bonus post, short story in Cobra's universe.

 sparked by a picture on Night Cafe; I couldn't resist putting a short story as a comment, for Johnny Fish [the artist]

https://creator.nightcafe.studio/creation/OtSMzBAjFaJ5yHgicDLq?ru=CardinalBiggles

The quick and the dead

 

I knew he was trouble the moment he came in the door.

One of the reasons was, that he was dead when he fell in.

There was a knife in his side.

It was my knife.

And I could hear the sirens.

It was going to be one of those days.

I was wearing gloves; I hadn’t touched anything without them. And since getting here, all I’d touched was the door when someone knocked.

The same someone who had shoved Jimmy the Sneak in through the door at my feet with such alacrity and malice aforethought.  I pulled the knife out of the wound, and dropped it in an evidence bag; no point letting the cops know whose knife it was. Not until I could clear myself.

I made my way out of the back door of the riverside shack, and slid back into my boat, thankful that I had rowed upstream rather than driving to the dive which the tipoff had sent me to.

The tipoff was now looking good for being involved in Jimmy’s murder. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. And I had been fooled; the voice had sounded enough like Jimmy’s that I had thought it was him. But the body... the arm was stiff when I pulled out the knife, and that meant that Jimmy was already dead when I got the tipoff.

Jimmy is one of my noses.  Was, I should say. He had been looking into some smuggling for me; there was a good reward for whoever managed to get it stopped. Presumably the poor little sod was getting too close. 

I should never have loaned him my knife with the lockpick attachments.

I got back to the office, and changed out of the boilersuit I had used for the meet.  I knew Inspector Dangerfield would be down on me soon, like a ton of bricks. The old fart hates my guts because I’ve interrupted too many of his cases because he hasn’t the imagination I have.

I wasn’t disappointed.

He crashed through the door like a herd of rhinoceruses. Funnily enough, the collective noun for rhinoceruses is ‘a crash.’ It suited Dangerfield as his donut-belly preceded him by several minutes and carrying its own momentum with it, as it wobbled in outrage against my desk.

“You’ve really done it this time!” he growled, rudely.

“And good evening to you, too, Inspector,” I said, politely.

His pink, sweating face sweated more pinkly.

“Mayhew, I knew when I got the report that you must have done it,” he said.

“Marlowe,” I corrected him. Philip Marlowe is my professional name; nobody gets the reference to the oldstyle private eye any more, except a buddy of mine, who goes by the soubriquet of ‘The Cobra.’ He’s a killer for hire; an odd sort of buddy to have, but he’s helped me out more than once, and I’ve done research for him.  And to be fair, he only kills the sort of scum who deserve it.  In my business, you make some odd friends. Dangerfield deliberately miscalls me to annoy me; it doesn’t, particularly. One day he’ll do it on a charge sheet when I need an out.

“What am I supposed to have done now?” I asked, mildly.

The pink went via magenta to purple.

“Careful,” I said. “You’re becoming colouric...eh, choleric.”

The purple assumed a shade of puce which had to be seriously unhealthy.

“You rifled through Senator Carstairs’ office – or got your nose to do it,’ he said.

He was worrying about that when he had me bang to rights for murder? A murder I hadn’t committed, but he wouldn’t care.

Maybe I’d got out in time.

I leaned forward and poked his wobbling tummy.

“Inspector,” I said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard of this; but in this country and in this state, when you accuse someone of something, you have to have something called ‘ev-i-dence,’” I said the word slowly, and clearly, as if to a slow child. “And without this, the presumption of ‘inn-o-cence’ is considered inviolable. That means....”

“I know what it means!” he yelped. “But I do have evidence!”

“Since I wasn’t there, I fail to see how you can,” I said, relaxing.

If his evidence was incontrovertible, I’d be down at the precinct talking to him, not in my office.

“You left your business card!” he said, triumphantly.

I blinked.

“Is that the best you can manufacture?” I said. “That you swipe a few of my cards when in my office, and then drop one somewhere you want me to have been?”

I ran out of descriptors for his colour; it had a blue tinge to the purple which was really quite worrying.

“I do not manufacture evidence!” he screamed.

“Well, if you didn’t, who did?” I asked. “I don’t think any jury in the world, seeing your evident animosity towards me, would believe for one moment that you hadn’t left it there yourself. And that would be your career over, wouldn’t it?  Now shall I dial 911? You don’t look well.”

