I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Did you know that trying type while over-caffeinated leads to more mistakes and longer typing time regardless of the actual increased number of words per minute? Right now I'm typing about 200 wpm but actually only writing about a page per hour. Yeesh! – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 54
The late afternoon sun had turned the concrete slab around the small private pool into a griddle. Tupik-Ra stood, shading his eyes as he scanned the horizon for the Grand Wonkavator. The cottage and the pool were concealed in heavy foliage away from the main complex of the Four Seasons hotel.
Tupik-Ra shifted from foot to foot – getting the hang of his new center of gravity. He could walk slowly now and was becoming accustomed to these new proportions.
I should have taken L.A. up on the opportunity to practice before coming out here, he thought, listening to the birds chirping in the tree tops. Staggering around this morning made me look like a fool and lost a lot of credibility.
The humid heat made him feel at home and he raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes to feel the bright light upon his face.
I made a fool of myself with L.A. too, he thought glumly. My unthinking words offended her and drove her away again.
He had been hoping that business out on the West Coast could be cleared up quickly and they'd have a chance to go out on another date while there. To actually woo her as a man would a woman without the strange compromises that their unequal sizes brought about.
Tupik-Ra's thoughts were cut short as he heard a sonic boom fire far overhead. His eyes popped open and he winced at the bright light. Shading his eyes and blinking away tears, he saw the Grand Wonkavator rocketing in overhead.
The design was identical to the regular Wonkavator – but there was more equipment for life-support in high altitudes on top and the glass was mirrored with a bronze finish rather than the usual transparent glass. It slowed again eliciting another sonic boom and started to descend rapidly.
Too Rapidly.
His heart leapt into his throat as it fell from the sky, seemingly uncontrolled. It seemed like an eternity of helpless horror – the craft plunged to earth without slowing.
He's going to crash!
At the last minute, thrusters fired, slamming the craft mere feet from the ground into to a slow decent. The mirrored sides of the box reflecting his startled reflection and the background of the pool eerily.
The Grand Wonkavator settled gingerly upon the stone surface. He kept his distance until the thrusters cut out then ran forward to assist everyone inside.
The doors slowly opened with a hiss of escaping air and a few small bodies tumbled out with relieved groans.
There had to be about 15 Oompa Loompas and the tall form of Chocolatier crammed in next to a stack of plastic shipping crates. Everyone looked slightly shaken. Willy blew out a puff of air and turned toward Tupik-Ra. He wore his huge black glasses and the dark plum top hat was slightly sitting slightly skewed on his head.
"Sorry about the scare – NORAD picked us up coming back into the atmosphere and thought we were a missile from Korea or something. I had to shake a couple of F-22s out across the desert before heading here. There's going to be more UFO sightings around Flagstaff I think," Willy said, stepping clear of the Grand Wonkavator and letting his workers clear the remaining crates from inside.
"Everyone okay?" Willy asked, looking around and seeing a lot of relieved faces looking back at him. "Good. Tupik? Everything set up here?"
"There's the cottage with the facilities we need," Tupik-Ra pointed behind him. "There's a small conference room where we can set up operations with a secure T-1 line inside."
Turning toward his employer, he asked curiously, "Why were you under attack? I thought NASA had you on file as an identified craft?"
"You'd think after everything I'd done for NASA, they'd cut me a little slack – but no, I had to get vetted by some yahoo there who was out to lunch when the initial sighting occurred. Good thing he had a blackberry with him or I'd be in real trouble." Willy explained, straightening his hat and clothes with sharp jerks. The dark plum coat got a brisk brushing off and the dark pants had a few errant tufts of lint plucked away.
There was a tight energy around his employer, an abruptness to his movements that illustrated his nervous energy more than any words. The dark glasses turned toward the lawyer and his lips were tight and colorless, "What's the latest?"
"The police still are tracking leads – they've been checking out his businesses and are keeping the man himself under surveillance," he avoided Willy's eyes.
"What else?" he asked, seeing Tupik-Ra's hesitancy to speak.
"I found out some information about who's been paying Brahm's legal fees. You're not going to like it."
"So?"
"I mean you REALLY won't like it. Won-Ka, please promise me that you will not react rashly?" Tupik-Ra pleaded.
"Just tell me," Willy snapped.
"Slugworth Candies," the Oompa Loompa whispered, shutting his eyes and bracing for the verbal explosion.
Silence.
Unable to take the suspense, Tupik-Ra cracked open an eye. Willy was frozen in his tracks, face beyond pale. He actually staggered back, clutching his cane.
"Won-Ka? Are you alright?"
