Shiloh

by G. J. Walker-Smith

“He’s done this before?”

  “Once.”

  Considering his current state it probably wasn’t fair to press for more information, but I found myself doing it anyway.

  “It was years ago,” he replied with a careful sigh. It was impossible to tell if his lax tone was incited by fatigue or disinterest. Either way, he kept talking. “Back in the day he was just a petty thief.”

  Even thugs have to start at the bottom. According to Mitchell, Louis got his start on the streets, running a shady little pawnshop at the mid-week markets. Jumping people for the change in their pockets was a side venture.

  “A few months after we got here, I was roughed up and robbed of our rent money,” he explained.

  “By Louis?”

  He shrugged, which was a mistake. He sucked in a sharp breath. I gently laid my hand on his chest as if I could make the pain stop.

  “Louis never lays a hand on anybody,” he groaned. “His dogs do his dirty work.” He placed his hand on mine, holding it in place. “It was the last straw for Charli. She started making plans to leave after that,” he explained.

  Mitchell often talked about Charli, always with reverence, but often describing her as errant and crazy. I got the distinct impression that his over-protective streak stemmed from the year he’d spent trying to keep her out of trouble.

  “We were totally broke,” he continued. “But she had a very expensive opal necklace that her boyfriend had given her. One day she came across Louis’ pawnshop. He offered to buy it, and she was so desperate to get to New York that she agreed to sell it. She had no idea who he was.”

  “He ripped her off?” I guessed.

  “No,” he replied. “He paid her fair and square.”

  If the tale had ended there Louis would’ve come out smelling of roses, but of course, it didn’t. The road to debauchery is long and winding.

  “I knew it killed her to part with it,” said Mitchell. “I felt responsible, and I wanted to get it back for her.”

  After months of saving up, he ventured down to Louis’ store and offered to buy it back. It was a textbook Mitchell Tate gesture that made me want to kiss him all over – even at the risk of causing him immense pain. Fortunately for him, I kept my lips to myself.

  “That was our first official meeting,” he said sardonically. “Louis pretended not to know me.”

  “Was the necklace still there?” I asked.

  “Sure was,” he confirmed. “He even agreed to sell it to me for what he’d paid. I handed him three grand and he handed me the necklace.”

  I lightly kissed his shoulder. “A happy ending, then?”

  “Not exactly,” he mumbled. “When I got to the end of the street, his thugs were waiting for me.”

  I guessed the rest of the story before he uttered a word, but hearing him say it out loud was still horrendous. Louis’ men robbed him a second time, stealing the necklace and giving him another thrashing for good measure.

  “I just couldn’t win a trick.” There was a tiny hint of humour in his voice, but the story wasn’t remotely funny. “It’s been that way ever since.”

  As Louis’ reputation for being a brute grew, so did his businesses. His whole empire was built on fear and intimidation, and the only way to stay off his radar was to turn a blind eye to his thuggish ways. Mitchell tolerated Louis Osei because he had to.

  “The Crown and Pav is my livelihood, Shiloh,” he said. “If I have to close the doors because he makes it too difficult to trade, I’ll have nothing.”

  If Louis ramped up his game he’d have no choice but to call it quits. Trying to stick it out wasn’t worth losing his life over.

  “Do you ever think about going home?” If I thought he’d get on the plane, I would’ve offered to drive him to the airport there and then. “Your family would be thrilled to have you back.”

  “And what would I do when I get there?” he asked. “Living life off the grid is costly, Shiloh. After a while, you become so lost that finding your way home becomes impossible.”

  Femme Fetale

  MITCHELL

  If Louis decided to make good on delivering my shipment to the Crown and Pav before opening time, I wasn’t going to be there to see it. I woke after two hours of sleep feeling like I’d been hit by a train. I imagine I looked worse. Nostrils packed with tampons is a hard look to pull off.

  “Can I take these out?” I put my hand to the cotton under my nose. “I’m good now.”

