eco-thriller | persephone's step-sisters

OIL IN WATER

a novel by

PAM LAZOS

CHAPTER THREE (a)

The fund raiser for Governor Jackson Randall was in full swing. White-gloved butlers circled the Philadelphia Visitor’s Center with delicacy-laden trays. Champagne flowed. Marty exchanged his empty glass for a full one and Ruth, declining her own, took a sip of Marty’s. The orchestra began a swing tune.

“Wanna dance?” Marty asked.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.” Marty rolled his champagne around on his tongue and puckered.

“You know I have terrible night vision,” Ruth said.

“Duly noted. I will be clean and sober by the stroke of midnight. Now, please. Dance with me.”

Ruth basked in Marty’s adoring eyes. Resplendent in her slightly risque gown, the vigor of her convictions adding a blush to her cheeks, she looked to be a woman ten years younger. If Ruth Eugenia Tirabi missed the earlier version of herself, she never showed it. A brilliant strategist and a great campaign manager, she was courted by many a politician, even those whose social agenda ran far afield from her own. Had she been a man, she could have been governor. But soon after marriage, she got pregnant with Kori and four children and twenty-four years later, was still working politics into the peripheries. She was in no rush. Statistically speaking, Ruth had a fifteen to twenty-year greater life expectancy than her male counterparts; she could jump start her career at any time.

Ruth kissed Marty on the lips, slipping him a bit of tongue. It wasn’t lost on him.

“Let’s blow this clam bake,” Marty whispered. “I got somethin’ to show ya’.” He dipped her, and rolled his eyebrows up and down, a lewd gesture. Ruth laughed out loud as he set her upright.

“A little while longer. C’mon. Let’s dance.” Ruth grabbed Marty’s arm. Marty set his champagne down and twirled Ruth onto the dance floor, sidling up next to the Governor and his wife. Mrs. Randall laughed as if her husband had just said something supremely funny.

“Enjoying yourself, Mrs. Randall?” asked Marty.

“Immensely, Mr. Tirabi.” She looked at Ruth. “I can’t thank you enough.” Mrs. Randall whirled around so the women could dance shoulder to shoulder. “You gave him back his idealism.”

“Hey, Ruth. Sure I can’t convince you to hit the campaign trail with us tomorrow?”

“Thanks, Governor. But I must respectfully decline.” Ruth said.

“Well, aren’t you going to give me a pep talk or something?” the Governor asked.

“Give the people more than they ask for.”

Governor Randall gave Ruth a peck on the cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I’m just a phone call away if you need me,” she said. Ruth squeezed the Governor’s arm, then looked at the watch on her gloved wrist.

“We gotta go. Not only am I dying to get these gloves off, but we need to get home and make sure the kids haven’t blown up the place,” said Ruth.

“Sometimes I close my eyes going down our street,” Mrs. Randall said. “Our 16-year old loves to host some wild parties.”

“Good luck, Governor,” Marty said and escorted Ruth off the dance floor. Ruth blew the Governor and his wife a kiss before fading away.

to be continued. . .

OIL IN WATER

a novel by

PAM LAZOS

CHAPTER TWO (b)

In exchange for driving privileges, Robbie had completely rebuilt Kori’s engine, supplying it with more torque than a freight train. The second child, Robbie was stocky and athletic and possessed of neither Kori’s prima donna attitude nor Avery’s command of the English language. Born with dyslexia, he struggled to spell sometimes, yet he was mechanically inclined and could build anything from scratch. That coupled with a keen imagination earned him the monikor, “Mr. Fix-It.”

Kori stuck the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, radio blaring. Gil covered his ears and screamed. Kori jumped and turned to see ZiZi licking Gil’s face where he lay huddled on the floor, his hands tightly clasped to his ears, his vocal cords exploding in wave after wave of high-pitched wailing.

“Gil. Easy. Gil!” Kori turned off the radio, but the engine still wailed like a colicky baby. Avery climbed in the back, pulling Gil up to a sitting position, covering his ears and rocking him gently. Gil stopped screaming, but his body continued convulsing.

“Do something before he has a fit,” Kori yelled to Avery. Avery’s gaze swiveled; his eyes settled on the glove compartment.

“Tissues,” Avery said.

Kori handed Avery a package of tissues. He folded one and rolled it between his hands, scrunched it into a conical shape and inserted one into each of Gil’s ear, grabbed Gil’s shoulders and took several deep breaths indicating Gil should mimic him. Gil’s chest rose and fell rhythmically and after a minute, his shaking, along with the tension in the car, subsided.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Kori asked.

“Just go before he has another freakazoid attack,” Avery said. Gil looked past Avery with wide, doe eyes and a slack mouth.

“Drive!” Avery commanded.

Kori watched Gil in the rear view mirror, rocking gently in the back seat, tissues sticking out of his ears. She stifled a laugh and pulled out of the driveway; she’d only made it a few hundred feet when Gil spoke.

“Pull in here.”

“What?” Kori asked.

“Just do it, Kori,” Avery said. Kori shook her head and muttered something under her breath, but pulled into Aunt Stella’s driveway anyway, a scant three doors down from their own.

“Why are we parking at Aunt Stella’s house?” Kori asked. “we’re practically still at our house.”

“Yeah, Gil,” Avery added. “This doesn’t bode well for concealing our whereabouts.”

Kori fished through her purse for a cigarette, found the pack and pulled one out.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Gil said.

“I don’t, really. Just once in a while,” Kori answered.

“Shut the lights and cut the engine,” Gil said.

“Stop telling me what to do,” Kori said, but obliged. “This is ridiculous.” She found her lighter, flicked it once. It didn’t take.

“No!” Gil whispered. He shoved Kori’s head down across the console. Avery bent his head down next to Gil who was crouched on the floor in the back seat.

“Jesus, Gil,” Kori said, her chest pressed against the drive shaft. “You’ve been watching too many Bruce Willis movies.” After a minute, she sat up. “Gil. Enough!”

“Get down!” Gil said, and turned to peer out the back window.

A car was creeping down the road. The driver killed the lights as it passed Aunt Stella’s house. The trio huddled together, peering out the back window as the car pulled into the Tirabi driveway. A dark figure emerged, climbed the porch steps and unscrewed the light. The porch went dim. They watched the dark silhouette playing with the lock. Moments later, the figure walked in the Tirabis’ front door.

“Did you lock the door?” Kori demanded of Avery.

“Ssshhhhhhhhh!” Gil said, staring wide-eyed and fascinated. The children saw a shadow pass by the window, followed by the erratic beam of a flashlight, sweeping the room. The figure emerged, carrying a long tube under his arm. In one fluid motion, he jumped over the railing and rolled onto the ground. The car backed out of the driveway and crawled down the street. Halfway up the block, the driver flicked on the lights and drove away.

“Let go of me,” Kori jerked away and Gil released the stranglehold grip he had on her neck. Kori breathed in short bursts trying to regain her composure.

“What just happened?” Avery asked.

“The drawings,” Gil replied.

“What drawings?” Avery asked, but even as the words left his lips, an explosion on the Tirabi porch caused their car windows to vibrate. The front door of the house blew off its hinges and several of the windows on the front porch shattered.

to be continued. . .