Prompt: A woman who committed blackmail is on the run from the law.
This Weeks Writes
Bryan Romero
Victor
Immanuel
Mari
Bryan
A lady sits by a window waiting for the waitress to come back with her tea.
She is dressed in a bulky trenchcoat with black gloves. A large brim hat shields her eyes from anyone’s view in the restaurant. It’s a French cafe. A french cafe but not in France. By the coast of Trinidad and Tobago sits the prize and possession of a man who has worked tirelessly running a place and ensuring it doesn’t fall under. Possibly the only cafe on the island country to be styled in a manner commonly found in replications across major cities of the world. That cafe belongs to Jean Ali. A man of interest to that lady who sits by the window.
“Here’s ya tea miss. And you asked for no honey right?”
“No honey.”
“Do yuh know what ya orderin’ today?”
“Just the tea is fine, thank you.”
“Just de tea?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Let me know if ya need anything else.”
“Thank you again.”
The waitress goes back behind the counter and into the large spacious kitchen to speak with a line cook who is making smoothies.
“Ya see dat girl over there?”
“Yes what about her.”
“She is inside with a hat on.”
“Yeah?”
“She only ordered tea.”
“Right.”
“What girl comes to this cafe for tea? Ya here busy making smoothies for a reason.”
“Who comes to a cafe for a smoothie in ‘da first place? It was a mistake on Jean’s part to introduce that to our menu last summer.”
“A mistake? It clearly worked great for him.”
“She not from around here.”
“How you know?”
“Her accent. It sounded American.”
“We get some Americans now and den.”
“But she look like you and me. Not like those old sunburnt people with pink and brown spots on their arms and legs.”
The line cook started to laugh.
“Neopolitan you called dem girl one time.”
“That’s what they look like am I wrong? But her she all brown.”
“Some Americans are brown too.”
“First brown American I ever seen stop here.”
“I gotta get these out.”
The waitress
Victor
A blank shot fired from towards the foothills, white smoke obscuring the gold and purple roughage.
The band of lost travelers slowed their horses and watched the smoke signal rise and start to disperse.
« Ah pourquoi je parles français qu’est-ce que ça. »
« Ça va, Pit? »
« Uhhh. Oui… mais. »
« Est-ce que c’est Lungwort? »
Dust was burrowing up on the plain as the party who signaled trotted along. It wasn’t a wide plume, it was probably just one or two horses racing along further into the dead land.
« Ripostez. » Blossum said
« Ne l’écoutes pas. » Blurted Pit
Cork glared at him.
« Bonjour... » The other horseman called out.
« Jan! Viens ici. » Blossum shouted suddenly. « C’est Jan avec un J. Ça c’est une histoire des lames. Je ne l“
Immanuel
“You’re under arrest!” A warbled voice carves through the inky night air and echoes inside of Sarah’s ear.
She pulls gently down on the closed blinds and peeks at the asphalt below. Three police vehicles line the sidewalk. The one in the middle is parked directly facing the building. She is hoping to count the officers but the blinding lights that crowns their black and white cars makes it impossible. Realistically, there are at most six officers, with two that may be in shape. Not too bad she thinks to herself - there are enough stairs in this building to give them all cardiac arrest. All she has to do is make it to the roof and make the drop.
In her jacket’s left pocket is a mangled manila envelope and that’s all she knows about it. That’s all she ever had to know about any of the packages that she delivered. Evidently, tonight’s delivery was different. But the offer was right and she needed to get out of this city as soon as possible.
Fast is never easy, her father would always say. But he also drank himself to death so who knows what that old man was saying. She spins the silver ring around her middle finger. There is a sinking feeling in her gut as her legs run cold. She turns her attention to the front door glaring at the strip of light that bleeds from the hallway outside. They’re here.
The incandescent glow is quickly snuffed out by presumably black boots. Before she could think, the door bursts open. In the frame is a silhouette of a thin man covered in a raggedy cloak and not some burly cop that she was expecting. The figure takes a step forward with an outstretched hand. Sarah backs up against the wall and reaches for the knife around her calf.
