Narrower Steps

by Riley Moreno

  They pass the 911 emergency unit who receive the calls via an old fashion switchboard which works best with multiple hands that connect calls. These calls go through to the main room that’s responsible for directing patrol cars to that incident. They can also connect directly to Henny’s beeper.

  Then comes the locked evidence room. A couple of interrogation rooms on both sides as they walk upon the gray carpet, and then turn through an open plan foyer, pacing-down 12- steps until they see a simple café and waiting room. And then at the very end and only opened by Henny’s or Lotan’s key, is the room that any videographer or filmmaker would say the editing suite.

  Only this room is used for tapes, discs, CD’s, and anything that can be brought up on the television systems and run by a specialist on the laid-out equipment that’s intrinsic with lots of tiny knobs and coloured switches, cables, and buttons that Lee figures is like the image of what a studio producer may understand.

  Henny only needs to insert the disc, so no professional help needs to be called down.

  He grabs the small control and waits for the TV to pick the disc up, and it does. Then what shows up after a brief screen of blackness is the option to simply press play. So, Henny pushes down on that triangle symbol and what comes on the screen with the timing of 0000.004.300 which translates to 05.30 hours in the early morning on the bottom of the screen is a colored blurred image capturing of four men entering the airport, but not through the normal channels.

  The screen recording was poorly done so it comes out choppy and partial. Each shakes a man’s hand who is dressed in the work uniform colors of Alpeco Airlines that is a rubicund red tie, taupe black shirt, and gravely colored trousers with a black and gold belt.

  Lee knows these colors. But his face is fuzzy, so it’s irregular for both her and Henny, whose face shows the irritation. After the brief pleasantries, they follow this man all the way to the back of the airport. And then the recording stops with a buzzing noise.

  “That was captured not too long after he got away. I’m going to use a specialist to give me a more thorough identification of the four men as it’s in very bad quality. I’m going to get some technicians to tweak that camera. It’s been faulty for a while. Anyways, I’m pretty sure it’s Shaka and his croons. And if they’ve gone to the back of the building, they must be flying through other channels. And by that, I mean private.”

  “But where to?”

  Henny’s caught off guard, and Lee’s eyes widen. It’s the way his body involuntarily glitches from the question, and his eyes loom over Lee like an unexpected drop of saliva fell from her mouth and he wants to tell her but can’t. She changes the question, she needs some answers, “Has Shaka been traced? How else can you fly me out to somewhere without any positivity that he’ll be there?”

  “It’s covert. I might know where he could be headed to but that’s all,” He says as he switches off the TV. “I’ll be brutally blunt. You might find yourself jumping from here to there, with no positive I.D. of him having been there. But we know a few locations, and the first one is a good guess to where he might land first. He has a lot to sort out.”

  “Two days is short notice ...”

  “I know. But the pay will be up to par. And you’ll be compensated with a smooth flight all the way. The best that I could provide considering the secrecy and not the full boards funding.”

  Lee heard it. He said it. “The board doesn’t know?”

  That involuntariness again, but Lee can’t place what it means. “No ... and yes.” He clams up now. Says no more and leaves the disc be. “I’ll give you the two days off. You can say your goodbyes to whomever you need to.”

  “I don’t have anybody to say goodbye to.” A sad reality, but it doesn’t hurt to say it anymore.

  Henny affection that flashes is a professional act of care, but it’s no comfort. “Then you have nothing holding you back.” He tries to feign a grin, it turns out into an old lip curl that doesn’t make the cut.

  There’s a small moment where neither really engage in the awkward silence that is now present. Little tension mounts, as Henny consults his beeper and then scratches his head, and Lee ponders on asking about Lotan. It comes like a shyness all of a sudden, or a desire to not let on too much. She wonders if she can trust Henny? And more so, if she can trust some lucid image that is very inaccurate.

