my hands did not shake. i knew great fear but no external signs betrayed me.
i felt safe because i knew that she needed me to go to the airport and "pick
up her bags" again. i never felt anxious doing this; if i got caught doing
something illegal, i intended to blame it all on her, throw her to the mercy
of whatever dogs would bite. of course, i would be done as some kind of
accessory, but i hoped that after meeting her, they would understand the
fear i felt. the fear we all felt. it was an environment of fear.
as i got out of the car and walked up the long driveway to the house she
lived in courtesy of her rich Yakuza father i tried breathing slowly, the
ground-and-centre-thing, repeating to myself over and over: all i had to do
was get the claim ticket, go get her bags, bring them back, get paid and get
out. i could do this. the most dangerous parts were the beginning and the
end, where i had to deal with her.
i spent ten minutes looking for her. the recently cleaned living room was
deserted, as was the back patio and the upstairs "media room". perhaps they
were playing "murder in the dark".
i found her in the rear lounge, sitting in a large wicker "Morticia Addams"
chair cross-legged, reading a phone-book-thick volume of Japanese comics.
the Unseen Girl[1] crouched at her feet, her hands cuffed behind her back. i
made enough noise coming in for them to hear me, but Siaoubo waited until
she'd finished reading before she looked up at me and scowled.
"I hope you're not going to give me as much shit as the others," she warned.
what could i say in response which might be safe? i'd once heard one of her
other minions reply to this along the lines of "i am not here to give shit,
but to take it". she'd ordered his head dunked in the cesspit. i decided on
as minimal an exchange as possible; get the orders and then get away. "i
await your orders."
she paused and gave me a suspicious look but decided not to press the issue,
thank the goddess. talking to her was like playing russian roulette; the
longer it went on, the greater a chance there was of someone being shot. she
held out two folded sheets of paper; claim forms for her luggage. "you know
where to go?" i nodded. "bring the cases back here. if anyone asks, it's
your girlfriend's underwear, okay?" i nodded again. "go now,' she muttered
and returned to her reading, propping her feet up on Unseen's back. under
similar circumstances i had once winked at Unseen, and Siaoubo had caught
me. a few days after that i'd been visiting Elizabeth Reid-Steere; she
noticed the bruises on my face and asked me "why don't you leave her?"
well, i would. but would she leave me?
unevenful drive to the airport. as usual, got lost around the city exit to
the freeway and drove past the zoo twice. there were no convenient parking
spaces when i got there; had to walk miles to the baggage claim area. two
heavy-looking expensive black aramite suitcases. they ran them through the
x-ray machine, weren't happy with the results and wanted to open them for
examination. when i said i didn't have the keys, i could see the glint in
their eyes, and i knew i was fucked. i just stood there with all the
strength drained out of me as they used a skeleton key to open first one
case, then the other. instead of small bags of white powder, however, each
case contained underwear and sex-toys. full-on kinky stuff; garters,
strap-ons, padded cuffs, nylons, ball-gags and latex hoods. they tried to
look disgusted, but i knew they were more jaded than this. they apologised
and handed the cases over. i stole a baggage cart, dumped the briefcase that
was in it and lugged the suitcases over to my car. i let the baggage cart
roll off slowly downhill as i left.
they must have had someone following me. i was stopped on the way home by
the police and searched again. of course, they found nothing except kinky
underwear. they knew something was going on; they knew who these cases
belonged to and i could tell that they were itching to arrest me for some
reason, but they didn't have anything to pin on me. i was incredibly polite,
given the way they were behaving. i didn't give them an excuse.
i got back to her place and handed over the cases. she opened them both out
on the floor, found a pair of black leggings, took her underpants off and
put the leggings on, hitching the hem up under her skirt. she felt around
inside the crotch for a moment, then produced a handful of American bank
notes and handed them to me.
