Ortiz Detective Agency

[The Exodus]

Tom Flannery

Detective Day (Tom was a sucker for a good alliteration) sat across the desk from him. She flashed him a million watt smile and pulled out a folder that Tom could only assume held his case file. It was strange, having a case file. Intriguing, really, because Tom had no earthly idea what Toni had told the agency when she called so he was curious. He peered over at it as nonchalantly as he could.

"You are very welcome," said Detective Day.

Tom strangely felt like she meant it. He was used to cold, bland ‘you’re welcome’s at every restaurant, airline, and store he’d ever been to. He smiled back at her, still trying desperately to get a gander of what Toni had said on the phone.

"Okay, Tom," Detective Day said. "I'm just going to need you to give me a detailed back story on all of this in your own words, and try not to leave anything out. Every detail will help me."

Tom sucked in a breath. Other than Toni, he hadn’t explained the whole scenario to another living soul. Well, his cat, but somehow Tom didn’t think the kitten Bill dropped off a few days ago really cared much about anything Tom said as long as he fed her and stroked her at regular intervals.

“I didn’t know I had a son until this Christmas,” he said, looking up. He realized with a sharp pang that Detective Day was about Kenneth’s age. Which was a real pity, because she had a pretty face and he couldn’t think like that if his son was her age. “I was jus’ a kid, y’know? When Cathy had him. And she didn’t tell me. Or anybody. She jus’… panicked, I guess. Don’ blame her. She was sixteen, for Christ’s sake. Anyways, she had the baby and…”

Left him in a carport.

Tom felt his stomach bubble with rage at the thought. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had known about Kenneth from the start, but he never would have left a baby in a carport. Especially not his kid. He shook his head.

“I ran into her Christmas Eve 2011. She told me about him, that he would be studying abroad, and that she hadn’t been able to make contact. That Kenneth told her he didn’t want her in his life. But, you got t’ understand. I…” Tom sighed. “I have a daughter. Amy. She’s sixteen and she lives with her mums. And I love her. I do. But she’s never… I don’t know. Needed me? No. Kenneth doesn’t need me, either, I s’pose. He’s got by jus’ fine up to now. I jus’… He’s my son. And I’ve never met him. And there’s something not right about that. Have you ever loved somebody so much, you’d do anything if they’d jus’ love you back? I love my son, Miss Day. And all I want is a chance to be the da I shoulda been when he was born.”

[Deleted]

Rachel Day

Guilt nabbed at her as Rachel Day held the pen, squeezing so tightly that sweat began beading in between her fingers. Her leg from underneath the desk had been bouncing up and down this entire time, and she already could feel herself wanting to blurt out in apologies how she was not Detective Day. This was Tom Flannery's life, and she was asking him to reveal everything to her, thinking that she was some licensed Detective who had dreams all her life of being in law enforcement. That thought made Rachel realize something. Santiago had not ever dreamed of being a detective, and from what she knew about him, he was far from it in his past. When looking at it, sure, the mechanics were all there. She was not a detective. Looking at the heart though, Rachel Day was more than there. She was all ears, she was willing to put Tom first, and that's what it took to have the heart of a detective. Selfishly, she wanted to prove herself. What good deed did not have some selfish outcome though? People help people because it makes them feel good- that's a selfish twist on something that is something great. Rachel wanted to prove herself because she was so passionate about making a change. Santiago Ortiz had helped Rachel more than she ever thought anyone could. He had been there, protecting her, seeking out the badness and taking it down. In her time of need, when she had gotten that phone call from the New York City police, he had looked at her in a way she would never forget and listening in a way that she never knew someone could. That's what Rachel Day wanted to do. She had been in such a selfish profession for so long, that she was so close in distance to people who really needed help, she needed- she had to do something. This wasn't right that Rachel had to sneak and fake a title, but every intention and the determination was more than right.

“I didn’t know I had a son until this Christmas." Tom looked up and met Rachel's eyes. She swallowed, holding still. It was difficult to pour out so much to someone and she liked to think that she was a person who understood that more than a lot of people. She held still, seeing in his eyes already that this was hard for him. Rachel Day, in a calm and supportive expression, jotted it down quickly and returned to him.