"How involved are they with Brahm?" he asked in a terrible voice.
"They're footing the legal bill and have formally made an offer for employment dated as of three days ago," Tupik-Ra said. "Brahm has not accepted the contract yet, at least not since I checked."
"Either Slugworth has sunken to new lows or they don't know the depth of what they're getting involved in," Willy muttered then turned his head, "Orville! Get that stuff inside and set up ASAP, I want a war meeting in half an hour."
Tupik-Ra escorted the tall man into the cottage and let him prowl around exploring while workers swarmed the place, running wires, setting up computers and equipment. He checked his e-mail and voicemail on the phone for any further updates – his heart sinking as the time passed with no new information.
"Where is L.A.?" Willy asked, returning to the dining room table that was currently serving as his work area.
Before he could answer, he heard a knock at the front door. It opened without waiting and a clatter of high heels on tile floor in the hallway. L.A., slightly disheveled, but looking victorious entered the cottage.
Her expression slipped as she saw Willy and she crossed her arms and bowed her head, dropping to one knee to kneel, "Won-Ka. I am so terribly sorry for what has occurred. I have no excuses for my lapse in my duties."
Willy's face was astonished, and Tupik-Ra could hear the tears in L.A.'s voice as she continued.
"My actions were inexcusable. I've betrayed your trust, I've allowed your mate to fall into the hands of her enemy, and I've managed to lose a good friend. I can only hope that the information I bring helps ease the pain in your heart and increases the chances of bringing her back safely. My incompetence in failing you can ask no mercy. My life is in your hands."
"Um…L.A.? What are you doing?" Willy asked, confused.
She kept her head lowered, "As my employer and acting chief, I am awaiting my punishment for failing to keep Veronica safe."
"What? No…here, get up," Willy said, helping L.A. to her feet. He took off the glasses, revealing reddened tired eyes and took her hand in both of his.
"You did not fail me," he told her earnestly, "She did not tell any of us the full danger of coming out here. I only found out when escorting Spencer home with Reggie from the hospital. I was already in full spaz mode when I found out she'd been taken. You are not to blame for this."
L.A. gave him solemn look, "But I still feel so guilty and like I need some form of punishment."
He rolled his eyes, "Fine. No cocoa beans for the duration of this trip and fifty lashes with a wet noodle. Tupik-Ra, you take care of that when this is all over - probably at Cicada or something, my treat. Now, what have you discovered?"
Taken aback at his casual dismissal of her guilt she stuttered, "I met Mrs. Rosalina Valdez, the maid for Victor Brahm's condo in Malibu. She's fed up and turned in her notice today – however, I managed to get her to put in a good word for me to replace her. He was a bit preoccupied on the phone, but told me to come by tomorrow to clean. I'll be a mole on the inside and be able to snoop around."
Willy cracked a wicked grin, his sharp teeth glinting in the light, "Excellent. We'll have to come up with a lovely little plan to take advantage of this opportunity."
Tupik-Ra had a feeling that Brahm wouldn't like what Won-Ka would come up with.
--
Veronica awoke again, her headache receding slightly. Her hands were still bound behind her back and when she shifted her hands, she heard the faint clink of metal on metal – handcuffs then.
She lifted her head to see the man from earlier sitting at the table with a bottle of soda and reading a paperback. He set the book down and looked at her steadily.
"May I use the restroom?" she asked, her throat dry and voice cracking.
He came toward her and helped her sit up then climb to her feet.
The floor felt strange under her, seeming to surge up to meet her feet. He turned her away from the entryway and dialed in the combination to the padlock on the door, snapping it open and flipping open the latch that bolted the door shut.
The sun was setting outside as he guided her toward the teal green port-a-potty next to the shed. Medium height trees in unnaturally straight rows were dotted with white blossoms providing the lovely scent she had first experienced in the shack. It seemed like a very remote area – an orange grove.
He silently came up behind her and with a rattle, loosened one hand from the cuffs holding her hands behind her back. He clicked the cuff to her jeans belt loop in the back – effectively hobbling her from attempting to strike out at him if she was of a mind.
"Go ahead, you have five minutes – if you're not done by then, I come in after you," he said, dark eyes flat.
She nodded and opened the door – reeling back from the stink of fecal material sitting in a hot environment for God knew how long.
Holding her breath, she entered and fumbled with the button and zipper, managing to get the pants down without too much trouble. Flinching, she overcame her disgust and quickly relieved herself. Pulling the pants back up was difficult, but her head was starting to swim from lack of oxygen so she managed with minimal fuss, desperate to be out of the hideous port-a-potty.
