by R. Lee Walsh
With one last glance around the lot, Peach nods and waves. It's taken three whole weeks for him to track her down, so she knows he'll be pissed. Smiling to herself, she pedals faster. The warm evening breeze blows the stale smell of beer and food from her hair as she glides silently through a dozen quiet streets, anxious to see if he's waiting at her apartment.
Pausing to let an old yellow Bonneville pass in front of her at the entrance to the “Desert Palm Oasis,” a renovated two story motel that now advertises “deluxe studio apartments,” she decides to walk it the rest of the way. Wending her bike through the parking lot, she takes her time. If he's watching, she doesn't want to look like she's hurrying.
Humming to herself, she locks her bike next to the metal staircase that leads to the second floor, then casually takes the stairs two at a time, heading toward the far end of the building and her apartment. Steeling herself for his inevitable tirade, especially after the long and intentionally confusing trail she left for him, she takes a deep breath and opens the door to an empty apartment.
As in completely empty. All her stuff is gone.
A quick tour confirms the absence of even one personal item. The place is wiped clean. Even the carpet looks to be freshly shampooed and she drops her bag on it with a four letter word, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Touche´,” she mutters, gritting her teeth. “You are so gonna be sorry, Riley.”
She walks to the window to survey the parking lot, then sits on the floor under the squeaky clean window. She digs her phone out of her back pocket and dials Yuri, the only one who knew where she was this whole time.
“He there yet?” he says without preamble, answering on the first ring.
“If you're talking about that psycho best friend of yours, then yes, I'd say he's been here.”
“Been? Where'd he go?”
“Don't know. Haven't seen him. All I know is he came by my work but didn't bother to show his ugly face. I was hoping you knew where he went.”
“Not a clue. Look, I need you both back in Portland soon. Seriously. So when you do see him, have him call me.”
“You sure you don't know where that low life thief is?” she asks. He immediately chuckles.
“What's he done this time?”
“Like you care,” she retorts, then immediately regrets it. This is between her and Riley. “Sorry, I'm just pissed.”
“Well, whatever it is, you probably deserved it. He's been out of his mind with worry.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, if you hear from him first, tell him he's toast. I mean it this time.”
“You two and your crazy games. Aren't you tired of it yet?”
“Tired?” she replies, her eyes narrowing as she glances around the empty room. “We're just getting started.”
Chapter Three
“Who're you looking for?” Elsa asks, watching Peach glare at the front door of the T-Bird for the hundredth time today. She showed up to help with deliveries that afternoon wearing the same clothes she wore the night before and a murderous look in her eyes.
“Nobody,” Peach grumbles, turning her attention back to the glasses she's washing behind the bar. “The weather report said it might rain tonight and I was wondering if I needed to put my bike in the office.”
“Why risk it?” Elsa replies, looking out the window herself. “I'll watch the bar for a few minutes. Go ahead and bring it in. Maybe then you can stop burning a hole in our front door.”
Peach dries her hands on a bar towel, then tosses it over her shoulder. “Maybe I will.” She ducks under the passthrough at the end of the bar, exiting through the swinging door to the kitchen.
Elsa watches her departure with an amused shake of her head. Moments later Toby comes through the door from the kitchen carrying a plate of nachos, a toothpick between his lips. He delivers them to a regular seated in a booth near the bar, then walks over to stand near his wife.
“What's up with Red? Somebody get fresh with her?” he asks, surveying the customers with a critical eye.
“Noticed that too, did you?”
“I tried to help bring her bike in and she nearly bit my head off.”
“Ten bucks says it's a man,” Elsa says, nodding toward a new customer who's ready to order.
Toby's eyes go wide for moment, then he grins, taking the toothpick from his mouth. “You think so?”
“You watch. That girl's the most laid back, easy going employee we've ever had. Only a man could turn her into such a witch. I have no doubt we'll be meeting the cause of it soon.”