“I was jus’ a kid, y’know?" She nodded. "When Cathy had him. And she didn’t tell me. Or anybody. She jus’… panicked, I guess. Don’ blame her. She was sixteen, for Christ’s sake. Anyways, she had the baby and…” He paused and Rachel held very still. Thinking back was hard, it was internal heck, and she had all the time in the world. She couldn't imagine having a baby at the age of sixteen. She felt for Cathy- Rachel wrote done that name- but also, knowing that there was a kid out there with your DNA, that was yours, and he had no control over it- it would have made her feel angry. The sentence hung in the air, and whatever was left, she assumed he was fighting with emotion. Emotion took over in the strangest ways. It could stop a sentence before someone was to get to the predicate.


“I ran into her Christmas Eve 2011. She told me about him, that he would be studying abroad, and that she hadn’t been able to make contact. That Kenneth told her he didn’t want her in his life." Rachel took the notes down, picturing the image in her head of what Cathy looked like. She pictured how that conversation went when Kenneth told his life line that had essentially, he probably felt, completely abandoned him, and how he sounded when he said that. Did Cathy still have Kenneth's number or was he using a payphone? Rachel assumed that if Cathy had the number, Tom would have gotten it and he wouldn't be sitting in front of her right now.

"But, you got t’ understand. I…” He sighed, and Rachel glinted at him with supportive eyes. “I have a daughter. Amy. She’s sixteen and she lives with her mums. And I love her. I do. But she’s never… I don’t know. Needed me? No. Kenneth doesn’t need me, either, I s’pose." Rachel put down his daughter's name and age, and looked back at him. Tom was realizing things on his own, but it sounded like he needed them. Rachel Day for some reason felt like he wasn't giving himself enough credit. Not always did people need someone and let it show. It was a tricky way of trying to make yourself seem distant. In a way, it kind of reminded her of Santiago. He never let it show that he needed anyone and when they first met, he was cold. Now, he was showing up at her hotel door when he needed someone there for him. Everyone needed someone, it just took some time to show it. Kenneth wasn't use to having a father as a resource. Once he was shown it, felt it, maybe things would change for Tom. Rachel wanted to make that happen for him.

"He’s got by jus’ fine up to now. I jus’… He’s my son. And I’ve never met him. And there’s something not right about that." The statement spoke volumes about Tom Flannery. Rachel Day didn't write it down, but it was for her own personal note.

"Have you ever loved somebody so much, you’d do anything if they’d jus’ love you back?" Rachel's heart stopped and something struck her hard in the chest. Thankfully, she could make herself not be readable, something she had trained for, but she answered the question in her mind. Yes, absolutely. Rachel Day wished her parents would have loved her, because there was a time where Rachel would have done anything to receive a love that she gave in return. It didn't happen for her, but it could happen for Tom. Tom was a father looking for his son. He loved his son. She would have killed for something like that. It touched her and for a moment she had forgotten all about the job.

"I love my son, Miss Day. And all I want is a chance to be the da I shoulda been when he was born.”

There was a reason why people weren't cut out for this job. Rachel Day was attached in an unhealthy way instantly. She could do the job, she knew she could, but there was a reason why people like Santiago were more prone to do things like this. Emotions got in the way, personalizing things came into play, and it was easy to become aggressive and obsessed. The case hit close to home. In a way, it was a perfect match, but if she wasn't careful, it could turn sour. Funny how the world worked, matching up things like this. This was a family that had never been but could be. She had the chance to put a family back together again.

Staring at him with determined eyes, she nodded, "Tom, we're going to find your son." Rachel shrugged, dropping her pen and placing her hands on her lap, trying to relax and stop tensing. "I'm not promising it will be easy or quick, but it will happen." Pausing, she looked down at her notes. "Once Kenneth realizes how much you love him..." Rachel returned to Tom and gave a small half smile, "Well I couldn't think of a child who would turn away a parent's love. It may be optimistic, but that's what you've got to be or you'll only allow yourself to go half way with things."

Rachel Day shook out of her thoughts, and pulled up closer to her desk. Enough of the personal lecture. She was sure that wasn't her place, but she wanted to offer her thoughts and supports.

"I'm going to need a picture of Cathy and also one of you." She told him. "It will be easier to pin point certain features if I have both parts of his genetics looking right at me."

