by C. B. Carter
Mark’s limp body took another five hits from Bama in machine-gun like fashion. Luckily, for Mark, the hits landed on his arms and back. Bama seemed to realize this too and James, now seeing everything in slow motion, watched as Bama raised the bat and eyed the uncovered head of Mark. He was about to land a deadly blow.
James tackled Bama, but didn’t bring him to ground. He only shifted the man enough so that the swing landed in an ear-splitting blow about an inch from Mark’s head, with a loud metal to concrete sound that rang through the dorm and persisted for a least a few seconds.
James, unable to take Bama, did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed the bat and held on for dear life. As strong and as pissed as Bama was, he couldn’t swing the bat with it’s newly attached 180 pound counter weight, but he tried like hell and soon tired. Moments later, the campus police arrived and Bama was arrested, handed over to the local police, and Mark was rushed to the hospital.
No one heard from Bama again.
Mark was released from the hospital after two days of observation and didn’t press charges, even when the police stated the final swing, the one that missed Mark’s head by a mere inch, was so forceful that it actually caved in and cracked the tip of the aluminum bat and left a dimple on the concrete floor. If it had connected, there would’ve been young impressionable brain matter everywhere except where it belonged, in Mark’s head. They felt the blow would’ve certainly killed Mark and wanted to file attempted homicide charges against Bama and needed Mark to support the charges. Mark, battered and bruised, was surprisingly indifferent and refused.
Mark, of course, had his own version of the story, filled with bravado and told how the first hit was just lucky. Every fight during the next four years was instantly compared to the fight between Bama and DeSantis and, as far as James knew, none even came close unless a gun was involved, but that wasn’t really the same.
The story was modified and improved to the point of legend.
Different versions had surfaced over the years. James’s favorite was the one where he apparently attacked the enraged hulk and, with superhuman strength, body slammed the 250 pound Bamaian onto the concrete floor, simply because that’s what best friends do. It was far from the truth. James was scared to death, but jumped in to help a buddy and, luckily, everything worked out.
Mark, last summer, while he and James were fishing on the Puget Sound for rockfish, finally admitted there was a chance, albeit small, that James had saved his life that night.
They drank and remembered more and more of that night as the day went on and soon the night had been pieced together almost as it had happened. Mark reflected on how much force it would take to cave in the tip of an aluminum bat. James suggested Mark think of, instead, how much force it takes to dent concrete and they both agreed it would’ve left more than a mark on Mark.
As James drifted further into sleep, he reminded himself to follow through with his plan to somehow get the aluminum bat and present it to Mark if he ever got married.
It was 2:43 A.M. when James finally fell asleep. He was awakened by his cell phone vibrating across the nightstand. The clock showed 6:10 AM.
He knew who it was and actually thought of not answering it. Play nicely, he reminded himself and quietly pressed answer and said, “Hello.”
“Mr. Spain, we hear you and Ms. Davies will be ‘playing house’, as they say. Your lovely Bridget, who is now hiding under the pillow, will wake in an hour or so, eager to start nesting. Do you know what that means?”
“I think so,” James said.
“I can tell by your answer, you don’t. Let me provide you with a short education, Mr. Spain. At first, it will be small boxes, items she finds important, then it will be an all-out transfer of assets, followed by a hostile takeover. She’s moving in, James, and it will start today and it will move at a pace that will drive you nuts. The move is a problem for us.”
“How’s that?” James asked, now sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Women do not move like guys do, she will check everything, the entire process will be decision laden and ultimately she would find our bugs, our cameras, and we cannot allow that. You will become a minion as she enacts her evil plan to take over your life. Oh, come on, Mr. Spain, that was funny. At any rate, we can’t remove the devices from her apartment during the move. There would be a twelve to twenty–four hour period without surveillance and we both know that will not happen.”
James, in the morning fog, his brain not fully awake, almost let it slip, ‘She knows about the bugs.’ He managed to catch himself and only said, “Okay.”
“At seven A.M., I will call you. You will put yourself in position so she can hear parts of the conversation. When she wakes to take you to work, tell her you, as a gift, have hired movers for her. Fill in with the necessary blah, blahs to make it sappy enough so she will not refuse the gift. I procured a van last night and we will pack and move the items for her. As the van is en route, we will clean out our devices and she will never know. All she will need to do is point and state if the item is going to your condo or to the storage unit that’s part of the moving package. Are you awake, James?”
“Yes, I’m here. I get it.”
“Now there is a good chance she will refuse, insisting on doing it herself.”
“Don’t think so,” said James. “You don’t know her. She’ll accept and be thankful for it.”
“If you say so. Very well, then, I will be calling you shortly to confirm you’ve hired EZ Movers and that we’re starting whenever she’s ready. We will be at the apartment at eight thirty with packing material, boxes, the works.”
“Okay.” Mr. Wright hung up and James fell back into the pillow thinking well at least we’re getting a free move out of this, and he quickly fell asleep.
The phone rang exactly at 7 A.M. James answered and put on a show for Bridget and Wright’s benefit.
For the first time since last Christmas, she was out of bed, eager to get started. She admitted that she had dreamt of where her items would go and was so thankful James had hired movers.
