***
If we were living in the real world, half a day in bed would’ve been topped off with a late lunch at a quiet restaurant somewhere, but we were on the edge of the desert in remote Africa so we needed to be more resourceful. When Mitchell suggested we go for a drive, I didn’t question where we were headed. Talking only exacerbated the problem of dealing with the exhaust fumes that filled the car.
Mitchell leaned across and wound my window down, just as he always did. “Don’t die on me, lady,” he teased. “I’m not done with you yet.”
We’d barely made it to the end of the road before I was hanging my head out the window like a dog, sucking in the hot but clean air. “You have to get that fixed,” I demanded.
“I will,” he promised. “But it needs a new exhaust and parts are really hard to find.”
“You found cake, Mitchell,” I pointed out.
“Yes I did,” he slyly agreed. “It’s all about prioritising.”
***
We headed north on a road I was vaguely familiar with. It was the same route I’d unwillingly taken a few nights earlier, but this journey was nowhere near as frightening. Unlike Mike, the man beside me didn’t have an intimidating bone in his body. He was sweet and kind and loving – all the traits I wasn’t sure I deserved.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked out of the blue.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You can tell me anything.”
I wished that was true, but it wasn’t. There was very little I could tell him, so I spent a long moment preparing my words before I said them out loud. “There’s an old lady I know,” I began. “Her name is Gladys.”
Mitchell glanced across at me, silently prompting me to continue.
“She’s a hopeless drunk.” I shook my head. “Embarrassing at times, but sometimes quite insightful.”
Without explaining the circumstances, I told Mitchell about Gladys’ constant encouragement to change my ways and lighten up. “She said I should get out and kiss the sun once in a while.” My voice was barely there, constricted by embarrassment. “Do you know what that means?”
Mitchell dropped the car down as gear as his focus shifted to me. Too chagrined to look at him, I gazed out the window. “Don’t worry about it,” I mumbled, trying to save face. “It’s silly.”
“You’ve never kissed the sun, Shiloh Jenson?” He dragged out the question, making me smile.
“Never,” I admitted, finally turning to look at him.
“Well, that won’t do,” he replied. “I’ll have to teach you.”
I didn’t doubt for a second that he could do it. If kissing the sun had anything to do with living freely, Mitchell Tate had it down pat.
“But I have something else in mind for us today,” he added. “How good are your skills in espionage?”
I almost choked on his question. “I don’t know,” I replied, swallowing away the panic. “Who are we spying on?”
Mitchell’s grin was shifty but bright. “The whole village of Kaimte.”
Stupid Shoes
MITCHELL
The narrow row of steep hills on the outskirts of town acts as a buffer between the desert and sea. From the coast there’s no hint of what lies beyond the rocky outcrop, but as soon as you get up high it’s inhospitable desert for as far as the eye can see.
Shiloh didn’t seem overly impressed by my suggestion that we climb to the top, but when I grabbed my backpack and got out of the car, she was left with little choice. “Put those dangerously long legs to use, lady,” I told her, stopping to let her catch up. “Climb.”
“I’m trying to bloody climb,” she growled, battling to keep her footing as the loose rocks slipped under her feet. “Help me.”
Women are not the weaker sex; they just wear stupid shoes. My usual MO would’ve been to stay put and lecture her about hiking in flip-flops, but none of my regular rules applied where Shiloh was concerned. I staggered a few metres down the steep incline and reached for her hand, practically pulling her the rest of the way.
“We should’ve stayed in bed,” she muttered breathlessly.
Knowing she’d change her mind once we reached the top, I tightened my hold on her hand and offered some words of encouragement. “The harder the access, the sweeter the find.” I turned back in time to catch her puzzled expression. “That’s the first lesson in learning to kiss the sun,” I elaborated. “Do you want to stop and write it down?”
She huffed out a breathless laugh. “No, I’m good.”
“Didn’t bring a pen, huh?”
Even when hot and bothered, Shiloh was a good sport. She was still giggling when we reached the top, but the second we caught sight of the view she fell silent.
I pulled a beach towel out of my backpack and fanned it out over the hot sand. “Sit,” I ordered, gently pulling her down beside me. “We’re supposed to be spying.”
Shiloh propped herself up on her elbows, never once tearing her eyes from the spectacle playing out in the distance. Brightly coloured Bedouin tents were grouped together on the sand. People wandered from stall to stall, stocking up on groceries to get them through the week. Small puffs of smoke from the hot food vendors billowed into the desert sky, and everywhere we looked, children ran amok.
“You weren’t kidding,” Shiloh finally said. “The whole village is down there.” She turned her head, shooting me a quizzical look. “Why aren’t we there?”
My eyes drifted down to the festivities below. “Because it’s by invitation only,” I explained. “Expats never go there. It’s strictly for the locals.”
“Is that where breakfast came from?”
“I asked Mimi to pick me up a few things,” I replied with a smile. “She usually says no, but I caught her at a weak moment.”
Shiloh thought for a moment. “You’ve been here for years,” she said. “You’ve never been there?”
“Never.”
