The Saltport ATM

8. The Metal Box Strikes Again

Then, a whirring sound spins into the air. It grows faster and faster, louder and louder, until the entire box begins to vibrate. My arms fold over my chest, fingers grip my elbows. What the heck is going on?

The kiosk gives a final, intense rattle. Something knocks inside it, and two objects clang inside the ATM tray. The whirring whines as it decreases in pitch and volume. It peters out, carried away by a passing breeze. The ensuing swish of the waves is disconcertingly quiet. Slowly, tension leaches from my muscles, and my nerves settle. I lean forward to see how much the ATM dropped me this time.

Already, I know it's significantly less than last time. A single wad of hundred dollar bills lies inside the slot, secured with a purple rubber band. I breathe a small sigh of relief. Thank goodness I'll be eating tomorrow.

The part that perplexes me is the black device beside it. It blends into the slot, so it's hard to get a good look at it. I shift in front of the kiosk, slipping both items into my purse.

"Wait a minute," Right-Scar says. "Let me see what you got."

My heart quickens, though I'm not quite sure why. An ATM should only hand out money, right? What difference does it make if the others know?

I pull the bundle of cash out. Right-Scar's eyes flicker over it, then drop to my purse. I can feel every beat like a hammer in my chest, every moment's hesitation mounting my anxiety.

There is no reason to be anxious. There is no reason that Right-Scar shouldn't see both items.

And yet some instinct tells me that I have to hide my second gift.

"Okay. Let's head back," Right-Scar says. He turns, walking along the boardwalk as if nothing happened. I exhale a long, silent breath of relief. My fingers fumble to unzip my purse, and I slip the cash inside. I take a moment — a single, short moment to glance at the other item. My eyes quickly look up again, not wanting to linger and betray the object hiding under the bills.

Something swells in my chest, maybe confusion, concern, or even a tiny shred of hope. The ATM gave me a taser, a legit, electric-shock taser. I just can't imagine why. All I know is that this is the first time I've had even a slight advantage in this messed up situation.

And I intend to keep it that way.

***

How does one get into an exclusive event only for politicians? Don't ask me. I still haven't figured it out after a three hour plane ride.

I spend my time in the air flipping through complementary magazines, pondering how to get Two into the luncheon, then flipping through another magazine. Before the flight ends, I run out of reading material, making a mental note to sell the magazines to hopefully offset some of the costs I've incurred. Some have a retail value of over twenty dollars.

Bubbly water tingles my tongue. I'm not partial to sparkling water, no matter how luxurious it is. But it was the only beverage I found in the fridge on the back of the plane. Well, there were other beverages. It just wouldn't have been appropriate to start drinking them before five in the afternoon.

Clear, blue sky and clouds surround my window. Soon, houses and treetops creep into view, magnifying in size as we land. The plane comes to a bumpy stop at the airport outside New York City. To my surprise, the door opens, we aren't at a terminal. Instead, a long flight of stairs ascends to greet us. I climb down, holding the railing to steady my wobbling, white heels. A ferocious wind swoops over the airport, threatening to lift the edges of my coral-colored pencil skirt. The stiff material stands firm and doesn't betray me, though.