Young Writers Society

The ancient wooden fan creaked and groaned as it turned slowly overhead, doing little to relieve any of the stifling heat of the little office. Papers were strewn across many desks, scattered across the floor, crumpled pieces filling waste baskets and littering the floor around them.

A young man was bent over a rickety table, his brown hair plastered to his sweaty brow, poring over a paper. Suddenly he straightened and snatched the paper and leafed through a file folder, before grabbing several more papers and springing from his chair. He crossed the room in several long strides and rounded the corner into a smaller office.

“Mr. Patterson! Mr. Pat—oh, there you are.” He stopped, narrowly avoiding a collision.

A short, plump, middle-aged man crammed a fedora on his balding head. His face was flushed red, as it usually was, and his hairless chin and cheeks shone in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the dirty window to his left.

He smiled, bobbing his head. “Thomas, my boy, what is it?”

“I-I found it! I found where Hekla is—”

“Operating from—” The man cut in eagerly, nodding.

“Yeah, it’s gotta be—”

“Kalar, I know.”

The boy stopped, blinking excitedly. A moment later a broad grin broke across his face. “This means we can get some film—”

“We’ll put him away for—”

“Be local heroes—”

“Probably get a reward—”

“And of course all the girls admire bravery—”

If there was any man who talked more than Thomas, it was Mr. Patterson. Thomas’s younger sister always told him he should try silence, for once. She was a good sister, always willing to listen when he something weighed on his heart, but she wasn’t one for talking.

Mr. Patterson understood, though, and was never lacking a response. Few other people could stand to be around them for very long when they two of them got to talking, but it was just as well. They preferred each other’s company to most.

Mr. Patterson laughed and clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, lad. You’ll be quite the lady’s man when word gets out about this.”

“Right, let’s go.”

Mr. Patterson slid his thick, black framed glasses on. The glass magnified the size of his eyes, making them rather owlish. “Right, right, come on then. Have your film?”

Thomas tugged on the strap around his neck, pulling acamera from his back to his chest. He lifted it. “Plenty.”

“Good. Come on then.”

~~~

“You wait here.” Mr. Patterson readjusted his hat and nodded at Thomas nervously.

“W-what? No!” Thomas cried, his eyes wide, his usual good-humor absent. “I’m going.”

“No, no, I’m not putting you in harm’s way.”

“That’s absurd! I’m willing—”

“I know you are, but I promised I’d keep you safe.”

Thomas scoffed. “You promised my baby sister!”

Mr. Patterson lifted his eyebrows. “Well I, for one, am not going to get on your sister’s bad side. She made it very clear that you’re not to make yourself known to the Cartel.”

Thomas growled, irritated. “Come on! She’s not scary.”

“You speak for yourself. I’ve seen her fight.”

“She’s only seventeen.”

“And you’re only twenty.”

Thomas crossed his arms, slouching in the passenger side’s seat, glaring.

“Ah, the silent treatment, eh? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Thomas clenched his jaw and looked out the window.

Mr. Patterson chuckled. “I won’t be long.”

He got out of the car and strode through the dark street, toward the dingy bar on the corner.

~~~

“What did you find? Are we close? Did we get it right?” By the time Mr. Patterson returned a quarter hour later he was fully forgiven.

“We got it! He’s in the area! Now to find a motel, then set out first thing in the morning and—”

The two chattered excitedly until they spotted a tagged sign, red lights flashing “otel” under the name of the shabby motel. Mr. Patterson pulled into the parking lot and the two rented a small room near the back.

Thomas walked into the room and wrinkled his nose in disgust. There was a single, bare mattress on a metal frame in the corner, a scarred nightstand beside, a large, faded blood stain on the grimy yellow wallpaper.

“Well...it’s cheap...and it’s only for one night.”

Thomas nodded and walked over to the bed, moving the rough cotton blanket folded and set at the foot. The mattress and the pillow were both stained and lumpy. Thomas sat down; not even wanting to think what the stain on the wall paper was caused by.