[The Exodus]

Tom Flannery

Tom wished he could have been a proper dad. Kenneth mentioned parents in Tottenham. A part of him wanted to thank these kind souls, these strangers, who loved his son in his absence and did things for Kenneth that Tom—as a teenager—hadn’t been able to do. Another part of him seethed with jealousy. Who were these people, raising his son? What gave them the right to take care of his kid? Why was it that the forces of God, nature, and whatever barred him from being a proper father? Would it really have been such a bad thing for him to meet his son? To have had a hand in raising him? Tom wasn’t a grown up He bloody well knew that, since every person he knew was so keen to tell him. But he would have been, if his son had needed him to be. An ache—the same one he’d had since Christmas—welled up inside him, making everything from his chest down hollow and hungry.

"Tom, we're going to find your son," Detective Day vowed.

Tears—involuntary and grateful—sprung up behind his eyes and made them shine brilliantly in the sunlit office. He could—and would—do anything Detective Day asked of him. Pay any sum, grovel, whatever she asked, all because she said those glorious words. Everybody else—his brothers, Grace, Olivia, Toni… They’d all laughed at him or made fun or shook their head sadly. Why, even Cathy had given him a sour—or perhaps bitter—“good luck” when he told her he planned to find their son.

"I'm not promising it will be easy or quick, but it will happen," Detective Day continued.

Tom nodded. He didn’t care if he had to climb Mount Everest without a guide and a lightweight jacket; he’d get to his son. And fortunately, this wasn’t a challenge he had to face on his own. He didn’t care that it wasn’t easy or quick. Anything worth having, after all…

God, he wanted to hug her. Detective Day. His savior.

"Once Kenneth realizes how much you love him..." Detective Day paused to give him a small smile. "Well I couldn't think of a child who would turn away a parent's love. It may be optimistic, but that's what you've got to be or you'll only allow yourself to go half way with things."

Tom nodded. Optimism, he could do. In fact, optimism was all he felt now. Elation, thrill. He probably would hug her after all.
"I'm going to need a picture of Cathy and also one of you." She told him. "It will be easier to pin point certain features if I have both parts of his genetics looking right at me."

“That’s the thing,” Tom said, his bubbly elation deflating a little. “I don’t have a picture of Cathy. Not anymore, anyways.”

Most of his belongings were in a storage unit in London. He could take a daytrip back to SoHo to get it, but it would involve rummaging through boxes and boxes for hours. Well, Detective Day had said it wouldn’t be easy… He resolved to make travel plans. He’d have to get Toni or somebody to look after his cat.

“I’ll have to go back to London to get it. But, whatever it takes. Thank you, Detective.”

[Deleted]

Rachel Day


Rachel had never dove into the land of criminology for 'funsies' or knew the proper way of going about an investigation. All she had were real life experiences to go off of and instinct. She was sure watching Scooby-Doo when she was twelve wasn't going to aid her in this either. Getting the pictures of Tom and Cathy would help her. She figured that if she could get a mental picture of what their child would look like it would help rather than to roam around fully blind. It wasn't much but it was a beginning. Rachel Day also knew that her acting gig wouldn't stop just here. If she really wanted some hints on how to do this, she would have to ask for help with Santiago Ortiz, without really asking. Perhaps, she could show an interest in this investigating. Maybe even perk up and express how it was turning out to be a new passion of hers, watching him go about doing some great work. Stroking his ego wouldn't hurt. It was sneaky, but Rachel was attached to this case and Tom. They were now her first priority. Everything about this was sneaky, but she had never been one to be sneaky unless it was for the good of someone else's cause. For instance, not calling the police over a dead gangster in the manager's office. Now, it was Rachel's turn.

When her client's eyes filled up with tears that made his eye color look like broken glass that was in hopes of being put back together again, Rachel knew that she had made the right decision. She had to swallow the lump in her throat, not thinking that it was appropriate for the Detective to cry with the client. Yeesh, that would be almost as difficult as cracking this case.

“That’s the thing,” He told her. “I don’t have a picture of Cathy. Not anymore, anyways.” She nodded in understanding at that. Only seeing a picture would have probably been a little too far fetched although she had to at least ask. From Tom's point of view, Rachel didn't exactly blame him for not having one. She wouldn't carry a picture for someone who betrayed her. Which, she probably should not think like that. She had to be not emotionally involved.

“I’ll have to go back to London to get it. But, whatever it takes. Thank you, Detective.”

Rachel stood up from her chair, "I'm sorry." She told him sincerely. It wouldn't be a fun trip for him. She hated traveling alone. How inconvenient this must have been for him. Plus, what if his finances were not so great? Rachel Day felt like the cause of this trip for this photograph, and she didn't even know if this was the correct step to take. He would be paying for a phony Detective's wish. She couldn't handle that. At least it would be a little something to make her feel not entirely guilty.

"I know it is probably inconvenient for you." Rachel told him, coming around from the desk. "I will-" She cleared her throat, acting as if she had a cough from her almost flub. "Excuse me, got a little somethin in my throat-" She fibbed and continued after mentally kicking herself. "The agency will pay for your means of transportation and where you'll be staying." She smiled him in a friendly way, leaning against the desk with her hands behind her, wanting him to really take the offer. If it was the agency, and he didn't know it was from her personal bank account, then there would be no reason why he shouldn't. Personally, Rachel Day didn't have a problem financially with it and also, it was the least she could do.

Rachel smirked, and playfully nudged his calf with her heel to get his attention. "Maybe spend an extra day for some personal time if you need it. You can always send me the pictures via camera phone."

[The Exodus]

Tom Flannery

It would be a pain to go back to London, but Tom supposed the phrase “no pain, no gain” might have a ring of truth to it. He’d hop a train, rent a car, and go to the storage unit for his things. If he had to spend the night, he’d go to Grace’s, crash on the couch, and spend some time with Amy before heading back. He just didn’t want to miss a day in the quest for Kenneth.

“I’m sorry,” Detective Day said, standing. “I know it’s probably inconvenient for you.”

“It is, but—“

Detective Day started to cough. She excused herself.

“The agency will pay for your means of transportation and where you’ll be staying,” she said with a smile. She nudged Tom’s leg with the heel of her shoe. “Maybe spend an extra day for some personal time if you need it. You can always send me the pictures via camera phone.”

Half of Tom’s mouth lifted into a smile. He shook his head and sighed.

“I appreciate the offer, Miss Day. I do,” he said. “But you don’t have t’ worry about me.”

Tom’s pride stung a little at the thought that the agency he was paying to find his son would absorb his cost of travel. Tom always thought he’d leap at the offer of a free trip, but this was different. This was his mission, his responsibility. Tom had barely been responsible for himself. Never for another person or for anything important. He didn’t want that taken from him and he had no idea how to say that to Detective Day, who was probably used to being responsible for whole families and livelihoods.

“I’ll take care of my travel costs.” Tom paused and smiled. “But I will take you up on the camera phone thing. Do I send that to your office or to your personal phone?”

[Deleted]

Rachel Day

Never ever had Santiago offered expenses paid for by himself to his clients and it was, without a doubt, out of the ordinary. Rachel's guilty conscious was coming into play more than she would have liked to. This whole fib would take some getting use to. The air changed when she made the offer. She rather make the offer to clear her head and come off as a strange Detective.

“I appreciate the offer, Miss Day. I do, but you don’t have t’ worry about me.”

They exchanged smiles, and Rachel mindlessly ran a finger down the top of the desk. It shouldn't have shock her he hadn't taken the offer and she realized how selfish she was being. She was offering to clear her own mind and ebb away at her own guilt.

“I’ll take care of my travel costs.” She looked over at him and noticed how his smile calmed down that aching feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was suddenly lost in his tender gaze. Great, now she was using his attractive looks to make her feel better. Cut it out, Rachel.

“But I will take you up on the camera phone thing. Do I send that to your office or to your personal phone?”

Bopping right back into Detective mode, Rachel's eyes brightened as she made her way around the desk. Opening a drawer she took out a notepad, internally cringing at the sight of Santiago's office items that were suppose to be his and not hers, and slammed it shut with her upper thigh. "My personal phone." She told him brightly, plucking up a pen and beginning to write down her number. In realization, she caught herself and began also writing down her address, grateful that she had recently purchased her own apartment.

"Also, I'm giving you my address." She handed him the piece of paper. "This place is going to get a little makeover, so I'll be taking my business at my home."

Rachel Day could not have Tom showing up to the Agency and finding Rachel sitting at the front desk and Santiago in this office. Even if she had scheduled him for when Santiago would be out, who was to say Santiago would always take a lunch break at the same time all the time? Things were bound to be messed up and ruined. It wasn't so much of a life. She would spruce up the place a little bit. Who was she kidding, this entire thing was a lie.

But it wasn't a lie that she was going to find Kenneth.

"I'll start here while you take your trip, but I need all the information you have presently. Such as, do you know the university he was studying abroad with? Do you know the last time your ex-wife had spoke with him?" She gave him an understanding stare, leaning up against the side of the desk. It may be hard to speak with his ex or they both may not know anything, and Rachel didn't want to press the issue of that. "Of course, you might not have all the answers, and I completely understand. We will make use with what we have."

[The Exodus]

OOC: Santiago/Georgette. BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

This was the sort of storm fishermen loathed and fishwives feared. Santiago Ortiz had come to expect summer storms as part of the Parisian landscape, much the same way as he came to expect grey slush in the winter and cherry blossoms across from Notre Dame in spring. Just before fall fell, there was always at least one blow-out storm. It was early August and the storm was a few weeks earlier than it had been the year before, but when Santiago looked out the rain-streaked window, he shrugged and turned back to his computer work.

He was alone in the office and it was at least an hour after quitting time. In Santiago’s book, there was no such thing as quitting time. If he wasn’t working on investigative work, he was doing something else that classified somehow under “work”. Today, he was working on an email to his landlady. It was his goal to buy her out of this river-front property and when Santiago set a goal, he achieved it.

In this case, he had to. As Las Gardunas unwitting, new leader, failure meant being disposed of and replaced. Santiago refused to be another corpse rotting at the bottom of the Seine. They needed a shipping port and the offices downstairs would do quite nicely. Santiago didn’t want them. He needed them. He was prepared to pay—and the amount he would offer his landlady made him squirm. Santiago wasn’t used to being a rich man. The amount of money bothered him much, much more than where the money had come from. It was all a package deal. Gang, money, freedom.

He had never associated being in a gang with being a free man, but there was a season for everything. As long as he led Las Gardunas, they’d protect him. As long as he remained friendly with local police, he’d avoid arrest. He was only free in the basest sense of the word, but Santiago had stopped believing in free will as more than mere illusion years ago.

He stopped typing and instead fiddled with his ashtray. It was half-full (or, more in tune with Santiago’s worldview, half-empty) and he contemplated dumping it out. He didn’t instead he spun it around on the desk top. He had a lot to think about it. Only two months ago, he’d told Rachel he wasn’t dabbling in gang activity. Now, he was Las Gardunas leader. A new tattoo burned into his ankle testified to that. A few nights ago, he’d taken too many shots of whisky and let Carmen make the incision and pour the ink over the cut. It was scarring up nicely, if scarification could be described as “nice”. It was official and that was that.

He had an ace bandage around it now and to everyone except Carmen, it looked like Santiago had sprained it or twisted his ankle. He said nothing about it when asked and that was that.
The lights flickered and the power outage—however minor—was enough to restart his computer. Santiago stopped toying with the ashtray and shut the PC off entirely. He put his legs up on the desk and examined the budding scar on his left ankle. It was above the older notches made when he was inducted into Las Gardunas and when he made his first kill. He ran tender fingers over the grooved skin and winced when he reached the new, raw red patch. He wondered—not for the first time—what he’d gotten himself into.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

Since the day Santiago came into Georgette’s office, bearing a peace offering of a human skull he found, she couldn’t get him out of her head. Images of him flashed through her mind at the worst moments of the day: when she was conditioning her hair in the shower, when she was scraping brains off the highway, when she was suturing a dead man’s arm back onto his shoulder… But it wasn’t necessarily the look of him that brought her to his office today (though there was no denying he was attractive), but rather, the way he made her feel; the way they stood so tantalizingly close to each other, breathing in each other, wanting so badly to explore every inch of each other’s bodies. The way her body pulsated that day pulled her here, and gave her the guts to completely ignore Santiago’s closed door and walk right into his office.

Her brown trench coat would have been sweltering if she was wearing something else beneath it. But instead, she rode the packed, stuffy subway secretly in the buff, her heels clacking rhythmically on the sidewalk as she made her hurried way to her destination.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, ripping off the coat and letting it fall into a tan pool at the base of her feet. “Did you miss me as much I missed you?”

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

There was a monster storm outside. Santiago had lost his email. He was the leader of a gang he’d already tried to quit once. Honestly, the only thing to make this night worse would be for a rogue Neta to show up with switchblade and a score to settle. He leaned his chair back as far as it could go and decided to wait for exactly that. He didn’t know if he’d even bother fighting if it did.

Sure enough, the door opened with a bang. Santiago, who had expected it to do just that, rolled his eyes ceiling-ward. After you’d seen as much as he had, absolutely nothing would faze you, either. He waited for the drunken and drawled death threat.

“Hey, stranger,” he heard instead. “Did you miss me as much I missed you?”

Santiago looked. The front feet of his chair smacked the ground so hard that his legs fell off the desk and hit the ground with a loud—and painful—thud. Standing over a puddle of tan fabric was an entirely naked Georgette Duguay. Santiago didn’t bother to hide his surprise. The last time they’d spoken had been in her place of employment. He’d kissed her then and wanted to do more, but she’d given him coffee instead and seen him on his way. Clearly, her professionalism mattered more to her than his did. Heat surged up from Santiago’s stomach and boiled through his veins. His eyes swept over her Venus-de-Milo proportions and he licked his teeth. Despite his indignation—the ‘how-dare-she’s’ that growled in the back of his throat—Santiago couldn’t help but be turned on. She was bold. Crazy, maybe. And also very beautiful.

And here he was a thirty-two year old gangster and private eye, single and cynical; apathetic and appetitive. In the next week or so, Gardunas would be creeping out of the woodworks and making dramatic entrances less welcome than Georgette’s. His ankle throbbed, his shoulders hurt and he couldn’t help but think that Georgette might have cure hidden behind her coy smirk.

And, God, it had been too long.

Outside, thunder murmured in agreement.

Santiago wordlessly rose from the desk and crossed the room. He pressed his lips to Georgette’s—hard—and his hands snaked down her back. He didn’t know what he had missed, but maybe this was it. There was only one way to find out.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

Wordlessly, Santiago’s seat swayed from its precarious position and slammed forward as his eyes met the sight of her body which paled in the florescent lights of his office. She smirked coyly at him, and arched an eyebrow which she substituted as a beckoning finger. As if understood by a telepathic message, he came to her, and stapled her lips to his, his hands intrepidly searching along her back. She found the bottom of his shirt and deftly, almost expertly slipped her hands beneath it, feeling the hard, smooth surface of his body.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she said when she came up for a breath. Gulping in air, she returned her lips to the place they found on his, taking in the taste of him. Her tongue searched every crevice in his mouth as she swallowed that familiar flavour of smoke and coffee she had sampled all those weeks ago in her office. Today, she devoured it, savored it and drank it in, her teeth digging into the flesh of his lip for more.

Admittedly, there was a moment on her way over when she asked herself why. Why was she going to a man-she-hardly-knew’s office? But now, as his hands claimed parts of her body, she remembered why. He was shrouded in mystery and he smelled like a bar; and it was thrilling. And for a moment, time didn’t matter. For a moment, she didn’t have work, she didn’t need to be anywhere. For a moment, it was just his body and hers as she searched for the button on his jeans. She wasn’t here because she loved him or needed him, but simply because she wanted him. There was no tether between them to later be broken, no cord that could be severed, just pure, carnal instinct. What was more fulfilling and liberating than that?

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Outside, the storm waged war on the streets of Paris. It sent down bullets of rain, pelting unsuspecting rooftops and forcing pedestrians to duck for shelter. Lightning flashes rent the sky, burning up the surrounding air. And all the while, the thunder bellowed out its battle cry, which made century-old windows tremble with fear.

And inside, Santiago and Georgette clung together. Santiago didn’t know if she had come to him because of the storm outside or out of pity or if she was here simply because now was a better time than last week or the week before. He just knew, as they pressed against one another, that she couldn’t have come to him at a better time.

Sometimes, when two people have sex, they make love. And sometimes, a spade is just a spade. But there are spaces in between. The lustful, the humorous, the rage-fuelled, the tender, the sorrowful. And the blind kisses exchanged between two people desperate for something nameless that only the other can provide.

When the kissing and touching and lovemaking was done, Santiago and Georgette lay beneath his desk in silence, staring up at the scratched wood. At the height of their encounter, Santiago felt nothing but release. He had been a man, going through the motions as though it hadn’t been over a year since he had last been with a woman. But now that everything was over, the haze cast over Santiago’s consciousness was gone. And his ankle was killing him.

He looked over at Georgette to see if she was sleeping. She wasn’t. Like Santiago had been just moments ago, her eyes remained transfixed on the underside of the desk. Her thick, brown hair was curlier than usual and messier by far. A single coil clung to her flushed cheek. A half-smile graced her lips.

And Santiago felt a pang of longing shoot up in his stomach. He wanted to want her. He wanted to want her the right way, whatever that meant. She was exquisite—maybe more beautiful now than she had been when walking into his office in nothing but a trench coat—and she was smart. Too smart to want to stick around, if she ever knew what Santiago was really doing for a living these days.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

Santiago did.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

Between Satiago’s harsh, brackish kisses, Georgette could hear the storm outside throwing down rain like a curtain of bullets pounding away at the roof. Lightening reached out of the sky and clawed at the quivering windows, trying to get in. The thunder sang to them in its deep baritone as their bodies crashed together.

As they explored each other, they explored the spongy, malleable shade of gray between desire and need. As Santiago filled her with a poisonous lust, he filled a temporary void lodged in her chest that ate at her daily, gnawing away at tissue and bone until she was numb. She’d hate herself tomorrow, and there the hole would be, bigger than she remembered it, just as empty, just as glaringly unavoidable.

The tempest raged on, its cacophonous symphony hitting against the walls and rattling the room as they lay beneath the shelter of Santiago’s desk, the injured wood providing Georgette with a nice distraction from protocol pillow-talk. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept her own transfixed on the underside of the desk, searching for patterns where there were none, breathing heavily.

Finally, Santiago spoke. “Do you want a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke,” Georgette said. She had seen enough hearts and lungs, blackened by years of inhaling smoke, that eventually strangulated their masters, killing them as revenge for taking their first drag all those years ago. But, Georgette figured she had come this far. She rode on a subway and walked a few blocks in the rain just to have sex with a man she barely knew. Little else she did could top that. “But I wouldn’t mind starting.”

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Georgette didn’t look at Santiago and suddenly, his pride hurt. He wasn’t a bad f*ck. Or, at least, no one had ever told him if he was. And if Georgette wanted to leave, there was no one keeping her from the door. She could make her walk of shame in the rain, bundled up in that little trench coat of hers. See if Santiago cared.

He gnawed at the scar inside of his mouth. He really wanted that cigarette. He shouldn’t even be waiting for Georgette’s response. Women flitted in and out of his life before now. And as she told him, she wasn’t his girlfriend.

“I don’t smoke,” she said at long last. It didn’t tell Santiago anything she was thinking. He slid out from under the desk and stood. He pulled the pack of smokes and lighter out of his top drawer. He lit up. And then, from under the desk, Georgette’s muffled voice came a second time, “But I wouldn’t mind starting.”

Santiago laughed and brought the pack with him under the desk.

“Such a rebel,” he said. He pulled out a second cigarette and handed it to Georgette. Leaning close, Santiago could smell traces of Georgette’s soapy clean—almost antiseptic—scent underneath the sweat and smoke. He pulled his cig out of his mouth.

“First time?” asked Santiago. “Just put the cigarette between your lips. Not too far back…”

With his free hand, he reached over to place his fingers on top of Georgette’s and guide them. Her fingers were long and slender; they looked graceful holding the Marlboro just so. Santiago never saw anything particularly glamorous about smoking, but his dream girl would always been able to bum a smoke off him and always look sophisticated. Close enough. When Georgette was holding it properly, Santiago plucked his own cigarette out of his mouth and pressed the smoldering end to hers. The fire transferred, Marlboro to Marlboro.

“Now… inhale. Slowly. Deeply.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Georgette Duguay

Santiago rolled over and reached up to fetch a pack of cigarettes and Georgette’s eyes fell on his back. She watched as the muscles moved beneath the crisscross of scars that made patterns on his back and Georgette wondered for a minute if they covered the whole of him, like how the stars covered the navy sky at night. But the thought was silenced as Santiago settled back into place, lit up, and handed her the little white and orange stick she was supposed to learn to use.

“Such a rebel,” Santiago said, and Georgette snickered, struggling to push the thought of the little white scratches from her mind. She had seen worse. She had seen a woman impaled by her own steering wheel, children squished by soccer-mom vans, and men’s bodies bloated and bobbing in the Seine. These were all macabre, but not so stirring at the beautifully grotesque sight of Santiago’s back. How many scars were there? How had he gotten them? When? She wanted to know each one’s story, each one’s reason for being. But she hated herself for wondering. He was just a man. Just like any other, giving her something to do on a rainy day.

“First time?” Santiago asked as if he was shaking her from her own thoughts. She thanked him silently and blinked a few times, mulling the simple question over and over in her mind. “Hm? Oh, yes. It is.”

“Just put the cigarette between your lips. Not too far back…”

Georgette’s hand would have shook if Santiago hadn’t grasped it gently in his large, warm ones and guided her along the way. Securing it in place between her lips, Santiago touched her unlit cigarette with his lit one, embers roaring to life as they leapt to her side. She looked at him, her eyes wide with curiosity as she awaited his next instructions.

“Now… inhale. Slowly. Deeply.”

Georgette took in an eager breath, feeling the scorching air brush the back of her throat. She coughed, gagged, and shook her head. “No, no, let me try again.”

She regained her composure and tried once more, letting out one spastic cough before relaxing into the smoky bliss. She let out a smooth stream of grey against Santiago’s cheek. “Got it,” she breathed. “I’m a fast learner.”

Settling back down into her prostrate space on the floor, she asked “So what happened to your ankle?”

[The Exodus]

Santiago Ortiz

Georgette sputtered and gagged. Santiago’s face fell. No one got it right their first try. His first cigarette had been behind Santa Cecilia’s when he was fifteen. He sucked in a throat-full of smoke and hacked for a solid five minutes while Lorenzo and Morales laughed at him. He wouldn’t laugh at Georgette; he should have expected coughing. He also expected a lecture to follow now, since Georgette had probably seen a hundred tar black lungs and Santiago’s friends had all died before lung cancer could claim its inheritance.

Instead she shook her head.

“No, no,” Georgette said. “Let me try again.”

Santiago tilted his head and watched as Georgette took her second drag from the cigarette. This time, she coughed only once before blowing thin tendrils of smoke his way. Santiago drank in the second-hand fumes, although he had his own cigarette to smoke. He savored the taste of Georgette’s breath under the smoke, and breathed out slowly through his nose, letting her rise up into his head before returning to the air.

“Got it,” she breathed. “I’m a fast learner.”

Santiago smiled. He was suddenly at ease, where he hadn’t been before. He was sharing a smoke with a woman and—other than the fact they were naked underneath his desk—there was absolutely nothing new about that. Georgette laid back down and Santiago followed in suit.

“So what happened to your ankle?” she asked.

Santiago put his cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply. He held his breath for a long time and let the smoke go as far down into his lungs as it could. Everyone asked about that damn ankle. He exhaled and shifted his gaze down to it. The tattoo was visible, so there was no point in telling Georgette that he’d sprained it. He shook his head.

“I let my cousin give me a tattoo,” said Santiago. “I was drunk. It was a mistake. And now I’m limping like a retired racehorse.” He laughed mirthlessly. It really had been a mistake. The tattoo represented a life that Santiago had never wanted, but had accepted under threats and what could only be described as peer pressure. The smoke remaining in the back of his throat turned to bile. “It’ll heal in a few days.”

He rolled onto his side to look at Georgette properly. Unlike him, she had no discernible scars or tattoos. Santiago couldn’t remember not having his tattoos—particularly the larger part of the one on his ankle. Even in his childhood memories, he recalled himself as having them, but he knew that couldn’t be right. No eight year old could get inked, not even in the shadiest tattoo parlors.

“You don’t have tattoos,” Santiago said. “Ever consider getting one?”