by Brian Meeks
CHAPTER 87
Celine froze. The table seemed to explode off the floor and Henry dove into Oleg's chest. "Run," he yelled.
* * *
Mike whispered to Bobby, "Get back down to that phone booth and call it in. Hurry!"
Bobby ran off down the street, not caring if the man in the car saw him. Mike approached the car with his revolver in hand, leaned into the window, pointing it straight at the driver's head. "Stop right there, buddy; you're under arrest." Mike had his badge out, but Pytor did what came naturally: he floored it. The edge of the window frame hit the back of Mike's hand, and he lost his revolver. It flew behind the passenger seat, and he watched the car disappear around the corner. "Damn it!" There he stood, no gun, his buddy inside facing who knows what. He did the only thing his mind would let him. He ran across this street, hoping his fists and rage would be enough.
Henry drove Oleg back over his chair, and it shattered as they landed on it. Oleg had been stunned but instinct was close at hand, and he brought his left forearm up to Henry's neck and landed a glancing blow with his right. The blow shifted Henry enough that Oleg was able to roll him. Henry brought to bear an uppercut Joe Louis would have been proud of and landed it squarely on Oleg's jaw.
The knife had flown in an arc and stuck in the floor at Celine's feet. Henry's revolver had slid off the table and clanked its way toward her. She picked up the revolver and studied it briefly. The chaos of the fight and the command to leave were but background noise. It doesn't look so hard, she thought. Celine pulled back the hammer and the clicking sound assured her it was ready. The two men seemed to be fighting to a stalemate. She noticed the gun in the waistband of her captor and yelled, "Stop it now!"
Neither man heard her, and the fighting continued.
* * *
Jack bounded up the stairs, excited at the prospect of killing the arrogant detective and his little bitch secretary. As soon as he was inside he heard the ruckus and ran to the door. He reached for the knob and paused. A woman was screaming and a fight obviously was going on. He took out his gun and chambered a round, just to be ready.
* * *
Celine screamed, "I said stop it, damn it!" She pointed the gun to the right, brought it level, and aimed. She didn't want to hit Henry accidentally as she had never fired a gun before. It might be her only chance at a practice shot. Bang. She fired across the men on the floor and directly into the door behind them. The gun had kicked more than she had expected and the shot had been higher than she thought. Celine decided to fire once more, just to do better. This time she hit the mid-way point of the door.
Both men stopped fighting. None of them noticed the dull thud outside of the door.
Celine had a look of controlled rage when she said, "I have a few things to say....Henry, are you alright?"
Henry rubbed his jaw and stood up, keeping an eye on Oleg. "He does throw a good punch, I'll give him that."
Oleg, slowly got to one knee, showed his hands, and said, "Hey there, just calm down."
Celine pulled the hammer back and the click stopped him cold. "So you can talk now? When you had me tied up and were running your shiny, little gun along my face, you weren't so friendly, were you?"
Oleg had lowered his hands and had one hand resting casually on his waist. His Markov waited in the small of his back; he just needed her to look away for a second. "I was just following orders," he said, the sound of his own words making his stomach lurch.
"You made me something to eat, which was nice, but you also said you were going to kill us, so..." Celine shrugged and took a step closer to him. "...I'm feeling charitable."
Oleg sensed his moment to act was at hand.
Celine pulled the trigger and shot him in the right shoulder. Bang.
Henry lurched as Oleg gave out a scream. Oleg’s right arm went numb, he spun and landed on his stomach.
"Boss, you mind getting that shiny, little gun from him?" Celine's tone was sweet but in a really inappropriate way. Henry did as he was told.
"You know the worst part of this evening," she said, taking one more step towards Oleg. She paused, waiting for him to answer.
Oleg rolled to his side. If he could just sweep her leg, he would be set. Henry had his gun but hadn't chambered a round. It would be all the time he needed. One more step, he thought.
Celine's rage flashed again. "Answer me, you bastard!" She shot him in the leg.
Oleg screamed, "No!" He was now in pretty bad shape, and his hope of turning the tide had turned into a fear of dying in America. He was already dead, as far as anyone knew, and, for the first time in his life, he was afraid.
"It's that you made me cry. I don't like to cry!" She pulled the hammer back and pointed it at his chest.
Henry reached over, put his hand on hers, and gently said, "Celine, give me the gun. Jack could be coming back any moment. We need to be ready."
As quickly as she had turned vicious, it was gone. "Okay, Henry, you take it from here."
Henry went to the door and opened it. Bang.
Celine looked up from the man who had made her cry, not knowing what was going on. Henry spun as the shot grazed his shoulder and hit the ceiling. In the hallway Jack lay bleeding with a hole in his shoulder and another in his gut. The color was gone from his face, and his consciousness was waning. The front door opened and Jack spun the gun around and sent a bullet through the side window next to the door. Mike threw himself against the wall. Henry stepped on Jack’s arm and reached down, taking the gun from his weak hand.
"You're late." Henry said to Jack.
"I hate you, you filthy..."
