Penniless Hearts

by Eve Gaal

  When they started protesting for no apparent reason, it usually meant things could go either way. No doubt, she liked him and loved the attention. When she set his meal down in front of him, she leaned down to get some hot sauce from a lower shelf, giving him a view of enormous dangling breasts. “Want cream?” she whispered, contorting her facial features into a sneer that didn't even vaguely evoke hospitality. The tone of her voice sounded angry, but Dan liked the sound. It aroused him and made him think he had an effect on her. That feeling gave him control and control was giving him confidence. Not only could he conquer just about anything, including this divine piece of booty, but his wife's silly excuses should be a piece of cake.

  “Cream?” He asked with a small wink, wondering what she had in mind. “What about the Big Kahuna?”

  “Cream for your coffee, moron,” she said, turning to refill the old timer's coffee.

  Looking up, a painting of Penny flashed across the television screen. An older man held up a small painting of Penny. She had on a yellow muumuu and purple flowers hung from her neck. Already excited from the waitress, Dan felt his Hawaiian shirt stick to his back. It was her, her adorable smile, her expression and her cute little pixie cut. On the bottom of the screen it said, “Dr. Ilona Okos' husband, Stephen Okos, Renowned New Zealand Artist.”

  Standing up, he pointed to the television, “That's her,” he said loudly, “I have to go.”

  The waitress looked at the television, then back at Dan. “That's Pele, you idiot,” she said, laughing and looking at the diners who also burst into laughter.

  “No,” Dan yelled, pulling a ten-dollar bill from his pocket, “That's Penny, and I have to go.” The gray curtains swayed as he slammed the door and ran across the airfield.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The clock ticked loudly on the wall reminding her of Christmas and all the things she used to do around the holidays. Things like baking tangerine-cranberry teacakes for everyone at work and bringing warm blankets and old sweaters to the mission. After decorating the house, she'd make a fire and write cards to everyone, even her distant relatives in Ireland, using calligraphy pens, stickers and stamps. Shopping for gifts should have been easy, because she only had to buy four gifts–her dad, John, Tina and one for the mystery family at church–but no one would get a gift if she sat here any longer.

  Outside the door, she could hear the shuffle of feet, telephones ringing and doors slamming. Penny felt like a sea turtle caught in a tuna net, as her eyes scanned the bare walls looking for something, anything that could occupy her imagination. When a fly landed on her arm, she asked, “How did I get in this strange place, I thought your eyes were watching out for me?” She looked down at her chipped toenail polish and felt sandy, dirty and uncomfortable. “You could stop wiping yourself in front of me. I know I need a bath,” she said to the fly that appeared to be washing his hands and wiping his antennae. A bath sounds delightful right about now, she thought, closing her eyes. Salt water made her skin itch and a nice bubble bath would feel so good. The fly landed on the light above her. “Fine, you go be free, while I sit here waiting for my execution,” she intoned, humming a funeral march and imagining herself pulled from a bath, quickly wrapped in a plush robe and dragged to a guillotine. “Last words?” she asked aloud. “No, I only want to thank all the people in the kingdom for their support.” Hearing approaching steps her heart leapt with apprehension. She looked at the light and whispered, “Come back, and bring reinforcements, I think this might be the end.”

  The knob turned and a large, ruddy faced man entered the room and sat down across from her. Holding a manila file, he apologized for taking a long time.

  “Did I hear you talking to someone just now?” he asked, glancing at the clock, and synchronizing the time with his wristwatch.

  “I was talking to that fly up there,” she said pointing to the light.

  “Do you always talk to yourself, Miss Himmel?” The detective asked, flipping through Penny's file.

  “Just bored sitting here for two hours–so I made friends with the only other creature I could find in this drab and unfriendly room,” she replied, running her right hand through her hair and trying to sound as serious as possible. “Will you please let me know when I can leave? I don't like being held captive and I think my restless nature is what got me into this predicament in the first place.”