He collapsed into my client chair, panting, and all the colour draining out of him.

And there was a lot of colour to drain.

“I did find your card,” he said.

I shrugged.

“So what?” I said. “I have them on my desk for clients to take because, believe it or not, that’s what business cards are for. Maybe the senator sent someone to pick up my card because he needs a gumshoe. Maybe someone who works in his office did. Or someone who passed through. Or, whoever – how did you put it? Rifled through his office.”

“Someone you paid to go through it,” said Dangerfield.

“I have never said to anyone, ‘go and search Senator Carstairs’s office,” I said. “And I can swear to that with a clean conscience. Now, if one of my noses came up with the idea, I don’t deny some of them are a little rough around the edges; but I can’t be blamed for that. They are supposed to come back to me with leads for further instructions.”

I make a point of telling them this, as any one of them could testify. Not that they take any notice, and nor do I expect them to do so, but that’s not the same.  As the Japanese say, ‘there is a difference between what is said, and what is done.’

“Which noses have you got on a job at the moment?” he growled.

I frowned.

“You know I don’t give up my sources,” I said. I chewed my lip, looking, I hoped, convincingly worried. “I tell you what, though, I’m  expecting a report from one who said he had a lead. And he hasn’t called in. Now, if I was in your shoes, Amos Bellamy Cedric...” he hates me toting out his given names far more than I mind him getting my name wrong, “... Not that my feet would fit such outsize things, but if I were in your shoes, I’d wonder what Ji... what my nose had found out that he felt a need to rifle through a senator’s office rather than just come back to me.”

He glared at me, but his body appeared to have run out of enough pigment for another display.

“And what are you working on?” he demanded.

“The smuggling problem,” I told him.

He stared in consternation.

“Don’t leave town,” he warned, getting up too quickly, in my opinion, for a man of his constitution, and leaving my office.

I released a sigh of relief when he was gone,

Senator Carstairs! Our upright ‘taxes are the responsibility of all’ senator!

Or, I reminded myself, someone in his office. It had to be him, or someone close to him. I wondered what poor Jimmy had discovered.

When his body was discovered officially, as it should have been by now, I would pay for a decent funeral for him. I would also take on the mutt he loved like a child.

I waited for the phone call.

It came after about twenty-five minutes, enough time for Dangerfield to get back to the office.

“Marlowe? Come to the morgue. We’ve someone there we think you can identify.”

“Oh, shit; yes, I’ll be right there,” I said.

 

 

“It’s Jimmy,” I said. “I think his surname was Woodfield, but I wouldn’t swear to it. I need to go over to his place; there’s a dog he cares for. He’d want me to see to it.”

“It’ll do,” said Dangerfield. “I think you actually care.”

“I do,” I said. “I take it very personally when any of my noses are attacked.”

“If I hear of Senator Carstairs having so much as a hangnail, I’ll know where to come,” he warned. 

“You’d be wrong,” I said. “I want to see the bastard responsible in an orange suit on the Friday special spaceplane to the penal colony on the moon.”

For smuggling, this was a distinct possibility.

“What do you suppose Jimmy was doing in a shack on the banks of the Hudson?” Dangerfield asked me.

“Looking for clues to riverine smuggling?” I suggested. “Or, something as mundane as looking for somewhere to flit to, if he figured he’d been snooping on someone dangerous. His own place is none so salubrious, that somewhere you describe as a ‘shack’ could be considered much worse.”

“Yes, concrete of old docks right to the waterside, no chance of finding footprints,” he said, bitterly.

“Something Jimmy would have considered an advantage,” I nodded. “I think from that much, I can guess the area,” I added.

He glared.

“Don’t you go poking your nose into an official investigation!” he said.

“Perish the thought,” I said. “I won’t do more than poke my nose in to a dead friend’s business.”

 

 

I went to Jimmy’s place first.

It had been ransacked, and the dog had gone. Dangerfield got there just after I did.

“Don’t look at me,” I said, as we regarded the mayhem. “I have an alibi; I was at the morgue.”

He didn’t even query that one.

“Well, he must have had evidence which drove him to investigate further,” I said. “Unless he came up with a good place to hide it, it’s gone.”

“What do you know?” he yapped.

“Know? Nothing,” said. “But there’s a longshot that he mailed it to me before he headed off on his own.”

“You turn over anything to me if he did,” demanded Dangerfield.

“Of course,” I said.

