Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you; it was entirely my fault: funky computer issues easily solved when I thought about it for a nano-second. Frustrating but here we are. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Chapter 11 Heart of November
««« Hairball Returns to Sadness »»»
She watched him unload his two suitcases as he struggled out of the rain. She knew he scored a few books. Books she was sure she would never read, but that somebody might want to buy. She doubted he would sell them at a profit. He never made money selling his ‘finds.’
“Hey,” he said as he rushed into their house. “Miss me?” As soon as the words slipped from his lips he knew he didn’t want to hear the answer; he knew the answer. But he grabbed her in a big hug.
“Hey,” she protested, “you’re wet.”
“Comes with the rain. I’m hungry. Want to go out for a bite?”
“Didn’t you eat on the plane?”
He hung his jacket on the loose hook – he meant to fix it – by the front door. He felt, sadly and inevitably, that he should put his jacket back on, crawl into his car, and scurry away, drive off, disappear. Become invisible in her life. Instead, he shook the water out of his hair, looked at her with a smile and said, “Nope. But I can buy you a drink while I eat.”
“Go out in this rain? Only crazy people do that. Come on. I can find you something in the kitchen.”
He nodded, and followed. “I met a duke, I think. Or a count.”
“Like Count Chocula?”
Her humor brought him back to realizing why he didn’t want to leave. “Not as sophisticated. Sir Clive. How English can that be, ya know? And Lord Bringhurst. But I was super busy.” He added how busy he was so she wouldn’t be upset that she didn’t go. He didn’t say he was super busy having drinks with Sir Clive and Lord Bringhurst and later having dinner with Sir Clive in his castle.
“I brought you a souvenir,” he said as he pulled the wrapped package out of his bag. He walked into the kitchen and handed it to her.
She looked at it without examining it. She rummaged around in the refrigerator. “What is it?”
“You have to open it, silly.”
She pulled a leftover slice of ham, a couple of eggs, and some processed cheese. She looked at her souvenir again. “Wine? From England?”
He put the souvenir on the table and sat down. He thought of the excitement of the auction; the pleasure of being served in a castle; the discovery that he was known as a astute buyer of antique books. He smiled as she broke the eggs into the dented frying pan, her back turned to him and the present he brought her.
“It’s wine, but not from England.”
“You went to France?”
He watched her cook. “Nope. Did you know Sir Clive has a book made of human skin in his library?”
“Why would I know that? Besides, that’s… gross, ya know.”
“It was his great-grandfather’s last wish.”
“Eww, that’s even worse. Imagine have grandpa’s skin in your living room?”
“But this,” he pointed at the wine, “is from his wine cellar.”
She turned around with his fried ham and eggs drizzled with cheese. “I hope he didn’t wrap it in grandma. Here ya go.”
««« Amelia Leads; Hairball Follows »»»
“To the hotel!” Amelia yelled.
They ran though the streets with their stolen AK-47s.
“We gotta get out of town!” Sakombí yelled back. “Joseph finds out what we did, we’re dead meat.”
“Wait!” Kurtz whimpered as he limped after them. “Wait for me!”
They ran past shops and cars. They rushed through crowds of shoppers and festival-goers. They frightened survivors of the last war. They didn’t stop until they got to Kurtz’ hotel.
Amelia hurried to the front desk.
“312,” she ordered.
The clerk spun around and grabbed the room key. He handed it to her and stepped back.
“Thanks,” she smiled and lead Hairball and Sakombí to the elevators. “That was quick. I was expecting him to complain about me not being Kurtz.”
“That,” Sakombí said, pointing at her AK-47, “probably had something to do with it.”
She jammed the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She ran to the bed, grabbed her clothes, and shoved them in her backpack.
“We can drive to Rwanda,” Hairball said. “It’s just over there.”
“Or take a taxi,” Sakombí added.
“Yeah. From there we can fly to… wherever we want to go.”
“I’m from here. I want to stay here,” Sakombí complained. “Besides, I don’t have a passport.”
“I wanna get off this fucking continent,” Amelia stated. “But…” she added.
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. Uh, I heard that fat Tipper talking.”
“About?” Sakombí said, fearing the answer.
“Got a map of Goma?”
Hairball clicked his Google Earth app and showed it to her. She enlarged the map until it showed a small street three hundred meters behind the hotel.
