LANCELOT

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  Three minutes into Lancelot’s driving the Pontiac toward the freeway, he began glancing repeatedly into the rearview mirror.

  “We’re being followed,” Lancelot explained when Vivian began glancing toward the rear window, trying to see what attracted his attention. “I’m hoping it’s the cops. When we get to the mall, I’ll leave you three out at the entrance, and then I’ll park the car. In what store will you buy the equipment?”

  “There’s a Champ’s Sports Store there,” Arthur said. “It’s as good a place as any.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you at the Champ’s.”

  Lancelot followed his GPS directions to Bayfair Mall. The parking lot was crowded even for a Friday night. Seeing the same headlights he had spotted earlier turn into the Bayfair parking lot a few cars in back of them, Lancelot drove up in front of the main entrance. Vivian, Merlin, and Arthur hurriedly left the car.

  “Don’t kill anyone, my boy, if you can help it,” Merlin cautioned, before following the others.

  “Yeah,” Lancelot muttered. “I’ll let you know how that works out.”

  Lancelot purposely drove to the outskirts of the parking lot and parked the Pontiac. The headlights, which had followed him from Oakland, belonged to a late model Chrysler 300, which parked four spaces down the way. Lancelot hurriedly exited his Pontiac and walked over to the Chrysler. The windows were tinted, making the interior opaque. No one left the Chrysler, and Lancelot leaned against the car next to it with his arms folded. The driver’s side door opened, and a man dressed in a blue parka slowly eased into Lancelot’s view, his hands in plain sight. Nearly a head shorter than Lancelot, the man had dark curly hair and a light-complexioned baby face. He kept his hands up as he walked around the Chrysler’s trunk.

  “I just want to talk, Benwick,” the man stated, staying near the Chrysler’s trunk.

  “Tell your buddy to get out, too, and we’ll talk,” Lancelot told him, gesturing at the Chrysler’s passenger side.

  “Come out!” the man said immediately, pounding on the trunk.

  A man with crew-cut light brown hair, only an inch or two shorter than Lancelot, exited the passenger side, his hands clasped at the waist of his black jacket.

  “Okay, what’s on your mind, and why are you following me?” Lancelot asked.

  “We were hoping to speak to you alone, without your friends. Apparently, my tailing abilities aren’t very good. My name’s Jack Prado. You handled a few of my associates last night, and it opened up a very well-paid position, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Hear me out,” Prado said quickly. “Those three men you took out like the trash were the best guys I ever had working for me. As I explained, I hadn’t meant to meet you like this. The contract was taken off on you and your friend. It seems your message convinced our former employers to ask for a refund and have nothing further to do with you.”

  “Thanks. That’s good news,” Lancelot replied, nodding even as he thought that this could be an elaborate set-up by Detective Robinson. “Why do you think I had anything to do with it?”

  “We’re the only ones who know that the three were sent to your house,” Prada answered. “Name your price, Benwick. You’re out of the Marine Corps now. You’ll need work, and it’s in short supply in your particular field.”

  “And that field would be?”

  “You’re a killer. It shouldn’t have been even in the realm of possibility for anybody to take out my three men.”

  “How do you know I’m not wearing a wire?” Lancelot asked with a grin.

  A startled look crossed Prada’s face, and his big friend took a step toward Lancelot.

  “Don’t get cute, bub,” the big man told Lancelot, his voice like ground glass. “Maybe you better open up your parka and shirt.”

  “If your boss thinks I took out three of your best guys, why would I do anything you tell me to do?” Lancelot asked reasonably.

  The man looked at his boss, and Prada gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

  “I’m facing you, pussy,” the man growled, coming at Lancelot.

  Almost faster than Prada could follow, Lancelot slipped around Prada’s henchman, and broke his neck with one sharp twist. Lancelot held the twitching body up easily while opening the passenger side door. He deposited the thug’s body in the passenger side seat, stuffing the man’s lifeless legs in, and closing the door. Straightening, Lancelot walked over to the shocked Prada, holding out his hand.

  “Give me your wallet, Jack, and let me see where you live,” Lancelot ordered Prada. When Prada hesitated, Lancelot smiled. “You could, of course, go to see your little friends on the other side. Make up your mind, because the Chrysler’s going to start smelling pretty soon. If you’re alive, it matters.”

  Prada took out his wallet with a shaking hand and handed it to Lancelot. Lancelot looked through it, memorizing details on both Prada’s license and his American Express card. He returned the wallet to Prada.

  “Okay, Jack, now you know. Let’s let bygones be bygones. Don’t send anyone after me again. When I was in Iraq and Afghanistan, I had an uncanny knack of knowing when anyone was trying to line me up in his sights. I myself, and everyone I know, will be tied to you from now on. Pray that we all enjoy a long life. If anything happens to my friends, or I catch you trying to take me out, I’ll find you, Jack, and oh, what times we’ll have then. You’ll beg for death like milk from your momma. Do we understand each other, Jack?”

  Prada nodded his head. He began backing away, but stopped abruptly. “Can…can I go now?”

  “Sure, Jack,” Lancelot replied, stepping away from the Chrysler.

