by C. F. Waller
“What else?” I ask, trying to keep her talking.
“So many, but there is obviously one that everyone asks,” she declares. “Everyone except the Muslims.”
“And that is?” I inquire, unsure what she’s leading me to.
“A little slow on the uptake aren’t you,” she shakes her head. “Who’s the number one choice when people make lists of who they would invite to dinner?”
“Dinner?” I grunt, confused.
“When the possibilities are persons alive or dead?”
“Hitler?” I blurt out, but know that’s wrong from the look on her face.
“Too recent,” she tells me. “And for the record I waited out that mess on an island in the Caribbean.”
“Which one?”
“Caymans,” she nods. “We used to own nearly the entire island.”
“Used to?”
“Real Estate comes and goes. How many times can you vacation in the same place,” she tells me. “A few hundred winters is more than enough.”
“Okay then,” I think hard. “So not Hitler, how about Da Vinci?”
“It always surprises me people don’t choose him, but no,” she grins. “It’s a shame too because I was in Florence at the same time he was.”
“Wait, I missed the obvious,” I grin as it hits me. “Jesus, real or not real?”
“Of course he was real,” she exclaims looking skyward and crossing her chest with her hand. “Forgive him, he knows not what he says,” she croons and then winks at me.
“But if it’s just hearsay, then you can’t know for sure.”
“Not hearsay on this one,” she assures me, taping the seat between her knees with a firm finger. “I met the man.”
“You met Jesus Christ?”
“Of course,” she shrugs. “I made a point of it. Gaia, my best pal and one of the twelve, went with me to see him.”
“Immortal?” I interrupt.
“Yes, she and I used to run together. Anyway, I bumped into her in Alexandria. She tells me about this guy who’s doing miracles. I was bored, having nearly read their whole library, so we headed up to check it out.”
“And you met him?”
“Yeah, he was talking to a bunch of people at a Jewish Festival in Jerusalem,” she explains, her face growing serious. “Must have been a few years before his death, he was maybe 28 or 29.”
“And you spoke to him?” I ask, breathless.
“More like he spoke to me,” she admits, rolling her eyes. “I’m watching him talk to a dozen people and he sees me. He’s looking through a moving crowd, but after a few minutes it’s obvious he’s watching me. All of a sudden he puts up a hand and walks right through the throng and straight up to me.”
“No way,” I mumble as she speaks. “No frigging way.”
“I tell the truth,” she assures me, holding up a hand as if she was being sworn in. “He comes up, puts a hand under my chin and shakes his head. Then he leans in and says something to me. Gaia nearly passed out from excitement. The guy was the equivalent of a rock star at that time.”
“I can only imagine,” I sigh. “Then what?”
“After whispering, he kissed me lightly on the forehead and backed away. The people crowded around him, but he took one last look over his shoulder at Gaia and me before leaving the festival.”
“What on Earth did he say to you?”
“I love your shoes,” she tells me, but then a smile explodes on her face.
“Shoes?”
“I’m kidding,” she shakes her head and pauses. “I can’t tell you what he said. That’s between him and me.”
“Then why tell me the story?”
“You asked.”
“Come on,” I beg. “Who am I going to tell?”
“Fine,” she snorts. “He told me that I should not be there. That I should leave and not return.”
“Leave the festival?”
“I got the impression he was more likely indicating that I leave mortals alone,” she asserts. “But who really knows?”
“Odd, but that said …,” I say and am interrupted.
“That said, you have to know,” she grins. “You all want to know.”
“Yes,” I beg and pause, preparing to gauge her reaction. “Was he?”
“Was he what?” she teases, knowing the answer.
“You know what I mean.”
“I think you mean is he,” she corrects me, using air quotes to make her point. “Is he the son of,” she whispers and points a finger at the sky?”
“Well?”
“I can’t answer that,” she shrugs, hopping up and staring at me. “Sorry.”
With that, she slips past me and out the hatch.
I follow her, squinting in the bright sun. I find her standing in its rays just outside the hanger, arms outstretched, head tilted back, eyes closed. She turns slowly in a circle, then wobbles a bit, dizzy from blind spinning. I catch her and stand her up, holding her shoulders briefly. Her body thrums slightly, as if electricity was flowing through it. She backs away from me, putting a few yards between us. My fingertips tingle from holding her, leaving me staring at them.
“Careful,” she whispers, looking at the ground for a moment as if embarrassed at my reaction to holding her.
“You can’t say because you don’t know or can’t say because you won’t?” I press her, squeezing one tingling hand in a ball.
“Oh, I know the answer to your question,” she replies, pointing a finger at me and wagging it. “Out of respect for you I can’t answer it.”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
Shaking her head, she shuffles over to me. Leaning in, she nuzzles her mouth to my ear, sending chills up my spine.
“If I tell you,” she whispers so softly that I can barely hear her. “If I answer that question, you might believe based on what I saw and what I say. To truly know him, you need to believe out of faith and faith alone,” she explains and pauses, squeezing my upper arm with a hand, sending waves of electricity into my skin. “Were I to cause you to abandon true faith, you might lose your eternal soul. You wouldn’t want that, now would you? It would be like I was stealing it.”
