Man Overboard!

by Curtis Parkinson

  Scott tightened his grip, ducking down below the level of the window to keep out of their sight. He heard a siren in the distance as the Packard weaved evasively through the alleys and backstreets of Old Montreal. Eventually, it faded away. All he could do was hang on.

  He realized now how dangerous these men were – and they had Adam at their mercy. He should have told the captain about them. He still would, if he could get away without being collared himself.

  The car sped along street after street lined with identical duplexes. There were few pedestrians about, most families at home on Sunday night. A man walking a beagle stopped and stared at Scott as the car raced by.

  Finally the Packard slowed and came to a stop. Scott tensed, not sure what to do next. The street looked like all the others, lined with duplexes and not a soul in sight. If only there were more people around, he could leap off and mingle with the crowd. But, now, his best hope was to hang on and wait for an opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

  The passenger door opened, and he heard someone say, “All right, out! And no funny business. One peep out of you, and you’ll live to regret it.”

  Then the door shut and the car, unexpectedly, started to pull away. Scott glanced back and saw Vandam on the sidewalk gripping Adam, who was now blindfolded. Vandam stared after the departing car and their eyes met. “Twitch! Stop the car!” he yelled.

  As the Packard screeched to a halt, Scott leapt off, looking around desperately for an escape route. Nothing but a solid line of duplexes faced him; not an alleyway in sight. He started to run up the street, but Twitch, surprisingly nimble, jumped out and blocked his way.

  He turned and ran the other way, but Vandam was already there, waiting. Scott tried to dodge past him, but he reached out a long arm, grabbed his shirt, and hauled him back.

  Vandam slapped him hard across the face. “Who are you, kid, some kind of paid snoop? First you’re on my running board back in Prescott, now here.”

  Scott’s cheek stung like it was on fire. He flared back, “Let my friend go!”

  Vandam glanced across the road at Adam, now stumbling around on the sidewalk, disoriented. “Yeah, I figured he must be your pal when he tripped my chauffeur so you could get away. That was his big mistake. Now let me tell you something, kid.”

  He grabbed Scott by his shirt front and brought his face so close that Scott could smell his hot breath and feel his eyes burning into him.

  “If you say one word to anyone about what you overheard this morning, your friend’s life won’t be worth a plugged nickel. Same thing goes if anyone shows up here looking for him. They won’t find him, but I’ll know who told them where to look.”

  He let the words sink in, then gave Scott a shake. “You got that?”

  Scott, fearing for Adam’s life, nodded numbly.

  The man released his grip. “Okay, then, scram.”

  But Scott stayed stubbornly where he was. He looked over at the helpless, blindfolded Adam. “I promise not to talk if you’ll let him go.”

  “Ha, you’ve got a lot to learn, kid,” Vandam said. “That isn’t the way the world works – not in wartime. Your friend will stay alive as long as you keep quiet. But if you talk …” he drew his hand across his throat “… he’s a goner. Now get lost before I change my mind and get rid of the pair of you.”

  Scott hesitated for a second. At least with one of us free, he told himself, there’s a fighting chance.

  “You really gonna let him go, boss?” he heard Twitch say as he hurried away.

  “Yeah, it’s even better this way,” Vandam said. “We got him right where we want him. As long as we hold his pal’s life in our hands, he won’t dare tell anybody anything.” He laughed.

  As Scott wandered the streets of Old Montreal, trying to find his way back to Victoria Pier, he kept telling himself that he’d agreed to his deal with the devil for Adam’s sake. Discretion was supposed to be the better part of valor, wasn’t it?

  This was real, and Adam’s life was at stake. One thing he knew for sure: he’d never forget the way the man drew his hand across his throat, suggesting Adam’s fate if he, Scott, talked.

  When darkness fell, there was still no sign of Victoria Pier. A pedestrian came along, and Scott stopped him to ask the way. The man shook his head, saying, «Je ne parle pas anglais.» But by the time Scott thought of the French words he needed, the man was gone.

