by Riley Moreno
Lee reverses, Timothy proceeds to come closer. “Don’t make me pull out my gun, officer?”
“Don’t make me kick your ass, Timothy. Just because Henny knows me. Doesn’t mean I know him.”
“You’re Lee Coil: 28-years old and recently promoted. Single. A promising career if you behave yourself enough out here. And liable to be awarded nicely if you stick to what you are meant to do - and not dig into the business that doesn’t concern you.” Timothy smugly grins. “My words. Not Henny’s. I suppose he likes that Rastafari power?”
Lee storms over to Timothy. She never allows a posh twat to have her solid diamonds. She leaves him with little time to reach for his laser pen or pepper spray, as Lee knocks whatever it is out his hands and it goes rolling across the street like a cylinder lipstick cover whilst she jabs at his throat where the lymph nodes inhabit with such force that it compresses and blocks his airwaves.
Lee let’s go, Timothy let’s out a troubled relief of trapped air. She attacks again and this time Timothy abstemiously protects his neck, but Lee shifts his hand away roughly and jabs at him fiercely as he staggers back incoherently with his right foot back first. He’s trying to avoid the full throttle of Lee’s hand-clip that could have him choking up a storm.
Hona drives over in his car and toots that car horn: beep-beep-beeeeeeeeep. Each time holding it down longer and breaking up the confrontation between Lee and Timothy who depart like Siamese twins with Hona opening the passenger door for Lee to get in. Timothy comes to Hona’s window, “what are you doing?” Lee gets in and shuts that door loud enough for Timothy to hear. “She needs to be coming with me so that she can speak with-”
“I’ll take it Lee from here.” Hona shuts Timothy up! “She was present at the motel where that murder took place. And I have a few questions that I want to ask her.”
“If I say she comes now. She comes with me now, Hona.”
“I’ve told your tea party goers, that you don’t run my operation. I work for myself. And do things my way. If you have any problem with that then take it up with Alabastor.”
“I will be. And she’ll be facing some sort of charge for attacking me, mark my word.”
“I had every right to attack you. You have information on me and I’ve no idea who you truly are. I think that would spook any normal law-abiding citizen who stands up for themselves.”
“Lee Coil, you’re not a run of the mill citizen around here.”
“Who says that’s my name!?”
Hona starts the engine; “bye Timothy.” And blocks him out before he can say another word by driving to the direction of the motel via the curving road that leads there. “We can go back to the motel to get your things.”
“Who the fuck was that guy? How many more of those preppy prima-donnas are there? That Bernard guy was even worse!”
“They’re from the business world that’s across the seas. We do not understand these types of men. They are strange operators with money as their main motivation for getting out of bed in the morning. They rarely desire women. Or pleasure.” There’s a farmer’s tractor up ahead. So Hona must slow down to 20 -miles.
“I don’t like him. And I’d like to know where he got all that information from?”
“The main source of information would be through Alabastor. He knows and checks upon all known visitors here. It’s only through his approval that entry is permitted in the first place. You were never a stranger to them.”
“So, mine and Darren’s presence is logged? From the time we arrived?”
“I’m not sure how closely they are observing you both. But I’m suspecting that if a man like Alabastor knows your name, you must be something of a big deal from where you’re from?”
“Pffft!” Lee hardly agrees with a statement like that. “Where I’m from, I have to work twice as hard to make the breaking of bread possibly. I find it friendlier out here and that’s a sad thought to wrap around my waist.”
“Camila said something along those lines.” Hona blows his horn suddenly, befuddling Lee’s high hopes of hearing more about this missing woman; “beeeeep!” The tractor is way too slow. He winds down the window and yells out, “enforcement, I may need to come around you?” The tractor ignorantly starts to reverse, Hona curses, “Are you blind my friend! I am behind you!” Hona straddles the gear into reverse mode and grabs onto Lee’s headrest with one hand to see if it’s an all clear to head backward. “The fool must’ve missed his turning.”
Lee hopes so. “Those are some big wheels?”