  Where did this video come from is another puzzle? Who gave it to him? Why so fast. It’s the speed of it all that keeps prodding her towards blurting out more, more, more. Give me more – more – more.

  But another egg cracks and it’s the joy of promotion. The happiness that she hasn’t felt for a few years but stuck it out to get to. It’s more of the stain of lipstick on a cheek, or a love bite on the side of the neck. It just doesn’t come off. That pride, and a rotten admiration for Henny. No matter how contorted or prickly it makes her skin, the guy has been her 2nd father on the beat.

  He’s always thrown a guarding, non-perving and vigilant eye on a platonic level. There has been nothing hidden in his agenda for her, just a love for the way she does things and comes up with a decent enough result. But she’s been wrong before. Plenty of times before.

  The run-in of male-figures in her life from youth has been that way. No agenda but shrouded in scales that keep her alert and guarded. Her papa, well, he was absent-ta-mondo on more than the normal occasion. But her mother was no better. And her uncle, well he thought it would be fair to stay away from her. She had her dark knowledge of why, and him being locked up for his crimes was a relief that it never happened to her when young. She was lucky. But he was afraid of her.

  And luck has been her help through life. Being pretty, but pretty scary at the same time. It’s the intense eyes that shock many men into having to submit to her out-of-reach collar. But the ones like Henny, they just see her needing some sort of dad, and it was petulant, but endearing in a creepy way to try and connect.

  She decides to leave because staring at Henny. Being able to talk is unlike her, and it stinks of stale milk in this room, gone-off cheddar and it makes her belly do a turning cycle like a machine. Hunger bites, and moodily grumbles for some food. She could do something to cure.

  “You won’t be alone.”

  Lee’s at the door thinking of food, Henny’s replying to a message and not looking at her as he says, “You won’t be alone.”

  “Oh.” It’s all she can find to say. And she says it beyond credence.

  “You’ll find out who it is on the day. I think you’ll be happy with my choice.”

  Chapter 6

  The only real goodbye she had to say was to Saul, who had asked her out for a drink down this countrified bar on the last night of her leaving. She had to be up and ready for 5 a.m. and their conversation flowed with no mention of work.

  It was regular talk, not small talk. Simple things and matters that compile into a neat box of basic getting to know the other. Three years working together and never had they been able to find out personal shit like partners, education, interests, loves, hates, food preps, future- plans, etc.

  Saul talked most, Lee nodded her head and listened. He had a wife, graduated with honors from communication technology, decided to enter the force when he and his long-term girlfriend moved out to America. He did two years as a junior caddie via a friend who got him a desk job at another station down south. Went on to do a normal service patrolling on the road: the usual route for most rookies and found out services like Henny needed both brains and legs so he applied a few years later.

  Lee had skipped over everything about her. And what she liked about Saul, was that he never pressed the matter. He just allowed her to reveal what she wanted. And it was only details of studies that didn’t amount to much like no partner, rare dating life, interests vary from sculpting to regular fitness and some yoga. She didn’t even go into the information on how she joined up with Henny.

  Even though she wanted to. She really did. He was a nice guy. A wife, an
d a 2-year old girl called Melody. But she clammed up and left with nothing more to say after their final drink. They had a few beers, and their departing goodbye ended with him giving her another number. One that they wouldn’t have any access to. She thanked him once more and asked that she walk home alone at 3 a.m. in the morning.

  ...

  Sleep didn’t come for Lee, so she played on some relaxation music on an old stereo system and sat in the front patio on a white deck chair with a book called Percussions: about a young girl whose karma was steep. Everything bad that she did come back in ten-folds to bite her and leave a permanent mark. She had a few pages to go, and in a few hours, she would be making her way via a taxi to the airport.

  Darren. His name would come to her at the most peculiar of times and make her think that she needs a glass of lemonade. It did nothing to her anatomy, but his name spilled milk, so to speak. She always had to separate professional from personal, with an idea that he held back. Not because he feared her, but traits that Lee lacked.

