Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide?

by William Walker

  His co-pilot stood a step away behind his left shoulder. She coughed again.

  “Lucy.” He inhaled in a shaky staccato. “What—”

  “Daniel, I’m sorry.” She was grinning. “But Gary gave me the key to the apartment in London, and he wanted Gina to have it before she went to bed.” She twirled the key with its plastic tag around her finger.

  O’Brien couldn’t think of a response. Gina was silent, still breathing deeply.

  “So everybody’s okay?” Lucy’s grin became lopsided.

  “Everybody’s okay Lucy,” Gina answered. “We were just discussing the apartment when you walked up.”

  “I can see that.” Lucy said. She made a happy face and wet her lips. “I think I’m going to go discuss the same thing with Gary.” She handed Gina the key and turned to go. “It must be the moon tonight.”

  O’Brien recovered. “Yeah, only there isn’t one, Lucy.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Be careful.”

  She gave him a perplexed look. “What?”

  “I said be careful. That’s all.”

  “I think I can handle this, Daniel,” she said, as she walked away.

  O’Brien was silent. His arm was around Gina and he had what he wanted.

  After a long moment she looked at the key in her hand. “I guess this makes it official. I’ve got to come with you now.”

  A short time later Gina picked up a hairbrush, ran it through her hair several times, and pinned the heavy weight behind her neck. She had a thousand things to do but her hands were still shaking. She put down the brush and leaned on the vanity.

  Daniel.

  She felt dissolved inside, full of jelly with all these hormones fizzing in her bloodstream. It was fortunate that Lucy intervened when she did. Otherwise…well, she knew what the ‘otherwise’ was, and even though he could have picked her up and carried her anywhere at that moment, she was glad now for the intermission. She wanted the total package, something whole and complete that most people called a relationship.

  She glanced at her bed and considered what might have been. His face had an uneven texture, from the stubble around his jaw to the smooth bits of scar tissue. He was a handsome man, even with his slightly craggy appearance, and he didn’t know it. The man didn’t have a clue, and that fact made him all the more appealing.

  But enough. She had work to do, and she stepped to the bed and pulled an oversized duffle from underneath. She heaved it onto the mattress and ran her hands along the heavy, canvas flap overlapping the snaps. Faded, red-orange ‘USMC’ initials were sewn into the rough, green canvas, a powerful reminder of her father. ‘Captain Andreotti’ was stenciled into the other side of the closure. The letters were barely readable in the decades since Vietnam, but she knew they were there.

  She stood for a moment and allowed her father’s memory to return. He’d never completely let her go. And even though a massive coronary dropped him in her first year of internship, his spirit remained, along with the huge canvas duffle that now sat in front of her. The proceeds from his Rexall drug store in St. Augustine, Florida, had gone into her medical school loans. That was back in the days when there was a Rexall drug store. She hadn’t seen one for years.

  Her dad had been a pharmacist, and her after-school hours were spent assisting in the pharmacy. He was tough, smart and fair, and along with her name he’d given her his looks and his Italian heritage.

  She’d never known her mother. The woman had flown back to Italy shortly after Gina was born. No letters, no Christmas cards, like she’d never existed. Gina later learned her mother’s full name and the village where she lived, but by that time she found no reason to bring the stranger into her life.

  High school passed quickly, and that was okay, because she was busy studying and working at the pharmacy. She watched as classmates became cheerleaders and homecoming queens, and just as often married early. They knew the names of quarterbacks and basketball players and guys with fast cars. She knew the names and chemical compounds of most of the drugs that passed through the sliding glass window of the pharmacy. She also learned what they were used for and a good deal about human nature.

  After high school and college she entered med school. Her dad was always helping when he could. Later, he seemed to realize she wanted her independence and he began drawing away. She fingered the thick, canvas closure again. She missed him.

  But she had work to do. The small dresser was the place to start. She began the process of folding, packing and sorting. The vanity she’d have to leave until the last, but she was amazed that almost all of her possessions were able to fit inside the duffle.

