by Riley Moreno
Her books and iPod are in the slit back there. She zips that backup. Goes for another rummage and finds incense sticks, pad, and paper. A couple of bangles, hairbands, a handmade wooden horse, some apple and ivory smelling perfumes, and a couple of pens right down in the bottom. Now Lee moves her hands underneath until she feels the box that she draws out in the way a treasure hunter would if he found that rare ruby.
She forgets Darren’s behind her when she lays down her pear-green box and unmasks it to reveal two Kahr CW9 – 9mm semi-automatics laid with one end of the nozzle facing left at the top - and the other inwards and to the right. Brand new. Work listed and unused. She gives them the truest grin she can muster and wields them with the nozzle tips touching each other.
“Woah their cow-lock. You might want to put those away.”
Lee still wields them as she runs her eyes across the chrome silver. “Ringo’s acting shifty. And I don’t find myself safe right now ... do you?”
Darren faces the cockpit door. “I like him.”
“I do too. But that doesn’t mean he likes us. Or is on our side.”
“So, what do you propose?”
“We let him take us to where we need to go? Or, we ask him straight away, tell us what’s really happening?”
“And what’s your hunch about the conclusion?”
“The first.” She takes one of the semi-automatics and lays the other back in the pear–green box before laying it on top and zipping it all up to carry out the plane. “I don’t do handbags.” She slides the Kahr into the side pocket of her jacket. Its depth means it can be concealed. She taps it to make sure.
“They might do a security check here.” He looks at the placement of her gun in her pocket.
“I don’t think so.” She lifts her case up. “All this is highly irregular, and Ringo is as crooked as the cabin is after going through that turbulence. Nothing here is above and respectable. And it’s going to continue to be in that mannerism.”
“You sussed that out already?” He waits for her to exit the plane first. Ladies first and all of that.
“I had to pray to the one God I knew to get us here safely. Henny’s idea of first class must mean a plane that’s been through more storms than just this one. When you get outside, you’ll see that this is a flying death trap in need of a tweaking.”
She goes down. He follows. Lee never misses a thing. Never misses a thing.
...
When they step out onto dryland, it’s hot. The kind of hot that would wake a bikini party into effect. Darren takes of his cuff-style jacket and slings it over his shoulders as he tugs his hand luggage and case-handle in one hand. Lee can manage the heat, as her jumpsuit has finely-thin straps that hang on the shoulders.
They see the airport ahead. It’s more of a factory boxcar but double the length and width. And add a large double-glazed window that runs across 3 stories high and ends at the point where another plane lies that’s like a piper aircraft that’s bright yellow all over. There a few more piper aircrafts that are small and sturdy, being prepped by men who could be Ringo’s adoptive brothers as they add fuel, check the wings, hose them down as they’re all a little dirty.
Lee and Darren see heads follow and glare, a curious glance transforms into a blank countenance with no smile or welcome - to them as visitors. Darren tries to give them a friendly wave. One man stops wiping with his cotton yellow cloth, thinks about responding to that wave, but gets back to work like there’s no point.
It’s all glum and no gum to chew on. Lee thinks it’s best to keep to herself when they get to the outside of the entrance and a few of these men assisting the planes watch them sardonically and stop to get one last look.
One man comes pushing a huge cart filled with compressors, turbines, fans, and other parts that could make a mean engine. He gives Darren a thank-you nod as he holds the door open for him. And that’s about as friendly as it remains until Ringo comes trekking over with a smile for Darren and a line across his mouth for Lee.
She subconsciously pats her pocket. Least I got you.
Ringo guides them through and there’s no talk from him. No tour guide monetary on how this airport was built, or who funds it. Not that a little history lesson would give to help them feel at home. It wouldn’t bother her if she was comfortable. But she’s not, and neither is Darren. Those at the airport who sit on these malleable shiny brown seats with their 2 – years old’s bouncing on their laps hold their kids closer to them and whisper to not look. There’s a whole load of single moms and absent fathers in this airport.
Lee reads a few mouths and hears plenty of peculiar murmurs as she picks up her feet when strolling through the painful muteness that stays with her even when she reaches the next open-plan pathway with nothing but chipped paint in the shape of dotted cracks like paint guns had found their chosen targets on the walls.
And it carries on all the way through as they stride through a factory setting environment where the workers are smothered in oil and grease as they fix broken parts of damaged engines. Parts that a scavenger could use to build their own wings of the air. Darren finds this more up his streak as he takes in the various materials on hand like the steel alloys that come in tubes and hurled up to higher planks.
Their earl gray overalls have holes in the knee area and are blacker than soot. They peek but get right back to work as if Lee and Darren are just a pigeon that got lost. Huge crates are lifted by groups of men who bend their knees to make sure their backs don’t take excess stress as they heave them to and fro onto lorries via another exit that seemingly leads to some sort of docks.
Lee spies the insignia on the boxes which is in capitals: N.O. and takes a mental note. That N.O was also on the side of the plane that she just about glimpsed. She’ll have to dig a little later for that acronym. Many of these men wear black balaclavas over their mouths as they spray paint using an air – compressor hose, like a tattoo gun; on propeller wings and the main body of half-completed planes and protect themselves from other fumes that Lee covers her nose from.