  In the next block, a man sitting on a step smoking a pipe listened to Scott’s stumbling French and pointed down the street. «Tout droit,» he said, «puis tournez à gauche.» It took Scott a moment to figure out that that meant “straight ahead, then turn left.”

  He set out again, following the directions, hoping to see the familiar outline of the ship. He knew he’d be faced with a million questions. Why had he done such a risky thing, they’d want to know. How had he gotten off the speeding car without hurting himself? Where had Adam disappeared to? Why didn’t they come back together? On and on. Yet he couldn’t answer them without putting Adam’s life in danger. Filled with dread, he almost wished he could stay lost forever.

  SEVEN

  Dazed by the sudden turn of events, Adam sat squeezed between the two men as the Packard raced through the streets of Old Montreal at breakneck speed. It careened around corners, with tires squealing. He had a moment of hope when he heard a siren behind them. The younger blond man took out a gun. But the siren soon faded, so he put it away and stared out at the city as if it were all new to him.

  It was new to Adam, too. Urban streets flashed by. Rows and rows of attached brick duplexes that looked like they’d been built in the last century, with outside metal stairs leading up to second floors and tiny fenced yards, carefully tended, with clematis vines and rosebushes and small vegetable gardens.

  The older man, on Adam’s other side, produced a bandana from a compartment and proceeded to blindfold him.

  “No need for that,” Adam said. “I know nothing about Montreal. We could be in Timbuktoo.” The man ignored him.

  “Not so tight,” Adam protested. “It’s cutting off the circulation. Ease it a bit, would you?”

  The only answer he got was an extra tug on the knot behind his head. “Just shut up and do what I tell you,” the man said. “That way we’ll get along fine, you and me.”

  When the Packard finally came to a stop, there wasn’t a sound except the purring of its twelve-cylinder engine. “Coast is clear, boss,” the chauffeur said from up front.

  “I’m getting out here, Heinrik,” the older man said as he opened the car door. “Twitch knows where to drop you. They’re expecting you, and they’ll have a birth certificate for you, in the name of Howard Taylor, and a driver’s license. I’ll phone you later.”

  “You want me to change the plates, boss?” Adam heard the chauffeur say. “Just in case.”

  “I don’t think anyone got our license number, but why take the chance?” the boss said. “Get them to do a quick paint job, too.” Then he got out and hauled Adam from the car, like he was a side of beef.

  But, then, as the car pulled away, Adam heard the boss shout, “Twitch! Stop the car!” followed by a screech of tires and the slam of car doors. Some kind of commotion erupted and he was left standing on the sidewalk, unable to move for fear of tripping over something.

  He heard the man’s voice raised in anger. Then another voice. It sounded like Scott’s! But that couldn’t be.…

  Next thing Adam knew, the boss came back and hauled him, stumbling, up a flight of metal stairs. A door opened, and he was pushed into a room smelling of onions frying.

  He heard a woman’s voice with a French accent say, “Philippe, is that you?” Then a gasp. “Who’s this?” she said. “And why is he blindfolded?”

  “Just someone for you to take care of for a while.”

  “No, Philippe –”

  “Don’t worry, he won’t give you any trouble. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “But –”

  “Don’t
forget who’s paying the rent here. You can keep him in that spare room at the end of the hall. It’s got a lock on it. Where’s Colette?”

  “She’s in her room, reading.”

  “She’s always reading, that girl. It’s not good for her – gives her ideas. Tell her to clear out the spare room for this kid.”

  A sigh. “Yes, Philippe.”

  Adam heard the woman leave and took the opportunity to remind the man about the blindfold. “You can take it off now,” he said. “I assure you it’s not necessary. I haven’t the slightest idea where we are or how we got here.”

  All he got in reply was a grunt.

  When the woman came back, she said the room would be ready in a few minutes.

  “That’s a good girl,” the man said. “Don’t look so worried; I know exactly what I’m doing. Give us a kiss, then.”

