause.”

  “What cause do they fight for?” Their feet start to walk again.

  “They want the old ways back. Good living and nourishment for kids, decent jobs, fair treatment. More opportunity to work fewer hours than 10. And they want to get rid of the man in charge. But who could get rid of such wealth?” Hona’s eyes flutter anxiously. “I gave up on trying to make them see sense. But they persist.”

  “That sounds quite honorable to me. Why are they treated like the bad guys if all this has impacted the entire town that people live in?”

  “It’s a small and quiet place. People let things slide and that does them good. It brings them a new day. If they join the rebels’ anarchic behavior, then there won’t be anything left for anybody.”

  “But ... what is it that’s keeping people so noiseless? And talk of strangers, like Lee who was attacked? What have they brought here?”

  Hona sighs and his eyes squint, “the nature of why you are here... with your gun and female companion is burning into many sore eyes. You made quite a scene. And talk travels very fast, to the point of reaching those you don’t want it to. You might not know me to trust me but watch for some of these townsfolk. They come in many different disguises. Some dress a certain way to hide their identity, males and females. Young and old. The money makers, and the factory workers. The way you came, cannot be the way you will leave.”

  “You make it sound like we’re trapped here, Hona?”

  “I come from Begard, and back there, which is at least a 1000-miles away by car, is a place where I wouldn’t advise anybody to step foot on. There is poverty there that creates cavities in more than just a person’s teeth. Everybody works 12-hours a day in an arrastra mill – styled setup where plenty of pulverizing and grinding is taken place.”

  Darren listens to every word he says with acute precision. “And they do this for one man only who wants to be wealthy. Can you imagine, this old-fashioned style of labor where men and women mine for minerals and ores that can be used for this stranger’s gain? And nobody complains of this treatment.”

  “Maybe the rebels should take up there instead to liberate?”

  “No. No. They stick to their boundaries. Although, deep down, I feel like it might just be an outdated connection that is being swept and more will shout renegade. Rules are made up out here. They do as they will.”

  “And how do you see all of this?”

  “A cancerous infection. Homicide out here is becoming more common than flu.” Hona stops and turns to Darren. “You and this Lee, I must ask again, what is your business here? It won’t be put on record. But for the sake of me being able to protect you. I must get some indication as to why? You see, the reason, whenever a visitor sets foot, it is for business only. And they never check into that shoddy motel. Well, one did. And she was never seen again from that point forward.”

  “Who was she?”

  “We’ll talk more when we reach my home. I do my work from there. Not the policing station that no longer needs my welcome.”

  ...

  Lee stands in front of the desk, that is positioned before an empty cell that spans the entire back wall which was a fair size. It’s very old-fashioned, corroded bars that were peeling skin, and at least three undressed bunk-beds on either side, a hammock, one loo, an unappealing waste bucket, a chair with only three legs, and gray trays with dirty plain plates that give the impression of gruel being served.

  Lee spots some mice and unusual looking cockroaches, but sanitary wise, it’s cleaner than expected. The station is the size of 2-double bedrooms with the center wall knocked out the middle with no seating for guest; a water machine that’s faulty, no communal toilet ... but maps. Lee spots maps of the area color coded with various pins that would be something Henny would appreciate when on a case upon the walls.

  They’re large. And she also sees headshots, of men and women who all have scars on their faces. “You take in a lot around you.” The man is tapping a pen against a slip he has just ripped out that he was filling in.

  “You do thing by the book around here?” A pun. As this man is literally about to present her with a warning slip. “I’m a grown woman. A warning isn’t what I need. But thank you.”

  “It is if you plan to stay here and not do b
usiness. I gather you do things differently? Maybe ... maybe your profession ... is something similar to mine?”

  “No. Just checking in and looking for somewhere to stay.” He must think Lee is stupid.

  “But you haven’t heard what my profession is.”

  “I’d say a lawyer or solicitor?”

  “So many words for it. But I prefer to go under the terms of bought luggage.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “It does. But when I think about it, I do very well being under the branches of such a promising tree. And all who invest, they do well too. Because who knows what could be lurking ... trying to devour that main stability we have. Do you understand me?”

