Project Sorna

Forty-Eight

          Small talk. Little to report.

          He came for the only place private enough for an airlift. Waves tossed at the surface and eventually at Lenny, costing him his balance and face-planting in a sedimentary patch that left his nose and facial depression. Laughter erupted, average men looking up.

         Lenny was shamed while they beamed, knowing his confidence was over for good. If that wasn't as painful, his glasses fell off in a cartoon way. But time was of the essence, and he brought them back on, clean and all. That's when the pier had on-lookers, lack there of from the shipment officers.  

           He sprawled, encountering a man's ripped Diesels. Lenny's hands went to his face & kneed to see the semi-hipster. 

          "That's just embarrassing." Logan said, his goatee a little off.

          Logan was smooth talking, learning from his arch-enemies from his life as a pre-teen. But his style popped from the usual preppy, casual, etc. Every other day he showed off a 90s scarf on his shoulders, tie-dyed T-shirt, make-shift overall straps, & hip-hop silver chains accustomed to his pants. Everyone referred his middle name, "Stewart", his face & body movement like Patrick Stewart. His shadow cloaked Lenny Prestley.  

           "Act serious, 'Stewart'. It's not enough you walk in tie-dye, you had to flatter me for the world's sake. You'd think I'd take a joyride for shits and giggles?"

          "Your flattering me, I thought this was a pier." he turned his back. "But your here for this island, right?"

          "Yes. . . .yes that's exactly why I'm here! Sorna, actually."

          "Take a chill pill. It's a little ways down this board walk, not so fancy either."

          For fog that was so low, glasses couldn't help Lenny shake the feeling he was a ghost. Waves jogged up below the boards. Water seeped in the wood, remaining in barrels that were neglected to community services. All but two were sacked with sand bags. He lacked fending for the practical shack next to four boutiques and one emporium.

          "In there?" Lenny sounded dubious, preferring the look of a convenient store.  

         "Better, my dude." Logan surveyed, touching the glass. "I have a helicopter. In here."

          A slight creak made the door open, no lock or technical code inquired. 'Stewart', truly named Logan, waltzed in to maneuver from a thick curtain, & vent but walk forward intentionally. Lenny stiffened a sneeze in his sleeve, cringing at the insulation extracting with the vent. One full turn made the shack spiffy up a bit, mysteriously contrasting than what it's glass revealed outside.

          "AH!" wheezed Prestley, dust molecules and everything. "Who's mercy-full idea to run this place was?"

         "Your looking at him." bobbed 'Stewart's head, "Who did you have in mind?"

         "No hard feelings, but someone with credentials?"

         "Credentials got nothing on me, my friend." 'Stewart' rigged up his scarf before wrapping it around his waist without shame, "All you need is some manliness in yourself to keep an old Robinson R-22 alive."

          At that point, a knife made his hairs stand up with goosebumps. The knife was thrown martial style, embedding in a book case in a flick of the wrist before a rugged black came from the other room to wrap his hand around it. "First, we make a solid deal."

          For his own sake, Lenny wouldn't turn around, ominously aware the voice was serious. "God lift your soul, son. . . .I'm just looking for the helicopter."