  She worked the carryall onto to the floor with a solid clunk. Kurt or Daniel would have to help her with it in the morning.

  She thought again about Daniel. Holding hands like third graders? She pulled back a strand of hair and grinned. Where did he get that? The men she’d known before couldn’t get beyond her tits and ass. The last thing they wanted to do was hold hands. Jumping her bones in the quickest way possible was the main agenda. She could see it in their expressions and sense it in their actions and words.

  Her ex-husband was a man like that. Sex was all he really wanted from her. She could have been a good-looking hooker for all he cared.

  Her face went stony and hard at the memory. Now that was a lonely time in her life.

  13

  “My God, Daniel.” Lucy pulled her sunglasses down low on her nose and examined him over the tops. “You’re dressed like a lounge lizard at some country club. You’re probably a member of one of those stuffy things, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe I am,” he said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go spreading it around. Hanging out in a snotty club with a bunch of old farts will make you into one if you don’t watch it.” She wet her red lips with a flick of her tongue.

  They were back on the veranda for the last time, O’Brien hoped. The clock said eight in the morning and the day had the look of another tropical scorcher. The nighttime layer of dew had already evaporated from the deck and railings atop the dormitory building. A steel-furnace sun climbing into a clear sky bore down with a searing brightness that hurt the eyes. There was no breeze, and the air had a lingering, smoky flavor from the dead coals of thousands of overnight cooking fires.

  O’Brien took a sip of coffee. They’d both agreed to ditch the idiotic uniforms. He wore a pair of khaki Dockers and canvas boat shoes without socks. His last clean shirt was a white, Pima-cotton polo. The cloth felt soft and cool against his skin, in spite of the fact that a small, irritating alligator logo was stitched into the left breast pocket. A sweat-stained visor with a yacht club emblem was pulled down across his forehead.

  Lucy wore a pair of black slacks with a yellow cotton top that had some silk running through the fabric. She had on a nice looking pair of alligator hide sandals.

  “What happened to the Bruno Maglis?” He was becoming a fashion expert on women’s shoes.

  She looked down. “Oh, I’ve got’em, but I won’t put’em on till we get to the airplane. “These are Ferragamos.” She twisted her feet side to side. “You like them?”

  He shrugged. “They’re okay. They give you a classy look.” He was being polite, but it was true anyway. Her blond hair was piled once again on top of her head. Somewhere during what O’Brien assumed was a hectic night with Starr she’d managed to refresh the polish on her nails. For a co-pilot she looked pretty good.

  “So are you or aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Are or aren’t I what?”

  “A member of a country club.”

  He took a sip of coffee, gave her a blank stare.

  She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re rich, Daniel. Remember, you told me.”

  He laughed. “Told you what? I just said—as I distinctly remember—that I didn’t need this job.”

  Lucy tapped her front tooth with a fingernail and nodded gravely. “In my book that means you’re rich.”<
br />
  He said nothing.

  She re-crossed her legs. “Okay, so don’t answer. That just doubly means you’re rich.”

  O’Brien took a long sip of his coffee, one that he didn’t want, but it covered Lucy’s clammy gaze. “I’ve got a nice sailboat,” he said.

  “So you’re a yachtie also?” An expression of disapproval materialized in her face.

  “Yeah,” he said, and settled back in his chair. Okay, he was rich, although the term was highly subjective depending on the scale one used. His financial advisors occasionally used the term ‘wealthy’ when referring to his portfolio. But if he was so wealthy, what the hell was he doing over here? The money obviously had little impact on his lifestyle.

  “My parents left me a good bit, and the stock market did the rest,” he finally replied.

  “Then take me shopping sometime.” She lifted her chin. “Buy me a pair of shoes.”

  “I’ll buy you a pair of shoes when we’re safely in London.”

  “Really?”

  “When we’re safely in London.”

  “Daniel, you say that with some doubt in your voice.”

  “About buying you shoes, or getting to London?”

