Narrower Steps Page 7

“Henny’s painting that veil real thick. It’s coming across like we have only him to trust.”

  “We have each other.” A little awkwardness, but they ignore it. More so, Lee does. “We should hurry.” Lee’s grateful that he breaks it. Consoling another isn’t her panache. She’d rather stick her hands under boiling hot water then tell somebody that they can rely on her. It’s too soft on the noggin and feels like swallowing cough syrup and pretending that you like that stuff as a kid while your mom pinches your nose.

  Her nose is pinched all the way to that secluded hangar. She’s following, instead of leading. She can accept it from Darren, but it still hangs there waiting for her to admit that she gets squiddly- diddly when it comes to tracking with the one in front being the opposite sex. Lee isn’t sexist, but she damn well likes to be in the front row.

  The hangar is a front row with no damn seats. When they get there, it’s almost as if there’s been a blackout as they rush to get to the private jet or whatever awaits them as the darkness triggers small safety pod-lights that light up one by one as they stroll on the white alkyd linoleum floor automatically.

  It’s as if the stage is being lit before the grand finale. And then the esavian door that’s at least 35-meters wide and 9-meters high, starts to mechanically open upwards and the natural light from the outside starts to peek in, casting itself directly in the middle and then starts to expand and reveal the plane that they will be boarding.

  It shows itself and causes Darren to stop in his tracks and marvel. The plane’s cabin door opens, and the stairs are gradually lowered in the manner where shutters are closed. When the last step hits the floor, Darren is off again, with Lee admitting that this isn’t how she expected it. Why the haste? Why the damn rushing? Shaka could be anywhere. It’s like she and Darren is the evidence and they're being disposed of before the turbine spins.

  “We need to hurry, detective.” That’s right, she’s been promoted. It’s her job to find Shaka as soon as possible. The planes like a large toothpaste that has one large surfboard running across it on the top with flaps running along the back and 2- propellers on either side. It’s navy blue and so shiny she can see her whole reflection appear on the sides of the paintwork as she enters the main cabin after Darren.

  They haven’t even met the pilot. But it’s on a whim and a prayer right now. Then the door is shut and that’s it. They are now being submerged and there’s no turning back. Not that she wanted to. But there it stares in her face with a here we go, Lee. Here we go. Darren swiftly takes her luggage from her before she even knew he was doing it.

  The propellers outside are coming to life. Kicking up a fuss with the engine joining rapidly in and her ears filled with a hum of the turboprops. It twirls...twirls...twirls... and twirls a little more until there is a windiness occupying both sides and movement from the wheels suggests that the pilot is reversing until the plane is in a frontal position and able to stride on out.

  “Let me also tell you. Henny said to give you this ...”

  In his palm, is a key and with it a white ribbon tied in a knot on the circular ring that it’s attached to. “It opens a box. Somewhere along the line. You’ll know when it fits. That’s all he told me.”

  “Or, is that all you’re telling me?” The plane is now edging its nose out of the hangar. “I want to get one thing straight with you. I don’t like to be kept in the dark. If we’re going to have any chance of finding Shaka, we’ll have to work with each other on the matter of what Henny told you. I can’t work with half-truths.”

  Darren’s eyes scan her like she’s a barcode and he’s finding the price of what she said. “Does that mean you’ll give me your 50?”

  “I’ll give you what you give me. And trust me, I’m a tarot reader when it comes to little white lies that people sprinkle.”

  “I want you to trust me, Lee.”

  “I trust me, right now.” She heads over to the small window that’s situated near one of the red recliner- type seats. “It’s good weather.” She takes off her shades.

  “The omen is good,” he mocks.

  “I want to have a word with the pilot.” She turns her neck when she says this.

  “Henny said when we land. He’ll be occupied for the entire journey. No autopilot.”

  She scans outside the airstrip. “Where are we going? That’s what I want you to answer importantly.”

  Darren takes a seat opposite and looks around the entire cabin that’s a velvety bright red. There’s a toilet situated at the back with that male-female sign in the middle. There are two black mini fridges on either end with two hammock-beds, no bedding, that is attached by two pieces of rope nailed to upper panels in the plan.

