Complete Novel

The Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #3

The Loose Strings  The Racketeers

CHAPTER FIVE

A Little Bonding
by Margot Comstock

Ollie Fox was not pleased. With no idea what was going on, except that Hayden was in on it, he was angry and uncomfortable. He glanced around. The driver looked ordinary, rather small, perhaps. The man next to Ollie was about Ollie’s size, in good shape but not unusually so. They hadn’t taken his squash bags away; of that he was very glad.

At least it was New York; he could recognize pretty much where they were. They’d left the Meat Packing District where he lived; they’d headed uptown and west.

He spoke to the man beside him.

“Excuse me, can you tell me what’s going on?”

The man turned to Ollie. He didn’t smile, but his response wasn’t unfriendly. On the other hand, he wasn’t forthcoming either; Ollie thought, probably really doesn’t know.

“No, I can’t,” the man said. “Somebody wants you and that’s where we’re taking you.”

“You don’t know who that is?”

“Nope.”

The man looked about 40, bald, and, Ollie thought, was attempting to appear completely disinterested.

“Gonna be a long trip?” Ollie asked.

The man scowled. “Just long enough,” was all he said.

They took Broadway north, passing Soho and now Chelsea.

After a while, Ollie said, “Okay if I get a book out of my bag? I’d like to read.”

The man looked at him quizzically. “In this circumstance you want to read?” he asked. “You crazy?”

“Mebbe. No problem, eh?”

“Yeah, problem. Forget it.”

Startling Ollie, the driver, who’d seemed to be paying no attention, piped up. “Get the book out, Gus. Nobody’s gonna care if he reads a damn book on the way.”

“Shut up, Kirk, and drive!”

So these two don’t much like each other, Ollie noted. After a minute, he pointed at the bag with the squash gear and said quietly, “Book’s in that one. Sure would appreciate it. Kinda nervous here….”

The man called Gus, though looking irritated, got up and examined the bag, slowly unzipped it. Ollie had thrown the book in the bag as an afterthought, right on top, and the man took it, hesitating to check out the plethora of squash paraphernalia….then handed the book to Ollie. It was escape fiction, Ollie knew; too bad it wasn’t a handbook on escape. Still, he settled down with the old book from a series he’d just begun to read. Live and Let Die. It wasn’t a big heavy tome, more’s the pity, he thought. Nope, this book isn’t gonna take either of these characters out of my way.

This was not a good situation. Ollie grew tenser, scared really. They’d reached Times Square, passing 42nd Street. Movies on the right, legit theaters on the left. How he loved this city—but no time to enjoy that now!

All right, he said to himself. Time to think. What is this about. I don’t think it’s about Dr. Karwah. Hayden’s involved; she knows about Dr. Karwah, what little I’ve told her, which isn’t very much. But Hayden IS involved with this—she knew about someone, these folks, wanting me for something, something bad! What? WHAT!

He couldn't just sit here and let it, whatever it was, happen. He had to do something. Ok, start simple and easy.

“Do you know where we’re going?” he asked his backseat mate.

No response.

“C’mon, Gus. I didn’t ask WHERE, just if you knew…”

Gus was mum, but the driver wasn’t.

“This is where you're going,” the driver said, and he turned sharply onto 43nd Street going west, turned south on 9th Avenue. After a few dilapidated blocks, he pulled into an alley and stopped in front of an old door with oddly vanishing writing on it. At the side of the door was an unlit light with a large round bulb that was partially broken.

An old theater, Ollie thought. He could see the Little Shubert nearby, now empty…. Looking around, Ollie saw three Audis parked along the alley. Just yards beyond the door, Ollie noted a large metal garage door.

The driver got out of the car. He came around to the side Ollie was on and opened the door.

“Okay, get out.”

Ollie grabbed his two squash bags, one with each hand, and, moving fast, got half out.

“You can’t take them!” the driver barked. Ollie swung the frontmost bag at the driver, knocking him down. He felt a tug on the other bag and yanked. It was heavier and he had to yank hard and several times, but he knew how to handle the long, heavy, strangely shaped squash bag, Thanks, Black Knight, he murmured. Finally he went from a strong yank to a sudden push, and Gus lost his balance. The driver was beginning to get up; Ollie walloped him again. Then he got the bag open enough to extract his gun; he aimed at Gus.

“Keys,” he said to Kirk. Kirk was a good enough driver, but he didn’t sign on for this. He handed over the keys.

“You,” Ollie said to Kirk. “What’s this all about?” Kirk said nothing. “Gus?” Gus looked sullen.

“Okay. I’m outta here. I’ll dump this car, so your bosses won’t find me. Just remember, I could’ve shot you but I didn’t.”

Ollie climbed into the Audi, pushed the ignition, and burnt rubber out of there, took 8th Avenue north toward—where? Where was safe?

East Side Squash.

A couple of blocks from East Side, he pulled into a construction zone near a Key Food and parked. He took a t-shirt out of one of his bags and wiped down the car. Then, bags in tow, he headed on foot for East Side, where he expected to find safety and good will.

******

In the theater, Jean-Luc spoke.

“They’re taking too long. Steve, take a look out the stage door. I don’t want to call; those two goons are likely to give away too much in the process of answering me.”

Hayden was sitting on the stage, facing the seats. She looked like a person trying to look cool when really very nervous. There were several other men in the theater.

Before Steve got to the door, someone pounded on it. Steve looked at Jean-Luc, who got out a gun and nodded. Steve opened the door slowly.

“Jeez, let us in!” Gus said, walking right over to Jean-Luc and sitting a couple of seats to his right. Kirk came in slowly, closed the door and stood by it.

Jean-Luc was furious. “What the hell did you do? Where is he? Goddam it, spit it out—now!”

“He’s no patsy, Jean,” Kirk said. “Cool as a cucumber. Polite. Cooperative. Actually got out a book to read on the way.”

“So,” said Jean-Luc, “you two left him in the car to finish his reading? What? What?”

“He’s in great shape, fast. When I opened the door to get him out to come in here, he grabbed his bags and hit me with one—dang thing musta been full of steel—I went down and somehow he got Gus with the other bag. He had a gun in one of the bags and he took the keys and drove off in the Audi. That’s when we knocked.”

Hayden hoped no one noticed the hint of a smile that crossed her lips and quickly disappeared.





Margot Comstock
Margot is a California artist-crossword creator-game designer-writer who enjoys hanging out with her ancient Viking and cheering on the Los Angeles Lakers.







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