Henry grabbed his shirt and lifted him off the ground, using his one good arm, then drove him back into the ground. Jack's eyes spun back in his head, and he passed out. Henry yelled to Mike, "Where you been?"
Mike, now standing above Jack, held out his hand. Henry handed him the gun.
Henry was exhausted, bleeding a little, but knew it could have been worse. "Go check on the one in there. Keep an eye on him; he's sneaky."
Celine began to fuss over Henry's shoulder, and soon the place was crawling with cops and medics. Henry had some of the answers he wanted, but there was still one question to be asked. It would have to wait until Jack was awake.
CHAPTER 88
Henry had just finished his third cup of coffee, which put him well behind Mike. It was coming up on noon. After getting his shoulder patched up, Henry had volunteered to give a full statement. It had taken a while and there were lots of questions. Then the FBI showed up, wanting to know about the guys who had been posing as agents. The CIA was next, and Henry answered their questions, which were mostly the same ones he had been answering for the last few hours.
Not everyone was sure Henry was telling the truth. They released him anyway with instructions not to leave town.
Henry was beat. He went back to the office and found Celine sleeping at her desk. Buttons was lying by her head keeping a close eye on her. She woke up and smiled. “How are you feeling, Henry?”
“I’ve been better.”
She stood up and gave him a hug. She didn’t cry, but her voice was shaky. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess. I should have known that Jack was no good.”
“We won, didn’t we?”
She looked up at him and laughed.
Buttons rubbed against Henry’s leg. Once Henry picked him up, the purring started. Henry sat on the edge of the desk. “I guess we solved Amy’s case.”
“I’ll send a bill out immediately.” Celine started to the filing cabinet and pulled out an invoice.
Henry just shook his head, “The Henry Wood Detective Agency is closed for the rest of the day…possibly tomorrow. Buttons looks like he has been greatly overworked.”
Buttons purred.
Celine closed the drawer and started to gather her stuff. She took Buttons and put him in the satchel she used to bring him to work. Buttons was ready to go home, too.
The phone rang,
and Henry said, “Let it go.”
Celine picked up the receiver, “Henry Wood Detective Agency…just a moment…” She handed it to Henry, “It’s Amy.”
“Hello, Amy, I have some good news…” Henry stopped talking and listened. “I understand; I’ll be right there.”
As Henry hung up the phone, Celine asked, “You’ll be right where?”
“It seems that Matthew Kerwin was killed last night. She’s at the office with Frank Pimpkin. He wants to talk with me.”
“You can’t go now. You haven’t slept and you’ve been shot.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve had a gallon of coffee.”
Celine was too tired to put up much of a fight. On a better day she wouldn’t have allowed it. She shrugged and left with Buttons. Henry called a cab.
CHAPTER 89
The cabbie pulled up to the Kupton Manufacturing headquarters, and Henry eased himself out of the car. His shoulder ached. “Thanks, buddy.” He walked slowly to the door.
Inside the front doors were half a dozen cops milling about. Henry asked where to find Amy Silverton. He was led down the hall to a big conference room and shown inside.
Coming over to greet Henry, Amy said, “My god, what happened to you?”
“It was a long night. Got in a fight, got shot, but we won the day.”
The room had gone quiet and everyone was looking at Henry. A serious looking man in a Navy uniform introduced himself, and Henry shook his hand. Henry asked, “So what’s going on?”
“We are having a little difficulty getting to the bottom of things. This is a matter of national security. Frank here says you can shed some light on the mess here.”
“Amy told me on the phone that Mr. Kerwin had been killed. I’m not sure I know what else you could be talking about.”
“Yes, Mr. Kerwin was killed and several truck loads of highly valuable parts for the Navy have gone missing.”
“Hmmm…that makes sense then. They were pulling out.”
“Who?”
“The Russians.”
The room went from quiet to pin-drop silent. “I can’t prove it yet, but there are two Russian spies recovering from gunshot wounds who can fill in the missing details. It seems that some time ago Matthew Kerwin was put in a position to take over Kupton Manufacturing upon the murder of Daniel Kupton. Before you ask, no, he didn’t commit suicide. He was thrown out of the Woolworth building by a Russian spy named Jack Abrahms, though I suspect that wasn’t his real name. I don’t know how the Russians got a spy into the CIA nor do I care. It seems that the plan was to steal the parts and use them in their own sub fleet. They brought in a team to help get the parts out of the country, using the cover of legitimate investors like Charles Hudson and Richard Bessemer who are in shipping and import/export respectively. I imagine you can find your missing parts on one of Hudson’s ships. It probably left this morning.”
At that moment Frank Pimpkin spoke, “Well, not entirely.”
The Navy man turned to him, “Now you want to talk?”
“I wanted Mr. Wood here to corroborate my story.”
“Okay, so what do you mean not entirely?”
“I was called into Daniel’s office the day he was killed. He told me that he had done something terrible and just realized it was much worse than he had imagined. Daniel had almost lost his company and was approached by a man who had a client in Europe who would pay dearly for the same quality parts the Navy wanted. He knew it was wrong, but the money was too great, so he agreed. That day he had learned it was the Russians and wanted me to know he was going to call the whole thing off. He wanted me to know because it would likely mean we would lose the Navy contract, and I would be out of a job.”