  “C’mon.”

  “We’ve got to get out of here first. It’s going to be a long day, Lu. This place is nuts. You know that as well as I do. Everyone has a rifle.”

  She sighed. “God, one thing after another. I can’t wait to leave this place.”

  He gave her a surprised look. “I thought...it can’t have been all bad? I was ready to pronounce you and Gary an official couple last night.”

  She took a long time to answer. “Not what I expected, Daniel.”

  He placed his cup on the table. “Sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted. I did try to caution you.”

  “I remember.”

  He nodded and gave her a moment. “We need to talk about the operation today.”

  “Good idea.”

  “How about scanning for bullet holes when we check the airplane this morning? Those kids in uniforms will shoot at anything.”

  “I see. You mean a typical airplane preflight. They probably look for bullet holes in Des Moines, Iowa.”

  “We’ve got to deal with where we are. You’ve seen the place. You’re just as expert as I am now.”

  “What else?”

  “The airplane’s been repaired, but it’s going to be tough to get to the airport. I talked to Kurt yesterday and our location here is a problem.” He recalled Kurt’s advice: The airfield was situated an hour’s drive east of Monrovia near the coast. A paved road connected the city and the airport, but there were no roads leading from the foothills north of the city where the Montserrado Clinic was established. They’d be using unpaved roads for part of the journey. He told Lucy, “The good news is that we’ve got enough runway for a maximum-weight takeoff, which means Tenerife in the Canaries should be our only refueling stop.”

  “I’d better check the charts for the takeoff figures,” she said. “Temperature’s going to be the big factor.”

  Starr stepped out onto the veranda and pulled at his beard. He let the screen door slam behind him and squinted at O’Brien and Lucy over his eyewear. He wore a Tommy Bahama shirt with yellow and green parrots splashed over a pair of khaki shorts. His reflecting sunglasses gave him the look of a cop.

  “Ah, here you are. Good morning Lucy. Good morning Daniel.” He pulled up a chair.

  O’Brien shifted. “You missed the gourmet offering at the cafeteria this morning.”

  “I know.” He pursed his lips. “But it’s Friday, so you had SOS—shit on a shingle—better known as chipped beef on toast. Am I right?”

  “Wasn’t that bad,” Lucy said.

  “I know, but you do get tired of the routine.”

  O’Brien nodded to Starr. “As soon as we can round up Kurt and Gina we’re out of here. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  Starr’s face clouded. “I’m afraid we’ve encountered a slight change on that score. Kurt’s not coming. Gina’s talking to him now, but evidently he needs to help out at the clinic this morning since Gina will be leaving.”

  “So who’s going to drive?”

  “I am. And it appears I’ll be flying all the way with you to London—a surprise to me this morning, but I received a call from the people who manage these airplanes. They’d like me to fly up, to discuss the pro bono flights. My view is that they are going to stop providing them free of charge.”

  That sounded like bullshit, rehearsed bullshit. “You know the way to the airport?” O’Brien asked him. “Have you driven it before?”

  “I’ve never driven it myself, but yeah, I know the way.” Starr scratched at his chin. “There’s another guy here who can drive, but I’d just as soon do it myself.”

  “So you’re going to leave the car at the field?”

  “Hopefully, and I say hopefully, Kurt and some of the troopers will follow behind us in due time to pick it up.”

  O’Brien shrugged. It was not his problem.

  The door slammed and a woman walked toward them with a cheerful smile on her face.

  “Now that’s a happy camper,” Lucy remarked.

  Gina looked sexy, and that was an understatement. She wore a red, tunic-style over blouse with a V-cut exposing very nice cleavage. Her long legs were poured into form-fitting, beige Capri slacks that were cut high on her calves. A pair of racy, oxblood sandals with low heels were laced around toes that curved together in small feminine arcs. Her black hair was pulled back and dropped along her shoulders, and she wore makeup.

  “A goddamn vision,” Starr declared.

