Earlier chapters

by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

Aisha was in her office on a call with Stacy Rookwood. Listening to he voicing incessant complaints about her husband's ongoing misbehavior. Aisha could do little but take notes to bolster her case for Hayden's incompetence. Aisha knew from experience that if she uttered a negative word about Stacy's husband, even in agreement, Stacy would instantly flip to his defense. This made her as impossible as Hayden. But Aisha saw her as a possible ally to keep close.
"Stacy, I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want me to do?" Aisha asked with a sigh.
"See to it he keeps his dick in his pants, and keep him away from the staff, obviously. Stacy slurred.
"I can't baby sit him all day, every day, even for you. I'm spending most of my time wrestling with unhappy syndicate members. Some of Hayden's latest deals have been a little problematic, I'm sure you've gotten the news. In addition to the market slowing this year. Has Hayden mentioned all the galleries that have closed, just in the last six months? It's a little schocking," I wish I could do more, I'm doing my best to keep an eye on the business, he's another story, have you considered a care person, or maybe a shrink?" Aisha held the receiver away from her ear and waited for the backlash.
I'm afraid it may be coming to that point," Stacy was weeping now. Probably drunk, Aisha assumed.
"I have to get to that meeting. Let's talk later," Aisha gave her a few encouraging words before hanging up.
"Shite, what's next?" Aisha muttered. Her intercom provided the answer,
"Call from Cece on one."
"Hello, Cece. How can I help you love? She tried to sound cheerful.
"Are you sitting down?"
"I am. Why?"
"I spoke to Rachel a minute ago, and she's alive, she's alive," Cece said it twice, marveling how good it made her feel.
"You spoke to her?" Aisha could hardly believe her ears.
"I happened to pick up the phone at the gallery, she was trying to reach the Goodmans," Cece related.
"This is absolutely bonkers! Fill me in." Aisha had a thousand questions.
"She's on some foreigner's yacht off Nantucket. US Customs won't let her off the boat without her passport. Cece related only the need-to-know highlights.
"Trapped on a super yacht. One for the books, Rachel. Have you mentioned this to anyone else? Aisha asked.
"She begged me to keep it quiet, so no, nobody."
"Well, hooray to you, and hooray to Rachel," Aisha found herself mentally scrambling to anticipate the consequences of this news. I'm going to need a head start over the media and paps.
"Cece, Rachel's right, you can't tell a soul, not even Miguel or Sara.
"You're the only person I've told. I'll keep it quiet," Cece promised.

It dawned on Aisha that she could possibly use Rachel's reappearance as leverage against Hayden, but first she had to get control of the situation. Only Rachel could tell her what had happened between her and Hayden that night on the beach, and who had invited her to the Hamptons in the first place, and why. She needed that information.
She dialed Eric, the skipper of Hayden's sailboat.
"Hi Eric, It's Aisha Luv. May I ask, are Rachel's belongings still in the guesthouse? Could you check for me and call me right back? And keep it on the QT, will you? I'll have a nice Christmas bonus for you, I promise." Aisha needed Eric to work fast.
Aisha considered the possible police response to Rachel being alive. She knew the Police Chief would be on the phone to Hayden within minutes of his finding out. She needed Rachel's things out of the house first thing, and she trusted Eric to deliver them to her. She would sort the rest out.
Eric rang back confirming he had the luggage and other items from Rachel's room, including her purse, phone and passport, all safe in his car. She instructed him to be ready to meet her later that evening.
Next, she rang Cece's cell.
"Hello, Cece."
"I got so excited, I forgot to ask, how can I reach Rachel? I'm going to deliver her stuff to her," Aisha said.
"The boat is in Nantucket, she's with someone named Vanessa. I'll text you the number."
"Perfect, Thanks."
Right! The quickest way to Nantucket? Copter, obviously, Aisha dialed Vanessa's Miami number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Vanessa?" I'm trying to reach Rachel, my name is Aisha." She looked at her watch. Quarter to four.
"She's right here, I'll put her on," said the unfamiliar female voice.
"Aisha! Oh, thank God," Rachel sounded relieved.
"I'm so glad you're okay. You have no idea how many people are concerned for you," Aisha began.
"It was unavoidable. I'm sorry if I put you guys in a tough spot," Rachel apologized.
"So, you're on a yacht off Nantucket, is that right?" Aisha asked.
"Yeah, a big one," Rachel said.
"Your lucky you have your passport with you," Aisha said
"I always travel with it, it's my only ID since my driver's license expired.
"Great, give me the ship's name and coordinates of some sort." I'm going to the Hamptons, to fetch your things first, then we can then meet on the dock in Nantucket to hand over your passport. Then we can head back to the city."
"The ship's name is ‘Grey Falcon'. The pilot can reach the skipper on the marine band, channel sixteen."
"Look for my texts from here on. I'm booking the first available helicopter to deliver your things, including your passport." At five thirty, Aisha was airborne for the Hamptons.

