Narcos…

Kch-thwack!

“Ah!”

She sounded like she had hurt herself. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that, at all. I slid the armloads of groceries onto the dining room table and rushed out the back door to find Si shaking out one hand, the other one occupied by an industrial staple gun. I frowned, confused, and then the rest of the scene caught up with my brain and I chuckled.

“You know, the screen gets stapled to the outside of the porch.”

She frowned slightly and shook her head, and I hung mine and lightly punched to door frame a couple times to keep from laughing at her. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“It’s true, and I got some ladders down in the garage. I was planning on making some improvements around here. Starting there seems like a good bet.”

She nodded and waved a hand at the open door, stepping down from the dining room chair she’d co-opted for her mission.

“Can’t get the electric up and running until the day after tomorrow; fuses had to be ordered, so we’re slumming it tonight. I grabbed some stuff that didn’t need to be refrigerated.”

She nodded and set down the staple gun on the porch railing, and I pushed the back door wider.

“Sorry, it’s gonna be hot sleeping, again tonight.”

She shrugged and went to the grocery bags and started to snoop. I watched her, my arms crossed, as she pulled oranges and then a jar of peanut butter out of the bag. It was getting dark out, but I realized she had thought of that already, setting the things she’d plucked from the bags down and lifting a tin of lamp fuel up from behind them.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked.

She pointed to the kitchen counter. There was a lantern and a couple of hurricane lamps she’d found somewhere.

“You wanna make sandwiches while I light these up?”

She nodded and went to the sink and turned it on. Nothing came out, and she shrugged.

“Ah, yeah. Need electricity for the water, we’re on a well out here.”

Her shoulders drooped and she wrinkled her nose.

“Sorry. We’ll get the screen up, I’ll get the truck running, and maybe we can wash up down by the river. Best I can figure for now. There’s a couple gallons of drinking water, at least.”

She peeked into the bag she hadn’t looked in yet and nodded, then turned, taking her spoils into the kitchen.

Well, all right, then. I guess we had our jobs to do.

She moved around the kitchen, quiet as a church mouse. I never really got that saying ‒ I mean, what made mice living in churches quieter than any other mice? I filled the two hurricane lamps and the one old-fashioned copper lantern she’d scared up from somewhere and got them lit.

I divided them up around the living quarters. One above the kitchen sink, one on the dining room table, and one on the rickety bedside table, which, admittedly, was probably a bad idea. I needed to shim that damn thing up.

“Watch that side table, it’s shaky as hell,” I warned her and she nodded, giving me a look like Thanks but, what would I be over there for?

I’d never looked at her long enough to realize just how expressive she was. Of course, I’d been playing the part of a good little street-rat foot-soldier, and I wouldn’t be caught dead lookin’ at the president’s ol’ lady. Now, though? No more games. No more disguises. I was just me, and she was just her.

She paused and gently set a plate with a peeled orange and a peanut butter sandwich on the table. I went over and took a seat and she set another one down in front of her. She looked self-conscious as she took a seat near mine, and I said, gently, “You don’t have to sit near me if you don’t want to.”

She startled and looked at me wide-eyed and innocent, but I could see right through it. It killed a part of me that she thought she had to do that with me, protect herself; try not to ruffle my feathers… I understood it, but it didn’t kill me any less.

“I’m serious, you’re not a prisoner here. You’re a witness, and I’m a cop. I’m here to keep us both alive. Bonus points that I get to fix this place up. There anything else you want to do other than the screen?”

She chewed a bite of her sandwich slowly, carefully, her eyes searching my face, trying to decide. She finally nodded, slowly, carefully, and I cocked my head.

Too fast, I had moved too fast, because she jumped slightly.

“What else?” I asked.

She shook her head, and I didn’t want to push it too much too fast, so I let it go for now.

“Okay, I’ll just get that screen up for now. When I go back into town, I’ll pick up some citronella candles.”

She waved her hand in front of me and I looked up. She got up from the table and went out the back door and to the end of the porch, just around the corner. She came back toting an apple crate that looked almost too heavy for her and I raised an eyebrow. I got up and took it from her, and she closed the back door behind her. I set it on the dining table on the last free corner and scowled down into it.

“What is this stuff?”

She pulled out a bottle and I held it out, squinting in the dimming light. “Citronella oil.”

She moves some things around to show me empty mason jars and a big ol’ block of wax.

“You want to make your own?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Do you know how?”

She nodded again.

“Let me guess, you need electricity.”

She waffled a hand back and forth and pointed down.

“There’s stuff in the garage?”

She nodded.

“Knock yourself out,” I told her. “Just grab my attention if you need any help or heavy lifting done.”

She cocked her head, and I smiled at her, chuckling.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

She smiled then, and it was almost as if a truce had been declared. We sat back down to finish our meal and I said, “You were busy when I was gone, huh?”

She nodded and a secret little Mona Lisa smile painted her lips. I liked it. I was hoping I’d get to see it more.

“Good deal,” I muttered. “Place could use a woman’s touch.”

She smiled a little bigger, but wouldn’t look at me. I was hoping if I let her boss me around some, turned her loose to go a little buck-wild on the place, that maybe, just maybe, it would relax her some. I didn’t deserve her trust, but I was hell-bent on trying to earn it.

There wasn’t much left to do after dinner. She put things away around the kitchen; I got a trash bag out from under the sink and packed away the shopping bags and some odds and ends she didn’t need that were in the bottom of the apple crate.

She was resourceful, I’d give her that. I’d also give anything to know her story. How she got with the likes of King in the first place.

I lay in bed that night, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating her back as she lay hunched and curled on the too-small couch. I’m telling you, it was a deep, satisfying pleasure just watching her shoulders rise and fall with her deep and even breathing. King had fucked up with his cruelty, and I couldn’t be happier about it. He could have just as easily made it quick, and blown her head off, which would have given me plenty to send him up for life, but wouldn’t have done anything for poor Si.

I still wrestled with my part in her suffering. I tried to justify it to my own mind, but I couldn’t. There was no justifying what I’d done to her, in pounding the nails home through her delicate hands, but it was either that, or one of the other guys would have. The guilt was a constricting thing that’d like to choke me, keeping me awake long into the night, until I simply got up with the first blush of dawn.

She wanted the porch screened, I could do that for her. It needed to be done anyway. I quietly went out the back and down to the garage to set up what I would need, letting her sleep as long as possible.

I figured at least one of us could use the rest.