“Here,” she said. “This is it.” She hit street view and showed Hairball and Sakombí. “Grey. Black door. No windows. That graffiti.”
“It doesn’t look inviting. What is it?” Hairball asked.
Amelia stared at the street view picture. She looked at Sakombí.
“It’s one of Tip’s places, isn’t it?” Sakombí answered.
Amelia nodded.
“Oh, crap,” Hairball said. “You want to rescue somebody?”
“No,” she handed the iPhone back to Hairball. “I want to rescue everybody.”
“We…”
“You don’t know what they’re going through!” Amelia screamed.
Hairball studied her. She was not the happy hitchhiker he first met in Kinshasa. “No, I don’t,” he said. “But I want to save them, too. James?”
“Yeah,” Sakombí agreed. “Might as well wear out my welcome completely, ya know.”
Someone knocked on the door.
All three grabbed their rifles and aimed.
Hairball and Sakombí inched to the side of the door. Amelia stepped toward it.
Hairball signaled to Amelia.
“Who is it?” Amelia asked in as cheerful voice as she could muster.
“Me, damn it. Open up,” Kurtz argued.
“Are you alone?”
“Of course I’m alone, you stupid bitch! You left me to die!”
Skombí grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open.
Kurtz was greeted with Amelia. Her rifle at his head.
“I, uh, I… Hi.”
“Well, look who’s here,” Amelia muttered, but kept the rifle barrel on Kurtz’s face.
“I… I…”
“Come in,” Hairball ordered, his rifle still pointed at Kurtz.
Sakombí grabbed Kurtz by the wrist and yanked him in to the room. He stumbled and fell at Amelia’s feet.
He looked up. He saw an AK-47 rifle barrel staring at him and behind it, an angry Australian.
“I can explain!”
“Explaining’s the easy part,” Sakombí said. “You lusted after money.”
“And me,” Amelia growled. She brought the butt of her rifle down on Kurtz’s face.
“N… ” he managed to say before the room went dark.
Hairball watched Sakombí stare out the window, his rifle at the ready. He looked at Kurtz, tied up on the floor. “You’re going to help us.”
“Who?” Amelia asked. She sat backwards on the only wooden chair. Her rifle pointed at Kurtz’ groin.
“Them. Both of them.”
“That’s what you said last time and look. Still here.” Hairball walked behind Kurtz.
“Unfortunately,” Amelia said.
“You’re known. They’ll let you in. Same as last time.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“That,” Hairball said, “is a risk we’re willing to take.”
“I won’t. I won’t help you.” Kurtz struggled against the ropes around his wrists.
Amelia sprang off the chair and drove her hand into Kurtz’s throat as fast as a cheetah.
“Die here. Or die there. Your choice, pimp-boy,” she spit in his face. She released him and he collapsed to the dirty floor.
“Okay, okay, okay. But, water? Or beer or somethin’ to drink?”
Hairball looked at Kurtz. He stood over him, his rifle pointed down at his head. “You want us to feed you, too?”
“Just… Thirsty, man, ya know?”
“Yeah. Poor baby.” Hairball walked away.
Amelia sat on the chair, pointed her rifle at Kurtz, and sighed. “Anything?”
“No movement, yet,” Sakombí said. He brushed sweat off his forehead and continued looking out the window.
Hairball walked back into the room with four beers. He handed one to Sakombí and Amelia. He kept one for himself and waved the other at Kurtz.
“Here’s the plan. Butthead here knocks on the door. We three hide outta sight. They open the door. We rush in. Butthead gets ’em to tell us where the women are. We take ’em, get in a car, and run for the border.”
“You’re all gonna get killed, ya know.”
“You first, pimp-boy.”
“Great plan. Jesus, it’s the same as the last one.”
“Yeah,” Hairball said and handed him a beer. “We’re all pretty much one trick ponies. Finish that and we go.”
Kurtz stared at the beer. With his hands tied, he had no way of opening, holding it, or drinking it.
“A little help?” he complained.
Amelia and Hairball stared at him. Sakombí didn’t turn from the window. No one moved to help him.