  “What do you mean restless nature?” he asked, replacing some of the file pages and shuffling them around, prior to looking into her face. “Never mind.” He had formed an unsettling opinion of her and it bothered him. She seemed like such a sweet-looking girl, and yet something didn't add up. “Miss Himmel, we tried calling the number you gave us for your dad and there's no answer.” He pointed to one of the numbers on the page and asked if that was her number. She nodded her reply.

  “You trespassed on protected, private property, which normally involves a fine and nothing more. However,” he said with emphasis, waving the file, “your story isn't holding up and the chief is wondering why you'd lie. Frankly so am I.” Ever since Nine-Eleven, the chief assumed every trespasser was a terrorist. He wanted every officer to treat strangers with an underlying paranoia. The entire department had mandatory training sessions showing a movie-clip of a Japanese pilot who crashed on Niihau on his way to bomb Pearl Harbor. These things had to be taken seriously for the safety of the American people and besides this gal could be a crazed druggie trying to smuggle drugs through her helicopter friend.

  She rubbed her scratched up wrists. The plastic tabs were removed after the short flight, but tiny red welts pulsed and throbbed like bee stings. Dad rarely left home but he did go to the bookstore or a coffeehouse on occasion. “Can I go now?” She asked, impatience crisply accenting her four-syllable sentence. “I'm not lying.” Penny looked into the detective's baggy, lethargic eyes. “I didn't harm anything on that island.” She spoke clearly, but realized that although she should try sounding like the grown, mature woman she hated being, no one took her seriously anyway.

  “The people of Niihau have a different opinion.” He shook the folder again and placed it back on the table.

  “What do you mean my story isn't checking out?” The fly still sat next to the clock. Silently, she was hoping he was listening to this garbage, his miniature presence easing her feeling of being completely alone.

  “Well, we tried finding Mac the tour company helicopter pilot who allegedly took you to Niihau and we were told he's probably dead.”

  “Dead?” She didn't know what to say, and she didn't want to sound childish, but that explained why Mac never came back to get her.

  “Yup.” He spoke in a matter of fact tone and continued with, “Have you ever been involved in the sale, use or shipment of drugs?”

  Drugs? This guy shocked her with Mac's death one minute and then accused her of selling drugs a second later. He was making her angry. She didn't want to tell him that she picked up her dad's prescriptions at the pharmacy every month, but if she still had a receipt in her tote bag, he'd find it anyway. “No, just my dad's prescriptions that I pick up for him every month,” she blurted, worrying she may have buried herself.

  Making a notation in the file, he said, “Okay Penny,” his voice dripping with disgust and layered tones of condescension, “Now tell me about your earlier statement, wait and let me quote, “Restless nature that got you into this predicament.”

  The last time Penny yelled at anyone, she lost the argument, but remembered how good it felt yelling at her high school coach. Her sand volleyball team was in a tie, until her perfect serve sailed over the net, landing where she had intended it to land. The other team scrambled after it, missed, and then complained–crying foul. Her shot would have given them the title in the championship, but the coach called her serve out of bounds. Penny knew that yelling at the detective wouldn't help either, so she resorted to her favorite way of dealing with problems—getting lost in her imagination.

&nb
sp; “Pele,” she said. “I'm the restless goddess that travels around these islands shaking up the residents when I'm looking for adventure.” Wiggling her toes and throwing her head back to laugh like a hyena, she tried looking intimidating but unfortunately, the detective only saw a ridiculous person acting like she had one too many loops on her run-away roller-coaster.

  “Did you just say you're Pele?” He asked, trying not to sound surprised.

  “Yes, and I'd really be careful if I were you,” she uttered, pursing her lips and spreading her arms out from her sides.

  “Is that a threat, Miss Himmel?” His line of work had put him in front of many whack-jobs, but that didn't make them innocent. He wrote a few things down and closed the file. The chief will be happy this case is closed and she won't be tying up the court system. All he had to do was make sure they ship her sedated ass to a psychiatric hospital on the mainland, and the chief would explain all her delusional behavior to the Niihau folks. They should honor him with a parade for being so efficient. These environmental trespassing issues often escalated into huge ecological nightmares, tying up the court system and ridiculously stretching into years. So the kid walked on some plants, stole a few shells and when they found out about her mental inadequacies, they'd be sympathetic.