  The woman laughed. “Later, when we’re alone. I hope you’re going to stay longer this time.”

  The man sniffed. “Something smells good. I’ve been so busy looking after business, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “It’s just chili. There’s plenty, if you want some.”

  Adam heard the screech of a chair being pulled out. “Okay, serve it up,” the man said. “And lock this kid in the room. He’s getting on my nerves, bleating about the blindfold.”

  “I don’t like it, Philippe. How long’s he going to be here?”

  “Tell you later. I can’t talk with my mouth full.”

  At that, Adam felt the woman’s hand on his arm and he was led away.

  As soon as he heard the woman shut the door and the key turn in the lock, Adam tried to remove the blindfold. It was like a vise, giving him a throbbing headache, but the knot was awkward to get at and too tight to budge. All he managed to do was break a fingernail.

  Giving up, he sat down on the bare floor to try and determine why he had been brought here. All he did was trip the chauffeur, who was after Scott. He was completely in the dark. What did they plan to do with him? It was a puzzle.

  But a puzzle, in Adam’s mind, represented a challenge waiting to be solved, and his brain went to work on it.

  All he knew was that the men were after Scott. When he, on the spur of the moment, had stuck out his foot and tripped Scott’s pursuer, he was grabbed from behind and dragged into the car, then brought here and locked up. It was as if he was some kind of substitute for Scott, who had gotten away.

  Yes, that’s what he must represent, a substitute for Scott, like that awful-tasting substitute for coffee in wartime. But who were these guys and why were they after his friend? He and Scott were pretty close; they had no secrets. But they had been working at their separate jobs all day – Adam as a waiter, Scott as a deckhand. Something must have happened – something between Scott and the owner of the Packard or his chauffeur – and Scott hadn’t had a chance to tell him about it. Whatever it was, it must be serious for them to go to this extreme.

  He sighed and leaned against the wall. When he felt something pressing against his lower back, he remembered he still had his book in his pocket. A sudden urge to get it out and bury his nose in it took hold, to take his mind off his bleak situation. If only he could get the blindfold off! He tried again, but all he managed to do was break another fingernail.

  Adam’s boredom threshold had always been low. Back home, he was either reading a science book or talking about what he’d been reading. But now he was blindfolded and alone, so he couldn’t do either. He got up and made a tour of the room, starting at the door. He felt his way around the walls, expecting at any minute to bump into a bed or bark his shin on a chair. He encountered nothing, not even a window. The room was as bad as an isolation cell in a federal prison.

  The rattle of a key in the lock startled him. He heard the door open.

  “Who’s there?”

  «C’est moi,» a voice said.

  It was a younger voice than that of the woman who’d brought him to the room. A nice voice. “You must be the one they call Colette.”

  «Oui. Et vous?»

  “I’m Adam.”

  “Well, Adam,” she said, switching to English, “I brought you something to eat.”

  “Smells wonderful. Take off my blindfold, Colette.”

  “Oh, so you’re giving orders now.”

  “Sorry. Take off my blindfold, s’il vous plaît.”

  “That’s better. And in French, too. Well, I suppose … it would be hard to eat blindfolded, and he didn’t say not to.”

  The touch of her hands was gentle and sure. Her soft sweet smell mingled with the spicy aroma of the chili as she worked on the knot behind his head. “Oh, it’s so tight. There, now it’s coming.”

  He felt an immense relief and a surge of blood to his head as the blindfold slipped off. «Ah! Merci beaucoup.»

  The overhead light, a bare bulb, almost blinded him. He squinted up at her through his eyelashes. This made her appear to be shimmering, as if she were an apparition or vision.

  As his sight cleared, he saw that she was indeed a vision – a vision of beauty. Adam, with his limited experience with girls, was dumbstruck.

  “Hello,” she said, as he continued to stare at her.

  “Hello,” he managed to croak.

  She turned to go. «Et bien! Bon appétit!»

  “Wait, please don’t go.”