  “Holy shit, Gina,” O’Brien chimed in.

  Starr’s expression was hidden behind his glasses, but he added, “You didn’t come here three months ago dressed like that.”

  She stuck out her tongue and twisted her hips in a two-step jig, all the while holding a cracked mug of coffee in her hand. “I’ve got all of this stuff, it’s about time I wore some of it,” she said as she took a seat. A faint blush of color reddened her cheeks.

  Lucy whistled and then exclaimed, “Balenciagas. I’ve got a pair of sandals just like those, except mine are black.”

  “I love these things,” Gina said. “I bought them passing through Zurich on the way here.”

  “They’re pure sex. You know that don’t you? They’re called CFM sandals where I come from,” Lucy said.

  “I know what CFM is supposed to mean,” Gina replied. She and Lucy exchanged a look.

  Lucy gave her a loopy grin. “Why don’t you tell Daniel?”

  She laughed. “Are you crazy?”

  “What are you guys talking about?” O’Brien looked from one to the other. The women gazed back at him with peculiar expressions.

  “Maybe later,” Gina said. She touched O’Brien on the arm.

  “Okay, but don’t wait too long,” Lucy said. “Life is short.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m with Daniel,” Starr said. “You girls are talking in code or something.”

  O’Brien caught a whiff of Gina’s perfume. There was something sharp and erotic in the scent.

  Starr cleared his throat. “Are Kurt and Finney squared away?”

  Gina shrugged her shoulders and put down her mug of coffee. “They’re up to speed on everything...but still, there are a lot of sick kids that come through here, and Finney doesn’t—”

  “It’ll be all right.” Starr nodded. “They’ll manage. You’re scheduled to rotate out of this place and this is your chance. There’s no other air service to speak of, and I doubt if Daniel and Lucy or anybody else will be making another trip through here for a while.”

  Gina’s said to O’Brien, “You and Lucy still want to sleep over for a night with me at Gary’s place?”

  “Maybe more than a night,” he said.

  Starr waved his hands. “I might be there myself, but there’s plenty of room.”

  “What?” Gin
a regarded Starr with a quizzical expression.

  “Gary’s coming along with us,” O’Brien informed her. “Administrative problems, he says.”

  “Oh?”

  Starr pointed in the direction of the administration building and turned to go. “If the present arrangements are settled I’ll be at the front entrance in about fifteen minutes,” he said. “I’ve got to make a stop at the Duport Road clinic on the way, but it won’t take but a minute.”

  It was clear that Starr knew the way to the airport, but it was also clear that he was a poor driver. Kurt had been able to anticipate and quickly adjust for ruts, potholes and the poor condition of the roadbed. Starr seemed surprised at every new obstacle. He swerved in clumsy half circles around some of the depressions and crunched through others with bone jarring impacts.

  The asphalt straightaway of Duport Road came as a nice surprise, and they transitioned to the roadbed thirty minutes into the drive. O’Brien breathed a sigh of relief and checked his teeth.

  The clinic ten miles further on appeared as a pile of concrete blocks painted in sun-bleached yellow and topped with a metal corrugated roof. The square building occupied a corner of another refugee camp, and as Starr pulled up beside the clinic O’Brien picked up the squalid smell of refuse and septic runoff.

  “I’ll just be a second,” Starr announced. He hopped out and lifted the rear hatch of the car. With a large cardboard box in hand he walked through the open doorway of the clinic.

  “I’m driving,” O’Brien said. He slid out of his seat and into the well-worn driver’s position. “Lucy, come up here with me,” he said as he settled behind the wheel. “We’ve both seen the airport layout and I’ll need your help.”

  O’Brien looked out through a pitted and glazed front windshield. The Rover was at least fifteen years old and the interior molding was torn and sun-bleached to a nondescript brown. Knobs and gauges had the scratched and rounded appearance of old farm machinery. The radio, cigarette lighter, and ashtray were missing. He hadn’t noticed any of that a few nights ago with Gina in the car.