As soon as I had xeroxed it, anyway.

Meanwhile, I went looking for the dog.

Jimmy had a kennel outside for the pup, for when he was off on a job. Mopsy was inside, cowering.  I irritated the cops in getting underfoot to open a can of pooch meat and put it out; but they caved when I threatened to report them to Animal Services.

I put down food, and went to load the rest into my car.

Then I went back to the kennel.

Mopsy knew me; or she wouldn’t have eaten. I’ve fed her before when Jimmy was in hospital.

In the end, I picked up the kennel and all, and put it in the back of my car. I have a biggish SUV; if you’re not using the grid to get about, you need an off-road vehicle, as nowadays most of New York’s roads that are off the grid count as offroad.

I took Mopsy back to the office.

I also decided to sleep there; I have a camp bed for such occasions.

Mopsy emerged and joined me on the bed, which was damnably uncomfortable, but also, somehow, comforting.

When I got up, she snuggled back down. It has to have been more comfortable than the kennel.

The kennel!

I abandoned the notion of the first coffee of the day, and went over the kennel with a fine tooth comb.

The roof had a hidden catch, and lifted to reveal a space inside where Jimmy kept important documents. I transferred them to my safe.

Then I sent out for coffee and breakfast, fed Mopsy, refilled her water bowl, and with coffee, eggs, bacon, fried mushrooms, fried bread, hash browns, baked beans and tomatoes, I got out Jimmy’s documents to peruse.

Most of it was his personal life, birth certificate, school record – such as it was – and Mopsy’s prize certificates for cleverest dog in the show.

And there was the envelope marked ‘for Philip Marlowe.’

It was all in there.

Enough to make the senator a person of interest, anyway; and all on real film, which can’t be doctored in any way.  If it wasn’t him, it was someone wearing his face with illegal nanotractors under the skin, possible, but not very likely. Those things are not easy to come by.

So, I called Dangerfield.

And made it clear to him that he could have everything as long as I was in for my reward from the IRS.

I got the reward; and Jimmy had a respectable burial.

Poor Jimmy.

This was one situation in which he would have been better to have come to me, not risking breaking into the senator’s office whilst the senator was on the wharf.

But that was why Jimmy was a bum who took jobs from others.

He didn’t know when to cash in the chips.

I kept the kennel.

It’s a good hiding place, and Mopsy has a new bed inside it, for if I leave her in my office.

Generally, however, her preferred sleeping place is over my ankles.

 

the starosta's assistants 1

 you've some of you seen the first bit of this; I hope to keep ahead of you, I have been slow writing but bear with me...

 

Chapter 1 late Autumn 1779

 

“I have the honour to report, my lord, that Towarzysz Ursyn Kudła, aided by sundry towarzysze at and staying at the haberdashery in Ulica Św. Stefana, whom you know, have indeed caught three very fine burglars,” said Jaracz Rzędzian, saluting Starosta Młocki.

“Jaracz, did you just misquote Pliny deliberately?” asked Młocki.

“Of course,” said Jaracz.

“So, I assume you had ‘not forsaken your laziness and had beside you a stylus and tablet?’” Młocki added to the passage often used to the sighs of schoolchildren everywhere as an exercise in translation.

“Well, a wife, anyway,” said Jaracz. “Kordula and I had been partying with the other married bods,  since I’m in two minds about mustering out if I can find a steward for Kordula’s lands, she having a distaste for the place.”

“Understandable,” said Młocki. “But burglars? Who in their right mind would burgle Ulans?”

“Well, they were apparently burgling the haberdashery over and under which sundry of us live,” said Jaracz. “And it was Ursyn who heard them.”

“Inevitably; bears have good hearing,” said Młocki. Ursyn Kudłá, a sub-adult bear, lived with Sylwia  Bogacka, and her husband, Jarosław Bogacki. She had taken him from a cruel master, before she met Jaras, as Jarosław was known. They occupied the basement of the building, with Jeremi Skrzetuski and his wife, Anna Maria having lately lived on the first floor, and the rest of the building occupied by Aureliusz Stroyny and his wife, Ludwika, who was Jaras’s sister, and Paweł Kwaśniecki, and his wife, Edyta. Jeremi and Anna-Maria had not yet decided whether to move into the town property she inherited since her father had died, and had sent a steward to the country estate. Jaracz and Kordula found it uncomfortable living on the estate where Kordula’s father had killed himself, blaming Jaracz for uncovering the crimes of the late Lord Fincke, and showing Kordula’s father up as a fool.