He noticed a telephone on the bedside table and lifted the receiver. He nodded and sat it down. “At least the phone works.”

“Good, good, see? It’s not that bad.” Mr. Peterson kicked his shoes off and lay down on the mattress, tossing the pillow to the floor and balling up his jacket under his head.

Thomas lay back as well, resting his head on his right arm, his left wandering until finally finding a place to rest on his thin abdomen. Tall and lanky, the boy often found trouble when he tried to find a way to fold his limbs without interfering with anyone else. He closed his eyes, biting back a barrage of questions that he longed to ask.

~~~

“Run! Quickly now! Take these back to the hotel and ship them to someone, quickly!”

Thomas grabbed the roll of film that Mr. Patterson was pressing into his hands. He wanted to ask what was on the film, but something in Mr. Patterson’s manner was too urgent, too serious. “Who?”

“Anyone! Anywhere they’ll be safe. I’ve got everything we need, but I think they saw me. Go!” Mr. Patterson hissed. “You can’t let them get it!”

“I won’t.” Thomas sprinted towards the local postal office.

By the time he arrived his face was flushed red and he was panting. He hurriedly ordered the Post Master to give him a large envelope, and shoved the film inside. He hesitated a moment before scribbling down his sister’s address in his scrawling handwriting and sliding the envelope across the counter, flinging money down.

The Post Master nodded and bid him a good day as he briskly strode from the Post Office and sprinted down the street.

~~~

“Hey, Christi, it’s Thomas...It’s, uh, I’m, uh...I can’t say. Mr. Patterson and I found some big stuff. They’ve taken him. I’m going to try and find him, but I’ll call you as soon as I have—hello? Damn it!” Thomas slammed the receiver down on the hook. The line was dead.

He stood and grabbed his satchel, before jerking his door open. He started out hurriedly, walking right into a fist that bent him double. He groaned and grabbed his stomach. A large hand rammed his head into the wall, putting a large hole in the dry wall, before a dark bag was jerked over his head.

A zip-tie tightened around his hands, binding them together, the hard plastic cutting into the flesh on his wrists. He whimpered. “W-who are you?”