Hona is far too busy concentrating on not driving into any fences or walls. “Hona, I said ... those are some damn big wheels!”
“I ...” Honna can see how closely those wheels are getting and they aim to crush the front of his banger. He screams out, “I will arrest you! Slow down, move forward!” Whoever’s driving that tractor wouldn’t have heard that, so Lee sticks her head out and squints through her fictional spyglass to see if she can get a closer look, as their back window is slim-fitted and hard to see through.
Lee can make out that person is wearing a balaclava when they turn their neck briefly. “That doesn’t look like a farmer to me.”
“Do they have anything distinctive?” Hona shouts this with his neck twisting from the rear-view mirror to the back, his mouth half-opened and his eyes flashing a bewildered suspense! Hona is trying to keep to the forever curving trail but the tractor is forcing him off course because he has to be slick! As it sometimes rides onto the bare green grass. The tractors wheels will crush ... damage ... cruuunchhhhhh that metal into scraps with a critical sound that resembles the words clangour at its deepest depth.
“He has on a balaclava!” Lee’s tapping the side of her seat and seeing if there’s a gun. “You got anything that I could use in this car? Something to shoot or ... anything at all!?” Lee’s taken off her seatbelt but would do best to keep it back on with the way Hona is reversing. “Shit!” She bangs her arm against the backrest of the seat. And that wasn’t pleasant.
“You’d do best to put that seatbelt back on!” The tractor nearly makes contact again... just as Hona - beeeeeeeeeps! And the tractor has the audacity to do the same; hoooooooooonk! Although, his horn is ten-times more distinctive and attracts a few pedestrians who are walking along the grassy sideway. One is an older man with a walking cane, “you’ll crush them!”
And that’s the gospel truth! But when he spots who’s behind the wheel of the tractor he shuts up and lets the action commence. “I have a gun. It’s in my pocket!” Lee would prefer him to give it to her, due to not knowing him and all. “You see it?” Hona is trying to steer his way around a couple who avoid crossing the road and hover back as the wheels of Hona’s ride dips into a ditch and that causes a bump when it comes out again. It gives them a fright.
Lee had the gun handle gripped, but the bump caused her hands to slither off. She goes for it again as Hona pushes his thigh closer for her to grab it more easily: contact is made; claaaaaangourrrr the tractor’s wheels manage to ride on the hood and both Hona’s and Lee’s eyes enlarge into flying saucers when the tractor hoooooooooonks and it startles her unexpectedly into wondering who the hell taught him or her how to drive?
“He’s going to fuck up the engine!” It’s close to the outside window and Hona yelps for his life with a wall approaching and no way of being able to get the wheels off. There isn’t much room to shimmy it off, but he tries to give it a go and fails: left-direction-right-direction, he’s spinning yarn with that steering wheel - but scarcely any movement happens in shifting the tractor off. It keeps clambering back on that hood.
Lee has the gun in her grip, but there’s no way to get a clear shot with that big-mama-tractor wanting to crush them flat!
“That wall’s neigh approaching!”
“Jump out!”
“You whaaaaa!?” Lee screams!
“Jump out! That tractor isn’t coming off this car.” The rebel is fully trying to kill them both and smash them
into a flat roti.
Hona’s right. Lee’s got to make a choice, but she’s transfixed with little room for delay. The tractor is revving and crushing Hona’s ride into a deadbeat-can-reunion. The passenger door is open as Lee says; “are you going to do the same!?”
“Yes!” Hona hears that clip, his seatbelt is off. And he’s now opening the driver’s door. “Jump ... now!” Lee’s flings the door wide enough to tumble-dry her way sideways and cause a few nasty scars - as well as some bruised bones and ribs. Her burdened face says it all when she comes to a full stop! Hona is rolling off the road and damaging his jacket as he tries to let his elbows take most of the impact. Stupid idea, they burn, as well as his forearms when Hona’s trundle comes to an end.
But the car’s boot .... bash! Crash! A metallic jumble of smasssssh! Something like that is the sounds made when Hona’s ride hits the wall, slinky being crushed style that can’t be avoided unless you drive to the left or right on the neighboring path lanes.