“What would happen if you just turned up?”
“I don’t intend to find out,” I replied. “I’m not that arrogant, Shiloh. We’re visitors in their country. The least we can do is be respectful of the local beliefs and customs.”
She let out a sigh. “It’s hard to respect some beliefs.”
I gently kneaded the nape of her neck. “But you’re doing a good job,” I praised. “Kaimte people are wary of newcomers, probably because so many of them have hidden agendas.”
Shiloh turned on her side, locking her brown eyes with mine. “I have no agenda.”
“I know.” I gently kissed her lips. “And over time, people like Mimi will realise that.”
She rolled onto her back, shielding her face from the sun with her forearm. “I’m never going to win that woman over.”
“Don’t be too sure,” I hinted. I rummaged through the backpack, pulled out the long string of turquoise beads and draped them across her chest. “Mimi made these.”
Shiloh tangled the beads around her fingers. “For me?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “She sells them at the midweek markets, but she gave me the pick of the lot this morning.”
It was a tiny white lie designed to lift her spirits. Shiloh didn’t need to know that I’d paid Kenny Traore twice what they were worth because I’d lost a football game. All she needed to know was that Mimi wasn’t a crazy witch hunter all of the time. “She has a good heart, Shiloh,” I assured her. “Even when it’s hidden.”
Slumming It
SHILOH
I spent most of the asphyxiating car ride home studying the long necklace hanging around my neck. In different angles of light, the green glass beads took on a blue hue. I thought it was apt. Very little in Kaimte was what it appeared to be, including me.
“I was worried that you might think it was a weird gift,” said Mitchell, speaking for the first time.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” The car seat squeaked as he shifted. “Maybe you’d think it was too soon or something.”
I tangled the string of beads around my fingers, really thinking things through. For the first time in my life I was prepared to let myself fall hard and fast, because time was not on our side. I could be pulled out of the country on an hour’s notice. My heart seized just thinking about it, which testified to the fact that I was already in deeper than I should’ve been.
I gave Mitchell a very condensed version of the worst-case scenario. “If I get another job transfer, I could be gone in a week.”
His head whipped in my direction. “That soon?”
I nodded, probably looking doleful. “It’s possible.”
His focus returned to the road. “I guess we should hold off on the falling in love part then,” he mumbled. “It might not end well.”
I didn’t want him to put the brakes on. I also didn’t want to turn a blissfully easy day together into a downer by allowing the conversation to get serious.
“Stop being so good in bed then,” I told him.
Finally he smiled, and it was as perfect as the rest of him. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, lady,” he told me. “Maybe I’ll just fall in love with you a little bit.”
I laughed, welcoming the light turn. “And how long will you love me, Mitchell Tate?”
His eyes left the road for much longer than they should’ve while he stared at me. “Until I can’t,” he finally replied.
***
A well-timed sideward glance out the window as we turned into our street blew the whole afternoon to pieces.
Iron Mike had no concept of the theory that Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest. The T-junction sign had a chalk X scrawled on it, which meant I had work to do.
I didn’t know what Mike would consider to be an acceptable response time to the message he’d left me, but I did know that scrambling under the house while Mitchell was around would be impossible. Every precaution I’d taken to make the secret phone secure had also made it less accessible.
The car pulled to a stop at the edge of the trail to the cardboard village. “I have to work tonight,” Mitchell said randomly, dragging on the hand brake. “That was the price I paid for breakfast.”
For once I was glad that Mimi’s kindness was conditional. I let out a breath of relief that I hoped he didn’t notice. “I’ll try and wait up for you,” I offered.
His hand slipped under the fall of my hair as he drew me in for a kiss. “You could come with me.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I have to be up for work at five.”
The regret in my tone wasn’t an act. Spending time with Mitchell was becoming more important to me with each passing day, but for both of us work still took precedence – even if said work was crawling around under the shack.
Mitchell released me, groaning as his head lolled back against the headrest. “Listen to us.” He sounded disgusted. “Making plans around work like a couple of responsible adults.”
“I could write up a schedule if you like,” I offered. “An equal roster of work, sex and ironing.”
“I don’t know if you could handle it.” He turned to look at me. “That’s a lot of ironing.”
***
The first opportunity I got to retrieve the phone came while Mitchell was in the shower. I snuck outside and after checking that the coast was clear, leaned down and tore a section of lattice siding off the shack. It came off with such ease that it made me nervous enough to take a step back and wait for the shack to crumple into a heap – but thankfully, it held fast.
There was no need for the torch I’d brought. Plenty of light filtered through the holes of the lattice, allowing me a clear view of the entire crawl space. I half expected to see a stash of empty ouzo bottles or the corpses of Leroy’s past tenants, but there was nothing except a few rusted pipes, white sand, and my phone dangling from its cord under the kitchen. Crawling on my belly to reach it was the best I could do, and as my undies filled with sand I wished there was an easier way.
Once switched on the damned phone took forever to fire up, which gave me too much thinking time. I had no idea what Mike had in store for me, but it was safe to say he wasn’t making contact just to say hi.
