Shiloh

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  When she reached out, I pulled her to her feet. Her hands slipped around my middle. Things suddenly didn’t seem so hopeless any more, but I wasn’t distracted. We had unfinished business.

  I broke our hold, took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. “I have something to show you.”

  I didn’t need to elaborate. The instant she walked in, she spotted the DIY project I’d spent the afternoon working on. “You built us a bathroom door?” she asked, her eyes darting between the newly private bathroom and me.

  My reply got caught in a laugh. “I didn’t build the door.” I swung it open and closed a few times – just to prove that it worked. “I just hung it.”

  If I had been remotely capable of stringing a decent sentence together I would’ve told her why.

  For years, I’d held the blasé attitude that relationships always work out if they’re meant to. Mine never did – usually due to an acute lack of effort on my part. I’d happily stand by and watch things fall apart without any care or consequence.

  I didn’t feel like standing by was an option where Shiloh was concerned. The only thing more confusing than the invisible pull I felt toward a girl I had nothing in common with was the desire I felt to make her happy and safe. Her view of the world was far too idealistic, considering she was living in a third world country, but I wasn’t going to push the issue any more. From now on my focus was going to be on making her happy, and the gesture of fitting a door to the bathroom was bound to make a first-world girl ecstatic.

  “Flowers are hard to come by here.” I ran my hand down the edge of the door. “I thought this might be a nice alternative.”

  “And doors are easy to find?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “If you know the right people.”

  The right people in this case were my neighbours. Until a few hours ago, Melito and Vincent had a functioning bedroom door. After a bit of pleading and lots of negotiating, they finally agreed to let me permanently borrow it. The price was three bottles of Tate Estate merlot and their pick of loot from Lily’s next care package.

  “We adore those Tom Tom cookies that your sister sends,” said Vincent, rubbing his hands in glee.

  “Biscuits,” I corrected. “And they’re called Tim Tams.”

  It was a small price to pay. The object of my affection seemed truly thrilled. “I knew you were a keeper,” she said taking a slow step toward me. “Even before the bathroom door.”

  I couldn’t quite believe her. She’d left for work that morning without uttering a single word to me.

  “You’re a terrible liar, lady.”

  The look that flashed across her pretty face could only be described as pained. “I’m not, you know,” she mumbled. “I’m an excellent liar. I handed my house key back to the fat cat camp manager today,” she explained. “I told him I couldn’t possibly live in such a hovel.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s not a hovel, Mitchell,” she continued. “It has a bath and a coffee machine.”

  I looked her dead in the eyes. “So why give it up?”

  Shiloh edged closer. “Because you don’t live there, stupid.”

  At least we were both prepared to compromise to make it work. She’d go without good coffee and I’d forgo major parts of my sanity.

  As soon as she was in reach, I grabbed her. “You make me crazy.”

  There was no other way of describing the effect she had on me. I was confused, enamoured and bewitched, sometimes simultaneously. Nice girls weren’t supposed to have that kind of power, but I didn’t even have to touch Shiloh to feel the sting. Just being close to her felt like a cross between a kiss and a hard slap.

  Keen to rid her of the Jorge Creek uniform, I unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders. As it fell to the floor, Shiloh leaned in, pressing her soft lips against the hollow at the base of my throat. I pushed her backward, bailing her up against the wall with a little too much fervour. The whole shack shook.

  “Careful, Adonis,” she murmured. “You’ll make the house fall apart.”

  “No.” I wedged my legs between hers, keeping her feet off the floor as I pressed my lips to her ear. “I’m going to make you fall apart.”

  Shiloh’s whole body responded to the wicked threat. Her breath hitched and the tight hold she had on me lost all strength. “No,” she whispered against my cheek. “You’re the one who keeps me together.”

  Boy Band Warbling

  SHILOH

  Guilt is a soul eating emotion, which is why I refused to let it have me. I was being punished enough by the stress of living a double life. I never got any peace – even while lying in bed watching the most perfect man I’d ever known sleep.