  “Not at all.” Lee really thinks this guy stayed too long in a pocket of piss and figured it was spring water.

  “You stepped on owned land. It’s an offense out here. A form of trespassing, and liable to see me throw you back in that cell behind me for further punishment.”

  “I was unaware.”

  “Lies. To me, you were looking for something. And being very open about it.”

  “I really would like your name? You seem so full of knowledge–”

  “And you are highly sarcastic!” He springs up from his seat. “Your very presence tells me you are something that needs to be checked into.”

  “I make a good impression wherever I go.”

  He walks around the desk to her. “An attempt to kill a woman happened just last night. Was it you?”

  “No.” Lee shakes her head and gulps inwardly.

  “I’ll find out. Because if it is you, it won’t be the last time. Them rebels never give up.”

  “Can you please warn me and let me go?” Lee does not turn to meet his gaze as he stands to the side of her.

  “I am.” He’s directing this at her ear canal. He wants those sound waves to pick this up nicely, “You are not the only guests here. Somebody blurted out the name Shaka back at that motel.”

  Lee’s neck stiffens. Her back tightens. But she lets it all relax in time. “And what of that–”

  “It’s not a name this town knows of.”

  “And how would you know who’s -who when you aren’t from here?”

  “Be careful of what you dig for. And although I do not care for what happens to you, I think you should keep your head down from now on and stay out of my way.” He returns back to the desk and plonks himself down like an aristocratic ponce. “I’ll need your name, as well as your friend who asked for Shaka.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you’ll stay in that cell.” He really doesn’t give a shit as he writes down what Lee doesn’t need to tell him.

  “I get your name. And you get mine. That’s the deal I can offer you.”

  “No.” He still doesn’t give her the time of day. “Last chance. Name ... please?”

  “Rona and Mark. That’s our names. And we’re travelers.”

  Now he peers up like a hunter wanting to catch the snake that coiled, “I would’ve thought you were Lee Coil?”

  Another savored inhale that Lee won’t let go off. “And who’s that?” She still imagines she’s holding her breath underwater.

  “A woman who somebody would very much like to meet.”

  Lee blinks once at him, and then turns to a photograph on the wall, she knows .... yes ... it’s her. The journalist that Henny described when they spoke. It has to be. But she can’t be sure from where she stands.

  “You know her?” Lee shuts her eyes to tear herself away from the suspecting tone that he uses. It’s an inquiry more than a question that she picks up.

  “No.”

  The two men who had assisted this man before come running into the station. “The rebel attack that was allegedly meant to happen is going ahead. A few local sightings suggest that’s the case with the direction they’re taking.”

  The man sprouts up, “Where?”

  “Shandi town.”

  “Again!? Jesus.” He gives Lee a snare. “Lock her inside for now. Legally I’m not done with this interesting character.” Lee doesn’t argue or make a fuss. It will give her time to inspect her surroundings in here.

  “Who’s leading them this time?”

  “Not too sure. But they’re nearing the intersection.”

  “Alright let’s go. I hope it’s not Peacock. We had a deal!”

  ...

  “Do you hear something?” Darren and Hona are nearing his home, which stands 30-yards ahead in the shape of a tuna can with its metallic lid open. The doors practically made of barley straw, and the top would be considered thatched although the hay or straw is like black mondo grass with its strappy consistency. He’s painted the outdoor walls a cloudy gray, and it’s almost a home apart with its two casement windows.

  Hona’s isn’t the only home out here, there are a few more layered behind elevated mid-high walls that serve enough purpose to their owners with their timber wood gates. “I do hear something.”

  Hona stops. Looks at every section across the domain for clues of where it’s coming from, and then stops to gaze down the narrow road that his home is separated from with his mid-riff wall as it’s close to the road that’s bending stops when it reaches that level.

  Darren hears it too, not bikes, or vehicles, but heavy-duty boots that come with the sounds of a marching unit delicately, although, it’s nowhere near as composed and ordered when he sees them. They are moving at their own pace, style, and their outerwear suggest an insurgency with their ebbed trousers that have a cut-out triangular pattern circulating their knees.