“And what are you going to do with that?” The figure speaks with a voice that’s deep, gravelly, and familiar.
Her eyes adjust and the features on the man’s face become clear. She clutches the handle of the knife ready to pull. Her focus wanes as her eyes start to water. She wipes away the tears with her free hand.
“Look at the situation you’ve got yourself in,” the man gestures to the window, “Whatever is in that folder, is making a lot of very powerful people very angry.”
“The money was right,” She shoots back, “And if the rest of the night goes as planned, those angry people won’t even know I exist.”
“As planned?” He laughs, “I’m sorry to tell you kid, nothing is going to go as planned.”
Sarah pulls the knife out slowly, the silver shining in the dim light of the hallway. The man notices, shakes his head, and pulls back his coat revealing the silver ridges of a pistol.
The man glares at her and lets the coat fall back into place. He is silent for a moment. Sarah pushes the knife back into its sheath and slumps back against the window.
“It was just supposed to be a quick job,” she spits on the old linoleum.
“I always thought you’d be too smart to stay in,” the man looks over his shoulder. The sound of the front door crashing in makes its way up the stairwell and the sound of heavy boots follows. “It’s time to go” He offers an open palm once again to her.
She grabs onto his hand and hoists herself up. The footsteps are getting louder now.
“This is going to be the hard part,” He says, “But as I always say-”
“I swear to god,” Sarah pulls out her knife and punches him playfully on the shoulder. The man laughs and winks at her. The wrinkles around his eyes were deeper than before.
“Fast,” He clicks the safety off and aims at the open door, “is never easy.”
Mari
“This is so exciting, isn’t it Chachis?” The jovial tone of the woman annoyed the small plump pig that was being carried underneath her arm. The swine named Chachis was wrapped gingerly in a small beige blanket, and he snorted sluggishly in response. Nothing about having his sleep disrupted was exciting, especially when he was dreaming about playing in the messiest mud puddle. He sniffed the smokey air and grunted as the woman continued to make her way through the busy train station. “Maybe we can find an even better house than our old one. It will have a bigger yard, and you can play in some mud made from dirt you’ve never played with before! Maybe I can change my name to something beautiful and mysterious, like Mariposa. You can get a new name too, if you’d like!” The woman continued to speak, suggesting different names for him as Chachis closed his eyes in an attempt to return to his heavenly dream from before. Unfortunately for him, the constant noise and frequent jerking from side to side as his owner pushed her way through the crowd made it impossible to return to his comfortable disposition.
The underarm of your delusional owner is nothing compared to your cozy little pile of hay at home. He eventually gave up on his efforts to sleep and kept his eyes on his owner, the woman named Irma. Despite all of her attempts to make this seem like a movie they’d watch together on her small television set, he could tell by the way her eyes darted from side to side that she was nervous. Sweat formed at the top of her forehead and each drop raced to see who could get to her chin first. Chachis lifted his head from his blanket to blow some air onto her face with his snout, which made the sweat drop from her chin and cause two dark dots to form on her messily wrapped headscarf. Chachis never really bothered to listen to the affairs of humans, but he knew this trip was the result of Irma getting caught by some eerie looking men, and that they needed to move out of their little farm home fast.
He drew his gaze away from Irma to stare at the crowd of people, making sure to squeal if he noticed any men in blue uniforms. As he kept his eyes peeled, he thought about their little farm house on the hill that contained so many of their belongings and memories. He would miss the sound his hooves made against the floor as he trotted along the hallways. He would miss staring at the frames hung on the wall that contained photos of family members now estranged to Irma. He would miss the porcelain figurines that rested upon the fireplace with their eyes that stared back, and he’d even miss the loud cuckoo clock that would chime every hour and make him jump with a clack of his hooves over its racket.