Filling a water glass Elsa heads over to take the customer's order just as Peach returns from the back, resuming her post behind the bar. She walked the entire property just to make sure, but there's still no sign of Riley.
As the evening winds down and only a handful of customers are left in the bar, Peach has given up watching for Riley. She focuses on routine cleaning and being reasonably pleasant to customers, ignoring the front entrance entirely. Annoyed at herself for letting him rile her, she notices Elsa and Toby are strangely absent. An hour earlier they both disappeared into the office after Raul, the short order cook, said they had a phone call.
“Sleepin' in the bar now?” Raul says through the kitchen window, handing her a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. He's figured out her favorite meals and taken it upon himself to make her one every night. She knows he's trying to flirt with her, but she's not interested. Besides, she gave her heart to a pigheaded thief who better show his face soon or he'll be sorry.
“What's that supposed to mean?” she snaps, scowling at the food. The golden fluffy eggs and freshly cooked bacon simmer under the heat lights.
“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just never saw you wear the same thing twice.”
“Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything,” she mumbles, using a hot pad to take the plate. Raul nods with a satisfied smirk, then goes back to working on another order.
She places the plate behind the bar then quickly takes a bite, sighing at the warm, buttery taste of perfectly cooked eggs.
“Hey Peach, where's Tob?” a man calls out, waiting at the other end of the bar. She recognizes him as another Swede and close friend of Elsa and Toby. Middle aged, with a slight paunch and thinning sandy hair, she remembers his kind eyes.
“Busy, I guess,” she says, quickly swallowing her food. “Is there something I can help you with or do you need me to get him?”
He frowns, pursing his lips, then pulls out his cell phone to look at it. Wiping her face with a napkin, she walks down to properly speak with him.
“My wife heard from Elsa that Toby's father passed away,” he says. “Thought I'd come down and see if there's anything I can do. Just wanted to make sure he and Elsa are alright.”
Peach frowns toward the office, then points to a seat at the end of the bar. “Let me see if he's available,” she says, automatically filling him a glass of water before quickly asking Fiona to take over for a minute.
Entering the kitchen, she passes Raul and his new trainee, a young latino man Toby must've just hired. Schooling her expression to betray nothing, she ignores their stares as she calmly makes her way past the walk-in coolers to the office.
The door is propped open with a five-gallon bucket of olive oil and she immediately sees Toby sitting behind his desk, Elsa standing behind him. She's leaning over him with her arm around his neck, both of them silently weeping.
Startled by her sudden appearance, they both look up, seemingly embarrassed to be caught in a private moment.
“Sorry, but you have a visitor,” Peach says, clearing her throat. “That friend of yours. Borden, I think his name is.
“Bjorden,” Elsa murmurs, straightening, her accent thick from emotion. “I'll go talk to him.”
“Just bring him back here,” Toby says to Elsa, wiping his swollen eyes. “We don't need an audience.”
Nodding, she moves around the desk, herding Peach back down the hall.
“I
'm so sorry,” Peach says, grasping her arm. “Is there anything I can do?”
Elsa pauses, taking a moment to collect herself. “We knew it was coming, but Toby really wanted to be there. We tried to figure a way to work it out, but Okinawa is a long trip and it would be at least three weeks before we could get back. There's just no one else to run the bar.”
“It must be hard for both of you,” Peach observes. “To be so far away from your family.”
Elsa takes a deep breath but says nothing, wiping the moisture from her face. She squeezes Peach's hand momentarily then proceeds through the kitchen to retrieve their friend.
Her heart heavy, Peach follows. A couple waits with their bill at the cash register and she directs Fiona to take care of them while she prepares the drink orders waiting on the bar.
By closing time Elsa and Toby are still in the office, so Peach completes the routine tasks they would normally take care of, like turning the chairs onto the tables, vacuuming and sterilizing everything. The last person to leave, she takes one last look around, making sure everything is done. She stares out the front window for a moment, then makes a decision.