  Prada dived inside the Chrysler, and started the engine. He backed out expertly, and Lancelot watched the car drive out of the parking lot and onto the main avenue along the mall before he walked away.

  * * *

  “I like this one,” Arthur announced as he held up the right handed fielding mitt for Merlin to see.

  “I won’t pretend to guide you in this endeavor,” Merlin said, looking the glove over.

  “It looks a little big, Doogie,” Vivian advised, taking the glove from the boy, and handing him a slightly smaller one. “Remember, when you hold the glove up to catch a ball, if it’s too loose, it’ll flop right back in your face. How’s that one?”

  “This fits better…and it’s black,” Arthur agreed, pounding his ungloved fist into the gloved hand pocket. “It feels pretty stiff, though.”

  “We’ll buy some glove oil and work it in,” Vivian said, holding out two different-sized bats. “Want to shoot for a full size aluminum Little League bat, or start with something smaller?”

  Arthur handed Merlin the glove, and accepted the larger bat, gripping it tightly in a batter’s stance. “I think I can handle this one. Now, all we… Hey, there’s Shrek.”

  Vivian watched people do a double-take as Lancelot walked into the store. He smiled as the teenaged girl working the front immediately intercepted him and asked if she could help.

  “Hey, Shrek,” Arthur called out, “quit cradle-robbing, and come on over here.”

  Lancelot spotted his friends, and after apologizing to the girl, he walked over to join them. Lancelot saw Vivian grab the baseball bat from Arthur, and turn away, her shoulders moving as she choked back laughter. Merlin merely shook his head.

  “Boy, we will work on your manners,” Lancelot said, snatching a lock of Arthur’s hair, and exerting just enough upward force to set the boy dancing around on his tiptoes.

  “Ow…ow…ow…ow…ow…” Arthur intoned comically, while making faces at Vivian, who had glanced back long enough to lose control, and who now laughed with abandon.

  “Hey, thanks for the backup, Viv. With that kind of no-nonsense tact, we’ll have Arthur, here, whipped into shape in no time.”

  “I…I wanted to maim him, and you wouldn’t let me,” Vivian managed to say.

  “Let go…Shrek…or you’ll have me looking like…
Friar Tuck,” Arthur pleaded, prying with both hands unsuccessfully at Lancelot’s fingers.

  Lancelot gave Arthur a final shake before releasing him, as his attempt at discipline drew interested glances from the other customers and salespeople.

  “No more,” Lancelot warned, “or Le Mort d’Arthur will be more than a passage in a book. Where does he get this stuff? He’s eight years old, for God’s sake.”

  “I can tell that you have not spent much time around the children of this new computer age, Lancelot,” Merlin observed, smiling at Arthur’s contorted, silent look of pain as he massaged his head. “We will do our best to temper young Arthur’s wild side.”

  “It looks as if you have everything for playing some ball,” Lancelot said, taking the bat from Vivian. “Better get a batting helmet too. You might say something cute while I’m pitching to you tomorrow. I might have to bean you.”

  Arthur immediately went to the batting helmet section and began trying on helmets, much to his companion’s amusement.

  “I didn’t think he’d take me seriously,” Lancelot said.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Vivian replied. “I might give the little prick some chin music myself. You’d better pick out a baseball glove, too. I already have one. That goes for you, too, Merlin. You’ll be shagging balls too, old man.”

  “I assume that you are unfamiliar with the cliché about old dogs and new tricks,” Merlin protested, but he began trying on baseball gloves anyway, with Lancelot’s help.

  “Any casualties outside, Monte?” Vivian asked Lancelot.

  “Just one, and no clean-up,” Lancelot answered. “The boss who sent the three guys last night brought along one of his guys to convince me that I should fill in for the three men I relieved him of. I used his henchman as an object lesson as to why he should leave us all alone, forever.”

  “In other words, my boy,” Merlin said in a whisper, “there are no bodies to dispose of?”

  “I stuffed the body into the boss’ car. He’s a guy named Jack Prada, if his license can be believed,” Lancelot continued in a hushed voice, watching Arthur as he tried on one after another of the helmets. “Maybe your operation could do a little inquiry just to be on the safe side. Prada also told me that the gang, which contracted him for the hit, wants nothing more to do with us.”

  “Not bad, Monte,” Vivian said approvingly. “If we get clear of the cops, you’ll have fallen into the proverbial shit-pile, and come up smelling like a rose.”

  “Arthur looks happy.” Lancelot changed the subject as the boy walked over, wearing his chosen helmet. “You have some protection picked out, boy?”

  “Yeah. This one ought to stop you and Vicky from putting me in a coma,” Arthur replied, pounding lightly with his fist on the helmet.

  “Don’t bet on it, kid,” Vivian replied. “I picked up a bag of hardballs, and we have everything else. Let’s check out, and call it a night.”

  Lancelot retrieved the Pontiac for safety’s sake, and picked up his companions where he had dropped them off. Merlin rode in front with Lancelot, leaving Vivian to show Arthur how to work glove oil into his new mitt.

