Harsens Island

by T. K. Madrid

  “With luck, you will.”

  A server approached them, said, “I’ll be back in a jiff,” and disappeared.

  Within another minute, a pitcher of beer and two glasses arrived from a second server, a young woman with purple hair and lip piercings.

  “From a secret admirer, Chief,” she said.

  “Thank you, Sally.”

  “Could I get a glass of water?” Sam asked.

  “You betcha, hon,” she said, and disappeared into the crowd.

  “You’ll have better odds playing Powerball,” Redsky said, filling both glasses.

  “No, thanks,” Sam said, gesturing. “I don’t drink.”

  “No! Seriously? Molson’s Golden is one of God’s greatest gifts. You shouldn’t deny yourself the pleasure.”

  “Sounds like an advertising slogan,” Sam said.

  Redsky drank deeply from her first glass, raised an open palm to her mouth and burped loudly.

  Sam said, “Wow.”

  Redsky smiled.

  “My father taught me that trick.”

  “I learned a few from mine, too.”

  “I heard about your TKO with Clayton. Was that one of his tricks?”

  “No,” Sam said. “I learned it online.”

  “Your last name is Italian in origin, is it not?”

  Sam was ready to talk business.

  “Is Snake really with Homeland?”

  “It’s possible, although he’s rather covert about his affiliations. And might I make a small suggestion regarding his name?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Call him Elon when you speak with him. Calling him Snake gives him power whereas using his Christian name has a neutering effect.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” Sam said.

  Redsky continued.

  “He’s amiable and cunning. To listen to him would you think he’s capable of subterfuge?”

  “He acts like an adult teenager,” Sam said. “I get the feeling he tries too hard to fit in.”

  “Has he spoken to you about Moon?”

  “No, but he said your family is in the human trafficking business.”

  Redsky frowned and wrinkled her nose.

  “Those words create such a negative image. We think of it as a concierge service.”

  “For a fee.”

  “Expenses and resources, naturally.”

  “That’s a neat rationalization.”

  Redsky placed her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers. Her eyes bore a fierceness Sam had yet to see. She rearranged her last question.

  “Has he told you about Moon?”

  “No. What about her?”

  A squat man with a limp, wearing a food-stained apron and a skewed black beret, delivered a plate of deep-fried mushrooms. He was unshaven and one of his top front teeth glittered with silver.

  “Happy appetizer, Chief. Pizza will be another ten minutes, tops.”

  “Thank you, Angelo. Do you know Sam?”

  “Sam? A boy’s name for a pretty thing like you? What’s it short for? Samuel? Sam-you-well?”

  He laughed loudly and hobbled away.

  “Isn’t he the cook?” Sam said.

  “Never call him a cook, dear. He’s a chef. He’s wonderful when he’s sober. The nights he’s deep in the bottle, like tonight, by the looks of it – ugh.”

  “He brings food without either of us ordering?”

  “He knows what I like and most people eat what I eat. There’s never a bill, and I tip like a drunk sailor on shore leave.”

  Sam understood.

  “Okay. So tell me about Moon.”

  Redsky leaned back in her chair, her hands resting on her lap.

  “I feel I can trust you,” Redsky said. “You won’t disappoint my trust, will you, Sam?”

  “I won’t cross my heart and hope to die, if that’s what you’re asking. The trust is yours to give. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Redsky adjusted her chair, leaned forward, and spoke evenly, focusing her eyes on Sam.

  “Moon’s family perished the night we attempted to take them off the island. We arrived late because of ice and poor weather. The delay provided our adversaries time to thwart us. Our boat sank. One of my family died in the water and a second perished of hypothermia two days later. Moon was the sole survivor of the encounter.”

  Samantha motioned with her hands.

  “Hold on – she was on Harsens?”

  “She and her family, yes.”

  “And they were trying to get to your island?”

  “Correct.”

  “That’s the reverse of what I’ve heard.”

  “We’ve let the assumption stand.”

  Sam leaned back.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m confused.”

  “It’s simple. We were trying to guide her family out of the United States. Moon is desired by an entity further up the food chain. We arranged to assist with that effort. She has been on Harsens ever since, pretending she doesn’t understand English, trying to stay alive and out of harm’s way until we can get her safely across.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why didn’t they fly or drive to Canada?”

  “Passports would’ve been a red flag. They would’ve been detained.”

  Redsky filled the beer glasses, her dark eyes darting between the liquid, the pitcher, and Sam.

  “She’s American?” Sam asked.

  “One hundred percent.”

  Sam spun through the words.

  “And they were deliberately sunk?”

  “They were attacked. We believe Elon became aware of their departure and had a hand in the play but we’ve yet to prove it. And yes, sunk, deliberately and with malice aforethought or, as they say in the movies, extreme prejudice.”

  Redsky raised her glass and drank with thirst.

  “Moon is like you. She’s not what she appears to be and, in her way, like you, she can play off her looks. She looks like a little girl, doesn’t she?”

  “I’ve heard she’s sixteen or seventeen.” Sam said.

  Redsky motioned with her right hand, as if waving off a fly.

