by Riley Moreno
“Best not, mate. You don’t need that sort of attention either. Who is he?”
“No idea.”
“Give me some details, and I’ll do some dirty work for you.” Darren texts Saul the description in the best way he can.
When he’s done, he resumes the conversation, “Saul, how are things back there?”
“Edgy, to say it politely. Henny is hardly here. Lotan runs things, but any movement or word on Shaka, has gone stale. Both units are mainly in training and working new leads to other names that I’ll keep to myself for now. But when it comes to you and Lee being out there, nobody bats any balls in that direction. Nothing crops up. No word. And guess who’s flown off the radar?”
“Who?”
“Bennie, the snake with no hiss. Gone. Nothing. I tried to find him because the bastard had something of mine, but nowhere to be seen. No ex-girlfriend or prostitute can direct me into his limelight. And that’s not good. Oh, and Eric is a matter that I need to speak with Lee on.”
“I’m so grateful to have you on board. I didn’t think you’d reply with how dangerous corresponding could be.”
“I promised Lee to. Just haven’t heard from her. And where you guys are... I know for a fact that it’s not a safe place to be. Do you trust Henny?”
“Not sure. He’s not giving us much to work with. You know, he wants to bring us back.”
“I overheard Lotan and him discussing an aborted case. Must be yours, one they want to file in the unsolved charter.”
“There’s more at stake then.” The boys start to hurl rocks and abuses at the American who dodges, “Why the fuck you doing that? I’ve got nothing for you to steal.”
“American! He American!” The boys collect more stones and pelt it at the man who starts to run faster each time the rocks miss him on purpose. But they soon make it hard to run ahead when a few make their way down and force him to change his route to go up.
A few officers see this and do nothing. They just wait for the trouble to start. “Does that description fit any bills? This guy is giving me vibes that he’s more than just an American. Too much of an oddball out here.” Darren sees a few younger rebels appear as if coming from over the horizon. The rock throwing stops, but they wait for their friends as the others do the following for now.
“Hmm... no.”
“Check him against missing personnel.”
“I’d have to go downstairs for that.”
“Do what you can and ring me back. I can’t just stand here and watch them provoke.”
“I’m not saying to stand by and watch him get beaten to death. But beware that you’re also a fish out of water. Two of you isn’t going to help.”
“You’re right. But call me back all the same on anything that might prop up. We might get lucky.”
“Ok.” Saul hung up. But Darren pretends to speak on his phone as the young rebels call out to the American.
“We don’t want to take nothing. Just talk. Quick talk with you.”
“What do you want to talk about?” The American keeps moving. And they don’t stop the music.
“Your name... we want to know your name.”
“Why do you need that?”
“People looking for Americans and pay a pretty price too. A few names they need. My name Solomon. We the Black Bandanas. You know us?” A few others make it their point to not hang around and leave the good reception zone... expect Darren, who the rebels glance over and stare down because of this bravado.
Darren then moves with the rest of the men and women who descend away. When their stares decrease, he stops and tries not to look their way...but he is listening.
“We done a good job before. Found Americans and brought them to Alabastor.” Darren’s ears perk energetically at this. And it draws a few rebels to stand opposite him but they turn to watch the American, not him, and Darren soon moves lower with them losing interest. He’s now closer to the sandy red path next to the lane that’s meant to be a road.
Many people are witnessing this. Darren spots the rebels eyeing him. He brings his cap lower and heads back up the hill. They stand. He sits. They sit in comparison and tell jokes to one another. But Darren feels heavily watched now. He knows this is no good. Suddenly his phone rings. And he’s further away from the American, which makes it harder to hear their conversation, “Saul, anything to tell?”
“Perhaps. But the name will have to be spoken from his mouth and not mine. If judging by this missing person record, then it could be a Mark Johnson. It says he’s deceased. But after whizzing through more than twenty files, he’s the closest to that description. And he was famous for those Mick Jagger lips and recluse manner that just wanted to fit in.”
“Mary and Joseph in a stable... if that’s Mark Johnson, then Camila was one hundred percent here!”
“Why so sure?”
“Saul, Mark was her cameraman. She was going for that news reporter role.” The rebels were standing and whistling at Darren now, “I need to...” But the American stands above him and offers a hand.
“The officers are going to escort us to the station. It’s not safe.” When Darren gets to his feet, he sees more than ten officers clearing the rebels off and five more stopping them from approaching them both. “We should play along. If they’re offering help, then it’s a sign that these rebels want to cause some major hurt. And not just me. They’ve had their eyes on you too. We stand out pretty obviously, even that hat isn’t much of a disguise.”
“Is it a good idea to go off with officers?”
“I find they work with you, if you work for them.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you once we get into that car, which is the safest thing to do right now. Those rebels will follow you back to wherever you live. Beat you. Steal from you. And then run off to Alabastor to see if you’re something he needs to keep a chain on. And he’ll pay nicely.” The pair remain in the centre of the police circle that surrounds them and are trying to stop the rebels from approaching as they journey down to their vehicle that looks like an army truck with a roof to protect them from mosquitoes.
