SERIOUSLY...?: A Lou Fleener Thriller

by Duane Lindsay

  And evidently, Monk thinks as he blinks in the light, I’m supposed to lead it.

  Yes, they got Lou. Question is, what are they going to do with him?

  Lou’s sitting in a nest of very bad men. People who are Nazis, or like Nazis or play dress up and meet in private bars with Swastikas all over the place, are by definition bad men. But how bad? That’s’ what Lou’s pondering as he sits, hands tied behind his back, on a chair in the middle of the miniature dance floor near the bar.

  The Nazis—Lou’s still having trouble wrapping his head around that one—are clumped together over at the other side of the room listening to somebody, probably Erich, tell them something, probably about Lou.

  They took his watch so he doesn’t know the time but it’s got to be nearing two in the morning. Lou’s hurting from a lot of bruises, the result of being kicked into unconsciousness by a lot of angry men. He might have been out for an hour or ten minutes before he woke up tied to this chair. He flexes his arms to test the ropes and finds there’s no give. Somebody here knows his stuff.

  How long until dawn? Lou figures these guys are going to want to go home to wives or girlfriends or maybe blow-up dolls and they’ll be like cockroaches scattering before the light. And before they leave they’re going to have to do something about Lou Fleener.

  So, not much time for the cavalry to arrive, assuming Cassidy managed to find her way back to the city and back to here, wherever here is. West of Harvey, north of Mokena on route seven is all Lou can recall.

  He’s glad he got Cassidy out of here. Before they took him down he managed to get himself up, at least onto one leg, and he saw her fishtail the hell away as he was inflicting as much damage to these vermin as possible. He knew from experience that a few of these guys had a hospital visit in their near future. Lou didn’t carry a gun but he did have his pocket knife and his house keys and a lot of malicious intent.

  Unfortunately, not enough. He went down and woke up hurting. Tied to a chair in a bar.

  The crowd’s getting restless and several are tossing glances in Lou’s direction.

  What to do? Lou’s pondering the imponderable; should he play dumb and hope to get out alive somehow, or act like he knows more than he does and antagonize them? Choices, choices.

  He’s still undecided when the group parts and Erich strides toward him. The group falls in behind and they gather like a brown-shirted wall behind their leader.

  “Who are you?” demands Erich. “Who was the woman?”

  “Go screw,” says Lou pleasantly.

  “How did you get here?” He looks at Lou, appraising him. “You are not a local. No, you are a long way from home, are you not?”

  “Are you not?” Lou starts to laugh and realizes he’s decided; he’s better at antagonizing anyway. “Are you not? Jesus Christ; who talks like that? You sound like the Nazi captain interrogating the American spy. Oh; wait! That is what you are.”

  “You are not funny. And it’s not Colonel, not Captain.” He pronounces it in the European manner; Col-en-el. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here because I’m tied to a chair. Can’t leave even if I try.”

  “Again, not funny.”

  “A little funny,” suggests Lou.

  “Enough. Who are you? Why are you spying on us?”

  “I’m spying on you. I didn’t know there was an us until I followed you here.”

  Erich stares at Lou as if trying to decide…something. “Why?”

  “Why what? Why did I follow you? Because of Mrs. Podalack.”

  “What about her?”

  Lou decides this is the time to not know what he suspects. “Because she’s missing. I went to her house and all of her things are gone.”

  “I see. And you suspect me. Why?”

  “Look at yourself. You dressed as a Nazi. Of course I suspect you.”

  “I am a Nazi,” says Erich. He’s proud of it and his chest puffs out a bit. “But how did you know that?”

  “Mrs. Podalack. She’s been watching you. She came to me to find out more about you.”

  “That’s is why you were in my house, yes? You were trying to find out more about me.”

  “That’s right. And I would have, too, if you hadn’t shown up.” Lou’s looking at the chest and all that pride and he’s thinking that maybe Erich is putting on a show in front of his people and is that an opportunity he sees?

  He tries, “But I didn’t stay after I beat your ass.”