  He then spots a couple of boxes that are stacked against the other end. He gets up to check in one and finds one box is blankets and sheets, white. And then on the bottom of that is pillows, and another has the duvet. He takes out the duvet to have a feel: 9.5 togs and slightly chunky, it might be cold where they are going? This should do regardless.

  The plane starts to circulate itself around until it hits the landing strip. A continuous wheeling motion and a few bumps to accommodate that. Darren relays back to the question that Lee asked.

  “Some area around Central America.” He notices Lee watching the cockpit, but not anymore.

  “And?” And ... if that is what I tell you then you’ll just have to take my word for it. That’s where we are heading. And when we get there, I don’t know. He said that piece of information is with you.

  The planes really gliding along the tarmac now. Collecting speed bit-by-bit, a bump...bump...bump, and then the outside whizzing pass as Lee finds that the more speed the plane picks up, the higher it ascends off the ground.

  It does it choppily, with the wheels smacking not too hard, but still grazing, and then lifting itself with the gravity below her feet becoming dense. And having to sit down because taking off has always made her feel a little queasy. Darren sits too, and they both strap themselves in as the seatbelt indicators above them, flash yellow and an indication to switch off all electronic devices means that airplane mode should be deployed.

  Then it all comes into a full-frontal view, the recognition of leaving absolutely nothing behind. And before her is the new chapter, a page turner, a sunny-side egg and the yolk that runs because it wasn’t fried on that end. It’s quite beautiful to sip some fresh lemonade.

  She wants a new taste, and Shaka is sour grapes and blisters all over her tongue. But she can wipe those all off and it goes away with time. But the hard work pays, and they have unfinished business to attend to. We have unfinished business, don’t we Shaka? Take a seat, she knows Shaka has crusty feet. Here I come Shaka. I’m about to go buck-wild and Rastafari on you. I’m going to show them all back at that station that Lee Coil gets shit done because she’s not afraid to follow the unknown.

  Chapter 8

  The journey is over before it began. Not in the sense that there is interference and they have to turn back. But in the shrewdness of Lee having an upset stomach from the meals provided on airplane.

  The mini fridge choices are cold chicken chunks with a mayonnaise and potato salad. And a vegetarian option of a bunch of vegetables and some pesto green sauce that’s lighter than she expected.

  On the top of the fridges are some small bread rolls in a wicker basket, packets of coffee and brown and white sugar satchels are in a white plastic cup, then there are snacks of biscuits with cream and some without that lie on the side.

  The hours fly by and turbulence bites their ass every now and then, keeping them alert of being high above the earth and the only option if anything happens is a rocket-style plummet and boooooooooooooom! They’ll be like the salt that falls from a salt-shaker.

  And with her upset stomach, she manages to find a peppermint satchel and throws that into a plastic cup with hot water, it makes for a journey of tremors in mind and body.

  “Flying not your thing?” Darren speaks to a well
-covered Lee underneath the bed sheets who is trying to catch some sleep and be positive. Can’t hurt to try the optimistic route.

  “I’ll do what I gotta do. But no, flying isn’t my thing.”

  Darren’s a little stunned. “Really?”

  Lee doesn’t reply to that. But the vibe she gives off equals to it- is- what- it- is.

  So, Darren presses on, “I would think that Lee Coil would be fearful of nothing or no one?”

  Lee gives him that har-har voice note when she says, “I like to know that my feet are touching something other than the thin air below me. If this hunk of aluminum and steels fails on us, we might as well scream our last wills to whoever will hear them. And this isn’t no bungee jump, so we’d be on a one-way ticket to splat-pancakes.”

  Darren’s amused. “I always think that if I was to die, going out with my feet off the ground would be quite a romantic end.”

  Lee wants to sit-up, but her stomach flops unpleasantly and reminds her that that won’t be happening. “Romantic?” She thinks it’s all this flying getting to him. “You into the romanticism of death?”