“Well, yes, so as I understand it, Ursyn went to find out why there were unauthorised customers at an odd time of day,” said Jaracz. “That bear has a well-developed sense of duty. He’s also nosy,” he added.

“The latter I believe more,” said Młocki. The Ulans adored their bear and ascribed to him more abilities of reasoning than many outsiders believed.

Rzędzian grinned.

“Well, the first thing the rest of us know is the high-pitched, indeed, falsetto, scream of sheer terror. So we all leap out of bed and run downstairs with our sabres....”

“Stark naked?” asked Młocki.

“Why not? We’re all towarzysze together, including the girls, and just because Jeremi and I have rank, we don’t have that much more dignity.” He considered. “Anna-Maria pulled on a kontusz so she could slide down the banisters,” he added. “She said that the trivial delay in acquiring some protection was insignificant next to the singular advantage to be gained in descending with more rapidity.”

Młocki was used to the wordiness of Lady Skrzetuska.

“So Ursyn caught three very fine burglars?”

“Well, he had one treed, and one of the others told him off for screaming. It was a hoot,” said Jaracz. “The first one said, in a strangled whisper ‘there’s a bear!’ and the next said, ‘nonsense! You came upon some furs.’ And the first said, ‘with eyes, and teeth, and claws?” and the second one had come upon Ursyn by then, who was standing up, a bit puzzled, and said... the burglar said, not Ursyn... ‘it’s stuffed.’ And then Ursyn turned round, and he gave as girly a screech as I have ever heard.  And said, ‘It’s a b-b-bear!’ And then Jeremi heard stealthy noises and leaped on the maker of them, which was the third burglar, and we took Ursyn’s bag in charge, and they were willing to confess rather than be fed to the bear, which we didn’t even have to threaten.   And now Ursyn is a prime favourite with the haberdasher, who had been dubious about him before, so it was a jolly good outcome.”

“Except for the burglars, but they are doubtless glad to be safe in gaol,” said Młocki, cheerfully. “Away from bears and naked towarzysze with sabres. There’s something about a naked woman with a sabre which is almost as scary as a bear.”

“I’d take the bear any day,” agreed Jaracz. “Oh, we need a quote from the English playwright, Shakespeare here – ‘exit, pursued by a bear.’”

“Now that has to be a strange play,” said Młocki.

“I dunno; I don’t speak English,” said Jaracz. “But I heard it mentioned.”

“Well, I am glad you caught the burglars,” said Młocki. “How would you feel about a little more detached duty?”

“Depends where and doing what,” said Jaracz.

“I can’t order you, of course, so you can please yourself. But it’s more or less a favour for the Falcon.”

“Oh, I’ll do it, then. We all respect the Falcon no end,” said Jaracz.

Młocki gave a thin smile.

“He basically threw out the starosta in his nearest town, Dmuchów, and set up a new one, who is a protégé of his,” he explained. “And the level of corruption is unbelievable. It would be as assistants to the Starosta and his page, or wife, if you and your wife, or page, would care for it. I don’t know quite what’s on offer, but only a limited number of constables are actually trustworthy.”

“Delightful. Of course I’ll help out my lord-brother for the Falcon, and I’m sure Kordula will be delighted to be friends with his wife.”

“Splendid,” said Młocki.

 

oOoOo

 

“Dmuchów?” said Sylwia, when Jaracz shared the move with his fellow towarzysze. “But that’s the administrative centre for the village I ran away from to avoid the unpleasant lord who is so free with any girl he fancies.”

“Seems to be something in the water over there,” said Jaracz. “Name wasn’t Zabiełło or Piekarski, was it?”

“Zabiełło,” said Sylwia. “No, Ursyn, you’ve had enough honey.”

The bear grumbled gently, but accepted her removing the jar firmly from his sticky paws. He proceeded to wash them thoroughly and noisily.

“I wonder if the new Starosta would like a second pair of seconded Ulans and their towarzysz with a rather unusual skin condition?” murmured Jaracz. “We should look into your property while we are there.”

“Well, if given leave, I should like to see what’s happening,” said Sylvia. “I left with Ursyn in a bit of a hurry.” She added, “But I did bring the deeds with me.”

“Good; that will help,” said Jaracz.