  Erich slaps him, hard, across the face.

  So maybe not.

  Monk’s up and dressed and in the car, driving to Cassidy’s urgent directions.

  “I remember taking state road 5 south and turning at Harvey,” she says, so Monk’s steering the Bel-Air faster than he or the law would like, slower by far than Cassidy wants.

  “Can’t this heap go any faster?”

  “First of all, she’s not a heap,” says Monk. “Secondly, we need a little time to calm ourselves and maybe think of a plan of action.”

  “What plan? We get there, we barge in with guns and we get Lou out.” She’s got her feet curled under her on the wide bench seat and she’s looking as frantic as Monk’s ever seen.

  “Calm down, Cassidy. Panic won’t help us here.”

  “Neither will calm,” she says. “And panic seems to be the right thing to feel.”

  Monk’s got a folded AAA road map on the seat between them and he checks it as they drift past Blue Island and the streetlights momentarily light up the car. Not much farther to Harvey.

  He points and asks, “We turn here? Route 7?”

  “That’s right. I remember, there’s a gas station on the left as soon as you turn.”

  Monk thinks about that as he drives and she vibrates until he says, “Maybe…”

  “What? Maybe what?”

  “I’m just thinking. If there are as many as you say…and they’re armed…that the gas station could be useful.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m thinking that a fire’s a very good way to attract attention. Even way out here.”

  For the first time since she woke him, Cassidy looks relieved.

  Lou’s face, already cut and bleeding, stings from the slap. He tastes the sharp copper of blood and sees it drip on his shirt. He looks up at Erich and laughs. “That’s it? That’s all you got? Damn, they were right when they said you Nazis were pussies.”

  The crowd doesn’t like the insults and Lou hears several threats. Interestingly, none of the accents except Erich’s sound foreign. So where did these idiots come from? Were there really this many white Aryan morons living in the US?

  Erich snaps his fingers and the threats stop. “You are baiting me, Mr…? What shall I call you?”

  Lou shrugs, hard to do tied up. “Call me Mr. Smith.

  “Fine. Mr. Smith. I’ll know you’re real name soon enough. You think that by insulting me you will accomplish…what?”

  “I figure you and the goose-steppers here are going to do whatever you say. So I may as well have some fun with it.” Lou cocks his head and appraises Erich. “Tell you the truth though; you were pretty good back there. You’re the first to manage to hit me in a long time. Of course, the room was small so I couldn’t do my best, but still…not bad, not bad at all.”

  “You think you could beat me in a fight?”

  “I already did, Col-en-el; let’s not forget that. And you had a gun, too. Did you tell them that?” Lou raises his voice, playing to the crowd. “That one short fat guy knocked you cold while you had that dumbass Luger pointed at him.” Lou starts to laugh. “You went down like a tree. Like a big old tree. Timber.”

  Lou’s laughing and the Nazis are milling about like they’d like to kick him some more and Erich is glaring but not…quite…there yet.

  Time for another push. Lou leans forward and nods a ‘come here’ gesture with his chin. When Erich bends to listen Lou says softly, “I know who you are.”

  Erich stares, cold and hard. L
ou says, “Erich Klaussner, former Nazi camp guard. I don’t know how you got into America, or what you’re up to, but I will. He pauses for effect and adds, “And soon, so will the Israelis.”

  Is that fear? Lou grins and decides it’s time for an all-out effort. “Tell you what, Col-en-el. You’re a big strong Aryan superman. I’ll bet I can beat you and…” Lou looks around the crowd like he’s making a selection at a deli. “Three others. All at once.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “Of course you don’t, Erich,” Lou interrupts. “If you did you wouldn’t be a Nazi, would you? You’re either going to shoot me and dump the body out there in the woods or you’re going to beat me to death and dump the body out there in the woods. So why not have some fun first? Make this a real party, instead of the big-talking morons you really are.”

  The crowd likes the idea. Lou can hear the comments, feel the growing anticipation. He says, “I’m even injured. “ He nods toward his foot. “Give me a chance, Erich. Let me show them all what a loser you are.”