  “Nonsense. She’s no more a girl than I am. She’s twenty-six and speaks English better than any of us. Without knowing all of the background detail – and, in fact, not wanting to know – I suspect she was eyeball-deep in the intrigue that walked them onto the gallows. She sings and dances likes she’s crazy to serve the larger good – which is to keep us and her alive.”

  “Jesus,” Sam whispered.

  “Our lord and savior, amen.”

  “Why doesn’t she go to the police? To Rowland?”

  “She wants to live.”

  “You’re saying the government is after her?”

  “Yes and no. Yes, there are elements of your government that are aware of our situation, but none that need – or perhaps want to – take an active interest. No, this is more of a business feud or – how should I phrase this? It’s more of a domestic dispute, with the players trying to not involve the locals.”

  Sam expressed disbelief with her eyes and lips.

  “It’s been over six months. Why doesn’t someone simply come in and take her?”

  “Don’t be naïve, Sam. We’re still in the middle of hostilities and negotiations. For that matter, Harsens and the Catanzaro’s possess her. It’s a wartime tactic – surrounding the ammunition supply with civilians. It makes her far less likely to be re-acquired. And it has been tried. Unsuccessfully. We provide the necessary protection, particularly at night. In addition, we’re obliged to an oral contract that is far more demanding than a written contract. We’ve been paid substantial monies for those services. We’ve also paid with two priceless lives.”

  “Tried?”

  “Yes, tried. Twice in the last six months. Now we’re at a standstill and the score is tied.”

  The enormity did not elude Sam.

  “You’re talking about murder.”

/>   Redsky made a sweeping motion with her left hand.

  “These islands, all these islands, are dotted with graves, marked and unmarked, known and unknown. Men are always at war with themselves and each other. I would think that you would know that.”

  Sam knew that truth.

  “If Brian had let them in the store or helped them find shelter...”

  “…It would’ve been far worse.”

  “How so?”

  “They reduced our transport to splinters with automatic weapons. I don’t see why they wouldn’t have done the same to a grocery store. Moon has said as much. She’s grateful Brian didn’t allow them in – he might’ve died that night.”

  “And he and Dixie gave her a home...”

  “Which, I think, is a classic definition of irony?”

  “Do they know about her?”

  “Lord, no, it might get them killed. Moon has been adamant they’re not to know. She would rather they live with regret than die for her.”

  “But now I know.”

  “I suggest keeping this confidence between us. If you reveal this to Rowland, the détente will likely dissolve.”

  “And Houle? What’s his affiliation?”

  “He was the architect of the original transaction, brought on by our benefactor, a conglomerate with global outreach. He’s very good at separating night from day. He thinks and calculates in terms of percentages, return on investment, and cost to benefit ratio. It’s more of a game for him, really.”

  Sam tapped her right hand on the table.

  “I think you’re over-complicating matters. Why not toss her into the trunk of a car and take her to Walpole? They don’t check every car. And I doubt anyone would check yours.”

  “The problem is that after our failed attempt other parties surfaced. For the last six months we’ve essentially been in a bidding war.”

  “So what is this girl or woman exactly?”

  Redsky filled her glasses.

  “My understanding is that she created a complex nutritional supplement, a hybrid rice or Frankenstein wheat. Something along those lines.”

  “Which is worth dying for?” Sam said.

  “Obviously.”

  “And that’s all you know?”

  Redsky drank before she answered.

  “Her creation improves nutritional levels by utilizing natural rice and synthetics. I’ve been told she can quadruple rice yields while reducing production costs ten-fold.”

  Sam smiled broadly and spoke in a wild, speculative way, curious to see how Redsky would react.

  “You’re insinuating she hasn’t revealed all she knows. Why not beat it out of her?”

  Redsky laughed loudly.

  “Oh, my god, Sam! Would you have tortured Einstein after he published his General Theory?”

  Sam continued smiling.

  “It would depend on what I thought I could get from him.”

  “Stop teasing. You know as well as I do that it’s more advantageous to secure her, protect her, and allow her to flourish as Einstein did when he came to America.”

  “You’re talking about an end to starvation?”

  Redsky’s eyes closed for a long second.

  “Of course not. People will always starve. That can’t be helped, and frankly I could care less if people starve or not.”

  Sam smirked, remembering something from a novel.

  “This good Earth, this good, green Earth...”

  “…And if it takes a decade to negotiate and move her from Harsens to Walpole, I would say it was time well spent.”

  Sam paused to let her thoughts gather. She heard laughter, saw food being consumed, and inhaled the scent of cigars and cigarettes.

  “And what does Moon want?”

  “The highest price. And to escape, of course.”

  Sam smiled at Redsky in a friendly way.

  “You’re not telling me everything.”

  Redsky’s voice dropped to a raspy purr.

  “And what have you shared?”

  Sam stood to leave; she spoke irritably.

  “This has been great. Thanks.”

  “Don’t be a pill. Sit. Eat. Enjoy the night.”

  Sam remained on her feet.

  “What’s her real name?”

  “I can’t pronounce it,” Redsky said. “And by the by, before you dash off, I have to say that you didn’t fall from the tree. You share your mother’s cheekbones and lips, although they aren’t quite as full as hers were. And you have your father’s eyes. He had such beautiful, sultry eyes. He was such a handsome man.”

