My Journey in Writing, Ranting, and Woodworking

The patrol car came to a halt between 49th and 50th street.  Henry had told the driver to turn off the sirens as they got closer, so as to avoid a spectacle.  Mike looked at his watch and announced, “We have less than ten minutes, I hope you are right.”

Henry said, “The clues talked of wood and ice, basketball and hockey, and of course, the owner of Madison Square Garden, is?”

Bobby was the first to answer, excitedly he blurted, “Tex Rickard!”

Everyone looked impressed, but Henry threw a wet blanket on the moment, “Yes, but we don’t have much time to find the tile.  We need to look everywhere, Carol, Bobby, and Celine, you three check all around the outside, Mike and I will go in.”

Henry loved going to Madison Square Garden, mostly because he loved sports, but he even saw Sonia Henie and her Hollywood Ice Review, back in 1938, though he didn’t care much for figure skating.  Still, it was a good show.   Now, running through the doors, he hoped they could find it in time.  If someone died, because they missed the deadline, it would haunt him forever.

******

A man, who appeared to be in his late fifties, but was actually much younger and wearing a grey wig, pushed a janitor’s cart.  He had worked there for just over three weeks.  The Major had arranged for the position and paid him well to blend in and be ready for his task.  It was simple, when the Major called, he was to place the tile and then keep an eye on it until the clock had run out.  If the tile remained unclaimed, he was to remove it, and then find someone to kill.  The janitor’s name tag read “Carl”.

Carl had taken his job seriously and done his best to be unnoticeable, making sure to do everything his boss, Mr. Collins, had asked.  Still, Mr. Collins was not a reasonable man and took far too much pleasure in being generally unpleasant to all his subordinates.  Carl had endured the foul man by deciding early on, that it would be Mr. Collins, who would get the bullet in the head.  At least, that is how he imagined it going down.  He would walk into the little office,  not much more than a closet really, and he would say, “I quit,” as he removed the gun from his cart.  Carl knew that Mr. Collins liked to read spy novels and would immediately recognize the silencer.  He would raise the gun and pause for a moment, just to take in the moment that Mr. Collins realized he was about to die, and then, he would pull the trigger.

Now, the time had almost come, and he took out his spray bottle and cleaned the glass at the corner of the trophy case.  The little wooden tile, which was visible at the other end of the case, remained unclaimed.  Carl was pleased.  He pulled a fresh rag out of the cart and continued to clean the glass, as he stole a peak at his watch.  Only two more minutes and he would grab that tile and be off to complete his mission.

******

Henry was now running, with Mike by his side.  ”There is only one place that makes sense to hide it.  I know how the Major thinks.”

Mike, “I hope you are right, because if not, we’ve run out of time.”

Henry saw an old man picking up something and rushed up to him, “Hey, buddy, what did you find?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just cleaning up,” Carl said, unsure if the final two minutes had completely run out.

Mike grabbed his arm, “This is police business, what’s in your hand?”

Carl knew he had better play dumb, “Relax, it’s just a Scrabble tile, we find junk all the time, watches, cuff links, all sorts of stuff.”

Mike took the tile and handed it to Henry, “Did you see who put it there?”

“No, I clean up the glass everyday, I don’t pay attention to who makes the mess.  I got to get back to work.”  Carl started to push his cart away, grumbling, and trying not to look nervous.

Henry and Mike looked at each other, knowingly, and Henry said, “Hey, slow up there old man.”

Carl pulled the gun out of the cart and fired a shot that flew past Henry’s ear and shattered the trophy case glass.  Mike and Henry both hit the deck.  There wasn’t anyplace to hide.

Carl took off running, but not before sending another shot ricocheting off the floor.  He darted down some stairs with a good head start.  Mike pulled his revolver and gave chase, Henry was close on his heals.  They had to slow up, at the stairwell, and Mike gave a quick look.  At the bottom of the stairs was the wig.  Mike flew down the stairs and and when he got to the bottom of the flight, there wasn’t anyone in sight.

They checked all the offices and found nothing but people working.  Nobody had seen anyone strange running through the hall and it was apparent he had gotten away.  Henry looked at the tile and said, “That was a close one.”

Mike, disgusted with himself, “I should have pinned him against the wall and searched him right away,  but…”

“It’s okay, he had me fooled, too.”