Fixed Parts

by J. A. Wynters

  Before I could answer, Kylie returned and the plane stuttered and began to move. Sunlight flooded the cabin as we breached the hanger.

  “Good afternoon, this is your captain speaking. We’re awaiting clearance from the tower and will be taking off momentarily. Kylie, please secure the cabin for take-off.” The speakers fell silent.

  Kylie gave us a quick safety demonstration, pointing out the whereabout of the toilets, bedroom and emergency exit.

  I didn’t miss the slight parting of Mia’s mouth as Kylie mentioned a bedroom. I wanted to take her there right then and fuck that expression right off her face, fuck her till the plane reached altitude.

  “Can I offer you a drink for take-off?”

  “Whiskey, on the rocks.” I looked to Mia inviting her to partake.

  She shook her head and Kylie stepped away.

  “Gabriel.” She was getting annoyed.

  I smirked at her, “Just sit back and relax. I’ll tell you everything you need to know just as soon as we stop getting interrupted.” Even as I spoke, Kylie came in and handed me the whiskey.

  “Please be sure to remain seated as we take off,” Kylie smiled broadly and stepped out of view.

  The engine whined as the plane rolled up the tarmac. Sunlight spilled inside through the small windows, and I found myself staring at Mia.

  Despite herself, she sank into the lavish chair and her face fell into a trance as we rolled along the black tar. In minutes, the engine whined in a high-pitched scream and my body shrank into the chair with the force. Mia’s mouth dropped open slightly and her eyes grew wide as she stared out of the window. Whatever she saw filled her face with wonder.

  We broke through a bank of clouds, and the world vanished under a blanket of white chased by brilliant blue as far as the eye can see. The engines relaxed into a purr, and Mia pried her eyes away from the window.

  On cue, Kylie returned to the cabin, “Lunch will be served momentarily. Can I freshen up your drink?”

  I shook my head, “Hold lunch, and give us some privacy please.”

  Kylie regarded me with a look that said she’s seen it all, and she understood, “Just press the call button when you need anything.” She tipped her head and turned in a practiced manner and strode out of the cabin, closing the doors behind her.

  “Gabriel—”

  “The Maldives.”

  “What?”

  I sucked down the last of the whiskey that remained in my glass and put it down, “We’re going to the Maldives”

  “What, why are we going there? What happened to Paris, and what was that whole charade at the airport?”

  Always so many questions. I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood, looking down at Mia sprawled like a queen in the plush, leather seat.

  “I wish you’d just trust me enough to tell me what’s going on so I wouldn’t have to find out this way.”

  “Of course, I trust you. I’m just trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  I sighed, “I don’t really know.”

  She arched her brows and cocked her head. God, she looked sexy when she was pissed off. “Gabriel!”

  “We found bugs, all over the shop. Someone’s been listening to us, looking for something.” I watched Mia, the flicker in her eye, the twitch of her fingers on her seat. “Salvatore seems to think it’s Emilio Rocco. We don’t know who he is or what he’s capable of. But he already took you from me once, and I’m not going to give him a chance to do it again. Until I know what we’re dealing with, who we are dealing with, this is the way things have to be.”

  Her brow gathered in a fierce stare, “What? Keeping me in the dark.”

  “Keeping you safe,” I growled again.

  “I am not safe when I’m blind.”

  “We’re all blind Mia, but right now we’re free.”

  Mia’s face shifted at my words, “Free?”

  “Whoever was following us, either thinks we’ve been detained at immigration or that we are on that plane to Paris. Besides Salvatore and this crew, no one has any idea where we’re going, and they’ve been paid a great deal to maintain their silence.”

  I could see her mind turning over, mulling the information around like a cocktail.

  “The Maldives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s far away from anywhere, no one will come looking. It’s hot and sweaty, just how I like you.”

  “And here I was thinking that you were talking about the weather,” she licked her upper lip and I swallowed hard.

  “That too.”

  “Mm mm.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and wandered the cabin. My eyes followed her ass as it sashayed around the body of the plane, disappearing as she explored the inner wonders of the private jet. I found myself chuckling when I heard her delighted squeal. She must have found the bedroom.

  I fell back into my seat, the warm leather shifting around me.

  “This plane is amazing!” Her face spread in a wide grin showing off her beautiful smile. It was as if the sun itself walked into the room. It made me giddy, an unfamiliar and terrorising feeling. I sucked in a deep breath as she walked towards the bay of seats.

  “Is this your plane?”

  I nodded taking in her reaction—flared nostrils, muted gasp.

  “It’s big.” She prowled a little closer to me.

  “It’s big enough to do the job.”

  She smirked at me, “Overcompensating?”

  I pulled her hand and spun her around until she fell on my lap with a yelp. Her hair tickled my face and I inhaled her scent, the green fields and sunshine that were always there. She smelt like home, like my home.

  I grabbed her waist and pulled her onto me so that she leaned against my chest. Her ear glued to that place where my heart could have been, as it thumped and thudded unsteadily. Everything felt unbalanced when she was around, she was dizzying.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Her head spun and her dark eyes matched my intentions. I found her lips, full and beautiful. They beckoned to me as I captured them in my own; my tongue delighting in the sweet invasion of her mouth, savouring her taste, her warmth, her delight.