Aisha knew that upon arriving in U.S. waters, the yacht captain would have had to contact Customs and Border Patrol by phone or via the CBP app. They require information on the names and citizenship of all those aboard the ship, including crew. Everyone goes through Customs before they are allowed to enter the United States. Not knowing whether the skipper had reported Rachel to CBP as a passenger, she decided it would be too complicated and risky trying to fly her off. Skip landing on the ship she decided. Easier to land at the Hampton's airstrip, take possession of her things from Eric, then helicopter on to Nantucket and Ubering to the Customs and Border Patrol dock. The yacht tender could drop Rachel at the CBP dock. Aisha would be waiting to hand her the Passport she needed to enter the USA.
Aisha updated Vanessa on the new plan, making sure Ifty would have the tender ready for Rachel when it was time to drop her off.
Rachel said her goodbyes to Ifty and the other guests on the ship. Once that was done, she and Vanessa disappeared into Vanessa's cabin to celebrate their plan and calm their jitters with many long, sweaty goodbye kisses.
Aisha notified Vanessa that she had arrived while in the Uber for the final stretch to the CBP dock.

Twenty minutes later, when the yacht's tender docked, Aisha and a BCP agent were waiting. Aisha immediately reached down to the tender and handed Rachel her passport. Rachel then turned and gave it to the BCP agent before stepping off the Whaler.
The agent scanned her passport into his handheld; it flashed red, alerting him to her status as a missing person. Aisha had warned her, and she was prepared.
"Ma'am, did you know you're listed as a missing person?" the agent asked.
"Do I look missing?" she quickly retorted.
"Well, no, your passport seems in order," he mumbled, handing it back to Rachel.
"Tell whoever declared me missing that I went on a short excursion with friends and I'm back now," Rachel, Aisha realized, was pretty good at putting people in their place.
"Yes, ma'am, I'll do that."
"Anything to declare?" The agent asked sheepishly, anxious to avoid more of Rachel's ire. She glared at him before he turned and walked away, eager to report his finding of a missing person.
Her mission almost complete, Aisha loaded Rachel into the Uber for the ride back to the airstrip and return to New York.
While in the air they had headsets on and couldn't communicate openly. Aisha had to make a decision about where to take Rachel once they landed.
Meanwhile, the CBP agent returned to his office to immediately call the chief of police of East Hampton on his cell, relaying what had just occurred, and that Rachel Spires was no longer a missing person. The chief immediately called Hayden Rookwood and informed him of the same.

