Three to one, p.15
Three To One, page 15
Safely in the room of the old historic hotel, Deuce stared out the window. Obscured by darkness and heavy ten-foot-long drapes, he peered into the shadows of the street below. Everything was slightly distorted by the ripples of antique glass, but the street seemed deserted.
A white, glossy horse carriage clopped by, open under the amber flicker of the lamps, carrying a bride and groom in plush leather upholstery. The driver wore a top hat. Deuce could hear the big hooves and wheels even through the second-floor window. Other than that, the street was still. Out in the harbor, the water rippled only slightly, distorting the glow of the rising moon. Everything seemed okay.
Wait. There he was again. That same figure, not much wider than a lamp post, standing just inside of the opening to an alley, shrouded by the shadows of tall historic homes on either side. Now who is this, and what the hell does he want? He remembered the homeless guy in the park the other day. Naw, that happened a thousand miles from here. Can’t be connected. But this guy was clearly stalking them. Was it someone connected to Marco’s “import” business? Doing more research? Or do they think they can intimidate me? I’m not gonna sit still for this. If he wants to mess with me or my kid, he’s going to find out who I really am.
Number Three was slouched in a chair, staring at his feet, a million miles away.
“Hey, son. I’m gonna run out for a few minutes, alright?”
“Uh-huh.”
There were times when Peregrine’s absent-mindedness came in handy. With any luck, he would never even know of what was about to happen. Deuce was half out the door, looked over his shoulder, reached back inside, grabbed a marble paperweight off the end table. Smooth, slightly elliptical, heavy. Perfect size to conceal in a palm. The heavy wooden door echoed in the empty hallway. He didn’t wait for the elevator, he breezed along the heavy carpet, and into the stairwell. He double-timed it down the industrial stairs. He started toward the front lobby, then thought better of it. He turned and exited a side door, closing the security latch quietly behind him. Moist and cool, the night air felt invigorating. The adrenaline chill ran up his spine again. Good. Might need that. He stuffed it down, saved it. In a minute or two things were going to get exciting.
He chose his path based on where he had last seen the shadow figure. He went diagonally to the left, across a cobblestone street, treading as soft as possible. A string of eighteenth century colonials lined the street, ancient brick covered with moss. At the block’s end, he turned right, and slowed. He chose his steps carefully, quietly. He paused beside the opening to the alley, intentional in his breathing, heart thumping against his shirt collar. He peeked into the dark alley and jerked back. At the far end, a silhouette against the well-lighted street, back to him, the slim figure he’d seen from the window. Standing quietly, watching the hotel. Why?
He paused for a moment, rethinking his original plan. The alley was long and narrow, only a couple small blue dumpsters for cover. He wouldn’t make it to the other end without being detected. He didn’t have a firearm, but maybe the shadow did. He needed close quarters. Looking away from the alley, he drew a deep breath, took two quick steps, to cross the opening. He moved quietly up the back side of the next row of buildings, took another right. If he approached from the high side, the shadow might be so focused on the hotel he’d forget his six-o’clock.
Stepping lightly on the sidewalk, he hugged the old bricks. Exposed now. Go easy. Don’t spook the prey. He scanned the slate pavers ahead, looking for glass, or anything that might make a sound. Familiar. Back to his younger days as an infantry commander, slipping into the role like a comfortable pair of old sneakers. You never forget. Age and money change you, but that intense training remains. You don’t mess with a man’s family. He rolled the cool marble in his hand as he went, getting the feel of it.
He slowed now, controlling his breathing, inching along, taking the fight straight at the enemy. The infantry way. The figure stepped into light. A rattlesnake strike. The crisp crack of Deuce’s fist. The shadow reeled, dropped and Deuce was on him, the marble cudgel raised high. He stopped just in time.
“Oh, Jesus. You’re just a kid.”
The wide eyes were rolling, filled with terror. Deuce saw the face in the amber street lamp. “What happened to you?” The face was disfigured, swollen, black and blue. A nasty cut on one cheek bone, another over the eye brow.