  The meatball sandwich from lunch started giving him gas, which made him want to get up and take a stroll to the shaved ice shack down the street.

  Penny watched his knitted eyebrows, the furrows and creases on his weathered face and his pursed fish-like lips before desperately saying, “No,” she paused. “I think I need a lawyer, before I spill my personal story out to someone who obviously has their mind made up about my guilt.” Reinforcements, she needed reinforcements, her eyes looked around the room for the fly and his cronies but the gnashing reality was–she had no reinforcements. Her dad, John, Darin and even Mac were not available. Like everything else, this dilemma rested on her shoulders—just one more thing, one more ad, one more meal and one more problem for her to solve. Crap. Calling John and telling him the truth didn't sound like an option she wanted to face, and even telling her dad made her insides cringe.

  The detective stood up, burped and shook the file. “Sure,” he said, “Pele, you wait right here.”

  * * *

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Maaac,” Darin screamed, hiking through the rough terrain full of boulders, hot rocks and lava towards the crash-site. Nearing the smoky wreckage, he yelled, “Maaac” over and over, but the only sound he heard was his own heavy breathing and some wild birds shrieking above him in the smoldering trees. The strewn body of the chopper had stayed intact, but the splayed tail and the rotary blades teetered high above a gulch and a creek. Darin approached carefully. He wondered how his friend had escaped the hot flowing lava that ran in rivulets down the side of a canyon, where a secluded waterfall spilled steaming water into a tranquil lagoon. Romantically trimmed with giant jungle blossoms and ancient rock carvings, the area looked like a private Eden. Deciding to climb higher to a plateau-like area of flat rocks, Darin noted pools of bubbling magma, but also caves someone could use for shelter. Dense foliage surrounded most of the lower unburned areas and the leaves camouflaging everything made it worse than finding a toothpick in a haystack.

  Dead or alive, he would find his friend, Darin vowed, pushing aside a giant leaf and stepping around a gurgling puddle. The guy didn't deserve to be left here in the wild. Mac deserved a funeral with honors. A twenty-one gun salute and a U.S. flag-draped coffin. Humidity and moisture in the air mingled with the smoke, making Darin cough. His cough echoed across the canyon.

  Mac heard Darin's spastic sounding cough. “Hey, over here.” Mac's voice floated across the valley. Darin looked around and saw his friend waving from a rocky ledge. “Can you see me?” his voice echoed. He wasn't far, but an outcropping of boulders and some thorny looking plants stood between them.

  “Yeah, hold on.” Darin shouted back, relieved to find his friend alive. Quickly, he climbed up onto the sandy, gravel strewn edge above the lagoon and yelled, “Are you all right?”

  “Been better bud, but I'm glad you came.” Mac sat up, and leaned over the edge to peer at his friend. “My leg is busted or something. I can't believe I got this far.”

  “I'm almost there,” Darin said pulling his body onto the narrow ledge. “Shit, how did you get up here?” Darin asked, still coughing and trying to catch his breath. Wiping his eyes, he removed his pack and immediately busied himself with Mac's injuries. “I guess we won't be shooting hoops for a while,” he said with a grin, “and I'm not crying, it's just the smoke in my eyes.” He applied a splint out of a branch and tied it with his windbreaker. Mumbling a prayer of gratitude, Darin said, “Sorry, I didn't come better prepared. I should have brought a first aid kit.” Now he needed to figure out the shortest path back to the television news chopper. “Those bruises are going to hurt.”

  “Don't remind me, they hurt now,” Mac groaned, still smiling at his friend. “I've been crawling and climbing so much my hands are bleeding.” He held up both palms, “I'm so glad you came to find me.” Mac's hands were black like charcoal with blood oozing through rough blistered skin.

  “I have my selfish reasons,” Darin sniffed, pointing over the edge. “Do you think you could walk around this hill?” He pointed to the rocks between Mac's blackened helicopter and where they stood above the waterfall. “The chopper pilot from the studio is waiting about four hundred yards from your crash-site. It's not far. I'll hold you the best I can.”

