by Riley Moreno
“Is that right? The last I heard, you were having complications with the pilot in communicating with them?”
“Bad reception out there. It’s not as advanced as ours.”
“Shaka is a dangerous man, Henny. As much as I hate the two, sending them wherever he may be, is a warzone.”
“Lee has more balls than half you men with two in the sack. Don’t underestimate that young thing. She’s exactly what I need right now. And what will bring the chairman his results.”
“What results is the chairman looking for?”
“Where the river runs gold.” Lotan was lost. But Henny was vacant to the point of staring at his reflection in the mirror, “If Lee finds that... then what comes next, is the young journalist.” His phone rings; he checks the number, leaves his stool and heads outside with no word to Lotan.
“Hello, Henny. Long time no talk.”
“Yes. What do you have to say? Calling me at such hours is highly irregular right now. I’m due to be at the office soon.”
“The girl, Henny. Has she come back on the plane? Because word is... that nobody turned up that day. And you neglecting to call me, tells me she’s not back.”
“You’re right. She isn’t.”
“Lee had direct orders to follow. Did you not convey this to her in the briefing?”
“I did. But it seems she’s got a whiff of what I can’t smell from all the way over here. And there’s only so much I can do to persuade her to come back with Darren.”
“She needs to get the hell out of there, Henny. And you need to make that happen.”
“There’s only so much I can do.”
“You get in contact with him. Tell him what’s what... let him know the situation and then come back to me with what’s been agreed. And check your damn office for a chipmunk looking for extra nuts to chip at in regard to what the chairman wants. We need to find the culprit.”
“That won’t be hard. All I have to do is follow the tomfoolery that’s always bound to slip up. Give me a few days... I’ll have what you need.”
Chapter 2
Sandra wasn’t much of a cook. She banged a few tortilla wraps in a frying pan, heated them up, and then added some scrambled eggs and some sauce, black pepper and salt. She made six and handed a plate to Darren before dashing into the car to meet Lee.
Lee ate them thankfully, and as the car made a few unhealthy turns, she sat wondering if the seatbelts in this car could withstand the harshness and bumpity-bumps of the paths that lead down.
In no time, they were amongst a few vehicles honking their horns and asking the seventy or more protesters who were burning dozens of flags, to move out of their way. At one point, the crowd stopped and made a gap for the cars to pass. But Sandra was halted, being the fifth car waiting to cross.
A few officers had started to scale the protests and helped to create gaps for vehicles and those with needs to press on. “They do this every week with no fail. And more people join each time. I’m proud of them. It’s better than doing nothing at all.”
“I agree. But there needs to be more in terms of controlling traffic between inhabitants and cars. Are there accidents here?”
“Yes. And they’ll be dealt with once things get sorted out here.” Sandra was granted access to pass and she took it with that clutch of hers raring to be yanked into drive. “Finally!” She winds down the window and yells, “Power to you all! May we see results from this!” Then winds it back up but hears the crowd cheering at the statement. Even though her voice is so tiny amongst all the chaotic chants in their native language, they still heard her. And they cheer at the car until it is out of range.
“Would you be protesting with them if it wasn’t for Darren and I?”
“You haven’t caused any interruptions. Well, being a stranger out here is odd, but...you have your reasons, don’t you?”
Lee was scouting the outside, what was approaching were narrow lanes with red bricks that popped up between homes that were two stories high with telephone lines running all above. The roof had many people hanging their clothes and throwing all sorts of thing down, mainly soapy water or kids chucking rubbish.
“We call this the car wash lane because so many mothers wash our cars and we leave a little tip for them.” Sandra stops outside one house, waits for that water to shower on down. It comes with an almighty spleuuuurghlash onto the car’s roof. Then, two kids come out the door, run to her side of the window and hold out their hands for the change.
Sandra gives them everything from her pocket with a smile. They take it, smile, and run back inside. “That’s unique,” Lee responds to the latest encounter.
“It does part of the job. Come, we can’t stay around here too long. Plenty of theft and attempts to steal cars happen here. It’s not very safe.” And Sandra makes no joke of that being the case. A few men spot us, run towards the car and look more like teenagers than members of a gang. But they have matching black cloths around both wrists and their mouths are blacker than the color itself.
“We need to move...now! These young men are neither rebels nor friends.” Lee held her gun and wanted to open the door to fire, but Sandra gives her shoulder a squeeze and brings her back inside. “Close the door... Quick!” Lee obeys and the boys fly-kick the body of the car and continue to punch the glass as Sandra puts down that clip and locks it manually.
They go for the backdoors and Lee climbs to the back to stop that from happening, managing to kick through the glass by lying on her back because the boys try to climb through the open windows. Sandra tries starting the car but one of them climbs upon the hood and starts to jump up-and-down causing intimidation for Sandra who didn’t have the heart to start it.
Lee notices this and winds up the windows before the comeback. The left is closed, and the two boys keep bashing against it... while the other runs to the right side and Lee twists her lower body to get a good range on the left and kicks him back against the house with force.