 

oOoOo

 

Where Jaracz Rzędzian went, his man, Frydek Adamiak also went. Adamiak had worked for Kordula’s father, but Jaracz had won his trust and allegiance, and the man also adored his mistress. Jaracz recognised that a man who could lead the other grooms in trouble, and make small rebellions was a man of initiative who needed more responsibility and wider outlets for his talents than just fettling horses, and Adamiak was happy to be his bâtman with added duties.

Before they set out, however, Jeremi was confronted with a problem as he went to wave them farewell.

The city coach came to a stop in the Rynek, and a young woman climbed out, looking around her, as if trying to get her bearings.

“Halszka?” said Jeremi, striding over to his sister. “Halszka Skrzetuska! What are you doing here? Where are Mama and Papa?”

“Oh, Jeremi! I’ve run away!” said Halszka, casting herself into her brother’s arms. “Do you recall that I hoped to marry Paweł Korwiński?”

“Yes, and I wondered where your wits had gone begging,” said Jeremi. “He ain’t good enough for you.”

“Oh, Jeremi! You are so right!” said Halszka, sobbing. “He did notice me and started courting me, but I was riding astride, racing Janko and Jurko, you know, as one does, and he was just furious, and he raced after me, with no consideration for his horse, and grabbed the bridle and asked what I thought I was doing, and he was so angry!  And I told him, I know my mount’s capabilities, I was not risking her, and he looked at me as if I was crazy, and said ‘to hell with the horse, I’m not going to put up with my bride haring across the countryside like a hoyden, and riding in that immodest fashion too!’ and I said that I wasn’t immodest, I had trousers on so I could ride safely, and he struck me, and said that I should not even mention such garments, and that he would have the banns put up right away so he could school me into being a better lady wife for him, and I said I will tell my parents I don’t want to marry a bully and he said they would be g...glad to get rid of me!”

“It would appear,” said Anna-Maria, who had listened to this tirade, “That the aspirations of this inadequate piece of ordure outstrip his performance as one who aspires to be counted as one of the human race. Indeed, our regimental bear has more manners. I cannot think that Mama and Papa Skrzetuski would make you marry a man who has the temerity to strike a woman, and moreover, his disapproval of what you do, which is presumably within the purview of their sanction, is disrespect to your honoured parents. Jeremi will write to them where you are, and tell them what he thinks, and if this Korwiński comes here, he will undoubtedly employ the noble art of pugilism to soundly discourage the fellow from approaching you, since he can hardly call out a specimen whose own little weapon is too small to consider matching with any of your kin.”

“I might make him fight you, my dear, as he thinks hitting women is fine,” said Jeremi. “In fact, I shall; it’ll be funnier when he loses.”

“In the meantime, I suggest it would be expedient for Halszka to vanish from sight, by being obvious,” said Anna-Maria. “Jeremi, you must arrange for her a horse, and a uniform, and she shall join Sylwia and Kordula as a page to go to Dmuchów.”

An hour later, Halszka, now Hanusz, was dressed in Ulan costume, provided with extra clothes, male and female, having jumped on the coach without thinking or preparing, was wondering what she had let herself in for.

“Well, he won’t marry me with short hair,” she said, happily. Anna-Maria had cut her a czupryna without thinking, and bundled up her plaits to take with her. Halszka was a pretty girl, with curling strawberry-blonde hair, but Hanusz was a relatively unremarkable, if very young-looking, little boy. She got to meet her new companions, though she knew Jaracz Rzędzian, and was comfortable with him, like a spare brother.

He cuffed her gently with the familiarity of a sibling.

“And I hope those precious twin brothers of yours told your parents what was going on, or they’ll be out of their heads with worry,” he said.

“Oh, yes, Janko and Jurko waxed most irritable at Paweł, who was horribly patronising, and called them ‘little boys,’ as well,” said Halszka.

“He’s a cursed rum touch, if you ask me,” said Jaracz. “Any man would like a wife who can stay in the saddle regardless of the terrain, so he doesn’t have to worry when he takes her to war.”

“Paweł despises soldiers,” said Halszka. “He says that war is  too deadly nowadays for any country to ever risk going to war again, and that negotiation and diplomacy will always carry the day.”

“Has a few rats loose in the attic too, by the sound of it,” said Jaracz. “Don’t worry about the bear, he’s a sucker for the dames.”

Ursyn promptly swept off his hat and bowed low, and lifted Halszka’s proffered hand to his lips. It was a new trick which he spoilt by licking her hand, and she squealed and giggled.

