The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
Chapter
2-B Kate by Roland Jacopetti
Hank
poised on the sidewalk, juggling “could be” and “couldn't be”, watching
maybe-Kate standing at the curb in obvious cab-searching posture. Back
in the day, when Hank had been a much more active private investigator
and Kate his partner, they'd spent large portions of their waking hours
together, finally becoming partners in more than just business. Then
the demon Squash had sunk its talons more securely into Hank to the
detriment of his work time, until finally Kate pulled out of the
partnership, and left New York for...where was it? Portland? Los
Angeles? Silicon Valley? Had he really forgotten, in only three years?
The trio of women was obviously on the
verge of attracting a cab, and Hank made his move. “Hey, Kate!” he
called, dangerously jaywalking crowded 75th, and approaching the three,
as did a cab. Kate looked up and, after a moment of indecision, flashed
the smile that had always tugged his heart-strings.
“Wouldn't you know it?” she laughed. “I
thought you'd be knee deep in squash at this hour of the afternoon, but
noooo!” She pointed to her companions. “Kids, this is Hank Meredith.
You remember...my New York former partner? Hank, meet my San Francisco
co-conspirators, Lori Leeman and Maggie Shea.”
(San Francisco! That was it!)
“Where are you guys off to?”
“Unfortunately, to the airport. This was a
four-hour visit, or I'd have contacted you. Actually, you were on
my phone call list, once I got back to S.F. Listen...want to share this
cab with us while I fill you in on what's happening? This nice
gentleman holding the door for us looks like a gypsy cabbie, and I'm
sure you can talk him in to taking you back here from JFK for less than
the price of a Japanese sub-compact.”
“Done!”
In moments, they'd piled into the cab, and
were off into traffic. Lori and Maggie were soon deep in discussion,
leaving Kate and Hank to a renew-old-acquaintance conversation.
What-ever-happened-to didn't take much time, and they reached one of
those inevitable moments when ex-lovers have come back to close
proximity.
“So...how's your life?” asked Kate. “Doing any investigation? Or still wrapped up in squash?”
“I'm still being a little lax,” admitted
Hank. “Keeping the office open and taking on an occasional client.
Actually, I'm right on the verge of getting back into the biz.” And he
filled Kate in on the impending demise of the club. She reacted with a
good deal more surprise than he'd expected.
“Damn!” she said. “Talk about coincidence!
I knew I should have gotten in touch with you before we left New York,
but I've got appointments tomorrow I just can't miss.”
“And miles to go before you sleep?”
“That, too. We've got a few minutes,
though, so let me fill you in real quick, and we can continue on the
phone tomorrow.” Something changed in her eyes. “Or maybe...maybe
you'll find what I've got to tell you interesting enough to warrant an
appointment at MY office. Maybe even soon.”
There was that smile again.
“So...what's up, Kate?”
“Well...a fast update. I floundered for the
first year in San Francisco, making a shocking hole in my savings, and
not doing much more than learning how to get around the city and
finding an apartment that's even expensive by New York standards. About
the time I started thinking about moving on, I met Lori and Maggie.
They have an agency called Gate Investigations, which was doing well
after seven years, but they were about to lose a partner, an old-time
ex-cop-turned-P.I., who decided to retire. They'd been talking it over,
and had pretty much decided that the time was ripe for an all-woman
agency. Then yours truly came along with my paltry four years in the
saddle and lots of New York charisma...”
Maggie looked up. “Really, Hank,” she threw in, “It was her honest face and her Cow Hollow apartment that swung the deal.”
“She's right,” said Kate, “Private eyes are a dime a dozen, but three bedrooms in the Hollow is a genuine rarity.”
“See, she's just a greenhorn,” scoffed Maggie. “Private eye, indeed! We always refer to ourselves as Private Dicks.”
“Ignore them,” said Kate. “Listen, let's
get on with this. We're close to the airport. So the three of us have
been together for almost two years, and it's working out. Last week, we
got a call from a potential client, and I immediately thought of you.
This is a guy who owns a health club in the Financial District...”
“A club? Squash? Do they play squash in California?”
“Of course they do, but not at this club.
It's hard to believe, but the joint has been in existence for nearly a
hundred years, started back in the early 'twenties in one of the old
Montgomery Street office buildings. It's a small club with a fairly
small membership. Not all the modern amenities, but a nice shower room
and sauna, enough machines for the current membership, and a high
initiation fee. And one detail that's possibly its main selling point.
A handball court.”
“Handball? You mean like against the side of a building? How can you have a handball court in an indoor athletic club?”
“You can, and it's so cool. Picture this.
Over in one corner of the main exercise room is a narrow stairway
leading up to a trap door set in the ceiling. You push this door up,
and the stairway continues up into a small room with no windows, only a
skylight and artificial lighting. The door comes down, and the room is
sealed off from the rest of the club. A handball court.”
“Really, kind of like a squash court.”
“Right! I've tried it. You play with gloves
on both hands, and it's amazing how quickly you develop facility. Slap
the ball into the back wall, take shots off the walls as the ball
caroms around the room...it's great fun.”
“So...why an investigation?”
The cab slowed, approaching the airport.
“Briefly, there's a group of business
types, members of the club, and investors as well, who are going for a
hostile takeover. They want to make it into your basic modern
cookie-cutter club. And...they want to get rid of the handball court.”
“Who are they?”
“I can't remember names...and here we are.
Listen, Hank, I'm so glad I saw you before we left. Here's a card. I'll
call you first thing tomorrow morning. Be well, sweetie.”
“Wait a minute. Be sure to get me the names of these co-conspirators. Maybe I can do a little research.”
“Oh, wait a minute. I just remembered one, I think. Let me see...right! An odd character named...Pike.”
Roland Jacopetti has worked in radio for forty years and is the author of "Rescued Buildings" from Capra Press.
__________ This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