At the breakfast bar, she drew a rough map of the condo, found the measuring tape in the kitchen junk drawer, and was performing her own version of Lewis and Clark on James’s—what she was now calling ‘their’—condo. James watched and said, “Sure,” to any question she had, while ineptly flipping through the pages of the Seattle Times. He couldn’t remember the last time he had read an actual paper newspaper, even though it was delivered each morning.
Mr. Wright was right. The energy level of Bridget was amazing and a bit overwhelming for so early in the morning. He was wrong, too. She accepted the gift without hesitation, and she would put those guys to work. He didn’t feel sorry for them one bit.
Chapter Thirteen
~ Two and Three Little Words ~
Mark was on I–5 at 5:30 A.M., heading north from Sacramento to Seattle. It was a trip he’d made a couple of times and was always awestruck by Mt. Shasta, just outside Redding. He was nearing it just as the sun was coming over the horizon and again reminded himself that one day he was going to take up photography and capture all the sights along the I–5. The rest of the trip, which normally took about twelve hours, was equally awe-inspiring. It was a beautiful stretch of road.
It was important he get to the Embassy Suites near the Seattle–Tacoma airport right around 5 P.M. Pressed for time, he left the vision of Mt. Shasta behind and was doing a decent seventy miles an hour.
During the drive, Mark’s thoughts drifted to Aaron. He had no doubt Aaron would crack the code that they uploaded to the Seattle Times personals section the night before, just barely making the print deadline.
If Aaron was able to crack it, he would have to live up to his promise to take him to an upcoming technology convention in Silicon Valley. Aaron had said it was in the southern part of San Francisco Bay and had forced Mark to seal the deal with a pinky swear. Mark knew the importance of it. Aaron navigated the internet f
or him and for seven bucks Mark was sending James a secret message that was guaranteed to appear in print on Thursday.
SAM M.D.
Too Stann. Aircrew asa Abbey 2121322
saS abasE acerola.
Are abeam bathtub saS donut abalone for Miram
2121321 121 32488 redraft tag mangt.
Next 2 2 4
Aaron instantly recognized that M.D. was ‘Mark DeSantis’ and seemed to relish the thought of cracking the rest of the code. At 8 A.M. Aaron called and said he had it.
“It says you’re going to Seattle and that you’re going to an Embassy.”
“You’re close,” responded Mark, “very close. Want a hint?”
“No, I’ll get it.”
“I know you will.”
* * * *
James located the personals section of the newspaper while Bridget was driving him to the bank. Concrete Blonde was playing softly in the car.
“Still listening to CB?” James asked.
“Yeah, the CD is stuck. Wanted to listen to a little Alanis yesterday on my way to the apartment, but the CD will not eject.”
James pressed the eject button, he was able to push it all the way in with no resistance, the mechanism had mysteriously broken or had been disconnected. Why Mr. Wright would mess with the CD player totally blew right past him.
“Okay, depending on the move today, I’ll take a look at it after work.”
“I know, I’m moving in with you. Isn’t it sublime?” Her smile was huge, beaming, and lit up the car.
‘Sublime’ was her favorite word, she found ways to sneak it into many conversations, sometimes even when the event wasn’t sublime. He was glad to hear her say it. It made things seem normal.
James’s favorite word, if he had to choose, was ‘vile’. He usually saved that adjective for vegetables and he was fond of telling his mother that he didn’t like the vile weeds she was forcing him to eat. He silently laughed at the memory.
“What are you looking for?” asked Bridget, noticing he was in the classifieds section of the Seattle Times. She’d never seen him a read a newspaper before and knew something was up.
“Oh, just parts for the Mustang.”
“You know we’re going to have to talk about that, right?” she declared. It was clear to her and him that they were going to have a difficult talk about the Mustang. She quickly went back to her own mental thoughts of what she was going to have the movers focus on first.
James didn’t respond. He’d be fine if they never had the talk.
“Do we have time for me to stop for a coffee?”
“Sure,” James responded. He secretly tried to find the ad and then he found it. It proved difficult to decipher. He kept repeating to himself, three, five, and seven. What are the third, fifth and seventh letters?
SAM M.D.
Too Stann. Aircrew asa Abbey 2121322
saS abasE acerola.
Are abeam bathtub saS donut abalone for Miram
2121321 122 32482 redraft tag mangt.
Next 2 2 4
After considerable time, more time than he had anticipated, he had a series of letters and numbers written in very small print on the palm of his hand: onway2SEAEmbSTErm122tgt. He made a conscious choice not to write on the newspaper itself and he kept his palm as close to his body as possible, trying not to raise any suspicion. In a short time, he was recalling it from memory.
At first, it didn’t mean a damn thing, just a series of jumbled up letters and numbers. Then it became clearer as he thought about it. The first part had to be ‘on way 2 SEA’ meaning Mark was on his way to Seattle. Suddenly, the rest fell into place, ‘Emb STE rm 122 tgt’ must mean, Embassy Suite room 122 target. He put it all together and almost cheered. Mark was on his way to Seattle and he was going to Embassy Suites to get information about room 122. That–a–boy Mark, get ‘em, bud, he thought to himself.
