On The Run

by J. M. Parker

  Alina moved to speak but seemed to think better of it. “One of the last nights in the hospital,” said Bannon, “he looked at me. Said not to go slaving on year after year just to wind up old and broke with nothing to show for it. I said I wouldn’t, said soon as it was finished I’d be gone. One of those places we saw pinned to all those dive shop walls, maybe start a shop of my own, just like he talked about doing.”

  “And what did he say?” said Alina, looking back at him as he placed a joint between his lips, shielding the tip from the rush of wind as he sparked up his lighter.

  “Why wait?” said Bannon. “He reckoned I’d be better out here living than staying and watching him die. I had big plans when I came, I honestly did. It just didn’t turn out quite like I’d thought.”

  The car hopped as a tire struck a rut, the joint lurching out of Bannon’s mouth and whipping up into the air. He reached for it, turning onto his knees and quickly losing balance. He lurched toward the edge of the truck, his arms flailing as he saw the concrete zip by. He felt a hand tug at his shirt as Alina pulled him back into the bed, her arms buckling as his weight shifted in her direction and he came crashing down on top of her.

  Bannon pushed himself up, his legs still straddling Alina’s body, her hair strewn across her face. He reached down and brushed it aside. He saw his face reflected in the dark center of her eyes and he leaned in, her hot breath running along his cheek before their lips pressed gently together. For a few of seconds her body rose up to his, her lips opening slightly wider before her hand pressed into his chest and she rolled him off to the side.

  Bannon flopped onto his back, their bodies still touching.

  Alina spoke first. “You big oaf.”

  “Sorry,” said Bannon, sitting up and seating himself against the side of the truck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the driver peering back at them, a broad smile stretching across his face. The driver winked and gave him a thumbs-up before he turned his head back to the road.

  Bannon laughed. “What’s so funny?” said Alina, checking her arms for bruises.

  “Nothing,” said Bannon. “Sorry, got carried away I guess. First time I’ve shared that stuff.”

  Alina completed her inspection and let her arms fall back to her sides. She looked over to the driver. “It’s alright, maybe another time, another place.”

  Bannon grinned as she nudged him playfully in the side. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll be sure to hold you to that.”

  *

  They divided the weed up on the mattress. “So,” said Alina. “What’s your angle?”

  “My angle?”

  “How do you go about selling it.”

  Bannon shrugged. “Most of the time I just ask. People I meet seem to be pretty receptive that way.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I ain’t seen you turn one down yet.”

  Alina laughed, the sound of it running infectiously out into the room and forcing Bannon to smile. “You have me,” she said, picking up her last eighth. “Shall we smoke a pair before we go?”

  *

  They brushed against each other as they walked stoned through the crowds of temple goers and hikers. The sudden sound of horns snapped them out of their trance and they watched as the crowd parted and a herd of elephants moved into sight. Wooden benches were strapped to their backs. Their tails flitted restlessly at the accompanying flies as their guides marched them through the city. “I am high,” said Bannon, wobbling as the elephants plodded past, their giant feet sending little tremors out into the ground.

  “We should have saved the mushrooms,” said Alina.

  “No way,” said Bannon, remembering the inflating body of the Austrian. “I couldn’t have handled that.”

  “I ate them once and I saw a lady with one of those baby carriers strapped to her chest. From behind I couldn’t see the baby, just its arms sticking out like an extra pair. It was horrible, I just couldn’t understand it. I thought she was part human, part squid.”

  Bannon laughed loudly.

  “You can imagine my relief when I saw the carrier.”

  “Come on,” said Bannon, spotting a bar and dragging Alina over to it. “Let me grab a beer, I need to sober up.”

  They sat sipping their beers, a big umbrella throwing a cool shadow across the table. “You really think you’ll sell more weed than me?” said Bannon, his high receding slightly.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Alright then. What’s the wager?”

  “Loser runs naked through the streets,” said Alina. “Shamed and embarrassed.”

  “There should really be some money on it.”