  “Going down will be tricky, but if I don't have to go fast, I think I can make it.” Grabbing Darin's shoulder, he pulled himself up and asked, “Hey, what's with saying you have your selfish reasons for coming up here? I thought I was special.” Darin encircled Mac's waist before taking a step.

  “Penny, remember? I sent you to get her, well did you?”

  Mac stopped to catch his breath, but for a moment, his face looked blank. “Oh her, yeah–well a whole lot of things happened since….”

  Darin looked away. He wanted to let go, but Mac clutched his shoulders tightly. “You can tell me Mac,” he said with a somber look on his stubbly face. “Is she alive?” Darin tensed up, waiting for the awful news. Smoke and nerves made him cough again.

  Hesitating, Mac retraced his thoughts, trying to figure out what made Penny important to Darin. Mac knew Darin changed girlfriends faster than some guys changed their socks, but that little redhead wasn't his type. Shit, he thought, leaving her on Niihau was probably not a good idea and he'd surely get some flak from the authorities. This whole day was becoming a huge pile of unmitigated crap.

  “Well, is she okay?” Darin asked a little louder, noticing Mac's hands were leaving black soot and speckles of blood on his shirt.

  “I think so,” Mac stammered, hoisting himself up and pulling on Darin's arm. “If you're asking, did she go down in the chopper with me? The answer is no, because I dropped her off a long time ago.”

  Relief washed over Darin's face, “Good,” he sighed, “that's one less thing to worry about.” Darin tore large leaves off some nearby plants, carefully wrapping them around Mac's legs. They would have to protect his legs in case he slipped, or touched any glowing embers. “It's December, Mac, do you always wear shorts?”

  “You've been on the mainland too long. Did you forget what it's like around here?” Leaning together, they slowly descended onto the valley floor. Looking up, Mac said, “Oh there it is, close to the crater.” He pointed at the waiting pilot who sat dangling his feet off a rock near his helicopter.

  “Watch out,” Darin said, pointing to some soft lava and loose pebbles. “So tell me what happened.”

  Mac started to explain. “I rescued a couple from the rim, around midday. You should have heard them jabbering on about how they were scientists and how safe they were and how they had special permits and blah, blah, blah.”

  “Yeah, and?” Darin laughed, thinking about the force of the volca
no. No permit in the world could save a stupid person from a giant eruption.

  “Nothing, they were scientists, I guess. Honestly, I didn't understand half the shit they were talking about—they spoke with some accent. So anyway, I came back to see if anyone else might need a lift out of this mess.” He slowed and stumbled when a shooting pain shot through his leg. Darin could see the pinched expression on Mac's face and looked for a place for them to rest.

  Darin pointed at a place in the clearing, “Here's a nice flat rock, let's sit down for a second. I'm getting bushed myself.” A worn, ancient turtle petroglyph had been carved into the surface eons ago, but the impressive piece of history went completely unnoticed.

  “What about the dude that's waiting for us?” Mac never liked waiting for the slow tourists who lollygagged at the Fern Grotto.

  “Let him wait.” Darin said plopping himself onto the rock and pulling Mac down next to him.

  “Ouch.” Mac looked at his bleeding palms, his leaf-covered legs and sullenly mumbled, “I'll be happy when I'm out of here.”

  Hoping to get his friend's mind off his pain, Darin said, “I'm moving out here permanently, Mac. Now that Dad's gone, the flights back and forth are bullshit.”

  “What about…what's her name…Tina?” Mac inquired, still wondering if the dizzy little redhead might be flavor of the month.

  “I think we're done, but I'm letting her help me for a while at the dealership,” Darin answered with a cough.

  “She's there now?” Mac narrowed his eyes and perspiration beaded and dripped from his reddened, rugged face onto his filthy shirt. Besides the obvious limp, his scars and messy ash blond hair made him look fearsome and midnight-movie scary. “Fuck, Darin,” he said seriously, “Have you lost your mind?”