The Tractor’s chunky-mac-hunky wheels reach the roof but the rebel flies out at an overwhelmingly quick rate, landing on the soles of his feet hazardously and nearly keeling over. He painfully feels it in his knee-caps and sets off with a quick message left for Lee who’s still recovering as he dashes past her; “we’ll be back for you, miss Coil!”
Lee reaches out to try and stop him, but the guy is 50 yards already and making more space happen when she’s up, but slumbers into a limping-caterpillar as she tumbles to check if her legs are intact: gives in, then spots Hona trying to grab at the man who becomes more of a passing fancy as they see his appearance diminish like a rubber erasing a dot that gets smaller.
Lee limps over to Hona, with slight irregularities in the knees femur, ligaments, some sore muscles in the tendon, and that’s about as far as she can go with her anatomy. She rubs her elbows softly ... Hona relieves the tension from his chest and shoulder by gripping onto his jacket; arms straight and pulling as if he wants to tear it apart. Then he lowers and raises it slowly. It helps.
“I can never just ... catch a break or a holiday. Even if I’m aware that this is no holiday destination.”
Hona feels wrecked! “My god, I feel so worn out. Only yesterday I was firing at rebels and arguing with rich men. And now this. And more to come, judging by the chance that he didn’t finish us off.” He chucks his jacket onto the ground tiredly. A few of the townsfolk are making their way over.
“I think I was the main target. You’d have been a casualty that got caught up in the mess.”
Hona sighs at the approaching crowd, “And now to deal with them.”
“I should still go on ahead to the motel.”
“Not without me. Hold on.” Hona approaches the few people; takes a look at his ruined motor and then raises his eye-balls to the sky and inhales what good is left from way up there. If he can find anyway? His attention is brought back to the small crowd who all place their hands on Hona to see if he’s ok.
Their words are all garbled into, “Are you ok, Hona!?” “They could’ve killed you and that girl over there!” “These Rebels are becoming out of control!” It’s Matilda who stands out and pushes through the small crows, taking Hona aside and calling Lee over to walk with her to the café. The crowd is left gawping at the smashed car and large tractor.
“Are both of you, ok?”
Hona answers, “I’ve lost my car. Nearly been killed. Was shot at a few times last night. And won’t get much sleep with the paperwork that’s going to be a mountain length high. I want to have a nice hot bath, but we can’t always get what we wish for.”
Matilda misses the sarcasm and humor. “Always look to bright side of life.”
Hona ignores this with a frustrated grin, and Lee is deep in thought. “You both can clean up in café.”
“I’m fine.” Lee is still far away. Partly because she wonders how Darren is savoring.
“I’m going to have to pay those rebels a visit.” They are close to Matilda’s cafe. The journey slower due to weariness. “I warned them about attacking the normal people. I’m included in that list.”
“How many rebel gangs operate out here?”
“Not many. Peacock and Stain are the main two who run things. I wouldn’t consider any of the smaller troupes that are politically involved in matters.”
Matilda finds harmony with that, “Yes. Peacock and Stain very troublesome to us out here.”
“And this balaclava wearing guy ... his accent was off to me.”
“They all come from out here. So, if it’s more eastern way, a lazier dialect, and better pronunciation can be detected, and west, it’s more tongue slapping the back of throat and cliquing. But generally, it’s picked up as the same mother tongue.”
“His accent was closer to home. One I could place in a bar that’s trying to pick up a hot young lady.”
“Oh. Well, are you sure?”
They reach Matilda’s café who goes inside. “I’ll fetch bucket for you to clean yourself. Wash out here.”
“Thank you.” Lee and Hona say this at the same time.
“I’m sure that diacritic wasn’t from around here. I’m certain.”
“Could you recognize it again if you heard it?”
“100%. I wouldn’t forget.”
“Then let’s take a walk, Lee Coil. And I’ll fill you in some more on Camilla and why I and my daughter must find her.”