I was put out of my misery when the screen finally lit up. I opened the message, carefully reading each word as if it was written in code.
It wasn’t. Mike’s instructions were short and predictably, not-so sweet.
- Lock pick set under table at pub
Considering there were fifteen tables at the Crown and Pav, retrieving the tools that I had no use for wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing in this country was bloody easy.
I attempted to write a reply but struggled for something to say. And when the trickling sound of water draining through the pipe under the shower stopped, I gave up trying. I switched off the phone and backed out of the tight space as awkwardly as I’d crawled in.
After shaking as much sand as I could from my clothes, I pushed the lattice siding back into place and strolled back into the shack as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Mitchell was in the bedroom, almost ready to leave for work.
“Is it too late to change my mind about coming with you?” I asked .
“No,” he replied, smiling at me. “I would love that.”
He didn’t ask the reason behind my sudden change of heart. Mitchell’s tendency to take things at face value worked in my favour more than he’d ever know. The less I had to lie to him, the better I felt.
***
Very occasionally, things go exactly according to plan. The lock pick set was exactly where it was supposed to be – taped to the underside of one of the picnic tables at the Crown and Pav.
Retrieving it while Mitchell’s back was turned was simple, but concealing it was a little trickier. Trying to appear normal with a small pouch of six sharp tools stuffed into my waistband wasn’t easy.
“Beer?” asked Mitchell as I pulled up a stool at the bar. It wasn’t really a question. He’d flipped the lid off a bottle and placed it in front of me before I’d even replied.
Even though he didn’t know it, this was Mitchell at his best. The self-proclaimed lazy beach bum was anything but as he tended his beloved bar. I got a kick out of watching him prepare for the night ahead: double-checking that the fridge was stocked, straightening the bottles on the shelves, and polishing the bar to within an inch of its life.
“What did this place look like before you bought it?” I asked, peeling the label off my beer.
“Pretty rough,” he replied. “But functional.”
It was still rough, but it seemed to possess the same roguish charm as the proprietor, which probably explained why it was such a popular haunt. The atmosphere was always friendly – despite the somewhat shady clientele. Once the tables began filling up and the beer began flowing, the little pub on the beach was as rocking as any I’d ever been to.
I seemed to be the only Jorge Creek employee who realised it. Glen and his cronies never frequented the Crown and Pav, choosing to stay under their rocks and socialise in their beige houses, which suited me fine. The less I had to deal with them, the better.
Mitchell clearly felt the same way. “There’s a hierarchy,” he explained, swiping a cloth along the already shining bar. “According to your mates at Jorge Creek, they reign supreme. Expats like me are dirt under their shoes, and the locals rate even lower than that.” He sounded disgusted, and rightfully so. “Very few of them embrace the Kaimte culture or way of life. They’d never drink here.”
“Well, I drink here.” I straightened up on my stool and slapped my hand down on the counter. “I like slumming it occasionally.”
Mitchell laughed. “Quite the little barfly, aren’t you?”
“I only come here for one reason.”
“Which is?”
I leaned forward to whisper. “I have a crush on the bartender.”
Mitchell sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head. “That’s a recipe for disaster, lady,” he sighed. “Didn’t your mother ever
warn you against falling for no-hopers?”
I flashed him my wickedest grin. “She did, but I have a good feeling about this one.”
***
I hadn’t considered the probability of running into Louis Osei that night, or that Iron Mike would be with him. If I had, I might’ve prepared better. I was completely caught by surprise when he sidled up to me at the bar.
“My beautiful friend,” he crooned in my ear. “How are you this evening?”
I locked eyes with Mitchell across the bar. “Fine, thank you,” I answered.
It was becoming difficult to keep up the charade of being skittish and uneasy around Louis. It was a convenient front purely because I didn’t like him, but ultimately it was making my job harder. As much as he irked me, the only way to garner information was to play nice. Without putting much thought into it, I spun the stool around to face him. “And how are you, Louis?”
Looking utterly shocked by my sudden shift in demeanour, he took a step back. “I’m fine.”
Conversation quickly stalled after that, proving that at best, Louis’ suave disposition was hit and miss. Trying to engage him again, I thanked him for the mulafa he’d gifted me. “It’s really lovely.” His triumphant grin was directed solely at Mitchell. “Let me buy you a drink,” he murmured in my ear.
“She has a drink,” snapped Mitchell.
I turned and picked my bottle up, struggling to look Mitchell in the eye. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” I knew what his answer would be so I didn’t wait to hear it. I followed Louis and his goon squad to a nearby table.
Having Mike in attendance brought no comfort. He sat beside Louis, glaring at me as maniacally as he always did – only now he looked even meaner thanks to a nasty wound on his forehead.
I had no idea if the other thug was an asset or a foe, so I paid him little attention. My focus was on Louis, but he was preoccupied, constantly glancing past me to smirk at Mitchell.
“Why are you trying to aggravate him?” I asked, calling him out on it. “I don’t think we can be friends if you’re going to behave badly.”
Shiloh (Wishes #6) Page 12