Shiloh (Wishes #6)
Page 6
Mimi picked up a handful of sand and threw it into the still night air. A slew of Afrikaans words followed – possibly a prayer or two, but more likely a vicious round of insults.
I tried diffusing the situation, with minimal success. “What did you come all this way down here for?” I asked.
“I want you to pay me,” she snapped, refusing to release Shiloh from her glower.
“Fine,” I replied, already reaching for my wallet.
“I need next week’s pay too,” she added.
“Mimi, you realise that most people actually have to work before they get paid, right?”
“I need it,” she muttered. “Bills to pay.”
Shiloh was still trapped by her intense stare down, but nothing in her demeanour hinted toward fear. I wasn’t frightened either. I was just embarrassed, and powerless to stop it. I waved a small wad of notes at Mimi. “Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?”
She snatched the money and stuffed it down the front of her dress. “No,” she huffed, backing away. “But I will help you.” She pointed her finger at Shiloh. “By all means necessary.”
I knew better than to ask what that meant. Shiloh, however, was curious. As soon as the crazy woman was out of earshot, she asked me.
“I’m not sure,” I replied vaguely. “But it’s bound to involve bay leaves and chanting.”
Shiloh laughed. “You have an interesting group of friends, Mitchell.”
“I do,” I agreed. “Where do you fit into the mix?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she replied. “I’m still trying to find my place.”
Eye On The Prize
SHILOH
I was dreading my first day at my fake job, which made dragging myself out of bed at four o’clock on Monday morning dreadful. I tried not to wake Mitchell when I got up, but sneaking around the rickety wooden shack was impossible. The whole building moved with every step I took.
“How are you getting to work?” he sleepily mumbled.
“My boss is picking me up,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
He threw back the covers. “I’ll walk you up to the road.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s dark, Shiloh,” he taunted in a creepy voice. “Witching hour.”
The biggest ghoul I was likely to come up against was Glen, but I kept that thought to myself. “I feel like I’m headed to the first day of school,” I said glumly.
Mitchell picked up his clothes from the night before and dragged on his jeans. “You don’t look much like a naughty schoolgirl,” he teased.
“That’s not quite what I meant.”
He grabbed me by the shoulders. “It’ll be a good day for you,” he encouraged, shaking me. “Just be yourself and do your thing.”
There was no way I could take his advice. In order to do my thing, I needed to spend the day pretending to be someone else. It was a tangled mess before it had even begun.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. “You’ve been really kind to me.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I try.”
***
Nothing was ever too much trouble for Mitchell, even trekking up the beach in the dark and waiting on the side of the road for my idiot boss to pick me up. I was glad he was so gallant. The dead of night in Kaimte really did feel like witching hour.
“Why are there no street lights?” I asked glancing in every direction.
“Because there are no streets,” he replied. “Very little infrastructure.”
“This is a road.” I stamped my foot on the tarmac. “A pretty decent one, actually.”
“Yeah, and look where it goes.” I squinted into the darkness, following his pointed hand. “There are three tarmac roads in this town,” he explained. “One leads to the port, one to the mine and this one heads up to the fat cat’s camp on the hill.”
Me eyes widened. “Jorge Creek owns the roads?”
“Not exactly. It was officially called a community donation. The good ol’ company builds a few roads to make their life easier and then claim they’re improving the town.” Mitchell gazed at the row of identical stucco company houses. “Self-serving environmental terrorism at its finest.”
Mitchell’s disdain for the mine had been evident from the minute I met him, and it wasn’t hard to understand his mindset. He’d settled in Kaimte two years before the mine broke ground, which meant he’d seen the changes first-hand.
“Obviously, the diamonds have always been here,” he continued. “But the locals were digging them out with their hands, not blowing the countryside apart with explosives and heavy machinery.”
I felt the sudden urge to confess that we were both on the same side, but of course it was impossible. I volunteered a very censored show of unity instead. “I’m not a fat cat,” I declared, pointing at myself. “I just work there.”
“Settle down, kitty,” he teased. “I never said you were.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a porch light come on. “Well, someone’s awake,” I muttered.
The screen on Mitchell’s phone lit up as he checked the time. “What time did he say he’d be here?”
“Five,” I replied. “He should be here any minute.”
Mitchell waved his phone at me. “It’s already quarter past.”
At that moment ire was simmering, but when we were still standing on the side of the road nearly half an hour later, I was ready to explode.
“I guess day shift starts at six,” said Mitchell.
All the porch lights were on now, and a steady stream of employees in mine vehicles began passing us – except Tweedledee, who was obviously content to stay in bed and leave me stranded on the roadside.
“My boss is a jerk,” I muttered. “He told me to be here by five.”
Mitchell smiled wryly. “There are plenty of jerks in this town, Shiloh. Just keep your eye on the prize.”
I hoped that the flash of panic that accompanied statements like that would eventually stop. It wasn’t logical to assume his words were anything other than innocent. I’d told Mitchell nothing. “What’s the prize?” I asked calmly.
He grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward the ocean. “That’s the prize.” His voice was low in my ear. “You’re living in paradise. Don’t waste your energy on jerks.”
***
Glen finally made an appearance, almost an hour late. He wound the passenger window down, leaned across and demanded that I get in the car.
Obviously Mitchell was as offended as I was. When he took a step forward, I grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and pulled him back. “Leave it,” I whispered. “I’ll see you tonight.” Somehow, he managed to keep quiet.
“Get in,” repeated Glen.
Mitchell finally snapped. He stooped down and growled through the open window, “Grow some manners, jerk.”
A horrid smirk crossed Glen’s face, and at that moment I determined to nail him. He’d already exposed himself as a self-important arse. Nothing would bring me greater joy than proving that he was a dirty low-down thief as well.
***
Jorge Creek Diamond Mine was situated twelve kilometres from the township, and the short journey was made seriously uncomfortable purely because of the company I was in.
“I see you’ve settled into the cardboard slum,” Glen goaded. “Found a boyfriend and everything.”
Defending myself would’ve been a waste of breath. It wasn’t a one-off. Glen had a plan of tormenting me until I broke, and I refused to let that happen.
I pulled in a settling breath and gazed out the window.
“How’s a pretty little thing like you going to cope in a place like this?” he continued.
The condescension was wasted on me. I was almost flattered. I’d been a lanky five-feet-ten since my teens. No one ever referred to me as little.
The snide comments continued all the way to work, and I ignored every one of them. By the time we pulled up at the security gate, I was daydre
aming about ripping the Bluetooth earpiece from his ear and ramming it down his throat.
Glen got out and slammed the door. “Wait here,” he ordered, leaning down to bark the command through the window.
I happily complied, using the time alone to have a good look around.
The perimeter of the mine was secured by nothing more impressive than chain link fencing and a boom gate that barricaded the road. Two men dressed in company uniform sat in a small air-conditioned guard hut, and another stood outside talking to Glen. When one of them poked his head out of the door and waved at me, I recognised him in an instant. It was Baako, the meet-and-greet man.
I smiled and waved back, and that’s where the pleasantries ended. Glen jumped back in the car, the boom gate lifted, and we sped off leaving Baako eating dust for a second time.
***
The car screeched to a halt outside an office building, so violently that my head whipped forward before smashing against the headrest.
“Go to the Site Services office,” ordered Glen, slamming the door as he exited. “Tell them you need uniforms and a security pass.”
Clearly, orientation day was over. He was in the door and out of sight before I’d even undone my seatbelt.
The AFP had gathered a huge amount of intelligence on Glen Harris. The notes in his file described him as difficult and belligerent. If I ever saw that file again, I vowed to add a few notes of my own. He was an arsehole, plain and simple.
***
The staff in the Site Services office were far more accommodating than my so-called boss. Once I’d been measured for uniforms and had completed the security access paperwork, a man called Reyo offered to give me a tour of the site. I liked him immediately. He was enthusiastic and friendly, and had a constant grin on his face.
The first place he showed me was the processing plant. The massive shed was a tangled maze of conveyor belts, machinery and tumbling rocks. I feigned interest for as long as I could, but after just a few minutes I was desperate to get out of there.
“Can we move on?” I yelled, fighting to be heard over the noisy machines. “It’s really warm in here.”
When Reyo pointed toward the door, I almost ran to get to it. Despite the fact it was over forty degrees outside, I instantly felt better. “You don’t like the Kaimte heat?” Reyo asked, jogging to catch up with me.
“I’ll get used to it,” I replied, flapping the collar of my shirt to cool myself down.
“I thought Australia was hot.” He seemed confused. “My cousin went there once. He said it was hot.”
“He wasn’t lying.” I smiled at him. “Some parts are hot, but it’s not like this.”
Nothing compared to this.
“No,” he agreed. “We don’t have koalas here.” Reyo slapped his hand on his thigh and burst out laughing as if he’d just told the world’s funniest joke. When he finally regained his composure, he offered to show me another place. “The diamond building,” he said, pointing to a small building a few hundred metres away.
I shrugged. “Sounds good.”
My indifference was a crock. I was elated by the prospect of scoping it out. The diamond building housed the sorting room, which was the Holy Grail. Jewellers sorted the gems there, separating the industrial-grade stones from the valuable high-quality diamonds.
I was eying off the unassuming building long before we reached it. From the outside there was absolutely no hint of what went on inside. And from a security perspective, that was a good thing. Like the admin building, it was a generic stucco structure painted the same shade of beige as its desert surroundings, and as soon as we walked through the door I was hit by a strange sense of déjà vu.
Agent Grace had maintained that my short stint at Jorge Creek’s Western Australian mine would be an advantage. At that moment, I believed him. The inside layout of the diamond building was exactly the same as the one I’d worked at four years earlier. Even the rigmarole to get in was the same. After passing through a security gate and a turnstile, Reyo swiped his access card, which got us as far as the foyer.