  They each have on the same cotton slacks that are colored a neutral beige, extra-large t-shirts that differ from plain black to a muddy white. There are both men and women wearing beige balaclavas around their mouths. And they each appear to be no older than 25-years old.

  “They’re carrying billhook machetes.” Darren sees each and every one of them with a weapon of this kind. The most popular being a cane machete with its blackened blade. As they come down from the bending road, Darren counts at least 40 of them with the man in front the only individual who stands out with his orange-dyed hair and badly sheared haircut. He resembles an ostrich with hair that looks painted on, although, some of his tresses poke out erratically.

  He’s also got on a blue puffer jacket with no sleeves. And a black bhindi, it’s probably not that, in the center of the glabella. He spots both Hona and Darren and stops. By doing that, his flock of willing followers halt like untrained robotic Nazis. At least they’re more exotic in appearance and sprightlier behind the eyes. He calls out to Hona, “Hola, Hona. Will you let me and my people pass today and be on our side for once?”

  Darren can see the apprehensive lines form on Hona’s frontal bones. No visible dampness on underarms or brow, but his whole persona has gone from a calmly mild guy to one who thinks a mine could be stepped on if he makes a sudden move. It’s a contagious feeling because Darren is also feeling a seepage of worry at making any sudden movements to make himself stand out.

  He stands so still, that a buzzing bee would be able to knock Darren off balance with just it’s wing. Hona handles his uneasiness by treading back and forth lightly and consistently moving his head to an invisible beat. Some might think he was a madman! But Darren knows that this method can help to control the tissue function and mobility to still think clearly in the body. “You know, my job means that I can’t let you go to the town. You know this, Peacock.”

  “I’m not going to your preciously secured shitsville! I’m heading to Shandi town. You should know why?”

  “This I cannot allow either.”

  Darren finds himself very susceptible to any attack they might randomly summon. The gap between them isn’t that large, 50 yards at most. He hopes that Hona chooses his words wisely.

  “Pah!” The rest follow with the same expression of, “Pah!”

  “You can all pah me if you like. To many causalities. Too many dying!”

  A
thunderous, “Pah-ha!” comes from Peacock’s cronies, and it jingle-jangles Darren and Hona out of their skin-suits and into melted blubber. They both lose the sensation in their leg muscles as one more, “Pah-ha,” detaches Darren’s heart valves.

  Darren can hear and feel the palpations wiggling around in his diaphragm and chest as they turn to face both him and Darren with an intimidating stance, machetes at the ready like they’re dragging and gripping a cart’s handle...waiting, just waiting, for Peacock to give them the luxury of attacking. “You see. They do not follow any systematic order.”

  Darren feels Peacock is a man with a brain. He can admire that much about this scary character. “They do as they please. Just like everybody around here does. Your strange friend there,” he yanks the machete to point out the rat in his eyes. “His kind come and do as they please.”

  “Yes. But Peacock, we must find less violent ways to deal with things.”

  “No.” His cronies scream out, with the females reaching a higher capacity when it comes to their next, “no!”

  “Many like you Hona. You are on neither side, but your neutral position is going to be useless when they fully get the resources and backing to control us all. Things are not thriving with prosperity. They lie. And lie!” He slashes a slit in the air with his machete when he ends with; “they all lie!” The rest lash-out to in frustration!

  A short woman yells, “let’s move on Peacock. We do not want to miss the meeting.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Are we going to let this stranger think he can stay here?”

  A silence... and then the unexpected explosion of Peacock running towards Darren, “Run to my home, Darren. Run!” Darren thinks to wake his legs up, wake up...wake up...wake up! And they do, with an involuntary jolt that tunes him into his road-runner persona and sets him off faster than the chicken legs he didn’t know he had.

  But Peacock and his cronies chase with multiple slashes via the air after them, and their pah-pah-pah-pah gunshot-voiceover is working Darren into a full-blown hyperventilation series. Hona is brandishing out a gun, “I’ll shoot! I’ll shoot!” They care nothing for this and ignore his gunshots that are fired aimlessly into the air and distract the men and women but do nothing to deter them from their chase after Darren.