  “No just. Not many people understand the power of flight. It’s a great achievement. A beautiful thing to conquer when you look down below and see that you can actually get all the way up here. I think falling all the way down has that romantic element to it.”

  Lee wants to get up again and have a look at this Darren who’s talking like this. She hopes the runs come on because it must be something she ate. She groans, “There’s nothing romantic about being hurled to your death in a contraption like this. I think you're letting all this fresh air get to you.

  Darren pauses and watches her on the bed with sourness but still amused. “It makes for a change to be trapped in this fresh air with you.” A little turbulence makes the plane do the maraca-maraca shake. Lee grips the sides of the bed as it gets worse, and Darren holds onto the chair rests and his cup of tea.

  It sways, falls, sways, and falls. Lee pops up her head and wants to laugh at the face Darren pulls. It’s a cross between fuck my life and Lord save me. Then it hits her and she’s pulling the exact same face when a voice over the intercom system says, “just a light turbulence. It should be over soon.”

  At least there is an actual pilot. Lee was beginning to think that there was nobody in the cockpit. A light turbulence and the clouds are darkly gray outside. A wavy concoction and an unchanging condensation that makes her more uneasy than contracting this airborne cancer that she feels.

  “I think I have to agree, there’s nothing romantic about this if we go down.”

  Lee wants to tell him to not talk like that. But what the hell ... there is absolutely nothing romantic about this! And then it gets worse, and the whole cabin comes into a noisy auto sound of the stacked boxes toppling by the force of the shingle-shakes, and the sachets of sugar tipping over like the vibration of an earthquake.

  Darren gets up to make sure that the hot water doesn’t spill, as he grabs the wireless kettle. And Lee finds that staying in the bed is in no way safe! She hops-out and withstands the urge to splurge her upset stomach and its contents onto the floor. But just by a margin, she does.

  She unstably finds her way to the seat to strap up. And she taps Darren to do the same as he tries to keep everything from falling; leaning against one of the fridge doors, and then extending his arm to keep the bed up. The rope jingles up and down. The intercom goes off, “nearly there, turbulence will be over. I hope you're strapped in?”

  Lee turns to Darren as if to say he’s talking to you! “She straps that buckle until she can feel it pressing against her diaphragm and inhaling it all the way in. She fastens those lungs, tightens those eyes, counts down to 0, and observes Darren as a bouncing ball who’s trying to tighten his belt until it won’t budge any further.

  They both fall back against the headrest at the same time. Squeeze! And the emphasis on that squeeze comes in the image of a wet sponge having no more water left as its soft texture diminishes in the palm that rings it all the way dry.

  Darren’s eyes are barely open as he tries to see if there’s anything he can do for Lee. He wants to offer that olive branch and give her that shade of confidence, but she doesn’t need his words or his arms to lean on. As the shaking starts to subside and her eyes shut tightly again, he leaves both of his iris open. He wonders if she’ll ever look at him as the knight that wants to stand beside her and not overshadow the independence that she possesses?

  The rocking stops and the turbulence subsides. They both dare to breathe again with the settling image of the cabin in a topsy-turvy catastrophe. The scene very much resembles a food-fight but in its place boxes, spilled juice, coffee, water, sheets, pillows, suitcases, all spread in an untidy sight. And Lee unbuckles and runs into the bathroom to retch up what never came out before, nerves.

  ....

  When the plane descends a few hours later, the cabin’s already clean as they split the chores and put everything back in order. And both Lee and Darren went to lie down flat on the sheets in similar positions, lying on their back and hoping not to run into any more turbulence. Neither could really sleep, but both drifted off for a mini doze and awoke to find that the plane was lowering itself. The term nice and easy does it would come to Lee’s mind.

  The night sky looms with pitch-black an understatement. She marvels at how the pilot can see the runway but notices that the lower they get, the sight of mini balls lighting up on both ends in an unending line that becomes brighter and eventually larger. They seem to grow until the semblance of floodlights or even scoop lights remain.

