Run into Trouble

by Alan Cook

  Casey found his tongue. “You’re right, of course. But you’re in excellent condition, overall. I think if you start slowly and get some more chiropractic treatments, you’ll work your way out of it. To show you my heart’s in the right place, I’ll give you—you and Melody—a thousand dollars just for completing today’s run. Five hundred apiece. Just don’t tell the others.”

  Melody bristled. “It isn’t about money.”

  Drake smiled for the second time. “Maybe it is about money. All right, we accept. A thousand dollars just for today.”

  ***

  “Tell me again why you wanted to continue.”

  Melody sipped water from her canteen and watched Drake as he sat on a rock beside the La Jolla caves and attempted to bend over and touch his feet. He was trying to get the kinks out of his back.

  The sweat on Drake’s face wasn’t just from the warm sun.

  “I can’t remember. Oh yes, I said it was for the money. Well, the money’s nice, but there’s something more. It’s a feeling I have.”

  “Intuition?”

  “Intuition is what women have. But something doesn’t feel quite right. Why is Casey willing to pay us a thousand dollars a day to stay in the run? That’s a lot of money. He wants us really bad.”

  Before flying to San Jose, Casey had upped his monetary offer from a single payment to a thousand dollars a day—payable when they finished the run.

  “Compared to the million dollar prize, a thousand dollars a day isn’t a lot of money. It’s also very clear that he doesn’t want me; he wants you. I’m just your partner. Here to provide you aide and comfort. Although I’m not providing the kind of comfort that Casey probably envisions.”

  “I’m not capable of enjoying it right now, anyway. I saw the article about the opening of the bridge in the San Diego Union this morning. Casey got a lot of publicity for his announcement that he’s a candidate for the Senate. There’s a picture of him with us in the background. I have a feeling he’s going to milk this run for the publicity value.”

  “What gave you the first clue, Sherlock? That’s not a crime, is it?”

  “Not yet. I also keep going back to the accident that wasn’t an accident. Who and why? I don’t have any enemies in the U.S. government that I know of. And it’s a bit late for a foreign government to eliminate me. I’m harmless.”

  “Maybe it’s somebody closer to home. Are any of your mates pissed at you?”

  “I don’t have many mates. One thing I remember—the driver of the truck slowed down just before he hit the taxi. He didn’t hit it as hard as he could have.”

  “He felt sorry for you.”

  Drake struggled to his feet. “Right. Well, if we’re going to finish today’s run—and I use the word ‘run’ loosely—before midnight, we’d better get our bodies moving.”

  ***

  “How far behind the others do you think we are?”

  Melody wondered why Drake cared how far behind they were.

  “We’ve only been doing this for a few hours, so we can’t be more than a few hours behind.”

  “You’re so reassuring. I’m glad we’re partners.”

  “I try to look on the bright side. Hey, that man isn’t wearing any clothes.”

  “This area is called Black’s Beach. It’s clothing optional.”

  “You didn’t warn me about it.”

  “I like to surprise you.”

  “It’s a surprise, all right. But…” Melody looked around as more optional men came into view. “Not necessarily a bad one.”

  “Where are the girls? There are supposed to be girls here.”

  Melody patted Drake on the back. “Aw, poor Drake. No naked birds to ogle. In your body’s present state it’s probably just as well. We don’t want to place any extra strain on it.”

  Drake glared at her. He had already been going slowly and was now moving at what could only be described as at a labored walk.

  “It’s not worth it. I’ve been watching you all day. The money isn’t worth your pain and anguish. Let’s call the whole thing off.” Melody repeated her last sentence, singing it to the tune of the song with the same name.

  “You always were the sensible one. All right, we’ll tell Fred as soon as we get to our motel, or wherever we’re staying tonight. We’ll leave Casey alone to play whatever game he’s playing.”