  It could be basic femininity that she’s never understood or carried in her womanly pouch. Or maybe a deficiency in the flirtatious department? She knows she finds work a distraction. And it’s one that’s worked fine, up until now. This moment. This conclusion, that Darren, seeing him again in the flesh, and unchanged in character, has sprinkled one or two perplexed hormones in her body.

  The kind that would have her searching through an online forum that helps her connect on that level with somebody who is as complicated as her. She can’t read him. And he never seems to water her garden.

  She won’t deny trying to understand Darren. Darren! She blew cold air in the hollow wind at that name, slams her book shut and reckoned she should grab her packed suitcase and indulge in some mental mind preparation before calling a cab. It’s a silly thing, to think of someone beyond the basic joints.

  Lee rarely finds anybody that takes up her think tank. It’s usually only herself who occupies it whole. Instead of pondering over the complications of chemistry and gender pairings, she’s now calling a cab and preparing herself for a new, but a whole lot more than she can handle the experience. And she struggles to admit it to her apprehension, that weighs down her eyelids and dries her mouth. Shit. Just shit.

  “I wonder where my ticket will be?” She has to collect the plane ticket from a locker that will be assigned to her once she texts Henny of her arrival. The cabman was diligent and came at the appropriate hour.

  She arrived two hours before the hour Henny told her to arrive, 7 a.m.Then she texted Henny; arrived at the airport. She tucked her Motorola phone back in her loose fitted jeans side-pocket and strolled into the Alpeco airlines with black shades on and a long summery neo-noir jumpsuit with a mc-hammer finish at the ankles.

  It’s her most casual. The suitcase she packed was enough for two weeks’ worth of clothes. It’s a leathery black and white case shaped like a turtle’s back, with a long handle that’s handy for dragging all over the place. It’s nearly as big as her, with hardly anything in there.

  Lee’s not much of a clothes hound, she keeps it simple. And if she had the time, she would make her own style. Her style is pretty much her own idea of fashion. Less excess makes life ordinary. Anyways, she waits not too far from the entrance. Anticipation causes a couple of throaty gulps and then the eagerness for Henny to text back.

  It’s busier than she pictured it would be. Mainly lone travelers of the business kind right on this hour. Six yards ahead is a board with directions to airport terminals from A-P, and behind that is one of the check-in entries that’s like a long, winding anaconda with barriers. A few people wait there. When Lee wheels her suitcase further to look at the board she comes across a few more to her left and right: different airlines each with their entrances into the queuing system advising passengers to have their passport, luggage, and booking forms ready.

  She can see one coffee shop just about to open for service with a Romanian woman already showing signs of not wanting to be there as she wipes the few tables that look clean already. And then there’s a burger king that’s open on the other end about 30 – paces down, and then this pastry kiosk next to it that smells all the way from where she stands.

  Lee’s had corn and spinach pasty before and it was fresh as anything. She’s tempted to grab an early bite, or a vegetable and leak patty, but she hears the text make that prada-a-burrr tone and it stifles her hunger to a relaxing state.

  Henny text says, locker 25. No more from him. She can see a few signs leading to temporary lockers for passengers to keep their stuff. She gazes around for numbers 10– 25. She has a quick survey and sees it in the direction of the coffee shop. She picks up that handle and strides quickly.

  There’s no time to waste when you’re the one in the dusk, and her legs tell her this more than her actual mind. They keep going whilst she keeps passing food stands with breakfast options. A little sluggishness comes over her, a coffee would be handy to have right now too.

  She reaches the arrow sign that points to toilets, lockers, terminals B-D with the numbers from 1 – 20 stated in the far back that you can pass through after checking in. But the lockers lie in short rows of four, stacked like the ones you’d find in gyms. She wheels it to the last row where 15 – 25 lies and finds the back of a man by her locker.