I start to speak, but no words come. She watches me with her head tilted as she often does. Gathering myself, I try and phrase a sentence, plotting out my words in my mind, but my cell phone vibrates in my pocket.
“Your secret crush is calling, she smirks. “Better see what she wants.”
“She’s not,” I bark defensively, but am cut off mid-sentence.
“Don’t worry Arron,” she purrs, putting a finger over her lips. “I won’t tell her.”
Turning in a full circle, she blows me a kiss, before shuffling away. She wanders out onto the tarmac. It’s nothing but open concrete and she walks barefoot in no particular direction.
“She’s playing with you buddy,” I mutter under my breath as I take the call. “What’s the news?”
“You okay Arron? You sound out of breath,” Rahnee asks and pauses. “I interrupt you and queenie fooling around or something?”
“No,” I deny, unsure what we were doing. “What’s the news on your end?”
“I got a nice spot between a few container stacks. If Dunn can get them out here I think it will work,” she explains over the growl of a car engine and blowing wind. “How is the queen?”
“Complicated,” I answer, still light headed. “You’re talking about those huge steel shoeboxes they load onto boats?”
“Yes, they’re called container ships. I used to work on one,” she chuckles.
“Doing what?”
“Security.”
“Security from what?”
“Pirates,” she tells me, then turns and mumbles something to Decker, who I assume is driving.
“When are you planning on baiting this trap?”
“Soon,” she shouts over increasing wind interference. “Have to call Dunn. I’ll check back in thirty.”
The call c
uts off and I am left staring at Rhea, who is a hundred yards away now and in danger of walking onto a runway. Momentarily tempted to leave her to her own devices, I change my mind and head out to bring her back. For some reason, she seems vulnerable and out of her element here. Walking out in the smoldering sun, I feel the heat rising off the baking concrete under my feet. I glance once more at her bare feet, wondering why she’s not hopping up and down in pain. Walking along I am preoccupied by her words. Her answer was so vague. Did she affirm or disavow my question? She looks over one shoulder and waves, still walking away.
“Toying with us,” I grumble. “You are absolutely toying with us.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Dominick Dunn
After grabbing a quick coffee down on deck, I head back to the room to see if Dorian has wandered in. When I woke up, Bee was fast asleep, but there was no sign of him. While watching the sun rise over the ocean, I have been staring at my phone wondering why Rahnee hasn’t called. I trust her about as far as I can throw her.
Back in the room, I find Dorian sitting in the library holding up one of the thermite grenades. I had buried them in a bag with my things and am surprised he had the nerve to dig through it. Steam bleeds out under the bathroom door indicating Bee is having a shower.
“You shouldn’t play with that,” I suggest, stepping over to him and putting out my open hand.
“Hold on,” he says, pulling it out of reach. “What have we here?”
“Something you don’t need to worry about.”
He pushes away from me hard enough that his chair slides on the oak floor. Standing up, he turns the grenade over in his hands.
“Red button, green button,” he mutters, turning his shoulder to keep me from grabbing it. “Which one should I push?”
“Cough it up Dorian,” I order, lowering my voice.
“Very low tech,” he teases, holding it at arm’s length away from me. “A battery taped to the side. You can do better than this.”
“You’d be well served to leave the battery alone,” I warn, recalling what Rahnee told me.
“Shoddy work.”
“I didn’t build them, but we need them if you want me to keep my end of the bargain,” I explain, hand held out.
“Well then,” he sighs, placing it in my hand. “I suppose they will have to do.”
Bee comes out of the bathroom wearing a fuzzy white robe, head wrapped in a towel. The room comes with the robes and there is a large Queen Mary insignia embroidered over her heart. Seeing me, she pulls up the collar on the gown, clearly covering her neck scar. Having promised Dorian to keep our conversation in the vault, so I say nothing and avert my eyes.
“Oh, I didn’t,” Bee mumbles in an embarrassed way and ducks back into the bathroom.
Dorian holds up a finger to me, then goes to the sliding door, pulling it shut.
“All clear dear,” he shouts and latches the slider. “The menfolk are sequestered.”
Dorian looks as he usually does, wrinkled suit jacket, cuffs rolled over the ends of the sleeves. His hair is disheveled and his feathered bangs clumped together. The new suit looks like his old after a night used as pajamas. He sits back down, crosses his legs and stares at me.
“Someone had a long night,” I poke at him.
“Some more than others.”
“How’s your new friend?” I press, digging for details.
“Marvelous woman. Poor dear went through a terrible divorce last year,” he explains, yawning in the middle. “She really has made an amazing recovery. Resilient girl if I ever met one.”
“Must have gone well,” I imply. “You didn’t sleep here.”
“I didn’t sleep anywhere.”
“Her room up here or down below?” I inquire.
“I have no idea,” he states, then pauses. “Maybe below, she may have mentioned something about that.”
“Huh?” I reply confused. “If you didn’t go back to her room, where did you go?”
“They closed the lounge at some point then we had a walk on deck,” he tells me.
“So you got nowhere?”