  “No.” Shiloh pulled my hand away. “If it’s still bleeding we’ll have to start all over again. You need to give it a few more hours.”

  Perhaps confident that I’d do as I was told, she lay back down, gently resting her head on my shoulder.

  I kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she whispered.

  “For being here.”

  A strange choked groan escaped her. “Me being here is the reason this happened in the first place.”

  I didn’t blame her, but I couldn’t deny that what she said was true. The problem was, I couldn’t articulate it – and staying silent was as good as accusing her of being a deadly femme fatale.

  Moving carefully so she didn’t bump me, Shiloh slipped out of bed. “I’ll work your shift at the pub tonight,” she volunteered.

  Considering the only drinks on offer were beer and whiskey, bartending at the Crown and Pav was hardly a specialised position. I didn’t doubt she’d be able to handle it, but nothing about her flat tone suggested she wanted to. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s fine, Mitchell,” she replied. “Someone needs to be there when the beer arrives.”

  She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and I couldn’t muster the energy to argue with her. “If Louis turns up, close the bar and leave,” I instructed.

  “I will.”

  “Promise me, Shiloh.”

  She leaned across the bed and lightly kissed me. “I promise.”

  I wasn’t buying it. Despite her sweet smile and butter-wouldn’t-melt demeanour, I’d seen enough that day to know she had no fear of rocking the boat. My concern was that if she ended up overboard, I wouldn’t be there to keep her afloat.

  Messenger

  SHILOH

  If a promise is broken before it’s even made, it’s nothing more than a dirty lie. I’d told my fair share lately, and it wasn’t getting any easier.

  I was banking on Louis showing up at the Crown and Pav that night. In a normal world I would’ve been staying well out of his way, but my world wasn’t normal.

  At least Louis was a diligent thug. Half an hour before opening time, he and his band of misfits arrived laden with two hundred cases of beer. His smug look suggested that I should’ve been impressed by the gesture. I wasn’t. As far as I was concerned, hand delivering it was the least he could do.

  I unlocked the storeroom and ordered the men to stack them neatly. “And don’t touch anything.”

  Louis waited just outside the open door, trying to look important. “I expect this will go some way to making amends with you, Shiloh,” he said.

  “You expect too much, Louis.”

  He smiled. “You are a tough woman to impress.”

  I stepped aside, allowing the men balancing cases of beer on their shoulders to pass. “Did you think hurting Mitchell would impress me?” I asked sarcastically. “Call me crazy, but beating him to a pulp isn’t exactly endearing behaviour.”

  “He’s not a good match for you,” he replied.

  Unfortunately he was right. Mitchell Tate was good to the core. He deserved a million times better than the wickedness I’d brought to his doorstep, but I’d never admit it to Tweedledum. Trying hard to ignore him, I picked up a cloth and began wiping down the already spotless counter.

  “You have a fire in your eyes that he doesn’t see,” continued Louis in a sly tone that sent a shiver down my back. “I see it, Shiloh.”

  “How observant of you.” I was furiously scrubbing the bar now, unabl
e to stop. “What a pity you didn’t make better use of it while you had the chance.”

  Louis casually leaned against the door. When the last of his men filed outside to collect more boxes, he spoke. “All is not lost,” he stated.

  Acutely aware that I might’ve finally broken some serious ground, my heart began thumping at an alarming rate. “Speak,” I demanded.

  Louis looked from left to right, double-checking that the conversation was still private. “I have some upcoming business at the mine,” he quietly explained. “Perhaps you could be of assistance.”

  Yes! Yes! Yes!

  I shrugged. “What is it?”

  “Not your concern, beautiful friend.” He let out a condescending chuckle. “You mustn’t ask questions.”

  I let the fact that he’d admonished me like a naughty child slide. My whole career operated on a need-to-know basis. If the good guys weren’t prepared to keep me up to speed on vital information, it made sense that that bad guys would take the same approach.