Ursyn swept her into a polonaise, and Halszka was giggling as they completed a circle.

“Much more a gentleman than Paweł!” she agreed.

 

oOoOo

 

The group of Ulans swept into Dmuchów in formation, performing riding tricks as they rode. They might not be as flamboyant as some, but they performed well enough, including Ursyn, who had his own carriage, which now had a folding top provided, against inclement weather. Ursyn stood, bowing left and right, as the Ulans turned around, stood in the saddles, ran alongside their galloping horses – they galloped the last part, in the city itself – and finishing with the Cossack death-drag, hats in hands as they hung, head first off the saddles. They rode all round the rynek thus, to come to a halt outside city hall. They remounted in unison to swing off in a more upright fashion.

 

Eugeniusz Zabiełło-Wąż heard galloping hoofs and went to the window.

“This is something worth watching, Felicia,” he said to his wife, who joined him to watch the display.

“Insane,” laughed Felicia. “Surely this isn’t the couple of Ulans we were to be loaned?”

“Oh, I expect the rest are an escort, on their way elsewhere,” said Eugeniusz. “But we’ll give them hospitality... is that a bear?”

“It is a bear. In Ulan uniform,” said Felicia. “Well, that should enliven things if the bear is here to stay.”

“I’m not sure I want things enlivened that much,” said Eugeniusz.

2 cobra 26 cliffie bonus 2

 

Chapter 26 Return to the fold

 

I caught up with the kids after they had gone a couple of miles.

“All good?” I asked.

They had not heard me come up behind them; the girls squealed and the boys yelled.

“Glad you’re happy to see me,” I said.

I had collected as many water bottles as I could find as well, and helped myself to a long duster and brought an armful of woolly sweaters as well as the one I wore. I issued them around, and the kids were grateful to don them, badly fitting though they were.

 

I had already called Willow to let her know all was well; and then Tarquin so he could clean up the mess.

He had sighed, of course.

“Did you have to kill them all?” he asked.

“Did you really expect me to leave anyone alive to hunt down the kids in my care?” I asked. “They brutally murdered our bus driver. They thought they had murdered me. I still have a bullet in me.”

“I’ll sort it out,” he had said. I had given him the phone number of the ranch; he could find it from that.

I heard a helicopter go over, as I hiked with the kids.

“I wonder if that’s more people looking for us,” said Hank Wenlow, fearfully. He had been the main target.

“I called in the feds, so I’m hoping it will be them,” I said, calmly.

“Won’t they put you in jail for killing people?” asked Sausage. I felt there was a touch of malicious satisfaction in his voice.

“I doubt it,” I said. “I have a licence which permits me to sanction people who are in the way of the government. Mr. Wenlow’s father takes government contracts, and if he was to be forced to purchase substandard components for the rather specialised equipment he makes for our armed forces, that makes it a matter of treason. Mr. Moorcroft’s mother is close to the president and that puts POTUS in direct danger of what she could be forced to do for the safety of her son. Your father can only be leaned on for money, so I don’t suppose such things occurred to you,” I said, patronisingly. “You may each, now we are away, phone your respective parents and tell them that you have been exfiltrated from the danger zone. They you are safe and elsewhere,” I added, as they stared at me.

Paul phoned hurriedly; he knew what a vulnerable position his mother was in.

She cried at him, and he told her not to worry.

Hank’s father was so relieved he spent several minutes just saying his son’s name.

Sausage’s father demanded to know if this had all been a practical joke, and what the devil the boy meant by it.

I took the phone.

“Mr. Clinton, I am your son’s teacher and there is no practical joke. Anything but. Your son’s kidnapping was incidental to the seizure of a better-connected classmate, and James was merely collateral. We are returning to the school, and I expect the federal agents will want to talk to you about what was demanded. Good night.”

Sausage stared at me with his mouth open.

“I don’t think anyone has talked to my father like that,” he said. “He shouts and other people obey.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before he shouts at me with impunity,” I said.

Sausage shuddered, but looked impressed.

Then Miss Kershaw rang her parents.

“Dad?” she said.

“Marie, you tell those swine that whatever they threaten, I ain’t paying it. It isn’t as if it was Louise who’d be worth it. You can tell them to go to hell.”

He rang off before I could take over.

“His loss,” I said.

“Can I come and live with you and Ruth?” asked Kershaw.

“Welcome,” I said.