A large hand landed on the back of his neck, and he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

~~~

“Si, I’m sure. He only said that his boss was taken, and that the fool was going to go look for him. The girl doesn’t know where he is, or what it is he saw.” The short, tanned man wrung his hat nervously, his eyes flicking from one man to the next.

A slender man nodded, his pale face a stark contrast to the naturally dark complexions of the men around him. He ran his fingers through his short, dark hair, his lips pressed together. “The package he tried to send out?”

“Already burned,” the man assured him, his eyes wide.

“Very good...do you know what was on the film, Liam?”

“N-no sir,” the man shook his head emphatically.

“Good...you may go.”

Liam eagerly took the pardon and scampered from the smoke filled room. Hekla smiled and slid a cigarette between his lips. He had lots of questions he wanted to ask. He flicked his lighter and held it to the tip of the cigarette. “I think we’ll start with Mr. Patterson.”

I

The bottle slipped from a loose grasp and rolled across the bare wooden floor, losing what little liquid was left in it before it struck the trimming on the wall and came to a halt, unseen by anyone. The apartment creaked and groaned. It always did. It didn’t bother me as I slept.

I started at a loud banging at the door, spluttering, springing to my feet, muttering curses at being jerked from my dreams so violently. Not that my dreams were good. They weren’t. I blinked and shook my head. Ooh...I’ve got a headache.

My mouth was dry and my tongue felt thick. Blood was coursing through my temples viciously, repaying me for the toxins I dumped into it the night before. I blinked and rubbed my head, before groaning and rubbing my stomach. The banging at the door insisted.

“Go away.” I snapped, glaring at the door that dearly needed a fresh coat of paint.

“No,” a gruff voice barked.

I blinked, trying to place the voice. It sounded angry. I bit my lip. What did I do last night?

I glanced at my hand, at my battered knuckles, and cursed softly. All of my memories flooded back in one great rush, nearly drowning me with little snips and bits of my night. I drank...a lot. That much was obvious. I’d also fought... I cursed again.

“No one’s home?” I pulled the gun from the front of my jeans and racked the action, gently, quietly, as I moved towards the door.

The pounding resumed on my poor door, making it quaver, as if it might fall in. I carefully unlocked the door, noting, and mentally cursing myself for the fact, that my bolt lock wasn’t done up. I jerked the door open, jamming my gun into the abdomen of...

“A nice welcome your answering machine gives.” Deputy Lowry looked at me calmly with his piercing blue eyes, his right hand still extended towards the door.

I grimaced and pulled the gun away from his stomach. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, pulling the dull gray fabric taught over his toned abdomen, before releasing the tension and rubbing the spot my gun struck.

“May I come in?” He raised his eyebrows, looking past me into the tiny apartment I called home.

“You got a warrant?” I asked gruffly, leaning against the doorframe, holding the gun to my side.

“Probable cause, possession of an illegal weapon, illegal guardianship—take your pick. Do you really want to turn this into a search?”

I grunted and turned, shoving my pistol back into the front of my jeans. I strode across the room and sat down on my futon once more, gesturing at the chair opposite the coffee table from me. It had several gashes and cigarette burns on it, but it was sufficient seating.

Lowry walked through the doorway, closing the door firmly behind him, before striding across the floor, his boots making a hollow sound on the bare wood. He sat down in the chair, adjusting his cowboy hat on top his thick brown hair.

I crossed my arms, considering how I could best talk my way out of this mess. I didn’t have any idea what he was doing here—there were so many options—and me greeting him with a gun wasn’t a good start.

I often talked my way out of trouble, when it came to Deputy Lowry. He was one of the best sheriffs in the state, but seemed to have a weak spot in his heart for my tearful pleading. Besides, he seemed to like my company.

“Are you going to leave that damned gun there to mock me the whole time?”

I glanced up at him. He was gesturing at my belt, where my gun handle was sticking up, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. I grinned. He glared at me.

“I was thinking about it.” I pulled it from my belt, dropping the magazine from it, racking the action, and replacing the bullet in the clip. I jammed the clip into the gun and then slid the gun beneath the cushion. “There, that better?”

“Out of sight out of mind, isn’t that right?”