  “It’s okay. The pride of winning should be enough for me.”

  “Awful confident.”

  “You are not?”

  Bannon smiled before he took another sip of his beer. “Alright, naked through the streets it is.”

  “I will remember you said that.”

  Bannon extended a hand across the table. “Still not doubting yourself.”

  “Never,” said Alina, slipping her hand into his. “It’s a bet.”

  They drank two more beers and headed off to another bar. Bannon sold his first four eights to a pair of university students. “Writers,” they said, “searching for inspiration.”

  The writers thanked him for the joints and Bannon looked out into the street where a group of hikers stood smoking in the evening air. He moved outside, checking the street for any police before he lit a joint. He took a drag, letting the smoke drift in their direction, and then he stubbed it out against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a head turn his way and he paused a moment longer before he moved back to the door.

  A voice called him back as he stepped across the threshold. “Hey man, mind if I get a hit on that?”

  Bannon turned, smiling at the nerve of the man. “Could do you one better,” said Bannon, pulling an eighth from his pocket.

  “How much?”

  “Two thousand.”

  “Thanks,” said the man, slapping a hand against his belly. “I bloody need it after that hike. Not in the shape I used to be.”

  Bannon laughed before he stepped back into the bar, stopping as he spotted the crowd of men huddled around Alina’s table. He moved a little closer and listened to the group. “Well,” said Alina, reaching for an eighth, “if you really want to help a girl, you could maybe buy a few of these. My pig of an ex left me with them, I’m just trying to move them as fast as possible.”

  Hands rushed into pockets and money piled up on the table. “Christ, the gal’s a pro,” said Bannon, turning away from the table and locking eyes with a bullish-looking Thai, a tattooed snake coiling around his neck, a ponytail extending out from the back of an otherwise shaved head. He waved Bannon over and a scarred forearm slipped out of the sleeve of his shirt. “Can I help?” said Bannon, stopping a little short of the table.

  The man held his fingers together and pressed an invisible joint to his lips, sucking sharply as he pretended to smoke.

  “Sure,” said Bannon, slipping an eighth under the ashtray. “Two thousand.” The man muttered something in Thai and Bannon leaned in a little closer, struggling to understand. “What?”

  The man repeated his question. “How many?” said Bannon.

  The man nodded.

  “Lots. You want more?”

  The man looked down at the eighth, and he shook his head and tossed a couple of bills onto the table.

  Bannon gathered up the money and moved quickly away from the man, catching Alina’s eye through the crowd of heads. “Next bar,” he mouthed.

  *

  She joined him a half hour later, her jean short pockets stuffed full of cash. She ordered vodka on the rocks and stood drunkenly next to him. “I almost feel guilty,” she said.

  “You’re a natural.”

  Alina giggled, scooping up the glass and winking in his direction. “Good luck,” she said, easing across to another table, and Bannon watche
d as group of men quickly made space for her.

  Bannon turned back to the bar and ordered another beer, listening as laughter sounded from Alina’s table. Behind the bar a newspaper sat on a dusty shelf, and he reached for it as he spotted a familiar face printed across its front page. Wang Ping, the old Chinaman, was pictured beside a photograph of the opium den. Big block capitals stretched out in a headline and Bannon tried to translate. He flipped the paper around and pointed it at the bartender. “What?” he said, running a finger across the headline.

  The bartender stopped, setting down a half-polished glass and reading the headline before he looked back at Bannon. He dragged his thumb across his throat and let his head loll sideways.

  “Dead?” said Bannon.

  The bartender nodded. “Dead.”

  “How?”

  The bartender shrugged and Bannon turned to the nearest table. “Can you read this?”

  A pair of middle-aged Westerners looked back. “No,” said one.

  Bannon crouched back over the paper, scanning the words and trying to pull some details from the piece. A hand reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

  He turned around to find two young men standing in front of him. “What?” snapped Bannon, sending one of the boys stepping backward.