  The only sound I could hear were the waves steadily crashing to shore just outside our door. I rolled onto my back, gazing up at the gauzy mosquito net billowing in the soft breeze. It was a perfect fairy-tale moment that was about to be ruined by opportunity.

  Easing out of bed, I tiptoed around the room, pausing to check that Mitchell was still asleep every time the floor creaked under my feet. He was sleeping like the dead and beautifully naked, but in the cruellest of blows, my mind was back on the Backstreet Boys.

  I sat on the floor at the foot of the bed and pulled the CD player out of my work bag. The first thing I noticed was that it had no batteries, which meant I’d be saved from a long session of painful boy band warbling. It also meant Reyo’s reason for giving it to me probably had nothing to do with music.

  Cracking it open was my next mission. Tools were usually in short supply in the shack, but I was in luck that night. Thanks to Mitchell’s DIY efforts on the new door, his toolbox sat two feet away. Using the smallest screwdriver I could find, I took the back off the CD player, quickly realising that there was no need to be so delicate. Batteries or not, it wasn’t likely to ever work again. All working parts had been removed to make way for the GPS tracking device that had been concealed inside. The accompanying note was all the explanation I needed: make, model and registration number of Louis Osei’s car.

  Once again the game had changed. Reyo was Iron Mike’s contact at the mine.

  My alliance with Mike was impossibly one-sided. He’d supplied me with a lock pick set. In return I was expected to break into a known criminal’s car and fit an illegal tracking device – with zero backup or assistance. It was hardly a fair trade, but I got the impression that playing fair wasn’t high on his agenda.

  I hadn’t been provided with a safe place and time to get the job done, or even the tools to do it. It was an oversight that troubled me, but I wasn’t afraid of Iron Mike.

  It’s not the enemy you see that gets you. It’s the one you don’t.

  A Gangster Or Three

  MITCHELL

  I wished I could tell Shiloh otherwise, but my decision not to open the Crown and Pav the night before had nothing to do with her. A pub can’t trade without beer, and as things stood I had none. I vaguely explained the dilemma over breakfast on the front deck.

  “Because of Louis?” she guessed.

  I grimaced at the mention of his name. Just twelve hours earlier we’d made a pact to never discuss him again.

  “I’m meeting with him at the port this afternoon,” I told her. “With a bit of luck I can talk him into releasing my shipment.”

  Even if I could, it would only be a Band-Aid solution. The stranglehold he had on my business was getting worse with every passing week, and although I’d never admit it to Shiloh, she was more than likely the reason he’d tightened his grip. The play he’d made for her was unreciprocated, and I was paying for it.

  “Can I come with you?” she asked .

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I mumbled. “There’s not much to see there. Maybe a ship or two…”

  A gangster or three.

  “I’ll stay in the car,” she offered, popping the last segment of her orange into her mouth.

  I raised one eyebrow.

  “Scout’s honour,�
� she added with a three finger salute.

  I turned away, directing my long sigh at the ocean. “We really have the whole day together?” I asked dubiously.

  “Yep.” Shiloh levered herself out of her deckchair and tumbled onto my lap, resting her long legs on the railing. “First night shift starts tomorrow at six.”

  The change to her roster was a good one. I welcomed anything that gave us more time together.

  My hand slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt as I pulled her closer. “Think of all the sex we can have in that time,” I murmured.

  “I’m not sure there’s enough time for those kind of shenanigans, Mitchell,” she teased. “My ironing pile is out of control.”

  The only thing out of control was my desire to get her back in the shack and naked. I was just about to share the plan when Melito appeared, calling out to Shiloh from the deck next door.

  “I have something for you, darling,” he crowed.

  I leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I have something for you too, darling.”

  Untangling herself from my arms, she delivered a sharp elbow to my ribs before venturing to the edge of the deck. Melito tossed something across to her.