  “Don’t skip the rawhide knots and the threads holding the glove together,” Vivian instructed. “They get dry as hell. Working the oil in regularly will keep the glove flexible enough to open and close easily. Always clamp your bare hand over the ball after it hits the pocket. Trap it in there, and you prevent embarrassing dropped balls.”

  “Man, I’m finally going to play some ball,” Arthur said excitedly. “You and Shrek better be over early tomorrow morning.”

  “How early?” Vivian said without enthusiasm, her brow furrowed for effect.

  “Seven?”

  “In your dreams, batboy,” Vivian retorted. “Eleven.”

  “No way, Vicky!”

  “We’ll be over at nine to pick you two up,” Lancelot broke in before another war was declared.

  Chapter Eleven: Mind-Meld

  In a comfortable silence, they continued on after the negotiations ended. Lancelot let Arthur and Merlin off in front of their building’s entrance, and watched for them to get inside to the guard. Vivian moved from the back to the front, yawning. She looked over at Lancelot appraisingly, remembering the insights he had revealed in the last day.

  “Do you have anything to drink at your house besides beer?”

  “Sure. I have vodka, tequila, and whiskey,” Lancelot replied, glancing over at Vivian questioningly. “You’re not thinking of getting smashed before baseball tomorrow morning, are you?”

  “No. I’m looking forward to mixing it up with Doogie. Since you have Tequila, how about the stuff to make some Margaritas? I could really go for sipping a couple of those.”

  “How the hell do you know about…oh yeah…your other persona has been around the block, huh?”

  “Yep,” Vivian answered, “young Vivian seems to have had a propensity for life, and I remember quite a few things I still find appealing, since regaining my memory.”

  “I’ll fix us up a batch, as long as you’re not going to try and stiff me tomorrow morning.”

  “More likely, you’ll be trying to stiff me.”

  “I don’t think so, Vicky,” Lancelot needled her.

  “It’s Lady Vivian to you, Knight-Boy,” Vivian muttered, looking out the window.

  Lancelot parked the Pontiac inside his garage, and closed the door once the lights came on. He had Vivian wait until he checked the house over before allowing her to enter. Lancelot went into the living room and put on some Andrea Bocelli music. After setting the volume where he wanted it, he returned to the kitchen, where Vivian had already found the liquor. While he set up the ice and blender, Vivian cut some fresh lemons from the refrigerator. With the tequila concoction mixing, Lancelot salted the rims of two wide-mouthed glasses, and took them over to the living room couch. Vivian followed with the blender and lemons. She filled the glasses, and set the blender down on an end table near her. Lancelot handed her one of the glasses as she sat next to him. Vivian held her glass up in a toast. Lancelot clinked his into hers, gently accepting it.

  “That was fun today,” Vivian admitted. “The little creep really rang my bell.”

  “It is disconcerting to hear an eight-year-old trade verbal barbs like an adult, and come out on top,” Lancelot agreed. “I like the new Merlin.”

  “You dolt!” Vivian snorted, taking a huge gulp of her drink. “If Merlin’s mind-tricks had worked, he’d have had you quacking like a duck. Get a clue.”

  “And you would have been different if your powers had worked on me?” Lancelot asked, laughing good-naturedly at Vivian’s retort.

  Vivian nodded, gesturing with her glass free hand. “Okay…okay, maybe I’m cut from the same cloth.”

  “You were going to make me into a pile of ash on the floor,” Lancelot pointed out. “That, Lady Vivian, was not a manipulation. It was an assassination.”

  “Oh, come on, Lancelot. I would never have killed you.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  The Margarita sliced into Vivian’s consciousness like a knife. She refilled her glass from the beaker, and offered Lancelot more. He held his glass out for her to fill. Vivian drank half of what she had poured.

  “Oh, my God, that tastes good,” she remarked, and then reached out to run her hand along Lancelot’s face. “Would you have killed me?”

  “In a heartbeat.” Lancelot engulfed Vivian’s hand in his own. “You and Merlin played me like a beat-up old harp. I’m not like either of you. If Arthur’s well-being stays as your first concern, we have no problem. If I suspect that either you or Merlin might be working me out of the old playbook, I’ll slice and dice you both.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Vivian murmured, leaning into Lancelot, her eyes darting up to his. “I’m not going to play you.”

  “You’re playing me now.” Releasing Vivian’s hand, Lancelot kissed her.

  Liquid fire in place of bl
ood raced through Vivian as Lancelot’s lips explored hers with a gentleness all the more tantalizing. Vivian broke away from him, her heart racing. Taking his glass out of his hand, she set it and her own on the coffee table in front of the couch. Lancelot again grasped her hand, bringing her palm up to his lips. He kissed her palm.

  “My lady,” Lancelot whispered.

  “I…I’ve missed you so much,” Vivian moaned, launching into his arms.

  Lancelot held her tightly, cursing himself for even now doubting Vivian’s sincerity as she sobbed openly. The internal dialogue ended when Vivian pulled away and kissed him violently, shifting to straddle him while molding her body against his. Lancelot tasted her tears as their tongues probed in an exquisite mating so familiar that reality wavered. Vivian pushed against Lancelot’s chest suddenly and slid away to the floor with her head resting against his thigh.