  She slowly gets closer. She sees him closing the locker with two tickets in his hand. He analyses them like there must be some sort of mistake. Her lethargy kicks in even more, hinders the obvious, that even he must be suffering from it too. But she recognizes him when she takes a good look from behind. “Darren?” Like a shocker!

  Darren’s neck jumps-up, and then he spins to face the voice that he heard from behind. His tone is similar in his reply, “Lee?”

  Neither hides the flabbergast from the other, it seems they are checking to see if either is actually real. Darren holds the tickets up; and then looks at the number 25 locker. “So, you’re my mystery companion?” -

  “And was this what you had to tell me?”

  “No.” It’s a deep-rooted no. “I was going to tell you goodbye. We need to make our way to terminal 12-E. Pronto.”

  Chapter 7

  Darren meant pronto. And the process was fast enough for Lee to wonder what all the rush really was about! And when they came to the terminal entrance, he shoots right past the number 25 arrow-signpost and tallied on pass 26, 27, 28, and even 30 right through to 40. Lee’s neck kept trailing behind until she had to fling it back to the front to avoid bumping into anybody ahead.

  Lee asked no questions. Just kept her breathe and up-to-speed with Darren who caused multiple people to either move out of the way or contemplate backward or forwards as an option. Either way, Lee was then left with accidentally bumping into them as they missed her presence behind him.

  She tugged on her suitcase and he hauled both his hand luggage in one hand and his thick silver case with its worn-out wheels that made a hell of a racket. It went like screeeeeech... screeeeeech.... Screeeeeeech, every couple of minutes when it would hit the polished chocolatey-brown floor. It caused a scene with the few individuals who were irritated and reading or catching some zzzzzzzzz’s on the seated accommodation that was in various corners.

  Lee observes him from behind, a cuff style navy-green jacket, no insignia, blotchy patches here and there that look like green stick-pads on both sides of the chest, and his washed out black jeans where chino-esque and in good condition. She had never seen Darren so casually announced before her.

  And it caught her off the radar. He looked decent. Not bad. She would give him a second glance if she saw him crossing her path. But it’s a distraction,she now focuses on the tickets that are sticking out his back pocket, and she debates on where those printed paper slips are taking them.

  She hadn’t asked to see the tickets, but when they hit the main room that had multiple flight information display systems in a Teletext color-coded style that were set up around a handful of passengers o
n the walls; or holstered like billboards at different angles for various placements of passengers, Lee’s speculation got the better of her in the business and she reached up behind him and yanked those tickets right out to take a look.

  Darren felt the yank and he pauses to wonder if his ass was groped. He thinks Lee wouldn’t have the guts? Or it’s definitely not her style. I wouldn’t mind but no time for that though. He spins around and she’s standing about 10 – paces behind and studying those tickets as if what she’s reading can’t be true.

  He tugs all his shit back to join her. But Lee catches sight of him coming and turns to wheel her case back in the opposite direction.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the actual terminal. The tickets say 25.”

  “But we’re not trying to get to 25,” he says that just in time for her to catch it in a passing whisper. Lee pauses now that he’s beside her; “and we’re not on an actual journey to Madagascar.” His chin- points for her to read the tickets.

  Lee flaps the paper-tickets before and sees in bold writing Madagascar. And the plane that they’re meant to be flying with is Heaton airlines. And the model is one of their smaller models with similarities to the Boeing 777, but with more seated room at the back. Usually accustomed to flying the business type moguls. “Henny failed to tell me that aspect.”

  “I think we have different briefings. In time, I’m sure we’ll see just how dissimilar it gets.” Lee hands him back the tickets and the rest her luggage on the ground. But what he says isn’t read from that paper.

  “We just have to go to terminal 50, head down the escalators until we reach two doorways. The one we need will take us to the route via the emergency exit to the back end of the hangar where we board a small private jet unlicensed and untraceable. I think it’s called the Bootlegger.” He places the tickets in his back pockets.