  Then the bump-bump-bump on the tar comes to life, lift and then the bump – bump – bump again. The pilots a little heavy on that landing and those poor wheels must’ve taken a pounding, but the relief of those brakes being applied onto the ground drives Lee to the point where she wants to clap and cry. Darren just stares at the window with no expression and keeps it that way until they come to a complete stop.

  “Now what?” Lee wants to know but is asking herself more than Darren. “I hope we get to see this pilot.”

  The cockpit door flings open, and Lee shoots up but falls back down when she realizes she has to unbuckle. Darren remembers to take off that belt and stands. Their now both peering at a dark-skinned man: redder skinned with an East Indian undertone. He has both a goatee and thickly groomed mustache. It’s his eyebrows that are barely visible, and there’s a slanting with his lips and jaw that must be genetic.

  He’s a scrawny fella, but he holds his own with some rigidness in that gaze and those feeble legs and knees that might look unworthy but have some lustre. Lee usually doesn’t talk to strangers, but he is like those Caribbean fishermen that she would see when looking up on some of her histories.

  His clothes aren’t tatty, but it’s an open buttoned sky-blue shirt and very light brown shorts to his knees that he sports. Not your everyday pilot and this suits her fine.

  “I’m Ringo.” No dialect. A Southern American with no twang. It throws them off, but they accept.

  “I’m Lee.”

  “Darren.” He makes the first move to shake his hand. It’s a firm shake between them and a faint smile to follow when it’s done. Lee gives him a thorough look over, she glimpses at his hands. “You got us down here safe and I’m internally grateful. What was that back there?”

  “It was a passing storm. And a real nasty one. And it could’ve been worse. I tried to fly through the weakest point, but the wind changed route and my anemometer is to blame for that.

  “But we made it out. And that’s what’s important.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Lee studies his off-hand reaction. Darren spots it to, and Ringo walks pass him with his hand outstretched. Lee gives it a quick glance but notices a small droplet of sweat on his brow. It isn’t that hot. They’ve made it out alive. But the sweat backs the nerviness that makes her own skin crawl the closer he gets.

  Lee keeps her cool. Let’s him come closer
. She advances her eyes to Darren who’s trying to read him to. With Darren, he was at ease. With Lee, he stops her, and the hand is still there but no robotism and firmness. It’s floppy when she takes his hand into her own. Sweatiness on there too.

  She looks him in the eyes, and he at her. His brow is twitching. And his eyes look like they’re itching. A few blinks and she blinks back. Darren looks for a reason to tap him on the back. He finds one.

  He makes Ringo jump and Ringo turns his neck back to him. “Where do we go now?” Lee takes a few steps back. Tries to work out what that was all about.

  “I’ll take you to the holding room.” When he shoots them both a glance, he rephrases that; “I mean, the waiting room inside the airport. Then the instruction was to drive you to a motel in town. We’ll be taking my jeep.” He gives an awkward grunt, then goes to twist open the hatch of the cabin door with the steps already placed on the hard tarmac.

  “Would you like me to take out your thi–”

  “No. I’ve got it.” Darren heads over to collect his and Lee’s suitcases.

  “The airport is literally right ahead of you. Just wait for me before you go inside.” He then heads back to the cockpit and closes the door behind him.

  “I can take my suitcase.”

  “Don’t be sil-”

  “I need to check that everything’s in order in there.” She grabs the handle-bar from him and lays it onto the white duvet cover. “Thanks though,” Lee says this with her back to him.

  “No problem.” His eyes burn at the back of her head. Lee feels it, “You uh ... are you packing the necessities in that suitcase? I know we didn’t get security checked or anything.”

  Lee spins the case around until she’s greeted with her TSA security lock that’s affixed to the zipper and unable to move. She pins in her code: 1507, that opens it up. Then Lee unzips it all the way around, spinning it until she reaches the point where it can go no further and lifts it up.

  Lee packed a couple of sweaters, jackets, trousers, shorts, undies, swimsuit, vests, bras, makeup and stuff in the sealed bags, charger, lotion and shampoo, shoes are in this corner... what’s this?