  “Cowry shells,” he explained as she caught it. “I saw it in town yesterday and immediately thought of you.”

  Shiloh dangled the shell bracelet in the air. “Thank you,” she replied. “I love it.”

  “You’re welcome,” he beamed. “Perhaps it might inspire Adonis to rain a few treasures upon you.”

  “He already did.” She grabbed the end of her bead necklace and shook it at him.

  Melito clutched his belly, unashamedly chortling. “Maybe he should’ve also told you how to wear it.”

  Shiloh glanced at me and frowned. I shrugged, as confused as she was. As far as I knew, necklaces are worn around the neck. I might’ve asked him to explain, but Vincent interrupted the conversation with an urgent request. “Get the broom, Melito!” he yelled. “That damned mouse is back.”

  The mouse problem took precedence over beaded jewellery conversation. Armed for battle, Melito disappeared back into his shack, an empty ouzo bottle raised above his head. We stayed put, even when he followed up with an unsettling war cry.

  Shiloh sat down beside me, waiting patiently with her arm extended while I fumbled with the clasp on her bracelet. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Pretty valuable too, once upon a time,” I replied, finally managing to secure it. “Cowry shells were legal tender here until a couple of hundred years ago.”

  Shiloh slowly turned the bracelet on her wrist, checking out each shell. “I wonder if they caused as much trouble as the diamonds do,” she mused.

  “Probably,” I agreed. “Greed is a terrible thing.”

  ***

  Louis Osei ran his dodgy importing business from a large warehouse at the port facility. On any given day the place was bedlam. Forklifts buzzed around the wharf in all directions, reminding me of out of control dodgem cars. A long convoy of trucks lined the road waiting to collect their deliveries, and workers wearing fluorescent vests were trying to control the chaos.

  In stark contrast, Louis’ warehouse looked like an oversized abandoned tool shed, and I’d never seen it look any different. It was located at the very back of the complex, almost too far from the wharf to be functional. It was quiet and isolated, which was probably the way he liked it.

  When someone calls for a meeting at a deserted location, they want control. Louis liked to play the heavy-handed thug, and sadly, he was pretty good at it. Bringing Shiloh to the meeting was nonsensical, but I didn’t want to frighten her by explaining why. Instead, I asked her to wait in the car.

  “I promise I’ll be quick,” I assured her.

  I expected an argument, but she hardly seemed to be listening. Her entire focus was on the souped-up Black Range Rover I’d parked behind. “Nice car,” she muttered, staring through the windscreen.

  ‘Nice’ isn’t how I would’ve described it. The black paint job, dark tinted windows and kitsch alloy rims were as thuggish as Louis.

  “If you like that kind of thing,” I replied.

  “I don’t.” Finally Shiloh turned to look at me. “I’ve never liked that kind of thing.”

  I couldn’t quite place the expression on her face, but she would’ve seen nothing but relief on mine. I’d grown up with materialistic sisters. At best, they were strange. When attracted by the lure of shiny things, they were downright dangerous.

  I got out and walked to the passenger side, and spoke through the open window. “What if I never have anything more than this?” I waved my arms, showcasing the tired old jeep she was sitting in. “How long will you love me?”

  The tiny smile that crossed her lips almost looked regretful. “Until I can’t,” she said.

  I reached through the window and cupped her cheek. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  “Yeah.” Shiloh tilted her head, leaning into my palm. “Go and get your beer.”

  She’d made it sound simple but I knew it wouldn’t be. My alcohol shipment was bought and paid for in full, just as it always was. I didn’t owe Louis or anyone else a penny, but he was going to try and screw me out of money for no other reason than he could.

  The steel door slid open before I got to it, which was a sure-fire sign that the place was nowhere near as deserted as it looked. Exchanging pleasantries with the goon who greeted me would’ve been a waste of breath so I didn’t bother. “Where’s Louis?” I practically grunted out the question.

  After checking that the coast was clear with a quick glance left and right, he replied with an upward nod.