  ***

  Although Fred wasn’t wearing a tie, he still looked like a businessman with his pressed pants, expensive shoes, and sweater worn over a white shirt. Because the day was too warm for the sweater, his face was red and wet, and he mopped it with a large handkerchief. Casey had done the same thing. Were plus-size handkerchiefs standard issue at Giganticorp? Fred drove Drake, Melody, and a young woman they hadn’t seen before to their motel near the campus of the University of California at San Diego.

  The woman, who was dressed more casually than Fred, in shorts and a Running California shirt, had met Drake and Melody on the beach where the day’s run officially ended. She clicked her stopwatch as they came up to her and introduced herself as Grace Harbison, a Giganticorp employee. She must be one of the race officials mentioned in the written briefing they had received that morning concerning the day’s route. She called Drake Mr. Drake.

  She led them up a steep hill from the beach. Grace and Melody climbed it effortlessly, or so it seemed to Drake, but it almost did him in and increased his resolve to quit the race. After they had registered at the motel, Fred escorted them to Drake’s room and asked them both to go inside with him.

  He closed the door, sat on the bed, placed an attaché case he was carrying on his lap, and clicked open the metal latches. He raised the top and extracted two bank passbooks, handing one to Melody and one to Drake.

  “We have opened passbook savings accounts for each of you at our corporate bank in San Jose. After you finish each day’s run we’ll deposit five hundred dollars in each of your accounts. You can phone the bank to verify your balance and get your passbook updated when you are in the San Jose area. The money becomes yours as soon as you finish the race. Needless to say, don’t discuss this arrangement with any of the other runners.”

  “How did you get the passbooks so fast?” Melody asked. “Casey just made us the offer this morning.”

  Fred’s already large mouth expanded when he smiled. “We work fast at Giganticorp. If you must know, Grace flew down from corporate this afternoon and brought them with her.”

  “I’m impressed.” Melody looked at Drake, waiting for him to speak. He was bending down to stretch his back, his face contorted. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “We appreciate your, ah, generosity, Fred, but Drake has something to tell you.”

  Drake didn’t picture himself as a quitter. Telling Melody he was going to quit was one thing; telling Fred was entirely different. It was difficult for him to get the words out of his mouth.

  “The situation is this. Running the equivalent of a marathon every day is very hard on an athlete’s body, even an athlete in splendid condition, which I’m not at the moment. I…well I can’t do it. I’m going to have to drop out. We’ll forfeit the money for today.”

  “Nonsense.” Fred’s smile never wavered. “I’ve got an appointment with a chiropractor for you in…” he checked his watch, “…one hour. Peaches will drive you. In a week you’ll be as good as new. You’ve got a few challenges, but you’ve overcome worse problems.”

  Melody frowned. “How far ahead of us are the others?”

  Fred shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We’re paying you to stay with Running California. You add a lot of color to the program. The others all look the same, even Aki. They run the same, like robots. They ran in a posse today, and all nine teams finished within fifteen minutes of each other. We need you two—Melody, because you’re an exceptional woman, and Drake, because you’re a hero.”

  Drake was torn. He didn’t feel as bad as he thought he might. Of course, they still weren’t running marathon distance. />
  Melody apparently didn’t have any conflict. “I’m sorry, Fred, but he can’t do it. We’re through.”

  Fred rose from the bed. “There’s a reporter in the lobby who wants to talk to you. This is a good time while you’re still sweaty and have your running clothes on. We want the press to appreciate what you’re doing.”

  He ignored Melody’s words of protest and led them out the door.

  CHAPTER 6

  On the section from Torrey Pines to the Oceanside entrance to Camp Pendleton, we will run on the beach the whole way. Because this is a populated area, it is safer and sometimes faster to run on the beach. You’re used to beach running by now, and it should be no problem. You will be passing through a number of lovely beaches, including Del Mar, Solana, Cardiff by the Sea, Encinitas, Leucadia, Carlsbad, and Oceanside. If the beach is difficult to negotiate at high tide, you can temporarily run on the road.

