Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass (5 page)

L
ulu,
her ears pinned to her fox-shaped head, barked as we
pulled into the driveway. She ran alongside the bike as I navigated to our
cabana. Dan stood on the veranda; warm yellow light pouring from our open door
backlit him. Blue barked and trotted over to us, joining Lulu by our side. My
heart squeezed at the thought that I was home.

Dan came
down the steps following Blue. The woman stayed glued to me even after I turned
off the engine. “Come on,” I said. “We’re here.”

She
raised her head off my back and looked at Dan who stood next to the bike, his
face a mask of concern. “Are you OK?” he asked,
as his eyes roamed over my face and down my body.

I
nodded. “Yes, we’re fine now.” I patted the woman’s hands. “Come
on.”

Her
fingers slowly unclenched and she gingerly climbed off the bike. Her legs
unsteady,
she almost fell but Dan caught her. She recoiled from him, bumping back into
me, holding the tatters of her shirt against her chest.

I
wrapped an arm around her, just managing to keep the bike up at the same time.
Dan quickly grabbed the handles. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Take
her inside.”

Climbing
off the bike with my arm around the woman wasn’t easy but I managed. As we
walked toward the cabana, Blue fell into an easy heel and Lulu circled us, her
ears pinned to her head with excitement. She barked and went to jump on the
woman but Blue blocked her with a growl. Lulu immediately backed off, her tail
between her legs.

“What’s
your name?” I asked as we stepped through the open door.

“Anita,”
she said. Her whole body was shaking as I sat her down on the bed. Dan followed
us in and stood by the door offering her some space.

“Get
her a glass of whisky,” I said.

Dan
complied, pulling the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon out of our closet and pouring
the woman a stiff drink. She took it with a hand that shook. “Go on,”
I said. “Drink it.” Dan looked at me and I nodded that yes, I’d like
a stiff one, too.

He
grabbed another glass off our bureau and poured me two fingers. As he did, our
guest drank hers down in gulps. When she lowered the glass there was a fire in
her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Feeling
better?” I asked.

She
nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Do
you want a shower?”

She
looked down at her torn, filthy shirt. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ve
got clothing you can borrow.” Dan handed me my drink and I took a big
swallow, relishing the whisky’s burn as I moved toward my dresser. When I
turned back with a clean towel, underwear, linen pants,
and a shirt, the woman’s chin was wobbling. “Come on,” I said,
taking her elbow gently. “You can have a good cry in the shower.” Her
eyes darted up to mine, brimming with tears and ringed in red. She sniffled. I
smiled at her. “It’s fine. Come on.” She followed me into the bathroom.
Placing the towel and clothing on the closed toilet lid I got the hot water
going.

“What’s
your name?” she asked as I turned to leave.

“Sydney,
Sydney Rye.”

“Thank
you,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

“You’re
welcome. I’ll see you outside. Take your time. There’s more whisky when you’re
ready.”

She gave
me a brave smile and I left.

Dan sat
on our bed, a fresh glass in his hand. “My
God,” he said. “What happened?”

I sat
down next to him. He put a hand on my bare thigh and squeezed. I leaned against
him and inhaled. He smelled like sunscreen and sea salt. “She was about to
be raped,” I said, keeping my eyes shut, staying
in the dark rapture of his scent. “I stopped them and we escaped.”

Dan
wrapped his arm around me and I cuddled closer into his
body. “I bet those guys look like shit right now,” he said into my
hair.

“You
know me too well. But I didn’t get them all. I lost a van and two guys on a
scooter.”

“What
do you mean ‘lost’?”

I just
shook my head thinking of the dark figures that chased us through the fields,
their faces obscured. Dan kissed my hair.

I heard
the shower turn off and sat up. “I should put some pants on.”

“Here,”
Dan leaned across the bed and handed me my sarong.

I looked
at it, the simple piece of cloth I’d worn almost every day for the last three
months. It was sun-stained, faded, and soft. I
shook my head. “I think I need real pants,” I said,
standing up and heading to my dresser.

“I’ll
admit I like the look,” Dan said behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and
he was staring at my ass.

“Dan!”

He
looked up at me. “What?” he said with a shrug. “You pull up on
that bike without pants on and wearing
a leather jacket, what do you want from me?”