  He waits for an answer.

  9 - Burn Down the Mission Bar

  “Hurry up!”

  Cassidy’s back to frantic now as Monk fills the gas cans he just bought from the kid in the station. Cost him five dollars apiece for these beat up cans that probably cost less than a buck new, but he didn’t think this was the time to negotiate. It’s already after three and Cassidy’s going to have a breakdown if they don’t get back on the road soon.

  “It’s not much farther,” she says—again—as he puts the sloshing cans in the trunk and they get back in. “Maybe ten miles?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It was dark. Lou was driving. Give me a damn break, will ya?” She sounds really pissed which Monk thinks is a good thing, considering.

  He says, “I wish the kid knew the number of the local fire department. I don’t want to start a forest fire.”

  “Yeah, well; I don’t either but we gotta do something.”

  “We will. Do you have your gun?”

  Cassidy takes out the tiny pistol, watching it glow in the dashboard light. “I do, and extra bullets. You?”

  “Two pistols and extra ammo and a rifle if we want to do anything from a distance.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know; I haven’t been there. But it’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, right?”

  “I guess. I wish I could have convinced Lou of that. I tried to get him to bring a gun but, no; he wouldn’t hear of it. Thinks he’s a damn superman, Lou does.”

  Monk laughs. “Yes, he does. Still, except that last one, he’s been pretty damn good so far.”

  “Except that last one,” Cassidy repeats. Monk glances over, sees a tear roll down her cheek.

  “He’ll be okay, Cass.”

  “No, he won’t. Monk, you didn’t see them. There’s this whole crowd of guys dressed like they’re playing army and they want to be on the wrong side. They’ve all got these big guns and Lou was down when I ran away and they were kicking him and…” She’s crying out loud now. “And I ran away, Monk.”

  “You did what you had to do. What he told you to do. Lou wanted you to get help and that’s what you did. You got help.”

  “I got us, Monk. Just the two of us. What the hell are we supposed to do against a bunch of Nazis?”

  “I don’t know, Cassidy. But whatever we’re going to do, we’re doing it together.”

  They’re silent for a few miles until Cassidy says, “I wonder what Lou’s doing right now?”

  Monk laughs, a snort of delight. “If I know Lou Fleener, he’s probably beating the crap out of a bunch of Nazis right now.”

  Lou’s untied and standing on his one good foot in the middle of the bar, intending to beat the crap out of a bunch of Nazis. They shoved him here, gathered in a circle around him and Erich and the three other large men he’s selected. Lou’s fingers are slowly getting circulation back and they tingle like crazy.

  The four Nazis are taking off gun belts and shirts and Lou’s seeing a lot of muscle there. It’s like looking at whole sides of beef up off the hooks at the stockyards, all of them intending revenge on the butcher.

  Lou says, “Can I tape up my ankle? There’s four of you, give me a fair shot?”

  “No, Mr. Smith” Erich laughs at his own humor. He’s got his shirt off and Lou can see the tiny skull under his arm. “You wanted to fight four of us, you will do it as you are.” He begins waving his arms to loosens the muscles and Lou’s impressed; there are a lot of muscles.

  He says, “You had to pick the biggest guys, didn’t you?”

  Erich smiles like a jovial devil. “Of course! Best to make it a real contest.”

  “You’re a real jack-ass, Erich; you know that?” Lou gestures at the crowd. “These guys stay out of this, right? They’re not going to interfere?”

  “I’ve ordered them not to,” says Erich. “They will obey my orders.”

  “That’s good, because I’d hate to have them stop me from beating your sorry Aryan ass.”

  Erich smiles. “Bait me some more, Mr. Smith. See what good it does you.”

  Lou sighs. “Fine. Let’s do this.” He crouches into a fighting stance he’s seen on television, one hand up in a fist, the other back by his ear. The pose is for show; he has no intention of punching with these brutes.

  Erich and the others are dancing on their toes like they’re Sonny Liston in the ring. They think they’re about to do some serious damage and they’re pumped with adrenalin and anticipation.