  ***

  The ringing telephone woke Drake from a dream in which he was attempting to run somewhere, but large rocks and other obstacles kept getting in his way. He opened his eyes. A rosy glow behind the thin curtains told him that the sun was almost up. Should he try to answer the phone? It had been easier for him to turn over during the night than it had the night before.

  When the phone kept ringing its persistent double brrrr he couldn’t think of any excuses to ignore it. He reached out his arm and lifted the receiver.

  “This is your wakeup call. It’s six a.m.”

  Drake growled something back at the too-pleasant voice and dropped the receiver on the cradle. He stretched, trying to get a reading on his back. The pain was still there when he moved. What were they doing today? Oh yes, he and Melody were quitting Running California and going home. They had talked about spending a couple of days together first—on holiday, as she phrased it, but nothing had been settled.

  Fred had not only refused to accept their resignations, he had made them talk to the reporter just as if they were still in the race. The young man was a sports reporter by trade and had wanted to talk about the athletic aspects of the race. Drake had played down his injuries while they discussed how one prepared for and maintained conditioning during ultra-marathoning, a term used by the reporter.

  It would be fun to be alone with Melody for a few days. Just like old times, hopefully. Drake rolled onto his side, sat up, and headed for the shower.

  ***

  “Mr. Drake?”

  Drake turned and saw the middle-aged woman at the reception desk. Her voice sounded like the voice on the phone. He was meeting Melody here. They were going to the café next door to eat a real breakfast. The continental breakfast served by the motel wouldn’t sustain them.

  “I have an envelope for you.”

  “For me?”

  “You are Mr. Drake, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  How did she know? It wasn’t difficult. He was the only guest at the motel with a bandage on his face. Somebody must have told her that. He took the proffered envelope, thanked her, and sat down at one of the small tables in the lobby area where a few early rising guests were drinking coffee and eating sweet rolls.

  It was a white business-size envelope with “Oliver Drake” typed on the outside. It had been sealed but only at one spot in the center. Drake tore the envelope open and pulled out a sheet of standard typewriter paper folded neatly in thirds. He unfolded the paper and saw a typewritten note. As he quickly read the note, he got a sick feeling in his stomach. The English was broken and there were spelling errors, but the meaning was clear.

  To: Oliver Drake

  From: The Syndicate

  You not know us but that no matter. We know you. We have great interest in Running California race. We see it as chance to make much money. Many people betting on race. People betting that you and Melody Jefferson not finish race. We bet that you finish race get exelent odds. But then you have acident. We think we know who caused acident but we not able to get out of bet. So you have to stay in race. We know where Melody mom lives in Rotherfield England. As long as you too stay in race she ok. If you quit race she in big trouble. Do you understand? Do not show letter to any one.

  Shit. Drake almost said it out loud. He read the note a second time, more slowly. The meaning didn’t change.

  “Letter from home?”

  Melody placed a hand on his shoulder and started to look over it. Drake’s first inclination was to hide the paper, but he knew she had to see it. He reluctantly handed it to her.

  “Brace yourself. It’s not good news. I’ll be right back.”

  While Melody read the note, Drake went to the reception desk. He fidgeted impatiently while the clerk took care of a man who was checking out. He finally got her attention.

  “The envelope you gave me? Who gave it to you?”

  “It was here when I came in at five. I think it came in on Peter’s shift.”

  “Where’s Peter?”

  “He left at six.”

  “So he’s home now?”

  “Probably. He sleeps during the day.”

  “I need to talk to him. Can you ring him for me?”

  The clerk looked dubious. “He might be asleep.”

  “He left less than an hour ago. He’s probably eating breakfast or something. Please. This is very important.”

  People were lining up at the counter to check out. The clerk apparently decided it was faster to give in than to argue. She checked a list and dialed a number. After a pause she said, “Peter? Hang on. Mr. Drake wants to speak to you.”