  My hands wandered along her body, finding the soft flesh of her breasts, my fingers kneading her delicate, hardening nipples still blooming beneath my touch. She moaned into my mouth, and the sound unchained within me wild, delicious need.

  My left hand moved down and clutched at the fabric of her skirt, drawing it up inch by agonising inch, exposing her long legs. My fingers sought out her wetness. Her breath hitched at my touch as my fingers circled and teased and danced with her hips as she moved them restlessly against my swollen erection.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered my name, “I want you.” She kissed me, a gentle beautiful kiss, but wildness brewed beneath that gentleness and an urgent need commanded us both.

  She lifted herself from me long enough so I could pull my pants to my knees. She lowered herself onto me, allowing my cock to stretch her softness. I growled as she sank against me. I clamped a hand around her, moulding her to me and, with the other hand, found her wetness—fluttering, swirling, and stroking.

  She rocked above me, her knees clamped against my naked hips as I moved beneath her. With the engines purring below me and Mia shuddering above me, I watched the heavens and, in a pure moment of bliss, felt like a king.

  I can tell you about the Maldives, about the translucent blue-green water, and how Mia’s pale flesh grew tanned and honeyed each day we spent in the sun. I can tell you about the long, steamy nights and the hot sweaty days, but I won’t because those memories are mine alone. Having Mia all to myself, I want to keep them pure, uncorrupted by everything else that followed. Sometimes the memories feel like dreams, and I wondered if they really happened.

  What I will tell you is that we spent three beautiful, uninterrupted weeks soaking up the sun and one another. I soaked up her smiles and her delight, the feel of her skin and
the taste of her mouth; I soaked up every little bit of Mia until I knew she was all I ever wanted to kiss and feel and taste.

  But then, the fucking phone rang and once again everything changed.

  It was another day in paradise. Mia breathless above me, her body moving like the waves in the ocean outside, undulating and rolling. She was covered in sweat with ragged breath, and she was absolutely fucking exquisite.

  Until the phone rang.

  I wouldn’t have flinched, except that only one person had that phone number, and he was under very specific instructions not to use it. Unless—

  Our heads both snapped towards the trilling phone as the sound resonated around the room. The only unnatural sound, totally foreign and uninvited.

  “Ignore it.” Mia rolled above me, her hips pushing against mine driving me deeper.

  My head fell against the pillow as I thrust up to meet her, “I can’t,” my hoarse voice sounded through gritted teeth.

  Unrelenting, Mia swayed above me like the soft breeze that came through the window.

  The phone rang.

  She rolled.

  It rang.

  She pounded.

  It rang.

  She moved.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  Mia’s smile wicked as she lifted herself just to slam against me.

  The phone rang.

  Mia squealed as I reached for the phone and almost toppled her off me. My body coiled at the tension in my core, my building need, my aching release.

  The phone rang.

  Mia rocked against me, her body arching. I let the phone scream as I grabbed Mia’s hips, pounding into her with fierce slamming thrusts until I was overcome with a shattering tide of delight and release. Her body drove into mine as she called out my name, her body trembling like a leaf above me.

  Mia fell at my side, our breaths and sweat mingled. Our bodies reached and touched for the other, insatiable, unable to remain without the other.

  The phone rang again.

  “Fuck.”

  “Guess you better get it.” Mia kissed me, a long gentle kiss. I watched as she rose from the bed, her perfect ass heading to the bathroom. When she slammed the door behind her, I found the receiver again.

  “Hello?” It was strangled and forced.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Sorry, we were—”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Salvatore cut me off. “You need to come home. Now.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Simone.” At the sound of her name a cold spear of fear pierced my heart. I scrambled up, my entire body stiffening with the cold sensation.

  “Is she ok?”

  “No, I don’t know how much longer she can fight. If you want to say goodbye, get on your fancy plane and get yourself here. Now.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a fire.”

  “Accidental?’

  “No.”

  “Spots?” My heart leapt at the question.

  “Is with me.”

  My body sagged with relief, “I’m on my way.”

  The line went dead.

  My pulse hammered in my veins. Simone. The mother I never had; the nurturing, sweet woman who took in two broken boys and gave them both hope. My lungs clenched and my throat closed as I fell out of the bed and grabbed my clothes. Mia was already packing up. I had to get back to Simone. Was it too late to save her?

  Time, that callous bitch, always taunted me with the slowing down of her movements. Everything felt as though it was taking too long, every sensation of dread and fear saturated itself into my bones, and I drowned in the murky soup of doubt and self-loathing.

  Simone.

  PART XV

  The plane took off into the blackened sky—black like the curtain closing in around my heart, black like the fear that settled inside the pit of my stomach, black like the memories closing in on me.

  So many memories, I sunk beneath them as the plane soared.

  The death of the judge and his wife made national news. It was believed to have been a murder suicide, and the press pecked at their rotten bodies for days until all that was left were the bones picked clean; then, like the vulture they were, they moved on.