“I can’t take you any further until you get security clearance,” he said regretfully.
I didn’t need to go any further to know what was beyond the big steel door behind him. There would be another foyer, a few small offices, and a big viewing window. And if my memory served me correctly, behind thick bulletproof glass were a couple of jewellers sifting through masses of diamonds.
“Is everything alright?” asked Reyo.
It was an odd moment for me. Perhaps I looked strange because of it. “Fine,” I muttered.
He stooped down to quietly murmur, “Bad juju in here for you?”
I fought against rolling my eyes. The juju nonsense seemed to hold half the town to moral ransom. On the plus side, it probably kept a great deal of people honest too. Ignoring his question, I asked one of my own. “You don’t like diamonds?”
His ebony lips formed a straight line as he shook his head. “They are rocks from the devil’s garden.”
It was a slightly different take on it than the one Mimi ran with, but clearly the devil was a common theme.
“Why do you work here then?”
“The pay is good,” he replied. “Why do you work here?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been dancing with the devil for a while now, Reyo.”
Zen Personified
MITCHELL
My uptight roomie arrived home from work a little after six, looking no less strung out than usual.
“How was work?” I asked, meeting her at the door.
Shiloh walked past me and dumped an armful of clothes on the beanbag. “Long,” she replied. “But I survived.”
“Did you stop by Desert K-Mart on the way home?”
Finally she smiled. “No, they’re my uniforms,” she explained. “I’m officially a Jorge Creek minion now.”
I held up my hand. “Nice one, lady.”
Shiloh completed the juvenile high-five by slapping my hand. “Are you going out?” she asked, looking me up and down.
“I have to go to work.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I guess pizza and a movie are off the agenda then?”
I grabbed my keys, chuckling my way out the door. “Pizza and movies have been off the agenda since you left home.”
***
As a rule, Monday nights at the Crown and Pav were quiet. It paved the way for vermin to crawl out of the woodwork, and tonight’s pest was Louis Osei. He took his usual position at the bar while his goons stood guard three feet behind him.
“What can I get you?” I asked, barely looking at him.
“I have a shipment for you,” he replied. “It’s waiting in my warehouse.”
Only Louis could make six cases of booze sound like a shady drug deal.
“Excellent.” I flipped the lid off a bottle of beer and slid it toward him. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“I want you to do something for me first,” he replied.
My glower must’ve looked fierce because the henchmen took a step forward.
“I don’t have to do anything for you,” I said, drumming my finger on the bar. “That shipment was bought and paid for. All I need to do is collect it.”
Keeping his eyes firmly on me, Louis beckoned one of his men with a click of his fingers. He dutifully stepped forward and handed him a roughly gift wrapped parcel.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“It is not for you.” Louis dropped the package on the bar. “I want you to give it to Shiloh.”
It wasn’t surprising that he’d set his sights on her. A pretty white girl was always going to be noticed in Kaimte, but the angle he was working was hopeless and I took great delight in telling him so. I pushed the parcel back toward him. “She’s not interested.”
Louis leaned back on the stool. “Three thousand dollars,” he demanded, slamming his hand down on the bar. “If you want your beer to clear customs, that’s what it will cost you.”
Most business owners paid up without question – but I wasn’t one of them.
“I’m not giving you a cent, Louis.” I turned around and tossed the bottle cap into the bin. “I’ve made that mistake before.”
He threw his arms wide. “A bar with no beer will eventually close,” he taunted. “Perhaps then I will buy it for a cheap price.”
My eyes shifted to the two men standing obediently behind him. Neither of them struck me as being particularly quick thinkers. It made me wonder how much damage I could inflict on their boss before they jumped in to rescue him.
Thankfully, a cooler head prevailed. “My pub is not for sale,” I said for the millionth time. “And I’m not paying for goods I already own.”
Louis slid the parcel toward me. “We can forget about the money,” he offered. “All you have to do is give this present to pretty Shiloh.”
“And if I don’t?”
He straightened up and motioned toward his goons. “My friends will change your mind.”
I wasn’t concerned by what might happen at that moment, but the thought of looking over my shoulder wherever I went wasn’t appealing. They weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, but they were persistent.
I looked down at the parcel, deliberating. “What is it?”
He grinned – a triumphant expression that I wanted to punch. “Just a small gift to welcome her to Kaimte.”
“She’s not interested in you, Osei.” I snatched up the package and tossed it under the counter. “Make sure my shipment is cleared and ready for collection tomorrow.”
Louis picked up his beer and tilted it toward me. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”
***
I expected Shiloh to be asleep when I got home. Not only was she awake, she was busy. In the five hours since I’d left home, she’d turned my shack into a working sweatshop. Clothes hung from every surface and an ironing board was set up in the centre of the room.