“So you have known about this the whole time?” The Navy man wasn’t happy.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you let us know?”
“That night they killed him...I guess I was a coward.”
“So now they have the parts. Do they have the research, too?”
“They don’t have, either.”
Everyone was confused now, including Henry.
Frank continued, “Mr. Wood was hired by my wife to find out if I was cheating on her. I thought he even sent a kid in to keep an eye on me. That kid, Lawrence, was poking around last week, well after his shift. I saw the sign-in sheet. I wanted to see what he was doing. It turns out he wasn’t keeping an eye on me, but on the Russians who were swapping out the defective parts for the good ones. They not only intended to steal the new ones for themselves; they wanted our Navy to get the bad ones.”
“Damn it!” the Navy guy yelled. “We need to get down to the docks now and stop that ship.”
“Or you could let the Russians keep the parts.”
“Why would we do that?”
“I switched them back.”
A cheer went up, and Frank smiled for the first time in weeks.
“You what?”
“My team made those parts, and I’ll be damned if I was going to let those Russian bastards have them. I switched them back and took all the research from Daniel’s office. The plans they stole are how we made the parts long before the breakthrough.”
There was much hand shaking and the Navy guy seemed generally pleased. Henry sat down and accepted an offered cup of coffee. Amy sat down, saying, “I knew he didn’t kill himself.”
“Yes, you did. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first.”
“You believed me enough to take the case.”
“You don’t know Celine. Turning away paying customers is frowned upon.”
She giggled, “So…”
The din of the official business was fading as was Henry. “So?”
“I was wondering if you knew if Lawrence has a girlfriend.”
Henry laughed lightly, “I’m going home. Call Celine tomorrow and make an appointment to come in and settle the accounts. Naturally, I'll make sure Lawrence is there to go over the services we provided.”
Amy’s face pinked up a bit, and she offered to take Henry home. He declined but let her call a cab.
CHAPTER 90
“April 21, 1955,” Francis wrote in his journal.
Henry asked, “What are you working on there?”
“I've been keeping notes of ideas for my novel,” Francis said, turning the notebook around so that Henry could see it.
“How is it going?”
“It’s moving along, but it has only been a couple of weeks. The Dodgers are looking pretty good.”
“Going into tonight’s game against the Phillies, they are 9-0. They beat them 3-2 last night. You want to go to the game tonight?”
“Sure, I haven’t been to a game all season. I love a ballpark hot dog.”
“You love all food.”
Francis chuckled. “Yes, but I have to write an occasional bad review just to keep people guessing. How was DC?”
“It was fine. I had to go down and spend two days giving my official statement about the cases. It seems they still can’t find the Russian named Pytor Chistyakov. He has vanished along with Martin Van Sythe. The good news is that Oleg and Jack are going to survive their injuries. The bad news is that neither one of them seems to know anything about the Cynthia Pollard murder.”
“But you're pretty sure they were involved?”
“I’m not anymore. The Feds were able to get a pretty good time line for where each of them were at the time of her death, and it doesn’t look like they could have done it. They rounded up all the other guys who were responsible for switching out the parts, and the only other thing we found out from them was that two of them were the guys who impersonated the FBI agents. It was all part of Oleg’s mission to mess with and distract the CIA guys.”
Francis took a bite of his pie. “Well, you solved both of your clients’ cases. That’s something.”
“Yes, I suppose she isn’t my problem, but it still bothers me. I should probably just drop it. Luna is sick of me talking about her.”
“How is Luna?”
“She has been pretty sore at me the last week or so. It’s a side ofE her I haven’t seen. It’s like she has an entire other side to her.” Henry paused for a moment then continued, “I guess we all have a side of ourselves that we don’t share. It is the stranger in us all. Or maybe, we just perceive what we want to because it's easier. I don’t know. I’m sure glad that Celine had her gun-wielding stranger buried deep inside her.”
Francis started writing, “The stranger in us all. That is good; you mind if I use it?”
Henry smiled and shrugged. His mind drifted back to the stranger he barely knew, Cynthia Pollard, and thought, That is a case for another day.
The End.
HENRY WOOD: EDGE OF UNDERSTANDING
CHAPTER 1
“There is no sadder death than when the last flicker of light from a lifelong dream is gone, when all that is left are the unfulfilled goals and shattered hopes from the days of youth. It’s the blackest night one will ever know.”
Henry wasn’t sure if the comment was directed at him or just the world in general, but he was in too good a mood to get sucked into an evening of drunken philosophy. The shabby-looking man sitting alone at the bar would have to find another sucker.
Henry took his pitcher of beer back to the table where Francis and Mike were arguing. The Dublin Rogue was packed, as it was most game nights, and people didn’t care it was a Wednesday. Henry filled their glasses and asked, “What are you arguing about now?”
Mike took a sip and said, “He thinks that French cooking is superior to a good, old-fashioned American steak.”