  These deaths also triggered the beginning of the end for everything that I held dear. A yin and yang, a counter balance. It is true what they say, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

  Sometimes I still feel a niggling doubt, uncertainty about Rita’s death. It wiggles around in my insides and eats away at the assurances Salvatore fed me. Was her death truly a warning, or simply retribution for Crabb and his wife?

  Not a single word was written about Rita.

  Salvatore dropped me off at the car wash and I shuffled inside, my feet covered in a thin coat of white sand. All I could see was Rita’s blank stare, her dead eyes bore into my soul; the image singed itself into the back of my eyelids so, that even when closing my eyes, all I could see was her.

  I fell onto my bed, exhaustion blanketing my body while it clenched in agony and desperation. Wariness clutched at my bones and threatened to crack them with a swift caress. I felt the tears as they rolled silently down my face, one after the other like a deluge of pain whose gates were broken. The tears were tainted with sadness and guilt. I cried. I cried for Rita who didn’t deserve her end, and I cried for myself—for the boy that never was.

  I wiped my face spreading the heat along my frozen flesh. A hot white fury rose inside me. It burned, warming up the coldness like a furnace, and it beckoned me to its glow. I basked in the fury of Rita’s death. I clenched my teeth, vowing her death would not be in vain, that she would not be a nameless casualty, but a soldier who fought and lost to make right what’s been done wrong.

  I wiped away the feeling of hopelessness and reached for Tony’s books. I stared at the numbers, willing them to talk to me till something flickered in the back of my mind, something Salvatore once said about Judge Crabb. It was a sliver of an idea so thin, so vague; but I latched at it until it became a firm memory. I remembered a brief conversation between Tony and Salvatore. They mentioned the judge and joked about his tax evasion problems, and how his problems were Tony’s solution to making things go away.

  In a frenzy I flipped through the page and scrolled down until I found his name. Judge George Crabb. I skipped over to the next column and scanned over the letters.

  M. L. PTA.

  I grabbed a blank piece of paper and scrolled down the letters starting with PTA. I tapped the paper then wrote “Property Tax Evasion?”

  It almost made sense, made so much sense that I went through the entire book, pulling out letters from each column and guessing—guessing notorious activities and devious behaviours. In an hour I had all the letters translated into possible offences. The list ranged from money laundering and murder, to pedophilia and the use of prostitutes.

  I was clutching at straws, but the more I looked, the more it made sense. Despite the uncertainty that I had, in fact, cracked Tony’s code, it felt right. For the first time since his funeral, I felt like I was making headway. Despite the exhaustion, I felt a surge of energy.

  I stared at my list and gritted my teeth. Each of the men listed there were vile and each would pay. I vowed it then and there. They would pay for Rita’s death, because they each had a hand in it. Every secret was a slice on her beautiful skin, every offence a bruise, every lesion a violation of her most precious of places.

  I searched the numbers. Unlike the letters, I still couldn’t find a pattern. Until I could, I scolded myself for my stupidity.

  I grabbed a long black hoodie and pulled on my shoes. Then I ran.

  The phone booth had been on that corner for as long as I had; a derelict and neglected thing, much like the boy who used to stare at the numbers, wondering if he punched enough of them if Alice would pick up on the other end.

  I stepped into what was left of the booth, the glass had br
oken years ago and the phone book stolen. Graffiti marked every visible surface. I grabbed the receiver and dialled.

  I was taking a chance that he would answer, but then again only dogs serve. Salvatore’s voice was edged with anger when he heard my voice.

  “Don’t speak, just listen. I know Joe has people watching the shop, and I know he is there with you now. I need access to the office. I need you to tell him that I’m your cop friend, the one from last night. Tell him the police think Rita’s death is suspicious, that they’re coming to raid the premises, and they’re bringing everyone.”

  “You’re crazy kid.” He sounded somewhere between resigned and agitated.

  “I need to get into Tony’s computer. It has all the answers.”

  “You won’t have much time.” He hung up, unceremoniously.

  I watched the garage. My back to the wall, sinking into the late morning shadows. My heart thumped in my chest, and I could taste my anxiety—it tasted like curdled yoghurt.

  The heavy iron door flew open, and from it exited a steady stream of men dressed far too well to be working in a mechanic shop. They exited like frightened ants whose hill has been flooded, walking hastily into cars and driving off. I saw Salvatore among them, he blended in like the dog he was.

  I waited ten minutes, just in case. I knew someone would have been left behind to watch. I knew I’d just hung a rope around Salvatore’s neck. I hurried.

  I ran around the corner and scaled the back walls, keeping myself as small as I could, scanning every car and every shadow. I went in through Tony’s hidden door. Only two other people knew of its existence; one of them was dead, and the other just drove off with my enemies.

  They had left in a hurry. Half drank coffee mugs still stood on the table and half eaten sandwiches collapsed on deserted plates. I would have enjoyed it more if I wasn’t in a hurry.

  I took the stairs one at a time, my back glued to the wall, tracing the same path I did almost a week ago, when I found Tony. I walked into the office, and the memories whipped me like his belt. Tony splattering and dying in his chair, how his eyes bulged, and the way he begged me to keep him alive. Fuck that fat bastard.