“Get off me!”
“Hold on, kid. Settle down.”
“Yer Dead!”
“Hey!”
The kid was flailing around so wildly Deuce had to loosen his hold, for fear the kid would hurt himself. The kid slipped free and bolted. Down the dark alley at a dead run, limping and flinching.
“Kid, hang on! I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what’s going on.”
Deuce was alone, kneeling in the alley, staring.
Something about that kid seemed very off. But maybe also familiar? Strange. Suddenly the alley felt creepy, like a Stephen King novel.
The scene was vivid, intoxicating. Peregrine was sitting up near the back of the cavernous lecture hall, on the right side as you came in, only one student among a hundred. The professor was late, and the kids were acting up, laughing, sharing stories, throwing challenges and chides. The door opened behind him, he turned, and – there she was. Soft yarn snuggled over supple curves, books pressed warmly against her breasts, above them, the angelic face. She had a glow unlike any other woman he’d ever seen. He was stunned.
She moved as if in slow motion, and when she turned her head toward him, her long hair flowed. The smile was brilliant, and warm, like looking at the moon through a diffusion filter, muting and transmitting a bright glow from within. Beauty.
“Hey, is this seat taken?” Dove asked.
He snapped to attention.
“Uh, No. No, it’s not. Please.” He motioned to the chair, inviting her to join him, probably looking like a clumsy oaf, but who cares. She has chosen me. He thought. Her smell. Very subtle, not a recognizable scent, but – oh my God, she smells good. She turned toward him, so close, almost touching – a slight brush on his arm-
“Hi, what’s your name? I’ve seen you around, right?”
“Uh huh. – I mean- Peregrine. My name’s Peregrine.”
“Wow, that’s such a cool name. I’m Dove.”
Dove? You kidding me? Is this really happening? The most gorgeous woman in the galaxy, and she wants to sit by me? her name is Dove?
“Should I be worried?” She asked, a touch of mischief, “The falcon and the dove?”
“Uh… no. Not worried. I am not that kind of…” She giggled at his discomfort.
“Hey,” she said, “I was supposed to meet my parents for dinner, some snooty restaurant, and they just texted to say they can’t make it. You want to go with me? It’s a shame to waste the reservation.”
“Uh huh.”
“Then maybe later we could get married, go to a hotel, make love, and have some babies.”
“What the?!”
He jerked, catching himself from falling out of the chair as the door opened. His dad looked at him with a weird expression.
“You alright?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be alright?” He wiped a little drool off the side of his mouth.
“You just look a little – maybe freaked out?”
“I’m not freaked out. I’m fine. Why would I be freaked out? Forget it.”
He got up, stomped across the room, made one lap, and headed for the door.
“Where you going, son?”
“Down to the lounge. I’ll be back.”
“Uhm. I better go with you.”
“No.”
The door closed more loudly than he had intended. He felt bad about it. He knew his dad was trying to help, but Jeez. I just need some space, he thought. I’ve got to figure this out.
The “Seaside Lounge” was a dark room on the interior of the ground floor of the hotel. On his way in, he smelled chlorine so strong it made his eyes water, from an indoor pool somewhere nearby. The lounge was a typical piano bar, a run of the mill player, tip jar primed with his own twenty.
In fairness, he was probably pretty good, but Peregrine had been listening to professional recordings of classical pianists, and by comparison, this guy sounded like a hack. Not his fault. Not everyone should be judged by genius standards. The old man had said it a thousand times.
When the bartender slid the second glass of bourbon to him, he found that it tasted better than the first. He enjoyed the soft tinkle of the cubes on crystal. The lounge was dark, and he was glad for it. Almost empty, surprising for a Friday. It was off-season for the tourists.
Staring down into the transparent ice cubes was therapeutic. The water in solid form, the liquid state of the bourbon, tiny reflective and refractive trajectories of photons launched from facets of cubes and crystal, not just his own, but also from hanging wine glasses, tumblers on shelves, and liquor bottles. All that motion, silent, sizzling, and chaotic. So random, and yet poetic, beautiful.