Yes, of course I had tapped and recorded every call on my pocket box.

I was planning on playing that to Tarquin who would help Kershaw – who would probably soon be Marie – to lawyer up appropriately.

“I did think to bring my quilt for warmth, and lots of water,” said Ruth.

“Yes, and you hid Paul’s knife. You can give it back to him,” I said. “If I had been dead, you could have used that on the first kidnapper to come in, or to take out mortar, or to barricade yourselves in the storm cellar and kill anyone who came down.”

“I think you know more about exfiltration than we do,” said Ruth.

“Most of it is common sense,” I said. “But if any of you feel a need to do wargames on how to get out of places, to help you deal with this, we’ll call it role-play for psychological evaluation and cathartic interaction to counteract deeply-seated trauma.”

Ruth giggled.

“That’s bullshit,” she said.

“No, Ruth; it’s carefully sculpted, impressive, jargonistic bullshit,” I said.

She giggled, and so did the others.

A little nervously.

They were re-evaluating Sir, especially Sausage, who had had me down as a milk-sop.

 

A drone buzzed us.

“Hello, dear,” I said. “Nice tracking. Tell Tarquin we’re heading for town and we’ll find a hotel for the night – on the guvmint. They can pick us up there.”

She nodded the drone and it rose in the air.

She’d be keeping an eye on us, of course, but that was good.

Doubtless Puss and Amy were complaining that Daddy wasn’t home; Orville was a happy little blighter who was fine as long as someone fussed him.

“Willow!” I called, “Did you let Hana know?”

She came down to bob again. She could have spoken in my ear... oh. No, it was probably out of range or there was too much interference.

 

It was well after midnight when we hit the first lighted streets.

“Now, listen to me,” I said, “We had a vehicle accident in our school bus and the driver died at the scene. Without the bus to shelter in, because it burned, we decided to walk to the nearest town. Not a word about terrorists or kidnapping.”

“Why not, sir?”

Inevitably, it was Sausage who asked.

“Well, now, Mr. Clinton, if we told strangers about the kidnap, what could go wrong?” I asked.

He stared, blankly.

“They might be in league with the kidnappers, or rather, might gossip and someone who was in league with them might hear,” said Marie Kershaw.

“Or there might be someone who figured that if we were kidnapped once, it might be worth their while doing a little freelance kidnapping,” said Ruth.

“Or they might tell their local newspaper and we’d be pestered non-stop,” said Paul, who probably knew a thing or two about newspapers pestering people.

“All correct,” I said. “We will release a government-vetted statement in due course, but not before. And if any of you little perishers jumps the gun with that, you may be sure that I will bring retribution swift and hard upon your heads, and though I have limits over what I may do, I have a better imagination than those who set the limits. Capiche?”

They got it; even Sausage.

I didn’t mention to them that any self-respecting hotel might turn us away with what sounded like a thinner story than our fiction, because we looked like a bunch of refugees from band of travellers, expensive clothing notwithstanding. They were all tear and snot stained, their anoraks were plucked in places, they had mud on their shoes and trouser-legs, and all were in jeans because I had asked for it, and to the uninitiated, jeans are jeans. I was all over dust from my wild ride on top of the truck, and the time of night was not auspicious. But to have escaped and come so far, that would be the final let down.

 

We ignored the motel; not enough security.  A police car pulled in ahead of us.

“All right, what’s going on here?” demanded the cop.

“We had an accident coming home from a school trip,” I said. “The bus driver died at the scene, and the bus went on fire. I’m trying to find somewhere a bit more secure for the kids to sleep until we can alert the proper authorities.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You have girls; where’s your female chaperone?”

“She was the bus driver,” I said. “One of the girls is my sister.”

“Well, I think we’d better take you in to the station; I have to say, mister, I think that a very dodgy story.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want to play it, I’m going to invoke a code 404,” I said, with a snap. “So you can just smarten up, officer, stop slouching around sneering at whatever smutty little thought has been titillating your wild and filthy imagination, and you can bloody well call for a couple of unmarked cars to take us to a hotel and we will talk to the Feds tomorrow morning, capiche?”

He goggled at me.

“But a code 404 is....”

“Yes, and you have no idea who some of these kids are, and believe me, officer, you do not want to know,” I snapped. “Why are you not getting our cars for us?”

“Uh... yessir,” he said, returning to his radio.