  Sam faltered.

  “You see?” Redsky said. “You did have something to share.”

  Sam picked up a napkin, wiped her hands, and said, “What’s your point?”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? We were of a certain generation, your parents and I. They kept to themselves, but I had the pleasure of doing business with your father on two different, complicated occasions. I met you once when you were a young woman, no more than – how long would you say? Fifteen years ago?”

  “I don’t recall,” Sam said.

  “You were always beautiful.”

  Sam fell into silence.

  Redsky spoke without excitement.

  “I was thinking you might join us in an advisory capacity or, if you’d like, as a direct hire. Your dust up with Clayton demonstrated the qualities we occasionally employ. I imagine you possess additional skills which could prove useful.”

  “I’m not interested, Chief.”

  “So what do you propose to do? Sit in that tiny cottage for the next fifty years? Become a bitter old woman?”

  “Good night, Chief. I’ll find my way home.”

  Chef Angelo arrived, teetering a fraction, brought off center by more than the weight of a large pizza.

  “Order ups!” he slurred loudly, and placed the meal on the table. “Sits and eats,” he said to Sam, wobbling. “Don’t cost you nothing! Sweet thing like you, eats fors frees. So let it be written! So shalls it be! Hail to the chefs!”

  Then his head lolled, he folded at the knees, and collapsed into blissful sleep. Tourists gasped and the locals laughed.

  The second server reappeared, carrying Sam’s glass of water, and stepping around the fallen chef yelled out over her shoulder.

  “Kitchen’s closed!”

  Then she asked Redsky the obvious questions.

  “How we doin’, Chief? Everything copasetic?”

  Without warning, hands grabbed at Sam’s shoulders. She twisted from under them, wheeled, brought her left fist chest high and her right fist to her hip.

  The firefighter named Jagger was glaring at her.

  “Watch it,” he snarled. “Whataya doin’ with her?”

  He was reasonably cute when he was sober, but drunk he was remarkably ugly.

  “Fuck off, Mickey,” Redsky said. “Go find a fire to piss on.”

  “Jagger,” Sam said without inflection or derision.

  He ignored her.

  “My name’s Mick. Fuck you, Chief.”

  “Jagger,” Sam repeated.

  “What?” the firefighter barked.

  “Go home.”

  He regarded her contemptuously.

  “What? You like Injuns?”

  “Go home and nobody gets hurt,” she responded.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  He grabbed her and tried to kiss her and Sam leveraged him, making him fleetingly airborne before he landed with a resounding thump.

  A boisterous roar erupted from the tables, gazebo, and bystanders – laughter, applause, and sharp whistles. A woman leapt from the table next to them, drunk and unafraid, and raised Sam’s left arm.

  “The winner and new champion!”

  Rowland emerged from behind a wall of bystanders, catching Sam’s eye immediately.

  He was smiling, shaking his head, comfortable in worn Levi’s, cowboy boots, and a loose fitting white tee shirt. He was carrying a
red plastic cup.

  Oh, for god sakes, Sam thought, realizing with a soppy weakness she was suddenly thirteen years old.

  The sheriff looked down at the firefighter – whose eyes were blinking open – and shook his head, whistling two short notes.

  “This is unexpected. Bad night, Mick?”

  He addressed Sam.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Sam responded with her own humor.

  “He started it!”

  This prompted another wave of laughter.

  Redsky spoke to the server, placing one slim, manicured hand on the girl’s forearm.

  “Sally, I think we’ll take this to go.”

  (13) A Convenient History

  Sam didn’t press charges. Jagger, at Rowland’s behest, apologized publicly to both her and Redsky. When Rowland was satisfied justice had been served, he confiscated Jagger’s car keys, tossed the keys to the front seat of the firefighter’s Mustang and locked its doors.

  “If I hear you’ve come back for it tonight, I’ll impound it. If you behave yourself, I’ll have it unlocked in the morning on my dime.”

  He summoned a deputy and had Jagger driven home. Redsky departed, leaving the boxed pizza and a tip. The server, in her last magic act of the night, reappeared to collect the tip and give Sam the message she needed to get a ride home. This was delivered in Rowland and Jagger’s presence – whether it was intended as a final slap to Jagger was never decided.

  When he offered, Sam agreed to leave with Rowland. As they exited the bar, Sam motioned to Rowland’s red party cup.

  “You good to drive?”

  “Water,” he said. “Want a sip?”

  A few moments later, as he reversed the cruiser from its parking spot, she said, “You use the cup is to blend in?”

  Rowland grinned sideways.

  “Professional curiosity?”

  “Pardon?”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed on the road and his head moved slightly as he checked his mirrors. He drove rapidly. A mile passed before he spoke again.

  “I don’t know what you are or were, Sam, but if I had to bet I’d say you’re ex-FBI or Army intelligence, maybe one of those Blackwater contractors we set up in Iraq, something along those lines.”

  His eyes remained focused on the road.

  “Wow,” she said without sarcasm. “I’m flattered. What makes you think that?”

  “Seriously?” he asked.