I
laughed feeling something loosen in my chest as I pulled out a pair of jeans.
Slipping into them I said, “I guess that’s sweet.”

“Damn
straight it is,” Dan said, standing up. He wrapped
his arms around my waist and kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry about
earlier.”

“Yeah,
me too,” I said.

“Let’s
not do that, OK?”

“Do
what?”

“Fight,
you know, couple stuff. Let’s not.”

I
grinned up at him. “You read my mind.”

He
leaned in for a kiss but the squeak of the bathroom door broke his attention
from my lips.

Anita
stood in the doorway, steam floating around her. Her long black hair was combed
straight. My teal blue linen shirt was a little snug but fit her well enough.
She’d had to roll the cuffs of my pants and they hung loosely around her hips.
Anita held her ruined top and my jeans in her hands. The bruises on her face
looked painful and raw.

“Here,
I’ll take those,” I said, stepping around Dan. I
dropped the kurta into a plastic bag and put my jeans in
the laundry pile.

Dan
stepped toward the door, giving Anita as much space as he could in the small
hut. Noticing his move, Anita grimaced. “I’m
sorry,” she said, “for
reacting like that.”

“Please,
I totally understand,” Dan smiled at her.

“Sit
down,” I said. “We need to tend to your face.”

Anita
smiled painfully. “It does look quite awful, doesn’t it?”

“Here,”
I refilled her glass. “For the pain.”

She sat
on the bed and sipped at the whisky.

I got
our first aid kit out and rummaged around until I found the things I needed.
After dabbing sterile gauze with alcohol I reached out and held Anita’s chin
lightly, tilting it up into the light. They’d done a real number on her.
Anita’s left eye was cut at the eyebrow, her nose was swollen,
and crusted blood still clung around her nostrils. Her top lip was split open.

“Did
you lose any teeth?” I asked.

“No,”
she said,
looking up at me. Her eyes were almond shaped, a brown so rich they looked
black, with long eyelashes. When not beat up I bet she looked real pretty.

Gently I
cleaned the wounds, she winced against the pain. “Dan,” I said,
“grab
me some of the stuff we’ve been using on Blue.”

Dan
moved to the desk and grabbed the bottle of cream, handing it to me. I put a
little on a Q-tip and slathered it onto all of her open
wounds.

“Ice,”
I said. Dan went to the mini fridge and I heard the popping of cubes from their
tray. He wrapped them in a washcloth and handed the bundle to me.
“Here,” I said, placing the pack against her eyebrow first.
“Hold this there. Twenty minutes, then we’ll move it down to your
lips.”

She
nodded, reached up and held the cloth to her  face.

“Did
you know those guys?” I asked, stepping back and picking up my glass. Dan
refilled it and I leaned against the small desk, kicking my feet out in front
of me.

“Not
by name,” Anita said.

“You’re
British?” I asked.

She
shook her head. “No, but I was educated in England.”

“Terrible
weather,” I said.

She
smiled. “Yes, but much better justice.”

“Justice?”

Blue
came over from his bed bringing his bone with him. He sat next to Anita and
rested it on her thigh, looking up at her. “And who is this?” she
asked.

“That’s
Blue,” Dan answered. “He’s friendly, trying to make you feel better
by offering a bone.”

“What
a thoughtful fellow,” she said, the whisky helping her smile come easier
now.

“You
can pet him,” I said.

Resting
her glass on the bedside table, she reached out with her free hand and patted
his head. He scooted closer, leaning against her, still holding onto his bone.

“What
did you mean about justice?” I asked.

Anita
sighed and lowered the ice from her face. “I guess I should start from the
beginning. I’m an investigative reporter on assignment with a French magazine,
Something
.”

Dan
nodded. “I know it.”

I’d
never heard of it but I didn’t like the sound of it. I liked my privacy and
here I was face-to-face
with a professional storyteller.

“What
was the article?” I asked.

“I’m
working on a book.” She shook her head. “I’m
sorry, this is coming out as a jumble.”

“It’s
OK,”
I assured her. “Take your time.”

Placing
the ice pack on the bedside table she picked up her whisky again and sipped
from it. “You wouldn’t have a smoke, would
you?”