“Ideally,” I agreed.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you managed to get your hands on a gun at all.”

“Are you?” I asked, my eyes wide with mock interest and innocence.

“I am. What, with the president making such a big fuss about gun control and all that?”

“The only thing that all this talk is doing is earning the drugies more money.” I patted the futon beside my leg. “Not much else. Everyone who wants a gun still has one. It’s not like we got our aunties to give them to us before, as you well know.”

He nodded. “...Don’t suppose it would do much good confiscating it, then?”

I shrugged. “Only if you’ve some strange desire to make me go without supper for a few months, ‘til I can afford a new one. You know the prices were jacked with the regulations.”

He sighed and sat back, crossing his right leg over his left knee. “I let you get away with far too much.”

“And I love you for it.” I assured him.

He grunted. “...Do you know why I’m here?”

“Not exactly.” I sat back too, trying to act casual.

“Care to take any guesses?”

“Not exactly.” I ran my hand through my knotted blond hair.

He sighed again. “I didn’t think so...but could you at least give me a heads up of the things you do? I think I deserve to at least know what messes I can expect to have to clean up.”

I rolled my shoulders. “You’re adaptable. The mystery keeps you on your toes.”

“Austin Hick, mean anything to you?” Well, it sounds like Sherriff Lowry isn’t in the mood to play around with me today.

I flexed my hand, but quickly stilled it in my lap. “Nope, don’t have much use for him at all.”

He saw it. His eyes flicked to my lap, and rested on my cut knuckles. I covered my right hand with my left, which was slightly less battered, and shifted, looking at my own hands.

“I thought you were the lady I needed to visit.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re...” I met his icy gaze. “What does this Austin Hick have to do with me?”

“That’s what I’m wondering, Miss Devein. What business do you and Mr. Hick have together?”

I wet my lips. I couldn’t quite remember. I just remembered an argument, then him swinging a pool cue at my head, and the fight that progressed. “No business, at least that I know of.”

“Oh? So it’s a coincidence that he shows up in the ER one night, and I find you sleeping off a hangover the next morning with bloody knuckles, looking like hell?” He raised his eyebrows disbelievingly.

I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to defend myself, but instead I sighed. I fixed my glare on the coffee table, finding it easier to look at when I lied than Lowery. “Completely...and you’ve got a very flattering way of putting it.”

“He’s pretty beat up.”

I don’t exactly feel like a million bucks. “Oh? That’s too bad.”

“I see I’m not going to get any information out of you.”

I looked up to meet his gaze once more. “You never do.”

“Shall I arrest you today?” He sat up, scooting to the edge of his chair.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” I rubbed my face, yawning. “I had a late night.”

“I’m sure.” He stood. “You know, I really shouldn’t let you get off so easily. Underage drinking--”

“There’s not a drop of alcohol in this house.” I drank it all last night, before I went to the bar.

“No?”

“No.”

“I’m sure there’s not in the fridge, if you say so, but how about in your blood stream?” He raised his eyebrows, grinning as I opened my mouth to defend myself, but couldn’t. “That’s what I thought.”

I wrinkled my nose. He strode across the floor. I stood.

“I’m sure if I looked I’d find drug paraphernalia...” I glared at the tips of his boots. “Not even going to deny that?”

“Would it do any good? You always argue with me anyway.” I glanced at his face. His beard was scruffy. His boss wouldn’t like it, but I did. He was attractive when he didn’t shave. I kicked myself mentally. Idiot. You shouldn’t—you don’t, care how he wears his beard.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” I sighed.

“...Well, I would love to search the place and see what other charges I can rack up against you, but I’m a bit pressed for time.”

My nose twitched as I struggled to keep a straight face, my eyes wide in mock innocence. “As much fun as that sounds, I understand if your schedule’s too busy,” I answered sweetly.

“I might pencil you in tomorrow.”

“That’s good to know. I won’t be home.”

“I thought not...good day, Miss Devein. Try to refrain from abusing any more men, will you?”

“Of course...not.” I shut the door, winning the last word.

I heard him chuckle softly, and then listened to his footsteps receding. I locked the door and strode across the room, stretching, my vertebrae snapping and popping loudly. I sat on the edge of my futon, still folded up like a couch, and reached for my phone.