The room filled with vibrations of different frequencies, deep waves rolling off thicker piano strings, and short, spikey waves leaping off the high strings like little fairies darting about the room, hitting and launching off a thousand different angled surfaces. Stunning complexity. But also elegant beauty.
“Hey, bub.”
A businessman at the end of the bar lifting his glass. That one act. Seemingly insignificant, but sound waves produced by his vocal chords where echoing, mixing with the piano, the tinkling of the ice cubes, the sound of the bartender’s footsteps, the bottle touching the bar, amazing. A glint off his glass, and a whole new series of photonic trajectories, the dance intensifying, changing, everything being impacted and forever changed.
Every act changes the universe. No way to know what the result might be.
The thought was powerful. Every act, motion, or decision. Nothing irrelevant. Nothing without consequence. Each choice, yes, no, heavily loaded with the unknown. Oh, God. How can I know what I should do? How do I know when to sit and when to stand? When to move, and when to stay? When to speak, and when to remain silent? A swell of panic began to rise, another gulp needed. More swishing, clinking, fumes released into the atmosphere, everything changing. The universe forever different. Oh God.
He looked up, and there was a reflection staring back at him. A kid. Let’s be honest. That is the face of a kid. No wonder nobody respects you. No wonder people don’t take you seriously. Maybe you should get a big, fat, gold bling necklace that weighs fifteen pounds, and says “P-H-D.” Or no, an even bigger one, as wide as your chest, that says “CHILD GENIUS.”
He chugged the rest of the bourbon and palmed the tumbler down onto the bar with a solid thud. Boom. I just changed the universe. What are you going to do about it? He asked the kid in the mirror. The bartender turned, and Peregrine tapped the top of the glass with his index finger. The bartender came over, rather slowly, it seemed.
“You alright son?”
There it was. Even to this bartender, he was a kid. But not to that rotten ethics committee. To them, he was an old man, a predator, a pervert.
“Another, please.”
“Son, are you sure?”
He snapped his head up to look at the burly authority figure.
“You want to see my I.D. again?”
“Settle down, kid. Coming right up.”
When the bourbon arrived, he looked up at the bartender sheepishly.
“Sir, I apologize. I did not mean to –”
“Forget it kid. Not a problem.”
He returned to his exploration of the cubes. Why couldn’t it have been like the fantasy from before? If I was a student, instead of the professor, it would be a match made in heaven. Instead, it is a big ball of mucus, everybody’s business, the hot topic for old biddies with no life of their own.
Even with all of that taken into consideration, it was still beautiful. It was much more than biology, or sociology. It was… spiritual. There was no other way to say it. No matter how this comes out, that day I first saw her will be forever etched as one of enchantment. He stared hard into the mirror again.
So, what are you going to do about it? Challenging the kid across from him, who was clearly clueless, left flat-footed without a retort. He glared into the reflection. Screw the ethics committee. They can go crawl down a worm hole, for all I care. This is my life. I’m damn well going to live it.
He stood, threw two twenties on the bar, and turned to walk out. The piano was still stirring the room with vibration. He stopped, turned, and tossed another twenty into the tip jar. The musician looked up, surprised, then nodded his appreciation.
Boom. Changed the universe again.
The clock said 4am when Deuce got up to go to the bathroom. It felt like he hadn’t slept a wink all night. His mind was doing loops, remembering the rotten meeting with that jackass Marco. Thinking of all the reasons one might skirt customs and immigration, then wondering if the veiled threat about “last mistakes” should be taken seriously. Remembering what he said about knowing Peregrine’s office number and license number. That shadow doing surveillance on them from the alley. The infantry commander in him would not shut up. Was that all just big talk, trying to posture to make an impression, or was he really a guy so used to getting his way that he would take drastic measures?