The continuous pshsttttttttttt of the active spray gun and the pungent smell of acrylics becomes way to overwhelming, mixed with other strange smells of burning metal and the thunk-thunk-thunk of hammers on workstations has Lee on constant vigilance.
Darren gives her a small nudge on the side of her arm, and this reminds her that she’s not alone. Lee is grateful for that and gives him a reassuring eye that she’s ok. But she knows she needs to woman-up and show him that she’s in charge. Who’s the leading detective here? Well, not officially yet. They still must inform Henny of their arrival. They see plenty of poorly written graffiti with N.O. cropping up every once and awhile amongst this workstation.
When they exit the hangar garage, they come back into the main airport itself, passing a couple of reception desks that are only tables underneath a sign to terminal points with women dressed in tight-fitted rosy-red crewnecks, poor makeup, and skin-hugging mama bear trousers.
The check-in booths come next in another room in a scruffy setup, and then comes the bag – check with guards shorter than her and shabbily dressed in chambray linen shirts with a 2nd hand appeal to them. They jingle keys on their thick silver chains that loop across their trouser pockets as they walk back and forth emitting or revoking passengers who trigger the metal decoders.
Lee also notices their hand-held detectors too, cheaply designed and often in need of being patted down forcibly onto their palms to give the device a good spanking to better work. Darren freezes, and Lee thinks it’s best if she finds a nearby toilet to find another way of concealing her gun.
But it happens fast with Ringo, who walks up to one of the guards who stands out with his hexagon shaped cap and black shirt with gold patches on both sleeves. There’s a badge on his chest like all the others too, with 3 – striped colors that are gold, black, and white. The traffic warden flair, but they carry themselves as if they were more than just border patrol.
Ringo flags them over after a quick hush-hush with the guard who nods at him each time he points their way. Darren side – glances Lee who does the same, then they step forward.
“No need for the bag check. I told him who you work for and what you do.”
“And what do I do?” Lee coincidently aware that the question of how much Ringo knows about her was something she wanted to find out.
He ignores her. And the manner he does is it respectfully polite. Almost like he wants to tell her the reason but that same nervousness overcomes him and he is unable to contain it as he just passes through the barrier. Lee wants to give him some lip ... when it comes to herself her safety is paramount. But Darren does his little subtle nudge, and his whole face says calm down.
She keeps calm, but Ringo is making her fingers itch. It gets worse when they come to present their tickets and he again tells them there’s no need for a paly – paly chat with the chubby tanned man with squinty pebbles for eyes. But it’s all too lax and no wax. Lee inhales and exhales, inhales and exhales, until they get to the outside and see single decker bus that’s white paint is peeling, and the patches of metal left are corroded. But the destination it’s going to is Torbelli.
“Torbelli?” But Ringo’s already off to a secluded parking spot that’s pure red – sand with white chalk to mark valid spots to park, and others for loading bays for trucks and lorries that pass the bus quite frequently.
The road’s a gray gravel, and there’s plenty of planted trees like the queen palm and a few date palms that sprout over the green plains and the blue sea that’s not far behind.
“Did Henny mention the name of the town to you?” Darren leans over a little with his eyes focused on Ringo.
“No. And I was just about to ask you the same question.” Lee watches Ringo too.
“Odd place. Real odd. I think visitors aren’t a common thing.” Darren can feel he’s being watched. “That guard who let us pass the bag – check is having a smoke behind us by the trash can. You pick any vibes?”
“A vibe that I think we’ll feel at the town. Negative.”
“Hmm.” Darren agrees. And Ringo lets through by a lazy looking man who wipes his face with a dirty towel and then slings it around his neck. Lots of white hair and leathery skin to match as if he spent too long under a tanning booth.
Lee gets lost at the sight of the damage done to his face, that’s left black bodges and almost misses the guard who creeps up next to her and even startles Darren. Lee holds her hand in her pocket where her semi lies, but he just smokes his pantella sized cigar with a few inhales and the lighting of his match. Then he shakes that match until the flame goes out and walks until he’s directly in front of them with his back to them.
“I will give you a small word of advice, visiting friends. This isn’t a friendly place. And where Ringo is taking you is no better. I tell you this because you are not the first to arrive here.” He inhales-inhales-inhales on his cigar and then slowly turns to face them as he lets out his puff of smoke. “You’ll do good to find her. I hear she was a journalist. And a beautiful one at that.” He then drops his cigar-wielding hand to his side and walks back to the trashcan with a slow strut.
Lee says nothing. Darren says nothing and stares blankly. But Ringo comes out with his 4 – seater land cruiser with a sloppy toffee color as it’s paintwork on the body, a giant tire at the back and a black automatic rooftop. It’s an old lady of a ride, but it’s not in a bad condition for a 65 – year old.
He parks behind the bus and they make their way over. With an idea that plenty more is to come after that revelation.
Chapter 9
Lee can think of only one fitting to the man’s description of the journalist. But as it’s so early on it’s only a hunch. The file Henny had shown her was of a woman with a cavitation in her cheek. And she had gone missing. It could be out here but that would take some shoveling in the present mud that these barren lands frequently offered as they passed the red soil and bright – green grasslands.
