Saturday, February 18, 2012

Finding Her (Muse 6 "Entropy Echoes, Alas")

Continued from Muse 5

The stress is getting to him. Rick's exhausted, holed up, and falling apart.  Living on Jack Daniels and toast for the past five days hasn't done him any good. It's not easy this psychic business. He's often asked "If you can see everything, how come you can't choose the lottery numbers or a winning horse?"

Fair question to most, but it's not like that. It's impressions, sensations, glimpses, echoes of their past and what they've done and felt. Nothing concrete, everything signposted and often deconstructed into chaotic vignettes. He can see Marique. He knows what she looks like but she's a broken down version of the truth. Elemental and pixellated. He stares at the melting ice cube in his JD...

"There you are elusive woman, melting yet solid. Drowning but filling the glass..."

It's his sixth today, and he's slurring his words; staggering between couch and fridge.

If he's really honest, he's falling in love with this feisty, yet naive young woman. He's fallen deeply in lust with her curves, her hair, her dark brown eyes. She's a good 15 years his junior but he can feel her strength, her integrity, her fear.  He can smell her sex, her skin, and it's been a long time between proverbial drinks for him. Of course he can see her move from chewing a sandal to kicking the dirt, fighting off a would-be aggressor and lately, he hasn't quite got a grasp on it, but she's dancing/playing/using her body in a way that's so vulnerable yet wildly scintillating, he wants to stop her freefall and watch her moves.  

This new man by her side, pushing his hand in her back, who is he? What does he want? Why is he a dark shadow in the corner of the room.  Rick's just about over it when he slides the backpack against the arm of the couch, allowing him to lay back and hopefully crash. It falls to the floor with his drunken jostling, its now familiar contents spilling underneath the coffee table. He focuses on the matching black lace bra and French knickers and imagines her undressing in front of him. How someone with such a rude pack and simple clothes has such luxurious lingerie has him curious. Instinct makes him hold each lacy piece to his nostrils, trying to breathe in her scent.  All he smells is the lingering of some forgotten fragrance, but it's late and he passes out. Not to sleep, but to dream of her. She's becoming less of a subject and more of a fantasy.

***

"What you got Morales?" Silverman's patience with traditional and psychic policing is losing ground. He feels like he's on a wild goose chase for a wild child, and his psychic's got nothing. Morales sits, his face says it all. 

"Nothin'.  Well nothing much. There was an incident in Miami but the trail's gone cold. Some dancer in a club down there shot the proprietor in the leg. A Colombian chick. Her 'associates' (and I use the term loosely) told Miami PD that she was there against her will and took off afterwards. She must have been in a hurry, she left her passport. Forged of course. Fucking Miami customs, they'll let anybody in. But the club owner? Known for 'importing' girls and putting them to work. "

"Our girl?" Silverman's interest mildy piqued, although cooperating with Miami PD is like pulling teeth and not something he wants to get involved with. 

"Who knows?  Timing seems kinda right but we need more from Thompson before we can say. Miami's a melting pot of Latinos. Could be anyone. One of the girls at the club said she'd been talking about moving west. It's a big fucking country sir and if someone wants to get lost, well Hell, they can get lost. If Thompson could give us a full name it might help. The passport said Marique Jimenez, probably not her real name."

"Marique?" Silverman becomes suddenly animated and alert. "That's her... shit Morales, that's her. The pack was found here. Some homeless dude had it in Va Nuys.  She's moved West alright."

Silverman fills Morales in on the conversation his old law school friend.  "Frankly, I wouldn't have tweaked if I hadn't had a call from an old associate.  Missing girl, member of the family. I just had this weird feeling that there might be a connection. There was a letter in the bag, very short, handwritten, no envelope...no name, just signed "Ammeh."

Morales is lost, "Ammeh? What the fuck is that?"

"Farsi for Aunty...not just any Aunt. It's you're father's sister....I know this particular Aunt. American born, living in Iran, her brother got some Colombian girl pregnant. The child's name....Marique. This girl had an Iranian father. It's got to be her. Get on it Morales. This is now personal."

***

Her passport holds, despite anxious moments and some suspicious stares. The customs officer looks Latino himself. Probably Cuban but she smiles and he visibly melts, and lets her through the gate. She's followed closely by Andrew Carter who's been her constant companion on the Sagittarius. He's tall, mature, sweet voiced and silver-tongued. He told her she was beautiful and that America was a land of promise. He'd stroked her hair and told her she's a stunner and would make an awesome model. His hands caressed her shoulders beneath cloudless nights. He'd even kissed her once or twice and left her wanting.

They've had time to talk. Plenty of time to talk. He's promised to help her settle. He's told her of a place he knows that's cheap and that he'll help her with furniture and clothes, and he's offered her a job. 

"Hey, you're young, attractive...you can wait tables yeh? Or dance Salsa perhaps?"

He didn't elucidate on the job and she's too star struck to ask. His eyes have her captivated, his hands filled with wonder about the potential of a relationship. Happy, filled with romantic love and joy in a country where everyone's free. Life is good and she's soaking it up.

She doesn't care. She has notes wrapped in rubber bands for emergencies, and a new life to begin. To top it all, he's charming, her saviour and nothing like that creep Lopez who's now looking at the world through an eye patch.  

This is her new start, her new man, her new life and the excitement overruns any fear or caution. Yes, for some naive reason, she trusts him. She shouldn't.

Muse 1 A Legacy of Smoke and Shadow

6 comments:

  1. OK, yes, that Siverman. I'm thinking this is too much of a coincidence...

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  2. wow this jumps around a lot, but i suspect it is intended. The insights of Rick combined with the police investigations, then the narration for Marique herself are telling quite a story, but i think there are some holes you could fill in with more description when time permits

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  3. Don't use parentheses within dialog. They make me sick.

    Va Nuys?

    This chapter is painfully expository, but you know this.

    I am liking the opening section of each chapter, though. It's a visual that works well.

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  4. I want to know more about Rick and I knew she was far too trusting! Shame on you for making Jeff sick :)! You know I am kidding, I hope!

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  5. "Living on Jack Daniels and toast for the past five days hasn't done him any good." Ohh, Rick, we have too much in common.

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