Deuce realized with some dread that in the short meeting he had learned enough about the man’s dealings that he could cause trouble if he wanted to. A guy like that doesn’t like scrutiny. Would he be willing to do the unthinkable to silence somebody? It seemed plausible. But would he? Just because they had general information that he might be engaged in illegal activity? It wasn’t much, but it might be enough information to spark unwanted attention from DHS, ATF, DEA, FBI, maybe even CIA. Anyone engaged in criminal activity would do almost anything to stay out of that kind of alphabet soup. He splashed cool water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror and said,
“Deuce? What in the hell have you stumbled into now?”
September 28
The sky was awash with orange-pink hues, and the rising sun was glinting off the glassy harbor. Colors danced like a reflection in a liquid mirror. Peregrine inhaled deep, stretched his back and reached for the sky. What a glorious day. A carriage full of tourists clopped by, the travel guide dressed like a confederate soldier was talking loudly, animated, spinning some yarn about something that probably never even happened on this very spot, one morning two hundred years ago. He chuckled. History in the making.
Something caught his eye, a movement in the water. He searched, and a little black head poked up, sending out ripples, disturbing the calm surface. A sea otter. Who would expect that? But there it was, playing, rolling, sliding effortlessly along. How cool. He looked up and down the street. Deserted. Another little head popped up, and a second otter joined the first. Amazing.
The two circled, chased, parried, and embraced, still sliding along, the most natural thing in the world, art in motion. No, better than art. Nature. Only nature can be that beautiful. Still embracing, they moved effortlessly through the water, rolled, submerged, came up again, changed direction, back the way they came. Dancing along a horizontal plane, suspended, weightless. The dance was sensuous, fluid, surreal. I wish Dove was here to see this, he thought. He felt like the luckiest man alive.
“Morning.”
He turned to see dad, hair mussed, dark shadow of a beard, rubbing his shoulder.
“Morning, Dad!”
His dad eyed him with a look of uncertainty.
“What’s up?”
“Hurry! Come check this out!”
The two otters slid below the surface. Deuce moved to the window, squinting into the morning sun.
“Nice morning.”
“No. Well yeah, but that’s not what I was wanting to show you.”
“No?”
“There were otters in the harbor.”
“Yeah?” Deuce, rubbing the stubble on the side of his face. He clearly was not getting it. Oh well.
“Hey, pops, you want some breakfast?”
“Room service?”
“No, let’s go out. Let’s go find some good local cooking. I’m starved.”
“Um… Ok, sure. Just give me a couple minutes to shower and shave alright?”
“Have a cup of coffee. I made some.”
“Thanks, Son. You’re doing good today, huh?”
“I’m awesome.”
“Yeah? Any specific reason?”
“I think I finally got some things settled in my own mind. I feel like a weight is lifted.”
“Glad to hear it. A couple cups of coffee, I’ll be right there with you.”
The sun climbed steadily higher above the horizon, painting the landscape with a golden glow as they taxied down the runway at CHS, Charleston International Airport. Peregrine sat quietly, taking in the beauty. A few wispy clouds were catching the sun’s rays, glowing with subtle gold and silver hues.
Dad seemed tense. He had done two complete walks around the aircraft before going into the cabin. That was unusual. Then, in the pre-flight, he was strictly business. No clowning, no snappy banter. In a way, Peregrine didn’t mind because he had his own thoughts to deal with. But he was definitely getting a negative vibe from Dad.
The take-off went smoothly, with almost no wait. He enjoyed looking down at the landscape of the South Carolina low country. For a few moments they had a glimpse of the coastal salt marshes and the Atlantic Ocean. As they turned northbound on the departure, Peregrine watched waves of diamonds sparkle across the three big rivers carving out the peninsula below, each spanned by large bridges and speckled with various types of watercraft, little white lines behind them. As they rolled out on a heading of 333 degrees, The reflection of the morning sun swept across the waters below, glinting with a golden brilliance. It seemed half the landscape was underwater. The coast quickly faded away behind them as they rushed toward the midland lakes, climbing to four thousand feet.