Walking through the kitchen, she hears quiet murmuring in the office. Pausing before the open door, Elsa and Toby are going through the night's receipts. She clears her throat and they both look up at the same time.
“Everything's done,” she says. “All that's left is to lock the door when I leave.”
Toby nods, making a weak attempt to smile. “I put your bike out back for you. And thanks for your extra help tonight.”
She looks between the two of them, choosing her words carefully. This isn't in the plan and she's certain to take hell for it from Riley, but there's no way she's leaving Elsa and Toby this way.
“Everything alright?” Elsa asks, frowning.
“Yeah, I was just thinking. Why not me?”
Elsa and Toby exchange a confused glance. “I'm sorry. Why not you what?” Elsa replies.
“I could manage the bar while you go to the funeral. Look, I know I've only been here a few weeks, but I've been working in or around them all my life. I know how everything works and you'll only be gone for three weeks or so. I could handle it.”
Toby blinks at her, his expression surprised. Elsa stands, glancing nervously at her husband, but Peach see's the hopeful expression in her eyes.
“That's very kind of you,” Elsa says softly. “Why don't you let us think about it?”
“Sure, whatever.” Peach adjusts the straps on her backpack. “Well, goodnight. Let me know if there's anything else you need before tomorrow night.”
Exiting the back door, she pauses until she hears the lock being engaged from the other side. Her bike leans against the building next to Mannuel who sits on a barstool by the door.
“Sad news,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” Peach responds with a weary sigh, patting him on the shoulder. So many immigrants share the same heartache, especially when a close family member back in their country dies. There's a price to pay for living elsewhere.
“What'd you think of my grandson?” Mannuel asks. “Think he'll work out?”
She blinks at him, her eyebrows furrowed. “Grandson?”
“Robbie. The new cook. Raul's training him.”
“Ahh, so that's who that was. We didn't actually get introduced, but I'll make a point to tomorrow. And seeing as how he's your grandson, I'm sure he'll be fine.”
“Not everyone would hire a boy like Robbie. He's had some troubles in the past. Toby's a good man.”
“Indeed he is,” Peach replies sagely.
Surveying the mostly empty parking lot, she notes only two motorbikes which look like leftovers from the night before. Neither of them are Riley's. She gets on her own bicycle. “'Night, Manny. You take care.”
Pedaling out onto the quiet street, she wonders what Toby and Elsa will decide. The offer she made was genuine and there's no doubt in her mind she can handle it. After all, she's been working in bars for nearly a hundred years.
Her appearance never changes. As a race, the Irin exist outside of time. Hidden amongst humanity for nearly five thousand years, they live as humans and roam the earth freely, ensuring the continued survival of mankind.
In the greater scheme of things, what she's done could create a problem. Along with all Irin, her first duty is to protect the natural order and above all, the descendants of a very special bloodline. According to Yuri, the last descendant of that bloodline will soon arrive in Portland. But soon could mean tomorrow or next month and to be honest, Peach is not looking forward to going back there.
Lost in thought, she glides through an intersection, narrowly escaping an oncoming car. Hitting her brakes, she struggles to regain control of her bike while shouting expletives at the other vehicle. A heavily customized yellow Bonneville slows as it passes her, the three male occupants staring boldly at her from their identical slouched positions in the car.
“Freaking gangbangers,” she hisses under her breath. “Why don't you watch where you're going!”
The car continues past her, the backseat passenger turning to leer at her from the rear window. Shaking her head, she starts to pedal again then pauses, dropping her feet down to the pavement. Looking back, she stares with narrowed eyes at the retreating vehicle.
Two things stand out. One, the car itself. That's the same one she saw pulling out of her apartment complex last night. Two, the backseat passenger looked familiar. She's seen him somewhere before.