I fell backward, resting my head on the padding behind me. I didn’t feel good. I shouldn’t have drank so much. And I certainly shouldn’t have fought Austin. He’s a beast...I hope he doesn’t know where I live. I don’t feel like any callers today.

I lazily lifted my phone and scrolled through my text history. I’d been drunk-texting. I cursed myself and quickly scanned the messages. None of them were very bad. I shrugged it off and moved on to my missed calls.

There was one from out of the country. Tommy?

I quickly entered the voice mailbox and listened to the message.

“Hey, Christi, it’s Thomas...” He sounded scared. “It’s, uh, I’m, uh...I can’t say. Mr. Patterson and I found some big stuff. They’ve taken him. I’m going to try and find him, but I’ll call you as soon as I have—”

The rest of the message was lost to static. My heart sped up, and I sat straight up, as I listened to the message a second time. He was in trouble. I hurried into the kitchen and threw open the cupboard, grabbing the old cigar box sitting on its end within, dropping it on the counter. I flipped the lid open and pulled out two twenty dollar bills, folded them, and slid them into my back pocket.

I folded the remaining cash and walked into hallway, where I had a small pile of clothes. A few moments later I had all of my clothes and my back up pistol packed in a duffle bag, the bulk of my cash in a small zippered pouch, safely buried under all the clothes.

I threw the bag to my shoulder and half-ran back into the living room. I slid a lighter in a pocket, my pack of Marlboro reds finding a spot in my shirt pocket, and tucked my pistol into the back of my jeans. I flipped the back of my shirt, making sure it fully covered the pistol, and then grabbed my cell phone.

I thought of a moment. I needed to go south, to Macapá, where I knew Thomas was staying with his boss, a man by the name of Patterson. I bit my lip. It wouldn’t be easy to get through customs—me, an unaccompanied minor, trying to travel all the way to Brazil without a passport.

Carter. I knew the boy since I was little—his family lived across the street from mine when we were little, even ‘fore my daddy run off. His dad ran off before he was born. He understood me. I haven’t seen him in ages, though. Wonder if he’s still willing to do anything I ask...

He used to be. We used to be inseparable—but that was before he left to study aviation, become a pilot. We’d only hung out a few times since then; him being busy with his studies, me being busy trying to keep me and Thomas alive after momma died. But I’d talked to him a few months ago.

He told me that he was getting important in a little, private airport that specialized in overnight deliveries to neighboring countries. He bragged about his longest flight, all the way to Brazil. I nodded. He was exactly the person I needed to call. I dialed his number and walked into the bathroom.

I threw my personal items into my bag, roughly, and tossed the bag on the futon; Carter answered the phone.“Hello?”

“Hey! Carter!” I said. “It’s Christi.”

“Hey Christi, what’s up?”

“Oh, not much—just thought about you, on my way out for a visit. You at the airport?” I walked around my house, getting my stashes out of various places.

“Yeah, for now. I’m getting ready for a flight.”

“Oh, cool. Where you flying to?” I looked around my apartment. I was pretty sure I’d collected everything I owned.

“To a little country in northern Brazil.”

“Awesome. Perfect.” I threw a bag of pills, and a second, larger bag filled with weed in the bag.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll see you in a few.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

I zipped the bag, threw it on my shoulder, and left my apartment, locking it behind myself. I briskly strode down the hall, to number 13. I rapped on the door briskly. I waited a moment before knocking again—and the door was pulled open, just a crack, and a middle aged man peeked out at me.

“Let me in, Ronny.” I said gruffly.

He pulled the door open, and I strode through, closing the door behind myself. My eyes flicked across the plain interior, littered floor, and ripped upholstery. “Luella home?”

“No. But she’s going to be back soon.” He said nervously. “And you shouldn’t be here.”

“You asked me to get you pills.” I said, turning to face him. “Remember?”

He hesitated. “...Yeah, I r’member. How much?”

“A grand,” I said, unzipping my bag.

“A thousand dollars?” He hissed incredulously. “I don’t have—“

“You do too.” I cut him off sharply, striding towards his kitchen. “Even if Luella don’t know, you and I both are perfectly aware just how much cash you keep stuffed in that pouch behind the fridge.”

He drew a deep breath and sighed. “You better have good stuff—“

“I do—oxy, and I got you some weed too.” I threw both bags down on the dining table.