A few people watch but are too scared to help them. The boys back-off for a few seconds, and that gives Lee time to worm through the gap and push against Sandra’s chest to start the car. “No need for manners. If the bastards get hit, so be it! Push down on that peddle.”
“But we might...”
“Sandra. They’re coming back with baseball bats!” They were all running from the left side as fast as they could. Sandra had that peddle going and Lee jumped back to the front and the four were now behind them. Water started to fall from the heavens until it soaked the boys for a summer surprise.
And judging by the reactions of the boys who had been hit, it was scorching hot because they curdled and screamed, running back tensely with blistering flushed skin and groans of pain.
Sandra waved up towards the few who had helped. “I hope we haven’t gotten any of them in trouble. Those boys are known to break in, steal, and take what little they own. And hot water is so scarce around here.”
“I think we’re lucky to have come out of that. Was it just the car they wanted?”
“Yes. Unless they’ve gone up in the world and want young women to sell too? God, I hope not. We don’t need things like that out here.”
“Is the cafe close?” Lee and Sandra drove through many roads in all sorts of directions, passing more of these boys who swore in their language, taunted them, and threw stones at the windows of the cars.
“I just want to get out of here. Are we close to the internet cafe?” There was no time to pause to think with so many followers wanting to get a hold of the car.
“I have other plans to attend to first.”
“Sandra...I thought we were...”
“I think it would be better for you to meet somebody who was very close with Camila that lives here. I’m sorry that I had not said anything to Hona and Angelina. But Camila was a friend to me. And, so is this person. Darren is nice, but my trust is with you. I don’t know. Something about you.”
“A few others have said the same. I
never knew I felt so special.”
“He is in hiding. Fully changed and has been out here for the past year and a couple of months. He went off the N.O. radar but he’ll never be free. With you and Darren here, maybe he might be able to get out? What do you think?”
“Does he have a name?”
“Yes, Mark Johnson. That name has...”
“Yes. I know exactly who Mark Johnson is. How strange it is though, that everything is coming out into the woodworks here.”
“Is it a bad, or a good thing?”
“If I remember correctly, Sandra, Mark Johnson was the cameraman pronounced dead.”
...
Darren found it hard to stay put in Sandra’s home. He had an hour’s kip, had a bath with cold water mainly, and ate the rest of the scrambled egg wraps that had gone cold. Sandra didn’t have a microwave or a kettle. She boiled everything in pans on a stove that needed to be lit with matches. And Darren struggled to make himself a coffee as the stove had only one working hob that barely made life easy.
When the water was hot enough, Darren found a travel mug that maintains heat and some coffee. But Sandra’s fridge was bare—no milk, no edible food, just odd pieces of moldy tomatoes, dried out lemons, a very soft and watery cucumber, and other foods that he’d never seen before but didn’t smell too friendly.
Darren closed the fridge and grabbed his gun piece, stuffing it into his back pocket. He was going to join the protest to see what he could do. He had his own orders from Henny, who sent him a text a few minutes ago to call him immediately.
“What’s going on out there!? I gave you and Lee instructions to come back and you’re still sitting in that office! This has landed the pair of you in some deep shit! And if you think it’s going to go away just because you have me on your side, then I wouldn’t be so arrogant. You both need to wait for another plane back. And that’s not going to be easy to arrange... say something then? Don’t let me go on with no reason as to why you’ve both stayed.”
“There are some difficulties out here, Henny. And Lee and I realized that we aren’t getting out of here without solving what we need to. You want us to find Shaka, and that’s what we’ll do.”
“Shaka is my problem. And nowhere near there.”
“What makes you so sure?” Darren was always the one to ask what Lee couldn’t. For all her confidence and will, she lacked the necessities to play it straight with Henny, for the sake of not angering his fatherhood. She’d kill Darren if he told her this.
“I have a wire giving me the details.”
“Then wire us some help out here so we can get back to you with a result.”
“I sent you partly as a protector for Lee.”
“You failed to mention that when we spoke. Weren’t your words to find that cameraman who disappeared? He was associated with Camila... and I’m sure Lee knows nothing about that because she’s not said a word. Playing it half-and-half, eh, Henny? What happened to me doing that? Changing your mind rather quickly and leaving the pair of us in the dark.”
“You’re both digging down there deeper. Are you still in Torbelli?”
“What’s going on out here, Henny? It’s almost like a new rule or something is trying to make its mark and the people don’t want it to happen. What has Shaka got to do with all this?”
“That’s not what you’ve been sent to do.”
“We need answers, Henny. You sent us on the wrong bloody plane! And secondly, out here, an organization that rings a bell, is slyly starting to turn into something that has a familiar sound. Do I need to spell out the abbreviation?”
“You want answers. But you’ll not get them from me. Don’t cut off my hand, Darren. If you stick to rebelling, then I’ll be forced to delay your return. I’m telling you now, the next plane that comes out of there, you both need to be on it. Or else, I don’t know how else you’ll get out of there. And it must be via a private landing strip. The main one is closed until further notice now. And that’s fucking costly!”
“What about Alabastor?”
Henny remained neutral to the name, “Not a name I know. Who is he?”