“Sure,”
Dan said. “Tobacco or other?”

She
smiled and I saw her shoulders relax. “Both would be lovely.”

“No
problem,” Dan said moving toward the desk. I shifted out of his way. Dan
opened a drawer and pulled out a cigarette, leaned over and handed it to Anita.
“Do you mind smoking it outside?” he asked.

“Of
course not,” she said rising.

“I’d
keep that ice on a little longer,” I said. “I don’t know how many
times you’ve had your ass kicked,
but without that ice pack it’s going to be a lot worse in the morning.”

Anita
turned back to the washcloth and picked it up. “Thanks again,” she
said,
turning to me. Anita stared at me for a long moment and then asked, “Who
are you?”

“I
told you,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “My
name is Sydney Rye.”

“Yes,
but you are not just some tourist. You’re-” Her voice faltered. “I
don’t know. You’re not police,” she said, her intelligent eyes roving over
my face, down to my hands which lightly held my almost empty glass. “But
you’re something,” she said.

“That
she is,” Dan said, not raising his head from the joint he was rolling.

“I’ve
had some training,” I said. “But I’m retired.”

“Retired
from what?”

Anita
looked like a reporter now; even with the ice pack
pressed over her left eye, I could see the unquenchable curiosity coursing
through her. The smell of hash floated through the room as Dan heated it up,
crumbling it into the tobacco.

I smiled
at Anita. “Let’s go outside so you can smoke that cigarette.” She
opened her mouth to speak but I hardened my eyes. “Don’t push it,” I
said quietly.

She
swallowed, blood draining from her face. “I’m sorry, of course, I owe you
my life. Please forgive me.”

“Sure.
I don’t think you need to tell anyone about me though, do you?”

Her
mouth gaped. I opened the door and stepped out on the veranda. She followed
silently taking a seat on the bench by the door while I sat on the wooden
swing. A cool breeze came off the water and I was happy for my leather jacket.

Anita
leaned forward and lit her cigarette off a candle burning on the coffee table.
She leaned back and exhaled a plume of
smoke with a throaty sigh. “I gave these up, you know?” she said,
turning to me.

“Doesn’t
look like it to me,” I said.

She
laughed and finished off the last of her drink. “Tonight the chances of
dying of lung cancer seem far off.”

“Will
they come after you?”

Her hand
trembled slightly as she raised the cigarette back to her mouth. “I think
so,” she said. “He knows who I am now.”

“Who?”

“Kalpesh
Shah.”

“Who?”
Dan asked, standing in the doorway.

Anita
swiveled her head to look back at him. “A very powerful, dangerous, and
evil man.”

“Evil?”
Dan asked.

I stood
up and brushed past him to grab the bottle of whisky. I was going to need more
of it if we were going to talk about good and evil. When I stepped back out Dan
was swaying gently in the swing, smoke from the joint following his slow
movements back and forth. He smiled at me and passed it over. I handed him the
bottle. He leaned over and refilled Anita’s glass.

I took a
long drag off the joint, loving the taste of toasted tobacco and hash mixing
with the whisky fumes in my mouth. I leaned forward and passed her the joint.
“Tell me about him.”

Anita
took the joint and inhaled, letting the smoke out in a plume
that floated over the candle and dissipated into the night. “Kalpesh Shah
is from one of the most powerful families in Gujarat,” Anita began.
“His parents died when he was sixteen leaving him a great fortune in the
care of his uncle, Anand Shah.” She took another
drag off the joint. “A hard man, Anand beat Kalpesh and made his life a
living hell.” Anita leaned forward and passed the joint to Dan.
“There is a scar on Kalpesh’s face that runs from his temple to his
jaw,” she ran a finger down the side of her face. “The story is that
Anand cut him with a broken beer bottle. I don’t know if Anand molested
Kalpesh, but I wouldn’t be surprised considering his proclivities now. Anand
raised the boy in his own image.”

I felt a
chill run down my spine. “Nurture,” I mumbled.

“What?”
Dan asked, leaning closer to me.

I shook
my head then reached over and refilled my whisky glass taking a long sip,
feeling the warmth in my belly. The hash and the whisky made my thoughts
deeper, wider, they reached far and appeared rich,
picturing the scarred boy and his terrifying uncle.