Chapter 8
Darren hadn’t expected it to be quite like this. Darren’s lungs were on fire. His stomach in knots. His thorax closing. The windpipe practically useless for collecting that dispensed air. The image before him bleak. Empty. Nobody there. Or at least, none willing to accept him.
Hona mentioned nuns. What he saw was the need to cross the road onto the other side, and there lay a building built on a small hill where he nearly collapses out of sheer exhaustion. “Ah-huh-ah-huh-ah-huh-ah-huh!” - all short and each closer to Darren fainting. He wishes it wasn’t the case when he sees that he won’t be able to stay here.
A man comes down the slope dressed in garbs that a Jehovah witness would wear, designed to make him look the equivalent of normalized and wholesome to anybody who spots him. A suit that’s bigger than his lacking personality and presence. And one perhaps brought from a charity store. The tie has shades of orange and tints of purple. He’s smiling so falsely that if he had dentures, you’d see the adhesives used to hold it firm.
“You need to leave.” Darren’s come up the slope to greet him. And that smile still holds it’s first place position after telling him the bad news.
“Why?” Darren can barely stand upright, “I’m being chased.” He nearly falters again with the man still smiling broadly with vacant eyes. It’s almost condescending. “They won’t be far behind. I give them at least six minutes to catch up with me. I need your help. I heard this was a sanctuary?”
“It used to be. But...,” two men come from behind the one-story building in oversized shirts whose white is turned yellow, and tattered dungarees with one strap busted and dry flaky skin that’s evident with their strapped leather clad sandals. They also have holes, and their boniness is near enough skeletal, but not uncomfortable to glare at or caused by starvation.
They walk over to the man with the smiling disease. “When shall we knock this down?” The meatier of the two with sunken ships for eyes and a sullen expression of both grief and despair asks this. “It would take us no longer than four weeks.”
“I need it demolished quicker than that.” The man almost forgets Darren’s help petition. “You see, this is going to be knocked down.” Darren comes up a little more to join the conversation.
The two dipped in a caramel stained complexion stare at Darren as if for him to complain about such a thing happening. “I’m sure this place is important for those in great need.” Darren’s implying himself in that cause because those rebels won’t be far behind. He even checks in that direction for them.
“Albastor has other pl
ans for this location. So, it comes down?” The other 2 men seem to be biting their tongue to rebuke such a stupid idea. They obviously feel it should stay. The man walks up and analyses the outside which could pose as a small church with a capacity of 100. “He’ll give you two weeks no doubt.”
Darren runs up to him, grabs him from behind the shoulder in a panic which vexes the man very much but he still creepily smiles with that salesman vibe. “Is there somewhere else!? I told you, rebels are coming!”
One of the men asks worriedly, “Rebels are coming this way?”
“Yes.”
“They are after you?”
Darren hesitates, then says, “Yes! They’re after me.”
It’s the smiling man who has a smart mouth, “Then take yourself away from here and move on! We don’t need them seeing our progress.”
“Aren’t you still liable to give me some help? It might be getting knocked down, but I could go in there and claim my safety.” Darren does just that by taking himself up higher.
But he’s instantly dragged back from doing so, “Do I look like a nun with a chapel!?” His mouthy attitude is seeping through the cracks of his incisors. His breaking point was easier than Darren expected.
“Go straight.”
“No!” The man waves his palms in the men’s faces to shut their gobs, and then tries to push Darren back down the slope. “Go back another way. Go!”
Darren has a grip on the man’s biceps and crushes them like an exercise ball, as the man winces, the deeper he continues to squeeze. “Argh!” Then he has to bear the embarrassment of being dragged down the slope effortlessly by Darren. The two men do nothing but observe the entertainment that’s before them, quite entertaining. “Let me go!”
“We’ll stand here. Since you don’t want these rebels to come, I guarantee they won’t be happy to see your face either. I know that they hate your sorts out here.” The man’s trying to break free, but his bicep is glued to Darren’s fingers... tough magnet.
“They want you. Not me.” His cheeks are doing pull-ups with his narrowing eyes.