Aisha couldn't let Rachel stay at her place—not her inner sanctum. No. Cece's studio would be the safest. She had seen Hayden's departure five minutes after Cece got home that first night. She was confident he wouldn't risk returning and called Cece to alert her of their arrival.
Finally back in NYC, in the back of an Uber, Aisha told Rachel the plan.
"We're going to see Cece, you're going to stay with her while we sort things out," Aisha said.
"But don't mention Hayden to her, Cece's had a bad experience with him".
"Speaking of that, you should know that—I owe SpACE NY a hundred thousand dollars, and Hayden has been holding that over my head for sex." Rachel blurted it all out, squirming in the car seat and offering Aisha an envelope.
Aisha viewed the contents: a letter and a few photos.
"Look at this, I'm going to use part of my commission to repay what I owe," Rachel offered, pointing at the paper Aisha held.
The letter was an agreement between Rachel and Ifty. She was to act as his agent in the sale of a Basquiat painting. Rachel was to earn a 5% commission, with the provision that the painting had to sell for at least $120 million. Of Rachel's commission Vanessa would get ten percent.
"I obviously need your help Aisha."
"I can see that." Aisha said, handing the letter and photos back.
"I beg you, don't let Hayden find out."
"Oh, I won't. But you will have to follow my directions, to the letter, if we are to succeed at this." Aisha replied.

Miguel had promised Sara they would go car shopping over the weekend, so Saturday morning, he cooked breakfast while searching the new listings online. Sara ate in silence. He tried engaging with her, thinking they had made progress repairing their relationship in the Hamptons, but since coming home, the progress was slowly fading away. Ron had loaned them his Lexus for the day, and Miguel hoped finding a vehicle tomake his wife happy again.
"I found three Jeeps that are possibilities, but there isn't a VW Thing within 500 miles of here, much less one for sale. So we're going to have to do some driving," said Miguel.
"I still think a convertible is the best choice with winter around the corner? You're not in college anymore. Don't you think something a little more practical —something with leather, AC, maybe an actual heater? Wouldn't that make more sense?" Miguel asked
"What's the max we can spend?" Sara countered.
"No more than 10K and no financing." Miguel was adamant.
"I doubt we can get anything for that," Sara replied.
"I did find one to surprise you with. It's not a Thing, but you might like it," said Miguel.
He was resigned to getting her something she liked, even if he considered it a bad choice. Sara's the one who will have to live with it, he thought as he drove. Sara stayed on the phone, trying to set up viewings. She left one message. Her next call also went to message.
She got through to the third number. The person was selling the vehicle Miguel was planning to surprise her with. The woman gave directions, and they headed off to inspect an ancient Land Rover the widow was selling as part of her late husband's estate. The elderly woman didn't even know what year it was, mainly referring to it as that old military vehicle.
When they arrived, the Land Rover was parked in the driveway. Miguel knocked on the front door before going over to inspect the old girl. Beautifully restored in British Green, with a white removable hard top, Sara was immediately smitten with the minimalist functionality. It was similar to the VW Thing, another military vehicle, yet different. When Sara got in, to her surprise, the steering wheel was on the right side. All she could say was, "Weird."
"Your husband had great taste in cars," Miguel opened, indicating two Jaguars in her garage.
"Yes, they're beautiful, but the hell of it is they are a royal pain to maintain. My husband was a glutton for punishment, so in one sense it was a match made in heaven. But the bitter truth is he spent more time with these things than he ever did with me. Especially after he retired."
Miguel pulled open the hood to check out the mechanics. Obviously, it was a well-cared-for machine, basic in every way, making it easy to maintain. He put it in neutral and cranked the key. It didn't exactly purr; it shuddered as it came to life, but it quickly warmed up and began to purr. He got down and crawled underneath, searching for rust, but found none.
Satisfied with the overall condition, they took it for a test drive, which the seller almost insisted on. Once on the road. Sara said, "I love it, I want it."
"Your ad didn't mention a price. What did you have in mind?" Miguel asked when they returned.
"That truck has to go; I can't even drive it," the woman added.
" How much are you asking?"
The woman paused to think. "If you get it off my property today, you can have it for $9,000. It's the most uncomfortable thing I've ever ridden in, and so ugly I'm embarrassed to have it in the driveway. It's an eyesore. Did I mention I can't even drive it?"
"You did say that," he replied.
"Is it a deal?" she asked.
"Okay, deal."

Questionnaire on the story

To be continued

**************

Discover Lokkal: Mission

Visit SMA's Social Network

Contact / Contactar