“The one who’s running things out here. If it’s not too much to ask for, can you ring back and give me some identification on him? That might help us get out of here sooner and please your desires.”
“Are you any closer to finding the cameraman and Shaka?”
“No word of Shaka.”
“Then you’re both moving in the wrong direction. Where are you?”
“Torbelli, still. It’s a big place. We’ll find him here.”
“Good. At least Torbelli is where I can keep an eye on you.”
“You have an eye on us, Henny? A strange thing to say, don’t you think?”
“I’ll ring you back with a word on Alabastor. Pick up, when I do.”
Darren didn’t trust Henny one bit. And after that phone call, it confirmed that too many blank spaces weren’t being filled. Darren was weary of this as he made his way out. Lee and his safety was in the hands of a man who had no care for what was going on out here. Another shock factor was the idea that getting on that plane might not necessarily bring them back alive.
He didn’t want to dwell that far into the void, but there was something strange about all of this. And Henny was vague with details, even when he was briefing on finding the cameraman. He never named the towns and country itself—Torbelli—it wasn’t even properly on the map. And then, there was the case being pretty much soggy pasta shells when it came to Henny acting as if they had gotten onto the wrong flight with Shaka not being in this country.
And yet, as he wipes the sweat from his brow, and let’s loose the buttons of his shirt from the heat, Darren is sure that the works of Shaka are present. But as Darren wipes the sweat from his brow and loosens his shirt buttons, he has a feeling that Shaka is present here.
The man is known for leaving imprints in the ways of public destruction—burying what once was, with what’s new. He was diagnosed as a megalomaniac with the highest regard for power and an obsession to rule over people and make them slave under his command.
The idea of the sovereign or dollar bill, he once said, could be coined by any man. He tried this before, long ago. And now, as Darren puts on his baseball cap to hide his identity and cover from the sun, he ponders against the idea that a new regime is not what’s needed here. But facilities and help from those outsiders can help to rebuild what’s been taken.
There are those who work for charities, giving out aid and food for the poor people. And shine some education on how they plan to eradicate poverty. Darren is impressed. But he reckons it will do very little.
He slips by many do-gooders who want the best. He sees the more dangerous kind lurking on parts of rocks and overgrown earth that makes up much of Shanti Town. They stand and kneel; watch him go by, but ignore his common simplicity. They’re more interested in certain individuals who could provide them with some extra mullah.
It’s not safe. And a few officers shoo them away after much persuasion. These young rebel types have no fear when they glare and scold some of the inhabitants who shove a fist and find some courage in the face of the protestors who are leading many to the east. They have a three-mile walk to go and the day is only just beginning.
The roads are still busy with barriers now being removed, and bits of burnt flags being swept away by a few cleaners. The chants can be heard long after Darren can no longer see the people.
Those who don’t follow the protest march, move along or are shooed away by the irritated officers in the heat who want to go home. They go about their business and Darren wants to fit amongst them. He sees other light-skinned and Caucasian people, but most of them don’t speak English as many go in his direction.
Darren stops underneath a palm tree but the crowd of people walking down the line often stops and stares at him. So, he turns his back to the nosey-moseys, and makes a phone call. He’ worries about his phone bill as he knows indepe
ndent calls are expensive. But he doesn’t know the rates out here.
Anxiety washes over Darren. But it leaves when his phone call is answered from the other end of the line. “My God! Darren, is that you?”
Darren ascends a mini hill and sees a small stand where kids are buying ice cream. At least they have some luxury here. Darren continues to ascend and sees a destination not too far on his left where he wanted to go in the first place. It’s a point where good reception can be had. He sees a few other people standing there with phones.
Darren walks along, trying to avoid bumping into people who are walking around with their phones, until he finds a sport where he is likely to be less interrupted.
These people don’t speak much English. Except for one guy who seems to have a strange accent. But he’s the only one who stands the closest to Darren and has no shame in invading his privacy. Darren lets it slide, but the content of the conversation is delicate. “Sorry, do you mind giving me some space?”
“Not heard an accent like that for a long time. You American?”
“Why does that matter?”
“I’m American. Well, used to be. Not sure anymore. Been here so long that I can’t figure where I’m coming or going.” The man is Caucasian but has wide-set lips and thin cheeks not wide enough to handle them. And his eyes are lacklustre but suddenly diverse when he studies Darren. He’s mixed with exotic features, with a very low and audited voice. One that could sell an audiobook after being trained to do so. “Don’t get much chance to have a conversation out here.”
“I see.” Darren responds back, while still on the call, “I have to take this.”
“Yes! Sure.” The man is awkwardly strolling away but keeps checking on Darren every few steps. Darren gets suspicious of this.
“You there?”
“Yeah. Just ran into an American.”
“Out there!? Darren, speak with him.”
“I think he’s... yes, he’s attracting attention.” Darren removes the phone from his ears and watches the American man avoid the few young rebels with black bandanas who glare at him from across the hard earth-and-stone that they scale across at the same time he does. They stop when he does... move along when he restarts, and exaggeratedly stretch to intimidate. “I’ll follow.”