  “But if I don’t, he’ll be in here, wanting to know what’s holding me up.”

  “Come back later then.”

  “Perhaps. I’ll see.” She went out, locking the door behind her.

  Reluctantly, Adam watched her go, the tray beside him. He gave a long sigh, then took out his book and began to read while he ate.

  EIGHT

  Adam’s hopes of seeing Colette again that night were dashed. The older woman, who he assumed was her mother, came instead. She left two blankets and a pillow for him and took away the tray with the empty dishes. Avoiding his eyes, she didn’t say a word.

  She also left a pail, which, Adam realized, must be for his toilet. But someone would have to empty it after he used it. How embarrassing, especially if it was Colette!

  He spread his blanket and lay down to read more of his book. It was a classic called Two Years before the Mast, which he’d bought from a used-book store, thinking he could learn all about being a sailor.

  But he’d been teased mercilessly by the old hands when they saw what he was reading. “You won’t find many masts to climb around here,” Bert, the helmsman, said with a grin, “and the captain put away his cat-o’-nine-tails a few years ago.”

  Adam was tempted to say, “Yes, but he’s still got his temper to whip you with,” but restrained himself. He found the book interesting, even if no one else did. Written by a student who dropped out of Harvard in 1834 to sign on as a seaman on the brig Pilgrim, it described his two-year voyage around the Horn of South America to California and the hardships the crew had to endure.

  Now, exhausted from his long harrowing day, Adam fell asleep on the hard floor. He’d been in the middle of a chapter in which the captain flogs one of the crew and dreamt that the Rapids Prince was captured by pirates. He was forced to walk the plank and plunge into the maelstrom, where he was battered by rocks.

  Adam woke up sore and stiff from sleeping on the floor. He thought it must be morning, but, as the room had no windows, there was no way to tell. He got up, stretched his aching muscles, and used the bucket. He wished he had something to cover it with – maybe they would let him empty it himself to avoid embarrassment.

  Listening at the door, he could hear activity in the house: footsteps, the murmur of voices – mostly women’s but occasionally a man’s – doors opening and closing. He was hungry and thirsty. Just as he was wondering if he would get any breakfast, the door opened and Colette came in. She was carrying a tray with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and a glass of juice.

  «Bonjour, Colette.»

  «Bonjour,» she said. “Your breakfast, Adam.” He li
ked the way she said his name, with the stress on the last syllable.

  «Merci beaucoup,» he responded as he took the tray from her. “It looks delicious.” As he tried to get up the nerve to ask if he could empty the slop pail somewhere, she seized it by the handle and took it away. Soon, she brought it back empty, so that was that. Not as embarrassing as he’d feared. But then she went to the door again.

  “Why do you always rush away, Colette?” he said. “Stay and talk to me.”

  She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “Because maman is afraid you will attack me and escape,” she said. She smiled when she said it, however.

  “Attack you? Never.”

  “I know. But she is nervous about having you here.”

  “Are you? Nervous, I mean.”

  She looked at him. “Of course not,” she said, coming over and picking up his book. “Do you like this?”

  Adam nodded. “The author was a student who dropped out of Harvard to sign on as a deckhand on the brig –”

  “The brig Pilgrim,” Colette said. “I know. There is a French version.”

  Adam blinked. “You’ve read it?”

  “I’ve read all the classics. All I can … how do you say it? … get my hands on. You, too?”

  “Well, I’ve read some classics.” Adam couldn’t actually recall any classics he’d read except for Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Henry V, both of which had been assigned in school. “I read mostly science books. Anything to do with mathematics, especially. I like math because it’s so orderly and universal, if you know what I mean.”

  Colette nodded. “I know,” she said, “like Newton’s Principia Mathematica.” She stopped. “But why are you looking at me like that, Adam?”

  Adam realized he’d been staring. She’d read Newton’s Principia Mathematica! He’d never met anyone like Colette before, never even dreamt that there were girls like her. “Sorry, it’s just that … just that … I didn’t expect –”