  “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Louis reached into his pocket and grabbed a small but bulky envelope that could only have contained money. “I need you to deliver this to one of your co-workers,” he replied. “Will you do that for me?”

  I had only seconds to decide. Once my hand touched that envelope, there would be no going back. “Who do I need to give it to?” I asked, still hesitating.

  “A man called Glen Harris,” replied Louis, thrusting the envelope at me. “Do you know him?”

  The prospect of nailing two birds with one stone was almost more excitement than I could bear. It meant the end was in sight, and I could go home.

  In an attempt at keeping my expression straight, I bit my bottom lip. “I’ll pass it on to him,” I offered, snatching it from his grasp.

  Louis’ grin was triumphant. “Your good deed will be rewarded, Shiloh.”

  I shoved the envelope into my back pocket. “It had better be,” I replied. “Favours are costly, Louis.”

  ***

  Somehow, word must’ve gotten out that I was running the Crown and Pav alone that night. It was busier than I’d ever seen it, and by nine o’clock my feet were killing me. Everyone was curious to know the reason behind Mitchell’s absence. Some people asked me, and others stood at the bar and speculated.

  “He’s dead,” one bloke suggested. “He never misses work.”

  His mate stood beside him, overzealously nodding in agreement. “The big waves got him.”

  “What big waves?” I scoffed, reaching for the bottle opener. “There haven’t been any big waves lately.”

  “She’s right,” he agreed after a long moment of thinking things through. “Maybe she killed him.”

  I slammed the bottle of beer down in front of him. “He’s not dead,” I snapped.

  “So where is he?”

  “Taking some time off,” I replied. “Any more questions?”

  The two bozos actually took a step back, put their heads together and discussed it. No matter how far I leaned across the bar, I couldn’t quite catch the whispered conversation, which frustrated me no end. Hands on hips, I stared straight at them, waiting for the two-man huddle to break apart.

  The man on the left finally spoke. “We have one question, Miss.”

  “Yes, one question,” his mate assented.

  I threw both hands out. “Hit me with it.”

  Both men put a closed fist to their mouths, trying to conceal their schoolboy chuckles. After a long wait, one of them finally pulled himself together enough to ask the question. “Why do you wear your beads on your neck?”

  I self-consciously grabbed the long necklace, winding the glass beads around my fingers. Melito had already hinted that I was wearing it incorrectly. If I’d been smart enough to ask him what I was doing wrong, I might’ve saved myself the awkwardness of dealing with the giggling twits in front of me.

  “Where else am I supposed to wear them?”

  The cackling got louder and neither offered an answer. Instead, they picked up their beers and wandered away.

  ***

  It had been a long day full of nothing but drama, and I was desperate to put an end to it. Two hours early, I stepped outside and dropped the awning. It wasn’t quite how Mitchell announced that the pub was closing, but it was effective.

  The merry crowd slowly made their way up to the car park, following each other like a wayward flock of drunken sheep. Within minutes I was alone, picking up discarded beer bottles off the beach under the light of a bright moon.

  It was too much to hope that I’d be left in peace to clean up. I’d barely filled the first rubbish bag when the two giggly men from earlier reappeared, and this time they weren’t alone.

  The young woman stumbled in the sand as one of the men shoved her forward. “This is Hiatte,” he announced. “My sister.”

  I had no idea why she was there, but said hello.

  Gifting me the brightest smile I’d ever seen, Hiatte nodded. “I can help you,” she offered.

  I glanced around at the mammoth job ahead before politely declining her offer. “Thanks anyway.” I waved the half full rubbish bag. “It won’t take me long to clean up.”

  Her dickhead brothers began chortling again, but Hiatte was having none of it. Whatever she snapped at them in Afrikaans shut them up in an instant.

  “Please,” she said, speaking in a much gentler tone, “can we go inside?”

  Perhaps I was curious, or just too tired to protest. I dropped the bag of empty bottles on the sand and pointed toward the door of the pub. “Be my guest.”