He found one ad. The gentleman was selling a grille and other parts for ‘66 through ‘70 mustangs. It was a long shot, but James wanted to complete the ruse. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.
An older gentleman answered. He and James discussed the items he was looking for, primarily a grille, a driver’s side quarter panel, and door. The advertiser had the quarter panel, but not the grille for his model, wasn’t sure about the door, but he had a lot of parts and wanted James to stop by on Saturday.
“Baby, do you think you’ll be moved in by Saturday?” he asked when she returned to the car with two coffees in hand.
“If the movers work hard enough, I’ll be moved in today,” she said, unable to hide her excitement.
“Yes, sir, Saturday will be fine. Lynnwood, yes I know the city. Go ahead.” James wrote the address down in his palm, purposely writing over the small print from earlier. “Great, we will see you around noon, would that be okay? ... Perfect, will see you then.”
Bridget only heard one side of the conversation, but surmised they were taking a road trip on Saturday. She loved road trips. She would get to map it out. “We’re going on a road trip?”
“Yes, near Paine Field, north of Lynnwood.”
“Ohhh, you know what we’ll pass before getting there, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Only my most favorite place in the world, Green Lake.” She smiled and he couldn’t help but smile back at her. This woman was going to be the death of him and it would be a fine death indeed. Though she didn’t say it out loud, she was already making plans to marry James Kilner Spain at that very lake.
“Remember the first time we went there? I was in your lap and my change was spilling out of my skirt pocket?”
“Yes.” He chuckled as he thought of the rest of the story.
“You whispered, ‘your money is falling out’ and I said, ‘It’s okay, I’d pay you for it, consider it a tip.’ Remember?” She pulled to the side of University and parked.
James smiled. He remembered their fifth date and it was awesome. “I remember every moment of it.”
“Oh, don’t forget I start college classes on Monday. So, you see, this can be like a little mini–vacation before I’m back in the books.”
He kissed her, said he loved her, and paused, wondering how perfect their lives would be if he had not been dragged into Project Northwest.
He exited the car and was on his way across the street to the bank. She waited until he crossed and blew him a kiss. It was 8:30 and boxes don’t pack themselves, she thought. Well, unless your man is considerate enough to get movers to do it for you.
EZ Movers were on the ball. She arrived at her apartment to find the EZ moving truck parked out front and four guys waiting at her door. They had already assembled boxes and had them lined down the hallway. Each man was holding what she wanted to see most, bubble wrap.
“Good morning, guys,” she said as she inserted her key and opened the door to the apartment. “We’re going to start in the bedroom and bathroom first. The apartment is small, so I don’t think this will take too long, but I’m sure you’ve heard that before. I’m in a great mood, so let’s keep it that way, okay?”
“Yes, Ms. Davies,” the oldest of the four movers chimed in.
“Are you my point man?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Perfect, grab some boxes, some tape, and let’s empty the chest of drawers. If you have to wonder if it should be bubble-wrapped, then it should be bubble-wrapped. Before we get to it, the large pieces of furniture, except that rocking chair and that book shelf, will be placed in the storage unit.”
They followed her to the bedroom and looked away when she opened her personal garment drawer.
“Miss, we’ll start with the bathroom while you empty the, um, the unmentionables, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you boys shy?” she questioned, as she folded a particularly sexy pair of panties, although there wasn’t much to fold.
“I’m not,” the youngest mover said under his breath before being corralled into the b
athroom by the other associates.
“Cut the shit. Get the mic and camera out of here,” instructed the leader in a low voice.
She had no idea they had heard and seen things that made this intensely personal. They had heard and seen her and Spain having sex. They had seen her naked and she was so beautiful, her dimples of Venus were the favorite boyish topic during the slow hours of surveillance. It was painful to be as close as they were, much less watching her fold lingerie—that was excruciating. All four men were in the bathroom, where only two persons should be able to fit, and they had it packed in minutes.
“Use bubble wrap for anything breakable,” she shouted, moving to the second set of drawers, filling her first box and moving to a second.
Moments later, she heard the ripping sound of moving tape and two men were on their way to the van with two boxes each. They returned, collected two more boxes, and the bathroom was empty.
Soon they had the bathroom and bedroom cleared. Bridget was pleased. At this rate, they would be done by noon.
`
Chapter Fourteen
~ James Meets Hope ~
James was in a good mood, even when he saw Shelly at the employee lockers outside the security station. He felt their discussion yesterday over lunch would allow for a faster day at the bank and he wanted to get in and out as soon as possible.
“Good morning, Shelly.”
She was placing a brown envelope into her locker and acted as if she were alarmed by his presence. She quickly deposited her cell phone and purse into the locker, locked it, and gave a rather curt, “Morning, James.” She looked tired. Her beautiful eyes carried the baggage associated with the lack of sleep. He watched her process through security with only the manila folder she always took into the data center.
As he took his seat and logged into the system, he made his observation. “You seem a little agitated. I assumed after our conversation yesterday, we would be on better terms.”
