Riga Vehicle

 

Riga Vehicle

It always came back to travelling. Riga going on a journey again. This time she was leaving her ex. Another ex in another city. One day she promised this would stop. When would that be Riga? She got onto the transporter. The engine ticked over. A noise she felt more in her chest than heard. It had a big engine. Four hundred horses give or take. She sat down. Through the window she saw the city. A Portuguese coastal city. Her time here was over. It hadn't been bad. They had given her a job in a bar and also a factory making tennis shoes. She'd met Julian there. Four months together. Nothing heavy. She ended it before it got heated and they fell in love. Deeply. She told him she had to go back to Bangladesh. This was true. Her mother requested to see her. Her sister was ill. There were other reasons too. Known only to Riga. Another job offer. Going back to her old trade. Or at least one of them. The transporter set off. Riga clutched her travel bag to her chest. It contained all her possessions from six months in Portugal. She has no case or big things. It was always this way. They drove down the ring road from the centre. To the airport and her flight. Multiple hours and she would change jets twice. A day of travel. She welcomed the movement and sights. To be home again. It had been a long couple of years. Riga liked to be abroad. When would she settle down? If ever. Her marriage had failed. There were two daughters from that. What of the future? Riga knew some of the answers. The others would be provided in time. For now, she enjoyed the trip. Riga the traveller.

***

 

 

In Albania

 

 

In Albania

Frank spent three months living in Albania once. He stayed with his friend. His friend was a gangster and dealt with ‘fake’ money made with a stolen press. The quality of the money was equal to that produced in the official government mint. That was where the machine was from. Frank helped his friend out while there. Being an ex soldier, he knew how to secure a building or check for threats or plan a route to safely move the money. Frank dressed like his friend. Never too flashy or too scruffy. No unwanted attention would be brought then. His friend was aware of who knew what. It was impossible to keep it secret. Money bought silence. Those who did grass were dealt with. Frank eradicated a rival who tried grassing to the cops. The cops were bought by Frank’s mate so it was no issue. It was the cops who delivered the grass to Frank and his friend. The grass was very surprised but half expected it. He took what was coming like a man. Never fought back, tried to escape or make a scene. They took him to a secluded forest with an area for executions and graves. All three men shared cigarettes. Frank asked the man if he had any last words. The man said tell his brother to take care of his wife and daughter. It was over quickly and the grass didn’t suffer. Two shots in the face took away his identity and life. He fell forwards flat out dead. They removed his watch, belt and shoes. Those were expensive items. He was buried six feet below. Later, back in the city Frank and his mate drank heavily. They toasted to a job well done and to the dead man. Even though he was a grass they remembered him. He’d done the wrong thing and had to pay the price. It was that simple. His family would be bought off so there would be no blood feud. Business was business and there were rules to follow. Frank did other things in Albania. He fucked the best prostitutes in Tirana, went hiking on Albania’s highest and best peaks, explored old military tunnels still full of decaying Soviet Mig fighter jets, and scratched his head at the many small concrete gun bunkers that dotted the landscape. His three months in Albania was constructive, informative and paid well. Frank promised his friend to return in future.

***