He looked at them hungrily for a long moment, and then nodded. “Okay.”

I stepped back and watched as he reached behind his refrigerator, grunting, and pulled out an old money pouch. He pulled out ten tattered hundred dollar bills, and resentfully handed them to me. I folded the bills between two fingers, and nodded, moving towards the door. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Yeah, it surely is—now go, before Luella comes home and finds you here. You know she don’t like you.”

I chuckled as he pushed me out the door. It wasn’t that Luella didn’t like me; it was that she was convinced that Ronny liked me a bit too much. I couldn’t say if that was true or not. All I knew was that Miss Luella had made some purchases off me in the past—even though she always threw a fit when she found out that Ronny bought anything. They were one messed up couple.

I strode down the hall briskly, down the steps, and finally out into the bright sunlight outside. I got in my old clunker and hit the ignition, quietly begging it to start. I grinned when the engine revved to life. Putting it in gear, I carefully maneuvered my unlicensed car out of town, through the suburbs, and finally out to the field the airport was in.

~~

“Hey, Carter, how you doing?” I asked, grinning, clapping him on the back as I walked up behind him.

“Oh, hey Christi.” He straightened, turning away from his plane to look at me. “What? I don’t even get a hug?”

“Of course you get a hug.” I answered brightly. “I was just waiting to be invited.”

“Well consider this your invitation.” He threw his arms around me in a bear hug and lifted me off the ground, squeezing me tightly. Giggling, though I could barely breathe, I returned the embrace.

He sat me on the ground and held me at arm’s length to look at me. “How’ve you been? Good?”

“Heck yeah; living like a rock star.” I grinned. “How ‘bout yourself?”

“Working, like a broke man.”

I chuckled, glancing at his plane. “Well that’s okay too.”

“What is that?”

“What is—” I cringed as he gently touched the bruise on my cheek. “Oh, that? It’s nothing.”

“Have you been fighting again?” He asked tersely.

“Er, yes and no.”

“Yes and no?” He repeated flatly. “How can you fight and not fight at the same time?”

“Well...I fought, but it wasn’t my fault this time.” He scoffed. “But that’s not important. How are you getting on? Your bosses nice?”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and looked at m a long moment, before his expression softened. He patted the ancient plane proudly. “I’m good. Been good.”

“Good. That’s great! This that plane you were talking about getting?” I asked, nodding toward the plane he was obviously so proud of.

“Yeah! It is. Isn’t she a beaut—why?” He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“Just asking. It’s a really nice—”

“I know that face. No. Absolutely not. Not happening, ever.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked innocently, putting on my sweetest expression. “I didn’t ask for anything from you.”

“Yet. You didn’t ask for anything yet.”

“Oh, pft, come on. You know me.” I rubbed his arm.

“Exactly. I know you. I know your game—you’re going to try to get me softened up, then—no.” He pulled his arm away.

“Oh, come on.” I goaded, batting my eyelashes. “Give me a chance.”

“A chance?” He asked incredulously. “A chance to what? Charm me, so I can’t say ‘no’?”

Precisely. “No. A chance to—”

“Just tell me what you want. No charm. No eyelashes. Just the straight up truth.”

“Well...”

“Christi...” He said warningly.

“Just a quick lift.”

“No!” He took a step back, then quickly turned and walked around his plane.

“You won’t even notice I’m there.”

“Nope—‘cause you won’t be.” He grabbed a rag and began polishing gauges.

“Please?”

“No.” He stopped polishing moment to look at me exasperatedly.

~~~

Half an hour later I was wedged between a sack of potatoes and my duffle bag; listening to the engines roar outside the craft. I held on to the railing tightly and closed my eyes as we zoomed down the runway and leapt into the sky, my stomach lurching, heart racing. It’s going to be a long ride.

~~~

The door to the plane was jerked open. Carter thrust his hand toward me, glancing over his shoulder nervously, then back at me. “Come on. Hurry now, ‘fore you’re seen.”

I threw my duffle toward the door and crawled out of the little nest I’d squirmed my myself down into. I took his hand and jumped out of the plane. “Thanks, man.”

“You owe me.”

“For sure.” I took my bag. “You’ve got my number if—“

“Yeah, yeah, just get out of here.” Carter said briskly.

A hug, a kiss, and a hissed admonishment to never ask for something like this again, and I was off. I started down the dusty road, toward Macapá. I’d made it to Brazil, and I couldn’t think of anything that would be able to stop me now.