 I settled the kids down on the blanket I had taken for myself, on the sidewalk and the girls clung to me, one each side. Ruth started crying, and I cuddled her.

They all sort of huddled up to me, as if they were five, not fifteen.

The officer was arguing with the radio.

Then I heard the copter.

“Oh, thank fuck,” I said.

Copters are always bigger than you’d think, and it set down, black and intimidating, in front of the police car.

Tarquin, looking his immaculate self, in tails with a topper of all things, jandered along, and shoved his id under the cop’s nose.

Then he turned to us.

“Rick! Ruth!  Mr. Moorcroft, I know you, and... ah, yes, I could not mistake Mr. Wenlow, you are the image of your father but for having your mother’s eyes.  I think we can do better than a hotel in the middle of the night; I’m sure you’d all rather be back in your own dormitories.”

“I didn’t dare hope you’d have mopped things up in time,” I said.

“I haven’t; but Willow relayed the radio chatter of the local morons,” said Tarquin, seeming unaware that the local cops could hear him.

“We’d be very grateful,” I said.

We piled into the helicopter.

“Now, Rick, I believe you have a bullet in you,” said Tarquin.

“Yes, it skinned between my ribs and fetched up just below my scapula,” I said.

The kids stared, wide eyed and open mouthed.

“You... you hung on the top of the truck, killed those men and rescued us, all the time with a bullet in your chest?” said Marie.

“Wasn’t anyone else going to do it,” I said, shrugging on my good side. “Ask your medic to keep it for me; I have a museum of weapons that didn’t kill me.”

I would like to say I hardly felt a thing, but it hurt worse coming out than going in. I was well soused in medical alcohol, and patched up with more finesse than I usually manage. I managed to take it without a noise, though; no point scaring the kids.

Bless the poor little sprouts, they dozed off; and several brawny men carried sleeping teens to their dormitories when we got back to the school; they went out like lights as soon as they were safe in the helicopter, being soothed by its gently throbbing engines. The feds have some very nice stealth copters and they went onto silent running for us, which was considerate.

I was half asleep myself.

 

oOoOo

 

I wrote a full report the next day, not omitting sanctioning all those I found who were involved. If I was an active agent I might have been rapped metaphorically over the knuckles for failing to keep the bossman undamaged enough to question, but I was retired, so they had to suck it up.

Tarquin came with a lady from his office to talk to the kids, and they told their stories and had them written down.

I gave Tarquin the recording of Marie’s father’s response.

He frowned.

“I think we can prosecute him for child endangerment,” he said. “I’ll write an order for you to take Miss Kershaw into foster care.”

The hell! The last thing an assassin needs is to have care of three adolescent girls.

On the up side, Auntie was bored living in the lap of luxury, and Willow had persuaded her to ask me to buy her a large house to turn into a very exclusive girls’ school-cum-refuge, so that at the end of this year, Ruth and Marie could go on to do senior high with her.

And I’d be helping out the days I wasn’t teaching Junior high; I’d been volunteered.

I’d be too busy to even do pro bono jobs.

Well, maybe not.

But life was not going to be dull.

 

oOoOo

 

I expect there’s at least one person wondering if the kittens learned to talk.

They needed a mod to do so but indicated their willingness. Puss gave me a look, and I knew it meant that she considered herself perfectly capable of communication anyway. Orville and Amy learned to talk, and to use a headset to present their thoughts written on their own pocket boxes.

 

 

Oh, you want to know about the baby? He was born whilst the kids were doing their exams, and came out red and angry.

“Tarquin Natter,” I said.

“I thought you’d agree,” murmured my tired little wife. “Was going to be Felicity if she was a girl.”

After Auntie, that was.

I wasn’t going in for ‘Extreme’ again; nor was Dave, nor his Julie; and nor was Elizabeth, whose sister was now walking after her operation.

I accepted her for Auntie’s senior high.

What else could I do?

 

Oh, the kidnappers? Turned out that the boss in the ranch was the brother-in-law of some member of The Syndicate, and with the implications of the demands to take cheap, shoddy chips, Tarquin was able to get that cell entirely closed down on charges of treason for attempting to sabotage the army of the United States. I was at the trial, with the kids, who wanted to see him go down; expecting to be charged with felony, kidnap, and to plea bargain, his face when the charges were read out was a study.  He’d be bound for the Helium 3 penal mines on the moon.

And I could relax and enjoy family life.

Maybe.

 

that's all folks - for now.