  Raincheck

  MITCHELL

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep knowing that Shiloh had been left alone to run the pub. When I finally heard the key in the door, I felt utter relief – despite the fact she was an hour earlier than expected.

  “You’re home,” I muttered, trying to sit up.

  She barely slowed her walk as she rushed through the bathroom. “Lie down,” she ordered. “You’re still broken.”

  For once, I welcomed her bossiness. Dealing with the unbearable wave of pain that ripped through my chest whenever I moved couldn’t be done sitting up. “How was it?” I called.

  “Very informative,” came a distant reply.

  I dreaded to think what that meant. After the day we’d had, the possibilities were endless. Deciding against questioning her, I stared up at the slow moving ceiling fan and waited for her to speak again.

  “How long did you say you’d been here, Adonis?” she asked. “Seven years?”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed with a heavy sigh. “Seven years.”

  “As it turns out, you’ve learned nothing about women in that time,” she replied. “But lucky for you, I’m prepared to teach you what I know.” The newly fitted door to the bathroom swung open and Shiloh sauntered in – practically floating to the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy undies. I had no idea what the lesson plan was, nor did I care. I was too busy drinking in the view. “Am I dead?” It was a fair question, all things considered.

  “No,” she replied, edging closer. “I’m pretty sure you’re still with me.”

  She was just inches away from me when I finally noticed that her turquoise necklace was hanging around her waist. I reached, slipping my fingers beneath the beads at her hip. “New fashion trend?” I asked.

  “No, a very, very old one, as it happens.” Her voice was pure silk. “It’s not a necklace, Mitchell. I met a lady at the Crown and Pav who was good enough to set me straight. They’re called bin bin beads,” she explained. “They’re worn around the waist, beneath the clothing. It’s basically pretty African gift-wrapping that a woman shares only with her lover, like lingerie.”

  I was very familiar with the Kaimte brand of mumbo jumbo, but I’d never heard of bin bin beads. The notion of improving her perfect body with decoration was redundant – like gift-wrapping a sunrise – but I couldn’t take my eyes off
her. “So this is just for me?” I ran my fingertips along the beads, making her flinch.

  “Yep,” she confirmed. “And I’ve been walking around displaying my bin bin goodies to the whole neighbourhood.”

  The poor girl went on to explain that she’d been copping strange looks and sly comments all night until a couple of complete strangers enlisted the expertise of their sister to sit her down and explain the ins and outs of African jewellery. “Like a pubescent school girl being given the birds and bees lecture,” she complained.

  In one of the few moves that didn’t hurt, I grinned at her.

  “It’s not funny,” she scolded.

  “It’s a little bit funny,” I replied.

  “You’re supposed to be putty in my hands at this point.” A smile swept her beautiful face. “Bin bin bling is supposed to be highly seductive. It’s a look that’s been making African men happy for hundreds of years.”

  “You can make me happy any time you like,” I offered.

  Shiloh shimmied her hips, making her beads rattle. “I’ll take you up on that when you’re a little less fragile,” she replied. “And when you don’t have feminine hygiene products wedged up your nose.”

  I was so distracted by her appearance that I’d almost managed to forget how horrendous mine was. “Raincheck?” I asked.

  Shiloh gently pressed her warm lips against my chest. “Oh, the irony,” she mumbled against my skin. “The fools finally learn the game, and the players have dispersed.”

  ***

  My body was far too banged up to take advantage of the gorgeous leggy brunette in my bed, but having her sound asleep beside me was a decent consolation prize.

  When I lightly grazed my fingertips across her bare stomach she flinched, as I expected her to. I knew Shiloh’s body well. It was her mind that was a mystery. She didn’t wake, but shifted just enough to free my arm.

  I was under strict instructions not to touch the dressings on my face until morning, but unless I cleared my nose sleep was never going to happen. I awkwardly rolled off the bed and slipped into the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror.