THE ESCORT

THIRTY EIGHT | GOOD OLD HANA

It was midnight when their plane finally touched down in LAX, and by the time they were in Sunset Bay, the road was less busy and a few stragglers littered the sidewalks.

Elodie wanted to go straight to see Mace, but knew that wasn't possible. There was no way she was leading danger to him.

Finally, their car—a dark town car had been waiting outside the airport when they arrived—pulled to a curb on Ocean's salt; a part of the town mostly populated by fishermen and seafood restaurants.

Rocco gestured to her to get out, and Elodie did. Then, he led them over brick wall with heavy steel door, heavily covered with graffitis and torn gig flyers, that was barely visible halfway along an alley in Ocean's Salt, and walked into the cold, damp space.

A single caged bulb on the wall threw sallow light on a spiral staircase that twisted steeply into the depths of the earth.

"There are people waiting for you," Rocco said, not making any move to go inside.

"And the chip?"

"Leave that to us." Rocco handed her a Maglite flashlight. "Good luck."

When he left, the door clanged shut in Elodie's face, sealing her into the dank space. She shone the torchlight against the tiled wall, it's glazed cream surface obscured by a thick layer of grime and dirt, and found the top of the stairs.

She'd been rushed way from the LAX airport in the back of a blue delivery van and driven around streets she couldn't see, while people talked at her.

In the back of the van, Rocco had given her a banana, three chocolate bars, and a bottle of water—all she could stomach, at the time. Elodie had wished it was something with lots of sugar, like an energy drink, instead.

And because she was feeling so dizzy with fatigue, she wolfed down the bars, dropping the wrappers to the floor, while a geeky young woman and man gave her instructions while balancing their laptops on their knees.

"You're now Hana," said the guy.

"Hana's dead. That's insensitive," Elodie told him.

He sighed as though he was explaining something to a dim child, even though he barely looked legal enough not to get carded at bars.

"Once you're in Sunset Bay, you're Hana."

Elodie clapped a hand on her thighs. "But, they'll know I'm not Hana."

Again, an unexplainable violence took over her, and she almost wished she could slam her wrist into their faces.

In the last twenty four hours she'd almost been killed, discovered she'd been roped into a doomed mission by a corrupt agent, lost someone who had become important to her in the matter of days. All she wanted to do was go to Offshore, get Mace and fly him somewhere safe. She wasn't in the mood to be lectured by jailbaits.

"What are your names?" Elodie asked them.

"I am Lux." The young man narrowed his eyes. "My pronouns are they/them."

"And you?"

"Asami."

Elodie had stuffed her banana into her mouth. "Say it one more time. Slowly this time."