He looks at me and frowns.
“There is more than that in this world,” he snipes. “You short-timers are really in a rush to the sheets.”
“We short-timers have less time to get there,” I point out.
“Mr. Dunn, have you ever smelled a flower bulb,” he inquires.
“The ones you plant?”
To this he nods, standing up and pulling down his vest.
“No, but they probably smell like dirt.”
“Ever smell a flower?” he follows. “In bloom, perhaps on a sunny day like today.”
“Obviously.”
“Women are like that,” he lectures, stepping past me to the slider. “When you meet them, the relationship is just a seed. Over time the plant grows into a beautiful flower, but you have to be patient and not try to smell it too soon.”
“Why’s that?”
“Otherwise Mr. Dunn, you get a dirty nose.”
“Sounds like something a guy who struck out would say,” I chuckle.
“A sports analogy, how dreadfully common,” he mutters, tapping on the sliding door. “How are you coming in there?”
“I’m decent,” Bee shouts through the door.
Dorian pulls the slider open, revealing Bee sitting on the end of her bed running a brush through her long hair. With it unwound from its perch on her head, it’s well past her shoulders and runs almost to her waist. She flashes Dorian a quick smile, but lowers her eyes when she gets to me.
To my surprise, she’s wearing one of my white dress shirts. It’s buttoned all the way to the top, the shirt covered with the light blue cardigan from yesterday, also buttoned all the way up. A new tan skirt, that I assume she got at Walmart, hangs to her calves and her witchy-poo black leather shoes have returned to her feet.
“Nice shirt,” I offer, forcing a smile.
“Dorian said I could take it,” she replies very softly. “I hope that’s okay?”
“Its fine,” I assure her, then remember Dorian’s suggestion about compliments. “It looks nicer on you than on me.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I see Rahnee’s face flashing on the screen and am relieved. Holding up the phone to indicate my need to answer it, I slip out into the corridor and start down the long hallway.
“Thought you bailed on me.” I bristle.
“Scouted some locations yesterday,” she fires back, oblivious to my inference about her trustworthiness. “I have a spot picked out for the mouse trap, how are you doing with the cheese?”
“I think the cheese is bored,” I grumble. “When?”
“This afternoon. I was thinking three or four.”
Checking my watch, I see it’s almost 9 AM. If, in fact, I am going to double cross Rahnee and try to escape with Dorian and Bee once Shelly or Rahnee has dealt with the assassin problem, I am going to need to see the layout first.
“I need to see the spot,” I tell her. “Don’t want to walk into it blind.”
“Don’t trust me?”
“I thought that was assumed?”
“Fair enough. Be out in front of the dock in an hour,” she instructs. “I’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“You got it.”
“Oh, and you should bring one of them with you,” she suggests.
“Why? Isn’t that dangerous having them out in the open?”
“You’re overthinking it,” she groans. “We control the queen, thus no one is going to try to kill them this morning. However, Shelly doesn’t know this little tidbit. I don’t think she will show herself unless one of them attacks us, but you never know. If you bring one, she may follow. If she does watch us, this will show her where we plan to be.”
“Good idea,” I agree, having not thought of this. “Will do.”
“See you in an hour,” she tells me and ends the call.
Circling back to the room I try and decide
who to take with me. I’m leaning towards Dorian as Bee seems a bit fragile at the moment. Easing the door open, I am shocked to see Bee wielding what looks like a sword. Once I’m inside, she flicks her wrist and the blade folds in half, reducing its length down to slightly more than a foot. They stare at me but don’t speak, as if I interrupted something. On the bed are some metal pieces. When I see what looks like a tiny track with bearings, I realize this was her pig sticker. Without her seventeenth century dress, she’s at a loss to hide it in her new clothes.
“Having fun are we?” I smile.
“Making some adjustments,” Dorian frowns. “She doesn’t like being helpless.”
“I’d say not,” I agree, walking closer and putting out my hand. “Mind if I take a look?”
She hands it to me and sits on the bed. The craftsmanship is amazing. It looks like the blade on a Katana sword, but there is a hinge halfway down. The top part of the sword has a groove cut in, although I would guess that it’s actually two thin blades side-by-side. The far end of the sword flips in and disappears into the top half. The most interesting thing is that when you flick it out, the blade locks in place. I can’t find a button to release it, but Bee puts up a hand and points at the handle.
“On the bottom,” she shares quietly, pulling her wet hair up into a pony tail and securing it with a black scrunchy.
There wouldn’t have been a handle when she had it under her dress sleeve, but she has fashioned a wooden handle for it now and wrapped it in what I guess is duct tape. On the bottom is a sliver of spring wire. Pressing it down releases the blade, which I can then flick up, hiding it once again. In the end, what she has is a giant switchblade. Dangling it from two fingers I hand it back to her.
“What’s the word?” Dorian asks.
“This afternoon, three or four o’clock,” I divulge.
“Excellent,” Dorian sighs. “I shall celebrate with a drink up on deck.”
“No, you’re coming with me. Rahnee is going to run us over to the site. I want to take a look around. Not the worst idea for you to see it as well.”