Lee was consistently vigilant as they drove. Her head and Darren’s peered at every passing vehicle in the sizes of small trucks and eroded bicycles with citizens either malnourished and thin or desperately in need of a pair of trousers, top, shirt or skirt that wasn’t becoming unthreaded or in need of a stitch and mend.
It didn’t seem like they were poor, as she observed others on mopeds that would try to squeeze three on board. They just didn’t care much about their appearance. And it would be refreshing if they seemed happy about that.
A group of small boys runs out before the jeep. Ringo blows his horn just in time for them to dash into the grass that was now taller than the land cruiser. When Ringo zoomed passed, they stuck their heads out and ran back onto the road to play with their pointy sticks and pebbled stones. Lee found this to be the most pleasant thing she had seen so far. And the boys smiled at her to respond to hers.
Lee didn’t mind kids. They could be smarter than most adolescent adults. The rest of the way was still in a patient silence. Ringo held back, and Darren sat beside him in the same level of muteness that would come with a cough and then the awkwardness that coughing broke that muteness.
It carried on like this for at least a mile, Lee calculated that the airport was two miles so far, and the only things they had come across was plenty of free land and a few which had farms. But she needed to get her geography going; “so where exactly is this?” She thinks to fuck the silent treatment. He can’t ignore her now.
Ringo sees he has no choice and talks. “This is what we like to call the more rural parts. We don’t have a name for it yet. It’s just where the lower income folks find they can earn a living by farming and growing livestock. There a few factories, and a store that keeps the economy alive by importing and exporting from our only docks.”
You might’ve smelt it?”
“We smelt the docks close by back at the airport,” Darren says. “And that’s how you receive things over here?”
“Cargo and air travel. But it happens two– times every four months. And even then, we must make sure that we work to fit the time-scale of the cargo ships and planes, or else, we pretty much miss out on trade with our neighbors.”
“And who're your neighbors?”
This spikes his ass and causes his neck to make an involuntary twitch. And he thinks of her words without subtly. “Other small towns in rural America. We supply them with spare parts and engines. Steel alloys, aluminum, metals, pipes, clay and these things as our factory can provide this for them.” He goes real quiet after this. Darren keeps looking to the right side, and Lee to the opposite: the left. They both think they see pairs of legs moving in the green grass.
Ringo eyes both sides but keeps his focus on the road. “Out here we have the revolutionary types who think they can make a difference against our mayor.” Lee scouts over to the right, and Darren tries to see to his left-side which prompts Ringo to move. “I have a gun. And so do you, right detective?”
Lee brings out her semi to give Ringo a smell and to see if he gagged that out of his backside. But there’s no shock or reluctance to go for his. He just remains translucent with a little sway of his eyes on the grass that gets even higher.
“On the plane, I thought you had a gun on you when I came to shake your hands. It’s why I hesitated. But only later I saw a little misshapen in your pocket and knew.” He gives another observational sway of his eyes again. “I’m sorry for the quiet nature of myself. You’ll come to understand that less is more out here. And me, a man of five kids and wife who ferries passengers over for a living, gets tired of dealing with the kind who bring no good.”
Lee checks that the magazine is full and handles the grip. Its safety is on. She thinks to take it off and have it at the ready. Ringo seems edgy. Darren’s acting like a wolf with a scent. And she thinks that any minute one of these revolutionaries will come up from the side and open this jeep.
It has no locks or seatbelts. And the ro
ad beneath them has become a dirt -track with the red sand impaling her need to get out her bottled water to keep her moisturized. Darren sips his own in long glugs as his Adam apple bobbles up and down. He gesturally passes it to Ringo who gladly takes it with one hand and skies it down.
The tension is still there, and the hour to hit them is nearly mid-day with the sun now giving them a facial. Darren uses the rest of the water to throw it all over himself as he tips his head out the window. Lee wants to do the same and as she’s about to, she draws for her gun and aims at the grass that in a few more yards, 20 – yards will end. And when it does, a few men spring out as if they are coiled snakes and start to give chase after the jeep.
“Should I shoot!?” Lee wants to know. But who’s the good guy, and who’s the bad? She knows nothing about this place yet. They look like Rambo wannabes. No scarf tied around their forehead. But they're more muscular with self-made cuts running down their entire arms that must be scarification as it looks like they wanted to go for the spinal cord tat.
The back part of their heads is shaved entirely bald, while the front of their hair is visible at a higher level to show the separation. What they wear is black tanks with dried mud all over. Pieces of grass all over them. And their combats are black and green intertwined like paint splotches. These men are darker than what she has come across as she holds the gun out of the side of the window to now see a few boarding bikes.
“They’re getting on bicycles!” Lee says this as she draws herself back into the jeep.
Darren is fiddling in his hand luggage for his gun. “I hope I didn’t forget it? I’m sure I packed it.” He rushes his words.
Ringo panics a little, and the clutch gives in but he manages to press down on that peddle and let the jeep do the best that it can in terms of having a head start. These men keep catching up to the jeep and then losing touch just when they’re about to reach out for the back.