When they get into the car, a ruckus of noises comes alive from the rebel group, “You working for the American man! You traitor to country! They steal and bring hurt! Why help them!? Traitors.” But the rebels are hurled back by the guns of the officers who stay behind to help civilians.
A few rebels are stopped from chasing the car, break away from the chain, but give up when guns are pointed for them to stop and walk away. Darren and the man watch as they disperse with vile words at the officers who give it back just as much.
“Never a dull moment here, that’s for sure. I came out into the world to see the protest because I thought change would be afoot, and yet, these young men come and pickpocket plenty who rarely have anything to steal. Makes me sick to think of the areas they inhabit, that are even more deprived.”
Darren remains on stilts the entire time. Not sure why the officers keep watching him and turning away when he meets their gaze. “Can we trust these guys?”
“No. But getting away from the Black Bandanas is far better. I suggest we think of making a run for it when there’s a chance to.”
“Would be nice to know who you are? I don’t give my trust so easy.”
“Not too sure if I can trust you either. If you aren’t here on business, then you must be a lost sheep. And those ones who don’t want to get sheared, are dead or missing.”
Darren goes for the long throw, “Like Camila?” The guy catches it, gives it a painful taste in his mouth and reveals more than Darren needs. “You knew her, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Not many out here do. And not many out here can do a thing about it.”
The officers speak in their language, loudly. Darren feels it’s about the two of them. They make grunts and laugh awkwardly, and stare whenever they get the chance. “Are you Mark?”
“Shhh. Not any more, no. My name is Paul Simon
s, for now. And these guys are regulars for me. They take me. Book me. Send my info to Alabastor and Timothy. And then let me go. They want Mark... not Paul Simons.”
“Why do they...”
“Let’s see where this pans out. They’ve missed the turning to the booking station.”
...
After a few knocks and Lee scouting for any trouble, she hears some youthful play fire and nearly brings out her guns, when a few scruffy kids with no shoes run from one corner and disappear around the next. It’s like a spider with eight legs and people inhabit this small and volatile area that is full of the unpredictable.
Sandra knocks a few more times. But can’t check the windows because they’re blocked with cardboard. There is no way to break in as Mark sealed his home shut. Many have followed the same routine of building their own protection. “He’s always here. Can’t think of why he’s left.”
“What would draw him out?”
“Has to be a good reason. It’s not safe for him to ever leave. He’s white, and around here, that’s a clear minority.”
“Do you think the worst has happened?”
“Not to his home. It’s been untouched judging by us not being able to get inside. But out there... not sure if it’s wise. I suppose, the protest.” Sandra squints more than just her eyebrows. Her whole body thinks upon this. “It must be the protest. The last time I saw Mark was a few weeks ago when we heard talk from neighbors via snooping and listening through the window.”
“Did you catch any of that?”
“Not much. But talk is of a very high value out here. And it’s often about Alabastor. Or an outsider who got burned badly. For instance, there are variations of the disappearing journalist, as they call her, and only one holds true. Paul would have the most accurate of sightings.”
...
As they anxiously rode, Paul conveyed the last sighting of Camilla to Darren, who he did not trust wholly, “I was dressed as a common beggar and tanned my skin darker. I got near the barbed wire and was told to move along, nothing to see here. I sat on the road and watched all sorts of vehicles come and go that they navigated. I wanted to catch a glimpse of Alabastor. But they concealed him good behind the bullet-proofed silver sedan.”
Paul keeps his eyes and ears at a high alert. The drop in silence comes when it was obvious they’re eavesdropping. But they could barely understand a word. “If Camila had walked through there ... then Felis would be the man to know where Alabastor had taken her. But getting close to him was impossible. ”
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“I don’t know. The same way I can’t be sure you’re actually on my side.”
“In the situation we’re now in, we have to form some sort of trust.”
“Fair enough. Who do you work for?”
“Henny.”
“I’ve heard of him” –
“Lotan. Do you know that name?”
“Rings a bell.”
“Well, for now, I think we should cut this conversation short, Paul. They’re watching us a little too seriously. And if I’m correct, their non-existent friendliness is dwindling the further we drive to God knows where.”
...
“Sandra, so you know where Camila was staying?”
“A few nights a week, yes. But she ended up in a motel.” They get back into the car and waste no time leaving. “I let Hona and Angelina know via Paul’s permission, it’s the name he goes under. And we drove the one mile out and stopped outside the house. What we found was a bloody trail that had been dragged from the inside to the front yard. They killed the person she was staying with. Paul didn’t know who it was. Camila never named names. But she was a single woman aged forty-two.”
“Did you search the house?”
“Yes. And found nothing of Camila’s. She traveled light. And when we came out, the home was being repossessed back to those who would knock it down and rebuild.”
“Who does all the knocking down and building?”
“That would be Timothy. He has that authority when it comes to what goes where.”