  She handed the receiver across the counter to Drake. He put it to his ear. “Hello, Peter?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Oliver Drake. You were given an envelope to give me?”

  “Oh…right.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Let’s see. Johnny Carson had ended. I was doing some paperwork. It must have been about midnight.”

  “Can you describe the person who gave it to you?”

  “Not very well. He—or maybe she—I’m not even sure which, was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood and dark glasses. Jeans, tennies. Not too tall, slim build. I didn’t see any hair, because it was covered by the hood. The face was smooth—young looking.”

  “Did he—or she—speak to you?”

  “No. He came running into the motel like he was trying to catch a bus, handed the envelope to me, and ran out again without saying a word.”

  “Did you see a car or anything?”

  “No. He disappeared. I was so surprised that I followed him to the door, but by the time I got outside, he was out of sight.”

  “You said the face was smooth and young looking. Like that of a young man or woman?”

  “Yeah, either one.”

  “You didn’t see any lipstick or anything?”

  “Nope. I’m not saying she wasn’t wearing lipstick. I didn’t get a good look at the face. It happened so fast.”

  “Did you notice anything else about the person?”

  “He sure could run fast. That’s about it.”

  “Okay, Peter. Thanks for your help. If you think of anything more, could you call…Giganticorp—you must have their corporate number—and leave a message for Oliver Drake of Running California? Leave a number where you can be reached in the evening, and I’ll call you back.”

  “After ten I’m usually at the motel. I work the night shift.”

  Drake said good-bye and hung up. He turned and found Melody at his elbow. He had been so absorbed in the call that he hadn’t seen her approach. Her face looked ashen under her tan. They needed to talk, but not here with people milling around, including some of the runners.

  “Let’s go next door to the café.”

  He took her arm and guided her out of the motel. A few minutes later they were seated at a booth that promised some privacy as long as they kept their voices low. He ordered orange juice, scrambled eggs, and toast for Melody—she appeared to be in shock—and coffee and a bigg
er breakfast, including bacon and potatoes, for himself.

  Melody, who had been clutching the piece of paper, laid it on the table. “Do you think this is a prank?”

  “If so, the prankster has a lot of information about us, including where your mother lives. I think we have to treat it as real. The first thing we can do is stay in the run. By carrying out the instructions, we hopefully protect your mother.”

  And give Melody some piece of mind.

  “I want to call my mum and see if she’s all right.”

  “I don’t know if we can make overseas calls from the motel. Fred should be able to set it up for us. If necessary, he can patch it through Giganticorp. We can tell him your mother’s been sick. I don’t think we should tell him about the note yet until we have some more information about who it’s from. The writer said not to.”

  When they had worked together fighting Communism, they had operated on the premise that they couldn’t trust anyone. That was probably a good approach to follow here.

  “How are we going to get that information?”

  “After we get to our next stop, I’ll call a guy in D.C. I worked with, see if he’s familiar with any betting syndicates. He’s the only one still working there that I trust.”

  ***

  “I wish we’d been able to reach my mum.”

  “She was probably out in her garden. She has such a beautiful garden. We’ll try again this afternoon.”

  “Not too late. There’s an eight-hour time difference. If we call at four it’ll be midnight in England. She likes to get her sleep. If I wake her, she’ll think I’m in trouble.”

  Drake was trying to keep Melody from worrying about her mother. Just because she didn’t answer her phone didn’t mean that something had happened to her. However, he wished that she had been home.

  It was another beautiful day in Southern California. They ran close to the water because the sand was firmer where the high tide had packed it down. Drake’s back had loosened up just a hair, and they were moving faster today than they had yesterday. Flocks of seagulls rose into the air as they approached, and sandpipers scooted out of the way.

  They still weren’t close to the other runners. After Grace started them at the bottom of the cliff—Fred had declined to walk down it—the other nine teams quickly ran away from them and eventually disappeared from view. They ran in a posse, as Fred had said, apparently content to stay together for the time being.