Lit Fic #19 Heart of November Ch. 11
Lit Fic #19 Heart of November Ch. 11
Lit Fic #19 Heart of November Ch. 11
Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter to you; it was entirely my fault: funky computer issues easily solved when I thought about it for a nano-second. Frustrating but here we are. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Chapter 11 Heart of November
««« Hairball Returns to Sadness »»»
She watched him unload his two suitcases as he struggled out of the rain. She knew he scored a few books. Books she was sure she would never read, but that somebody might want to buy. She doubted he would sell them at a profit. He never made money selling his ‘finds.’
“Hey,” he said as he rushed into their house. “Miss me?” As soon as the words slipped from his lips he knew he didn’t want to hear the answer; he knew the answer. But he grabbed her in a big hug.
“Hey,” she protested, “you’re wet.”
“Comes with the rain. I’m hungry. Want to go out for a bite?”
“Didn’t you eat on the plane?”
He hung his jacket on the loose hook – he meant to fix it – by the front door. He felt, sadly and inevitably, that he should put his jacket back on, crawl into his car, and scurry away, drive off, disappear. Become invisible in her life. Instead, he shook the water out of his hair, looked at her with a smile and said, “Nope. But I can buy you a drink while I eat.”
“Go out in this rain? Only crazy people do that. Come on. I can find you something in the kitchen.”
He nodded, and followed. “I met a duke, I think. Or a count.”
“Like Count Chocula?”
Her humor brought him back to realizing why he didn’t want to leave. “Not as sophisticated. Sir Clive. How English can that be, ya know? And Lord Bringhurst. But I was super busy.” He added how busy he was so she wouldn’t be upset that she didn’t go. He didn’t say he was super busy having drinks with Sir Clive and Lord Bringhurst and later having dinner with Sir Clive in his castle.
“I brought you a souvenir,” he said as he pulled the wrapped package out of his bag. He walked into the kitchen and handed it to her.
She looked at it without examining it. She rummaged around in the refrigerator. “What is it?”
“You have to open it, silly.”
She pulled a leftover slice of ham, a couple of eggs, and some processed cheese. She looked at her souvenir again. “Wine? From England?”
He put the souvenir on the table and sat down. He thought of the excitement of the auction; the pleasure of being served in a castle; the discovery that he was known as a astute buyer of antique books. He smiled as she broke the eggs into the dented frying pan, her back turned to him and the present he brought her.
“It’s wine, but not from England.”
“You went to France?”
He watched her cook. “Nope. Did you know Sir Clive has a book made of human skin in his library?”
“Why would I know that? Besides, that’s… gross, ya know.”
“It was his great-grandfather’s last wish.”
“Eww, that’s even worse. Imagine have grandpa’s skin in your living room?”
“But this,” he pointed at the wine, “is from his wine cellar.”
She turned around with his fried ham and eggs drizzled with cheese. “I hope he didn’t wrap it in grandma. Here ya go.”
««« Amelia Leads; Hairball Follows »»»
“To the hotel!” Amelia yelled.
They ran though the streets with their stolen AK-47s.
“We gotta get out of town!” Sakombí yelled back. “Joseph finds out what we did, we’re dead meat.”
“Wait!” Kurtz whimpered as he limped after them. “Wait for me!”
They ran past shops and cars. They rushed through crowds of shoppers and festival-goers. They frightened survivors of the last war. They didn’t stop until they got to Kurtz’ hotel.
Amelia hurried to the front desk.
“312,” she ordered.
The clerk spun around and grabbed the room key. He handed it to her and stepped back.
“Thanks,” she smiled and lead Hairball and Sakombí to the elevators. “That was quick. I was expecting him to complain about me not being Kurtz.”
“That,” Sakombí said, pointing at her AK-47, “probably had something to do with it.”
She jammed the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She ran to the bed, grabbed her clothes, and shoved them in her backpack.
“We can drive to Rwanda,” Hairball said. “It’s just over there.”
“Or take a taxi,” Sakombí added.
“Yeah. From there we can fly to… wherever we want to go.”
“I’m from here. I want to stay here,” Sakombí complained. “Besides, I don’t have a passport.”
“I wanna get off this fucking continent,” Amelia stated. “But…” she added.
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah. Uh, I heard that fat Tipper talking.”
“About?” Sakombí said, fearing the answer.
“Got a map of Goma?”