Frowning to herself, she continues toward home, fully alert to her surroundings now. At her apartment complex she stops to survey the area, but finds nothing unusual. She glides her bike all the way to the stairway this time and decides to take it up to her apartment tonight. Preternaturally strong, she makes sure no one's watching, then sprints up the stairs with the bike held under one arm. At her apartment door she once again looks for anything out of the ordinary, then pauses to stare at her door. Steeling herself for whatever lies behind it, she uses her bike to push it open.
The space is still empty, but a gift wrapped package sits in the center of the room. After closing the door, she wheels her bike over to the window, then leans it against the wall. Staring at the package, she slowly walks around, briefly peeking behind doors.
Taking off her backpack, she drops it next to the bike, then takes out her phone, dialing Yuri.
“You coming?” he answers without preamble as usual. “I need your help with my hair.”
“Your hair? Why? What the hell'd you do to it?”
“Modernized it. Only it didn't quite come out.”
“Define modern.”
“Shorter. And a different color.”
Wincing at the thought of him cutting off his gorgeous blue black mane, not to mention changing the color, she scowls into the phone. “Like what?”
“You'll see when you get here. Also, I need your help with the nose and eyebrow piercing.”
“You're joking. Next you'll be telling me you have a mohawk.”
There's a long pause before he responds. “Not exactly.”
Shaking her head, she can't help but smile. “What have you done?”
“It's fixable. I just need your professional touch. So seriously, when will you be here?”
“That's why I'm calling. I was wondering if we had a specific date. Something's come up.”
She hears him mutter a colorful expletive. “Is this about what happened before you left?” he asks.
“Don't be ridiculous,” she huffs, even though a part of her screams yes. “I did what I had to. Sometimes it sucks but that's the job.”
“Put Riley on.”
“I would,” she says, staring at the package. “But I don't know where he is just now.”
“But you've seen him. He's there, right?”
She pauses. “Not exactly.”
“This is ridiculous,” he sighs. “Look, I don't have a specific date, but it could be any time. I need you bo
th here as soon as possible.”
“I know. And we'll be there. I just need a little more time to wrap up things here. There's some people who need my help.”
She can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. On the one hand she's never asked for extra time before, but on the other, this girl they're all waiting on is everyone's first priority. She's counting on the guilt he feels for what happened to her before she left Portland.
“Fine,” he sighs. “But the moment I call you both better be ready.”
“I said we'll be there,” she snaps, then reminds herself to calm down. Technically, he's in charge of not only her and Riley but all the Irin. They've fought together as equals for so long now, sometimes it's easy to forget he's her superior. “Now tell me specifically what you've done to your hair.
Chapter Four
After a hot shower using only a bar of soap she borrowed from the storage room at the bar, Peach dries her hair with her t-shirt, staring at the unwrapped package on the floor. Circling the room, she finally sits next to it, examining the wrapping.
Drugstore paper. The size of a shoebox. She leans forward to listen with supernatural hearing. Nothing. She reaches out and taps it with a finger. When nothing happens she looks around, then carefully pushes it onto its side. With thumb and finger she carefully lifts the tape on the end, slowly peeling back the paper to reveal the end of a plain brown cardboard box. Encouraged, she takes her time removing the rest of the paper, then cautiously opens the box.
Inside she finds an artist toolbox. Very ornate. Very old.
Frowning, she examines the elaborate inlaid gold designs, each of them depicting a long forgotten story from the time Before. Her eyes water and her heart thuds wildly in her chest, aching at this exquisite reminder of the land they came from. With a shaking hand she gently unlatches the lid, revealing a treasure trove of precious drawing utensils. There are colors here not found on earth. Overcome with emotion, she lifts an onyx pencil, marveling at the richness of its true black color and awed by the flawless design. To be presented with this gift is bittersweet. Only at the end of an age are the Irin allowed to use their gifts, so the end of this one has truly come. While she's thrilled liberation is finally in sight, she also fears the battle that will precede it.