“A true asshole.”
Sandra agrees with a small scoff. “A racist too. And proud of it. I’ll take you to the internet café now ... what is it?”
“Stop here. I know it isn’t safe but ... I recognize that ...” Sandra parked on the opposite end as Lee steps out. It wasn’t much to look at, but they serve food with a name that was all too familiar in America called Eric’s Delicate Dinners. Sandra opens the door but stays close to the car; always observant of any passers who check out her wheels. She knows a few of them as they go inside to eat.
Lee comes back around. “Who can actually afford to eat out?”
“A few think of it as a treat now and then. Amazingly, those with money come here and eat. The whole area was closed off by the military one evening when Alabastor decided to try the food. Since then, those who see nothing wrong with how he runs things, enjoy meals knowing that the great man was here. Pathetic really.”
“The name ... we have it in America.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that. What’s the appeal?”
“Well ... who’s the owner?”
“He lives overseas. Went there to make money.”
“Did Alabastor send him?”
“Not sure. But he worked alongside him I think.”
“Ok. Wait here. I’m going inside -”
“Not a good idea.” Sandra shuts the door. “Lee let’s leave that for another time.”
“Why can’t I go in?”
“It’s a very selective clientele.”
Lee sees those who just went in. And some come out, after being turfed by the guard who gives a small show of his gun. None attempt to enter twice.
“Those with money go there. They’re snobby to the location, but if it’s closed off, they don’t mind. Means the vermin can’t touch them.”
“I think Camilia would’ve gone in there for a story. Don’t you?”
“She may have tried. Paul would know more than I do. Speak with him first and then see if it’s worth it.”
“You must have his number?”
“He never answers. Come on, let’s get you to the internet café.”
Lee was eyeballed so much that she stays shorter than the thirty minutes; prints off a few sheets that are free until four is exceeded. And then waits for Sandra to come back and collect her. If things were clearer, she’d ring Henny, tell him what she’s found. And how Eric was one of the co-founders for the N.O. that hid under a restaurant branch for other illicit affairs.
She remembers the sweaty troll who was nervous, edgy, and afraid of a strong woman. Now he’s dead. And Bennie, the one who helped bring him down is missing. And apparently, the one trying to kill her. She checks what she has found: addresses of Eric’s restaurants that were bringing in a strange currency to pay his staff with. Many didn’t know what it was. But the promise was that they could exchange it for the dollar.
He had worked for Shaka... Lee remembers seeing bags of money in Henny’s office. Speaking of the fairy himself, as if the time was prime for her to think on that matter, Lee gets a phone call, “Hello Henny?”
“This isn’t Henny.”
“No. Not with a voice like that. Amazingly, how did you get my number?”
“I work beyond the dead. I told you. Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”
“No. Bennie. Nothing you did or said ever made much sense. But you sure as hell know how to play the devil’s dice better than anybody.”
“I do it with the best of them. I never stay behind. A high riser, who sees a landscape that needs the assistance of men in power and suits. And who better to direct that power than fools who can’t get laid to save their lives! I laugh at them, money brings them nothing at all. Empty shells of men. But not me, I get joy from seeing my pockets overfull. I’m an honest man. Money makes me smile. And lets me do and be free.”
“At the expense of who, exactly?”
“Hmm. You know, I wouldn’t have called, if I didn’t see you outside Eric’s.”
“You lia – “
“Driving in a red Nissan with a girl who has no ass. That can’t be missed by a pack of horny soldiers who never get a moment to search for a wife. All their lives are wrapped up in other people’s fights. I feel for them –“
“How the fuck did you get out here, Bennie? Nobody knows about this place?”
“It’s a private world affair. And you should come back and see me. Would be nicer to talk face-to-face than over the phone. Never safe.”
“That would be foolish.”
“It’s either that or I come and get you. With the help of a gun shoved to your right cheek. No harm will be intended, of course –“
“No time for telling lies, Bennie.”
But Lee can see that there’s no lie with Bennie being in that restaurant when a car pulls up, a black sedan that can’t be missed. And out comes the man himself, dressed smarter than she’s ever seen. More a business exec than an undercover cop who did dirty dealings. He’s still charmingly unpolished and lacking in an honest persona.
She cuts off the call, as does he. And they stare at each other, both checking to see if they aren’t clones. Lee takes the lead but is unsure of how to proceed. Bennie just holds his arms out wide as if to greet her with kindness. She remains still, wishing she had the time to text Darren and Sandra.
Lee hopes that Sandra won’t come yet. Or that she gets a pong of the black sedan and turns away. Lee stays vigilant to any red Nissan close by. But Bennie gets impatient and walks back to the same door he climbed out of and indicates Lee to join him, “You’ll want to get in here.”
“And if I refuse?”
“You’ll end up worse than that journalist Henny has got you out searching for.”
Lee comes over after that. “How could you know about the case?” She played along even though Bennie had it wrong. That wasn’t the case, her case was Shaka ultimately.