  “Erm,” said the other, glancing over his shoulder at his friend. “We were chatting with Alina, she said you had some weed. She sold all hers.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yeah,” said the first one. “We were hoping we could get some off you.”

  Bannon looked past the boys to where Alina sat, a big smile spreading across her face as she spotted Bannon looking. She raised her arms in a little shrug and Bannon set the paper down, looking once more at the Chinaman’s face before he reached for the pot. “Here,” he said, thrusting an eighth to the boys and turning back to the bar.

  “How much?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Bannon. “How much did I give you?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Just give me two thousand.”

  The boys handed over the money and Bannon turned away. He spotted a Thai couple leaving the bar and he grabbed the paper and hurried after them.

  “Weird fucking guy,” said one of the boys, the words just catching Bannon, but he carried on regardless, stopping as he hit the street and saw the couple step into a taxi. He cursed, about to open the paper again when Alina appeared at his side. “What’s up?” she said.

  Bannon handed her the paper. “Can you make any sense of this?”

  Alina looked over the paper, her gaze lingering on the picture of the Chinaman. “You know I can’t.”

  “I met that guy.”

  “With Saint Jean?”

  “Yeah,” said Bannon, rolling the paper and rapping it against his hand.

  “It’s alright,” said Alina, seeming to notice his worry. “Let’s get out of here, get some more drinks.”

  “Alright,” he said, flinching as he spotted the bullish Thai man sitting on the deck of the opposite bar. A pair of enormous men sat beside him and the three of them stared in Bannon’s direction. He tossed the paper aside. “But let’s get a cab, I don’t feel like walking.”

  “Alright,” said Alina, looking over her shoulder and spotting the men. “Whatever you like.”

  *

  The kettle boiled, sending a thin jet of steam whistling out into the room. Bannon turned in its direction, watching as Alina poured hot water out into a pair of cups. “Here,” she said, gesturing to the nearest one. “This will take the edge off.”

  Bannon moved over and took a sip, smiling as he tasted the sweet sugary mix of honey and whiskey. Outside the sun was rising and the panes of the window shimmered in a wash of reds and yellows. “Thanks,” said Bannon.

  Alina moved over to the bathroom and ran water out of the faucet. “You feeling better?”

  “Yeah,” said Bannon, frowning as he remembered the newspaper. “Nothing can be done now, I guess.”

  Inside the bathroom he heard the water stop. “You better be extra careful from now on.”

  Bannon flopped onto the bed. “You have fun tonight?”

  “Yes, I did. It was a great night.”

  “Yep,” said Bannon, listening as the boiler clunked into life and water burst from the shower head, “nights like that it’s the easiest money you’ll ever make.”

  The door of the bathroom shut and Bannon leaned back onto the mattress, his eyes just closing when he heard the rap of knuckles against the door. “Fuck,” he said. “Didn’t think we were making so much noise.” he rose and trudged over. “Who is it?”

  No one answered.

  “We’ll make sure we keep it down,” said Bannon, turning away when he heard the knock again. He stepped over to the door and checked its chain latch. “Look,” he said. “It’s late. I told you we’d keep it down.” Again he turned from the door, about to drop back onto the bed when he heard something working at the lock and then the handle turn behind him. He looked in time to see the door swing open and the chain catch. A crowbar swung into the space and dragged down on the latch, ripping it from the wall. Bannon took a few steps toward the door but it was already too late. The door opened and the snake-tattoed Thai moved into the room, two big heavies just behind him. He gripped Bannon by the throat and pressed a bamboo shank into his gut. The blade was covered in a shit-smelling paste and it wafted up at Bannon as the pushed him into the wall.

  Bannon heard the water cut off, and Alina called from the bathroom. “What was that?”

  The man pressed the shank a little harder before he eased his grip on Bannon’s throat. “Nothing,” said Bannon.

  “Was someone at the door?”

  “Yeah. Wrong room. Drunk I guess, just enjoy the shower.”