Chachis’ eyelids draped sadly over his little beady eyes as his mind wandered to the fate of the other animals that lived with him. Irma had to sell them to be able to have enough money for her and Chachis to escape from the eerie men; and as she sealed the deal with the butcher, the woman wept for her animals and bid them farewell. She kissed them as she removed the little ribbons she would tie around each of their necks. The ribbons served as markers for them, since Irma didn’t like the idea of tags, and she wanted to do something more imaginative and special for her animals. Chachis also had a ribbon of his own still currently tied around his chubby neck. His ribbon was red and belonged to an old dress Irma wore when she was five years old. It was her favorite dress growing up, and she decided a part of it would now decorate her favorite pet.
Chachis once took pride in being Irma’s favorite, but he began to wonder if being favored really was as great as he initially thought. The sadness in his stomach grew as he silently wished he had been sold alongside his friends. Now, among the chaos of the train station, it was his turn to create his own fantasy to ease his nerves. A fantasy where he would lead his friends to freedom and take them on a journey to reunite with Irma in her new home, allowing them all to be together again. The thought soothed him, but his nerves rose again as he noticed two suspicious looking men staring at Irma and whispering to each other.
The pig grunted and squealed quietly, nudging his owner with his head in caution. She looked down at him as he continued to nudge and the direction pointed to her by his snout caused Irma to tilt her head slightly to catch a glimpse of the men. As soon as she saw them, she quickened her pace and shoved as hard as she could through the people in front of her. The men took their time as they snuck their way into the crowd to follow her. There was no urgency to their movement, almost as if they were certain that they would catch their target. Chachis turned his head to look at them and was terrified by how easily they maneuvered around the obstacles of people. The way their bodies seemed to slip through the cracks of the crowd reminded Chachis of the rattlesnake that once scared Irma half to death when it slithered around her room one summer’s morning.
The rattlesnake from that time meant her no harm, at least. But the same could not be said of the men following them. Even though Irma was getting through the crowd, the shoving and pushing still made it difficult for her to gain the amount of speed needed to make it to her train cart. An echoing voice came out of the speakers above them, telling everyone that the train was departing in five minutes. Chachis panicked as he noticed the men getting closer to him and Irma. He turned his head to face the people before them and did the only thing he could do. The pig took a deep breath and squealed loudly, remembering the noise the cuckoo clock back at home would make. The people in front of them jumped at the sound and turned to look at the animal, moving away as the noise it made hurt their ears.
Irma looked at Chachis with concern, asking the pig if he was alright. Chachis only squealed louder and pointed his snout forward, miming for Irma to keep going and not worry about him. Even though Irma was occasionally air headed, she understood the actions of her beloved pet and she moved forward. One by one, the people in their way began to move aside, covering their ears to block out the dreadful squealing of the pig. Chachis eyes were shut tightly as he squealed for what felt like years, only stopping when his owner’s lightly calloused hand was placed over his mouth. He looked at Irma and she smiled down at the creature with tears in her eyes. “It’s ok, Chachito. We made it!”
The pig opened his eyes and saw Irma was now seated. He moved his gaze towards the window and wiggled out of his owner’s arms to peek over it. His hooves rested against the glass as he saw the image of the slithering men standing behind a wall of people. They were staring furiously at them with their diamond shaped eyes. Something about the way they returned his gaze told Chachis they were not done with their chase. As the train continued to move, the men soon disappeared from his line of vision. The pig slid from the window back onto their seat and laid his body down next to Irma. He rested his chin on her lap, his snout sniffing at the orange peels the woman placed onto her left thigh as she prepared a snack. Irma draped the pig with his blanket once more, and thanked him for his bravery by offering him a small piece of orange. Chachis took the fruit, finally being able to get comfortable again.
This adventure was far from over, but Chachis knew he had an important role in taking care of his owner. She was only trying to do what was right, even if her way of doing it made her intentions seem dubious. His eyelids began to droop as the movement of the train lulled him, and sure enough, Chachis returned to his dreams of mud and sunshine as the train took them to their next destination.