Turtle Island Read Free Page B

vehicles remained
were out on the streets patrolling. They took the lift up to the
third floor where Montoya and LaPortiere shared an
office.
    Rick opened the blinds to allow the view of the city into his
office. The night sky cast deep red with a few ominous looking
clouds hovering overhead.
    LaPortiere opened a small fridge. ‘Beer?’
    The fridge was one of the few concessions allowed for officers
of their rank, one of the few luxuries that were always
appreciated, there were no pretences about not drinking while on
duty, the heat made it a pre-requisite. O’Neil and Montoya both
nodded acceptance. Leroy threw a can to Rick and fished through his
desk drawer for a glass for Agent O’Neil. He took out a straight
beer glass and opened the ring pull on her can.
    Before he could pour, O’Neil replied ‘It'll be okay from the
can.’
    Leroy smiled. ‘Right on.’ and passed her the can, which she
immediately put to her lips.
    ‘How do you put up with this heat, it's so ...muggy.’ She
gulped at the liquid then put the can down. ‘Right gentlemen let’s
get to work.’
     
    The smell of fresh bread baking assaulted Charles Fleisher's
nostrils the moment he entered the house. There was the sound of
talking and laughter coming from the kitchen, homogeneity painted
in a thick syrup of emotions. Charles followed the enticing
sensations, walking down the hall and turning the corner, where he
found Narla and Harley in the kitchen
    ‘Hi babe, come on in.’ Narla beckoned her husband into the
kitchen. Charles smiled, walking over to his wife; he kissed her,
his usual greeting, warm, passionate, unaffected by his daughter’s
presence.
    ‘You’re drunk.’ Charles noticed the nearly empty bottle of
Muscadet on the worktop.
    ‘Very nearly,’ Narla smiled. ‘but extremely happy.’
    Charles breathed in. ‘The bread smells nice.’
    Narla sipped as she spoke. ‘It's one of mother’s Irish
recipes, Harley's making it, I’m...’
    ‘Supervising.’ Harley chipped.
    ‘Harley.’ Charles greeted his daughter, he moved back to his
wife, holding her by the hips.
    Narla noticed a small speck of blood on Charles face. She wet
her finger and wiped it away.
    ‘Blood.’ She explained
    ‘Must have cut myself shaving.’ Charles rubbed over the area
with his finger then turned his attention back to his daughter.
‘Come here short stuff, where’s your greeting for your old
man.’
    Harley ran and embraced him, wrapping her legs around his
waist and her arms over his neck. She placed a slobbery kiss on his
cheek, covering the area just cleaned by Narla.
    ‘So, you’re baking bread, hey?’
    ‘Uh-huh, Mrs Fuller set each of us a task for domestic
science, I got baking bread.’
    Harley smiled one of her heart-breaking beautiful smiles;
smiles that are designed to be extinguished by adulthood. Charles
kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘You are going to be a real
heartbreaker honey, now give your old man a squeeze.’
    Harley hugged her father tightly as she could, before being
lowered to the ground.
    ‘Better check your bread?’ Charles patted Harley’s bottom as
she walked to the cooker.
    ‘Mind now, it’s hot.’
    ‘Okay, daddy.’
    ‘I’m going to shower, hon, then I’ll come back down to
entertain you lovely ladies.’
    Narla finished of her glass of Muscadet. ‘Don’t be long now.’
She watched her husband as he walked away.
     
    Even though the world looks quiet and safe through your
windows, you never know what is really happening out there…in the
world. You know that there is pain and suffering but it’s easy to
ignore as long as it keeps a discreet distance, yet all the time
you fear that it is going to walk right up to you, tap you on the
shoulder and say. ‘Excuse me, but may I have this dance.’ Somewhere
a file was being transferred via a modem from a computer to another
computer miles away, via three different continents, and fifteen
servers. This file was an image, a solitary image. A photograph