  My casual walk belied the unease I felt, and the further I ventured into the warehouse, the more convinced I became that the whole setting had been staged.

  Two hundred cases of beer look remarkably small in an empty warehouse, especially when they’re stacked neatly on the middle of the floor.

  “Are these mine?” I asked, pointing at them.

  The answer was obvious but the hired heavy shrugged as if he didn’t know, which made me want to punch him.

  “They could be yours,” announced Louis, appearing from the shadows like a rat. “For a price.”

  Since Shiloh had been added to the equation, I couldn’t be sure he was talking about money. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster.

  “I already own them,” I curtly reminded him. “I have the receipts and shipping papers to prove it.”

  I would’ve produced them if he asked, but of course he didn’t. They counted for nothing.

  Louis slowly wandered toward me. “This is a large shipment,” he said, kicking the bottom box with his foot. “Why so much?”

  “I’m having issues with the importer,” I replied dryly. “I’d rather order more beer less often. That way, I don’t have to deal with him.”

  Louis raised his eyebrows, nodding as if he was sympathetic to my plight. “Makes sense.”

  “Just cut to the chase,” I roughly demanded. “What do you want?”

  “The list is long, my friend,” he sighed. “But for now we’ll start with the commission you owe me. A thousand dollars should cover it.”

  A long groan escaped me, which was the only reply I offered.

  Louis put his hand on his chest, right where his heart would’ve been if he’d had one. “I have a sick mother,” he shamelessly claimed. “Medicine is expensive.”

  “You really have perfected your craft, haven’t you?” I asked bitterly. “You’re a thief and a liar.”

  The only thing louder than Louis’ condescending laugh was the snicker of the two men flanking him. They were paid to find me amusing. Louis just did it for kicks.

  I was getting nowhere, and when his goon squad left his side to guard the door, I got the impression that calling it a day and walking out wasn’t an option.

  “Just give me my money, friend.” He’d made it sound like a casual request, but nothing could’v
e masked the fact that things were about to take a turn for the worse.

  My eyes darted in every direction as I tried to keep track of where each of his henchmen was located. It made no difference. I didn’t even notice the third man lurking behind me in the shadows, which was unfortunate because he was the one to make the first move.

  Respect

  SHILOH

  Cargo shorts were functional long before they were fashionable, and despite the fact that they now held a style score of less than zero, I still wore them. Mine had six pockets, and every one of them was full.

  As soon as Mitchell mentioned meeting Louis at the port, I started making plans. On the off-chance that I’d have the opportunity to offload the GPS tracker, I needed to be ready. While he stole an hour in the surf that morning, I raided his toolbox. Iron Mike had left me horribly ill prepared, but I managed to find a few basic tools that would allow me to get the job done.

  The only thing missing was courage. There was no telling what might happen if I was caught messing with Louis’ car, and considering I had nothing to gain by going through with it, the whole idea seemed ridiculous.

  There were four cars were parked in front of the warehouse, but I was only interested in one. Even without Reyo’s helpful note, I would’ve guessed that the kitted out Range Rover belonged to Louis. The car was obnoxious as he was, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that there was a tiny part of me that might enjoy ripping the ignition to pieces.

  “Just get it done and get out,” I muttered, stealthily exiting the jeep.

  Creeping wasn’t necessary. There wasn’t a soul around to stop me as I made my way to the Range Rover. No one saw me lift the door handle, and no one came running when the unlocked door opened with ease.

  After a few steadying breaths, I slipped into the driver’s seat and geared up to do some invisible damage.

  Apart from tinkering with the odd dodgy toaster, I hadn’t picked up a pair of wire cutters in years, but as I jemmied the steering column apart with a sharp shove of the screwdriver, all my naval training came flooding back to me. The tangle of wires that spilled out weren’t daunting in the least. I knew exactly what to do. I needed a constant 12-volt power source. Following the wiring that led to the ignition, I found the one belonging to the interior clock.