Staggering out, she gasped frantic to clear the stench from her nostrils. The man chuckled, "Yeah, it's nasty in there."
He unlocked the cuff and was getting ready to chain her arms behind her back again when she asked, "If you really need to do that, could you do it in front. My arms are killing me right now."
Shrugging, he cuffed her again – this time her arms in front. Taking one arm, he guided her back into the shack. Through her peripheral vision, she could see a long dirt road through the trees and one white pick-up truck parked behind the shack.
He pushed her back inside and quickly bolted and padlocked the door again.
"Thirsty?" he asked nudging her to take a seat at the small table.
She nodded and he handed her a bottle of water from a pallet of bottled water sitting next to the door. Veronica chugged about half and replaced the cap before setting it on the table.
"You can call me Paolo. Let me set up some ground rules with you. Follow them and you might live. Disobey and you're dead," he said in a matter of fact tone. The casual way he announced the consequences sent a chill down her spine.
"Don't try to hit, spit or insult me or my partner. It'll just make us angry and will end up bad for you. Do what we tell you, when we tell you and we'll get along just fine. Don't bother pleading or bribing us, it's one of my pet peeves and I'll beat your ass. My partner has a bad temper, so stay quiet and don't move around too much or you'll get his attention when he's on watch."
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked quietly, keeping the tremor of fear out of her voice.
"Right now, we're just holding you until we get further orders. Trust me, this isn't what we want to be doing."
"Then why are you?" Veronica asked, curious.
Paolo grimaced, "I've got family who slipped in over the border and I need to pay their debts to the Coyote. That's all you need to know."
"Thank you for letting me know where I stand," she said softly. She still didn't trust this man, but he didn't take advantage of her while unconscious and he seemed to be honest in his warnings.
…besides, he had never mentioned anything about not trying to escape.
"De Nada. Are you hungry?" Paolo asked, "You should probably get something in your stomach."
"I don't mean to be a bother," she said, her stomach lurching at the greasy spicy meat smell when she had first awoken.
"Nah, it's alright. I warn you, I'm a horrible cook though."
Fear was pushed aside as a plan started to form. She had to gain his trust first, to get him comfortable with her in the kitchen. Veronica was getting a feel for her captor and knew she could work around him. The partner was an unknown factor at this point – so she'd start with what she did know.
"Tell you what," she said, slowly, "I'm a good one – let me cook and I'll make dinner."
"No funny business – or I'll break your legs," he warned, the prospect of eating something other than his own efforts greatly appealing.
She nodded passively, and went to inspect what there was in the small cardboard box by the side of the stove; black beans, some white rice, a mango, an onion and half a pound of thawed chicken. There was salt and pepper as well as other assorted seasoning and a small bottle of oil on a small shelf above the stove next to a large black cast iron skillet. One pot that looked like it had been kicked around was already on the hot plate.
"How does mango chicken with beans and rice sound?"
Paolo looked surprised, "Sounds good. Are you a chef or something?"
"Something like that." She agreed neutrally.
She handed the onion and the mango to Paolo, "Since I know you won't trust me with a knife, how about you chop those up for me. The onion into small pieces, the mango peeled and into larger chunks."
Nodding, the man took a sharp four inch blade out of the sheath on his belt and carefully started peeling the mango.
"I'm guessing you bring your own supplies with you each day?" she asked carefully with her back turned to him as she added a bottle of water to a beat up saucepan that was sitting on the two-burner hot plate. She pulled out the beans and measured an amount in her hand – tossing in three handfuls from the bag. Setting the heat on low, she pulled the heavy cast iron skillet down off the shelf, unwrapping the chicken and setting it inside with a splash of oil. She seasoned it well with salt and pepper and turned the burner on medium. She tossed the wrapping and the empty bottle into the brown bag that was serving as a trashcan judging by what was already inside.
Veronica's movements were sure and even, she made no sudden moves and Paolo relaxed slightly. The handcuffs giving her a little trouble, but she worked around it.
"Yes. Why?"
"Grab me some good sized shrimp or good white fish, two limes, a hot pepper, some corn and another onion and mango and I'll make you a dish you won't forget. No cooking involved. If you want to add some lettuce and corn tortillas, you've got simple fish tacos."
Paolo nodded. It sounded like a recipe his mother always made, and at a time like this, he really missed his Mama's cooking.
He pushed the chopped mango and onion toward her, watching her movements carefully. She took a handful of onion and the entire mango and dumped it into the simmering skillet. If he was going to end up watching her for a while – at least he was going to eat well.
Besides if she tried to escape or get out of line, then he'd let Luis take care of her.
Permanently.