  Two of them move to the left. Erich and the other go to the right and Lou does what he always does in these situations; the unexpected. He bounces twice on his right foot and, knowing it’s going to hurt like blazes, he launches himself with his injured left foot into the crowd around him.

  They react in surprise, some of them falling like bowling pins, most of them wind-milling back. Lou’s ankle screams in protest which he ignores and he uses the first body he knocked down as a springboard to get to the bar. There are beer bottles left there and Lou throws them.

  People duck, Erich and his three charge and as soon as the first one reaches him Lou ducks, pivots and leaps onto his back. The guy’s momentum and Lou’s weight send him crashing into the bar with his face. A couple of teeth fall to the floor with his body.

  Lou, suddenly behind them, says, “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt. That’s one down, Erich. C’mon and get me.”

  Erich yells something in German that sounds pretty angry and Lou smiles. His skill is running true and even though the ankle is a disability, he’s kind of enjoying himself. It beats sitting in the chair waiting to die.

  Lou wishes they’d kept their shirts on. The ties would have made excellent nooses. But he’ll work with what he has. He backs up and away from them as if afraid and they come forward as a group, Erich in the lead. Lou lets him grab his arm and he pulls hard to get away—as expected—but leaps forward at Erich, butting him under the chin with his own head.

  Erich falls back and another guy takes a roundhouse swing which Lou ducks. But he’s positioned himself for this, like a pool player setting up his next shot and the fist flies over his head and slams into the cheek of the guy behind Lou who thought he had him for sure.

  That guy goes down and Lou follows the first guy’s swing, increasing his momentum by shoving in the same direction. The guy’s completely off balance, swinging like in a circle with Lou shoving him and he steps on the hand of the guy he punched and loses his balance.

  He lands hard and Lou kicks him in the face with his right foot. Two more down and out.

  But his ankle gives out with the kick and Lou falls as well, nerve endings flaring like somebody’s stuck his leg in a light socket. For a second he’s dizzy with the pain.

  It’s all the time Erich needs to jump over his two fallen soldiers and fall on Lou with both his weight and momentum. This would have—should have—ended the fight but Lou’
s seen this coming, too and he’s ready for it.

  Careful with the timing, he turns on his hip and let’s Erich land on his other hip as he continues rolling. So Erich, instead of landing on Lou, is instead flung off of him. He rolls twice and lays on his back, disoriented.

  Do the unexpected. Lou could have closed on Erich, turned this into a wrestling match with the last Nazi, but he’s wary of Erich’s size and much superior strength so he does something better.

  He gets up, limps over—damn; his ankle hurts!—and offers Erich a hand up.

  “Here!” yells Cassidy, pointing wildly “This is it; turn here.”

  Which Monk, like Lou, doesn’t do. He slows to a crawl as they pass the bar, does a perfect K-turn to be on the opposite side, just where Cassidy had been.

  “Let’s go,” she says, tugging at the handle. The door’s locked and it won’t open and she’s frustrated enough to shoot it.

  Monk says, “What a minute,” which makes her pause. Wait? Why?

  He’s staring at the bar intently, looking like he expects something else. “It’s too quiet,” he says softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cassidy, look. The cars are all still there. They’ve had hours with Lou. If they killed him already, they’d be long gone. Nobody stays around a murder site. But…”

  “But what? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that Lou’s up to something. I think he’s bought us time to rescue him.”

  “So let’s do that. Let’s rescue him.” She stars tugging at the door handle. “Why won’t this damn thing open?”

  “Just wait a second. Let me get my rifle.” He gets out—sure, his door opens—and goes to the trunk. In a moment he’s back, cradling a long rifle. Cassidy’s already slid across the seat and out his door—hah!—as he hands it to her.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get the gas cans and go over and spill it around the building. You’re going to stay here with rifle pointed at the door.”

  “Okay.” She’s already opened the breach and checked that it’s loaded. Cassidy, from Wyoming, is familiar with guns. “Then what?”