Complete Novel

The Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #3

The Loose Strings  The Racketeers
.
CHAPTER 20

Bleu, Too
by David Smith

“Ah, Tabarnac!”

Swearing in Quebecoise just seemed appropriate. 
       
Thankfully, someone had lit a fire in the fireplace to ward off the Canadian cold.  Though the lights were now out, the glow from the dying embers cast a soft glow around the cabin, enough to allow me to move.  I launched from my chair into a front shoulder roll, putting Jack’s chair between myself and the other guns in the room.  Too damn many guns.  Note to self:  cancel NRA membership.
   
Dad threw his scotch at my mother as a distraction and stepped in quickly to grab her.  He pulled her in to his body as a shield.  In the confusion, Steve had disappeared from view, most likely backing out the way that he had come in through the kitchen door.

“Let her go, Dad!” 

That had no effect as Dad started backing toward the front door with a gun pressed to my mom’s head.   I leveled my gun at Dad and tried again.

“Dad, let her go.  Now.”  The sneer on my Dad’s face told me he had no intention of letting her go.  

Remember what Dad said about me:  requisite skill set for squash…competitive…speed…metaphor for life, metaphor for squash.  He left off deadly shot-making.
   
I fired.  The bullet caught Jack in the side of his neck.  The look on his face was momentary, but fully captured his shock that I had taken the risky shot.  That I had shot him. 

He crumpled at my mother’s feet, where he laid with the blood and life draining out of him. 

How’s that for a fucking metaphor for squash!

As I refocused on finding Steve, I realized that the shooting outside had subsided.  In shock, Mom was still standing in Jack’s blood, fully in view.

“Mom, get down!”  She took two steps and nimbly dove toward me behind the chair.
 
Mom grabbed my arm and nodded with her head toward a door near the fireplace.  Apparently, she wanted us to go in that direction.  Not knowing exactly where Steve was, I decided to forego retrieving Jack’s weapon which was lying under his body, and Mom’s which had fallen to the floor when Jack grabbed her. 

The sound of feet could be heard running toward the front door.  As mom made a dash for the door, I laid down some fire in the direction of the kitchen door.  With no return fire, we made it to the door.   

Once through the door, Mom locked it behind us.  I could see that the door was steel-plated.  Clever Mom had an escape route.  Through the dark we descended the stairs quickly, coming to another, smaller service door.  Mom eased it open and edged her way out the door into the cold Tremblant night.

We paused in the lee of the building, scarcely breathing, and scanned the area.  Seeing no movement save the rustling pines, Mom nudged me forward toward an unseen path.  She led the way which she seemed to know well.  Good thing.  I would have killed myself in the dark. 
 
Five minutes down the path we came to an apartment complex.  Ted went straight for the parking lot and after she clicked a remote starter, I saw a car engine come to life, the exhaust visible in the night air.   Mom had the car in motion before I had my door closed.  

I twisted in my seat, keeping an eye out for someone following us.  Whoever had survived the cabin shootout would be looking for us.  After several quick turns on the mountain village streets, we were quickly heading into the countryside.  The winding mountain roads provided us with some degree of obscurity. 

“Mom, where are we going?”

Mom shook her head as she focused on the road.  “Distance,” she said.  “We need distance from these guys so we can stop and figure out what this is all about.  And we need to find out who survived that fiasco back there.”

“I know a place we can stay.  We can probably get a car, as well.”

I guided Mom past Lac Ouimet and through Saint-Jovite.  Two minutes later, after assuring that the Audi was no longer in the parking lot, we parked at the Faucon Blue. 

I directed Mom to the back of the building, away from the glare of the flashing neon “Danseuses Nues.”  We slipped in the unmarked dancer’s entrance.  

There, at his table inside the back door where I expected him, was my old boss, Marc-Andre.  The bar was about half full and through the haze I saw a pouty brunette with smoky eyes on the main stage, moving with particular vigor to the loud gangsta rap blaring in the club.  A quick scan of the crowd indicated that she had everyone’s attention.  No one seemed to be looking for Mom and me. 

It was embarrassing taking Mom into a strip club where I was well known.  “Don’t judge me, Mom.” 

She took a step back and nodded.  “No problem.  This is your turf.”

I shook out my hair and walked quickly to Marc-Andre’s table and slid in next to him.  “Hey, M-A.  Am I ever glad to see you here!”

“What the f….What the hell are you doing here?” he said as a range of emotions rolled through his rugged, attractive face.  You see, I had broken his heart when I took off the last time and it seemed that he was not over it.   

“M-A, I don’t have a lot of time to explain.  I need help.  I need a car, and a place to stay tonight.  And I need to be out of here in about 5 minutes.  Do you still have the place in Saint-Sauveur?”

“J'MEN CALICE!!!” Marc-Andre swore vehemently.

I notice several of the dancers look over at him and I put my hand on his thigh, got his attention, and calmed him.
  
“Look, I know that you are pissed at me, but I need your help.  I’m in danger.  Please help me,” I begged.  

He looked at me for what seemed an eternity.  Finally, he nodded. 

“You can use the place in Saint-Sauveur.  Just for tonight.  Let me get you a car.” 

He walked over to a short, disproportionate red-headed dancer and whispered to her.  Her smile looked like she had just won Loto-Quebec.  She left and returned a minute later with the keys to an old Ford Focus.  

“Here is the car.”  Marc-Andre said returning to his table.  “Parked out back.  I don’t suppose you will be returning it?”

“I’ll text you where you can pick it up, ok?”

His answer was a resigned stare.  “Chantal’s a good kid.  She will be at my place until I get her car back, so I want it back tomorrow.”

I put my hand on his chest, kissed him softly on the cheek, and told him not to hurt himself with Chantal tonight. 


Mom and I quickly found Chantal’s car.  “Well, if it starts, no one would ever think that we are trying to escape in this!” I commented.  

Within minutes we were on the highway and forty minutes later we pulled up in front of a rustic A-frame log cabin. 
   
As we entered the cabin, my phone rang.  The number was blocked.   I answered.

“Hayden, they’ve got…,” Marc-Andre was cut off as Steve took the phone.  

“You’ve one hour to get back to the club or we start with Chantal.”

Tabarnac!