  The water started back up and the Thai jabbed his free hand over to the bathroom. The first of the two heavies rushed over to it, pressing his back against the wall and waiting for anyone to exit.

  Bannon felt the sweat pump from his pores as the second heavy leaned toward him. “Weed,” said the man.

  Bannon turned his eyes to the bed and the grunt moved in that direction, heaving the mattress off the top in one ape-ish movement and finding nothing there. He looked malevolently back at Bannon.

  Bannon raised an arm, surprising his captor, and he felt the shank press into his stomach. He paused, his arm half cocked. Slowly he extended a finger and pointed at the ground. The big heavy dropped to his knees, folds of fat bulging from the back of his enormous head as he reached beneath the bed.

  Bannon felt the scarred hand on his mouth twist his head in that direction and drive him on to the bed, watching as the big ape emerged with the duffel bag and dumped the pot across the box frame.

  “More?” said the bullish Thai.

  Bannon shook his head, his legs shaking beneath him.

  “Money?” said the man.

  Bannon heard the shower stop again and he felt a new and profound dread as he imagined Alina stepping out of the bathroom and into the waiting arms of the heavies. He reached for his wallet and raised it to his captor’s face.

  The big heavy grabbed it and tossed it onto the frame. The tattooed man uttered another command and the heavy turned away, searching through the cupboards and the drawers, freezing as the bathroom door creaked open.

  Bannon tried to yell. He felt the hand clamp harder across his mouth and he stared for the bathroom, the door swinging open, hot steamy air flowing into the room as Alina stepped out. The smile vanished from her face as she spotted Bannon. She opened her mouth to scream but the second heavy was too quick. He hooked her wrists behind her back before he wrapped his squat, powerful arm around her neck.

  Alina’s feet dug into the carpet and her bare legs tensed as the man pushed her into the center of the room, tightening his grip around her throat and dragging her up onto her tiptoes. Bannon felt the shank press into his stomach and the man forced him onto his knees. The tattooed man stepped behind him, ra
ising Bannon’s chin with the blade of the shank and angling his gaze at Alina. He called out to the free heavy and Bannon watched as he looked at the girl, her legs stretching out from a pair of violet panties, her torso wrapped in a tight white halter top.

  The bullish Thai called out again and the grunt stepped over to Alina, running a colossal hand over her face and dragging his fingers across her lips. Bannon writhed furiously in the arms of the Thai, but the man held him firm, dragging the shank along his face and resting it against the lid of his eye. Bannon relented, choking as he caught the rotten shit smell of the blade, “No shout,” said the man.

  Bannon said nothing and the Thai poked the shank into his lower lid, his eyeball squashing with the force. “No shout,” said the man.

  Bannon nodded and the man removed his hand. “Money,” said the man, keeping Bannon’s face pointed at Alina as the big heavy ran a hand straight down her front.

  Bannon felt his face redden with anger as the two heavies grinned back at him, the bigger one’s hand now creeping under the hem of Alina’s top and running up to her breasts. Bannon pressed furiously against the arm of his captor, feeling the blade poke hard into his eye and sending a first trickle of blood running like a tear from his lid. “Money,” said the Thai.

  “Backpack,” said Bannon, easing his eye away from the blade. “In the bottom.”

  The Thai called out to the heavy, who reluctantly slipped his hand out of Alina’s top and moved over to the backpack. He searched through its contents and dumped a handful of money onto the bed. The tattooed man dragged Bannon that way, slamming his face onto the frame and counting in Thai above him. He pointed from the half block of weed to the meager pile of cash. “No enough. Lie, lie.”

  “No,” said Bannon. “We gave the rest away.”

  The tattooed man pressed his hand back across his mouth and twisted his head toward Alina. “Tell,” said the man, moving his hand and giving Bannon just enough room to speak. “Tell money.”

  “We don’t have anymore.”

  The Thai barked out another order and Bannon saw Alina’s face redden as the man squeezed tighter around her neck, her eyes bulging with the pressure, her legs kicking wildly in front. “Please, don’t,” said Bannon.