Hairball clicked his Google Earth app and showed it to her. She enlarged the map until it showed a small street three hundred meters behind the hotel.
“Here,” she said. “This is it.” She hit street view and showed Hairball and Sakombí. “Grey. Black door. No windows. That graffiti.”
“It doesn’t look inviting. What is it?” Hairball asked.
Amelia stared at the street view picture. She looked at Sakombí.
“It’s one of Tip’s places, isn’t it?” Sakombí answered.
Amelia nodded.
“Oh, crap,” Hairball said. “You want to rescue somebody?”
“No,” she handed the iPhone back to Hairball. “I want to rescue everybody.”
“We…”
“You don’t know what they’re going through!” Amelia screamed.
Hairball studied her. She was not the happy hitchhiker he first met in Kinshasa. “No, I don’t,” he said. “But I want to save them, too. James?”
“Yeah,” Sakombí agreed. “Might as well wear out my welcome completely, ya know.”
Someone knocked on the door.
All three grabbed their rifles and aimed.
Hairball and Sakombí inched to the side of the door. Amelia stepped toward it.
Hairball signaled to Amelia.
“Who is it?” Amelia asked in as cheerful voice as she could muster.
“Me, damn it. Open up,” Kurtz argued.
“Are you alone?”
“Of course I’m alone, you stupid bitch! You left me to die!”
Skombí grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open.
Kurtz was greeted with Amelia. Her rifle at his head.
“I, uh, I… Hi.”
“Well, look who’s here,” Amelia muttered, but kept the rifle barrel on Kurtz’s face.
“I… I…”
“Come in,” Hairball ordered, his rifle still pointed at Kurtz.
Sakombí grabbed Kurtz by the wrist and yanked him in to the room. He stumbled and fell at Amelia’s feet.
He looked up. He saw an AK-47 rifle barrel staring at him and behind it, an angry Australian.
“I can explain!”
“Explaining’s the easy part,” Sakombí said. “You lusted after money.”
“And me,” Amelia growled. She brought the butt of her rifle down on Kurtz’s face.
“N… ” he managed to say before the room went dark.
Hairball watched Sakombí stare out the window, his rifle at the ready. He looked at Kurtz, tied up on the floor. “You’re going to help us.”
“No, no. Nope, nope. Sorry. Can’t. He’ll kill me. ”
“Who?” Amelia asked. She sat backwards on the only wooden chair. Her rifle pointed at Kurtz’ groin.
“Them. Both of them.”
“That’s what you said last time and look. Still here.” Hairball walked behind Kurtz.
“Unfortunately,” Amelia said.
“You’re known. They’ll let you in. Same as last time.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“That,” Hairball said, “is a risk we’re willing to take.”
“I won’t. I won’t help you.” Kurtz struggled against the ropes around his wrists.
Amelia sprang off the chair and drove her hand into Kurtz’s throat as fast as a cheetah.
“Die here. Or die there. Your choice, pimp-boy,” she spit in his face. She released him and he collapsed to the dirty floor.
“Okay, okay, okay. But, water? Or beer or somethin’ to drink?”
Hairball looked at Kurtz. He stood over him, his rifle pointed down at his head. “You want us to feed you, too?”
“Just… Thirsty, man, ya know?”
“Yeah. Poor baby.” Hairball walked away.
Amelia sat on the chair, pointed her rifle at Kurtz, and sighed. “Anything?”
“No movement, yet,” Sakombí said. He brushed sweat off his forehead and continued looking out the window.
Hairball walked back into the room with four beers. He handed one to Sakombí and Amelia. He kept one for himself and waved the other at Kurtz.
“Here’s the plan. Butthead here knocks on the door. We three hide outta sight. They open the door. We rush in. Butthead gets ’em to tell us where the women are. We take ’em, get in a car, and run for the border.”
“You’re all gonna get killed, ya know.”
“You first, pimp-boy.”
“Great plan. Jesus, it’s the same as the last one.”
“Yeah,” Hairball said and handed him a beer. “We’re all pretty much one trick ponies. Finish that and we go.”
Kurtz stared at the beer. With his hands tied, he had no way of opening, holding it, or drinking it.
“A little help?” he complained.
Amelia and Hairball stared at him. Sakombí didn’t turn from the window. No one moved to help him.
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