by Sam Cheever
Angie pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it with disbelief. “Shit!"
Drumming thoughtfully on the countertop Angie considered what to do next. Or if she needed to do anything next. Surely she'd done all she could for this guy, the ungrateful wretch. It would serve him right if she just went back to work and left him to deal with things on his own.
But he was weak and wimpy and he didn't know he was a heartbeat away from certain death. He hadn't seen those two men. Angie shivered violently. He had no idea what was coming his way.
She briefly considered calling the police but realized they'd respond just as Alastair Honeybun had. They'd think she'd lost her cookies.
Even as her mind told her she should just go back to work and forget about it, her body headed down a different track and she found herself climbing into her burnt orange Edge and gunning it backwards out of the small parking lot onto the street.
Alastair Honeybun lived in a really nice neighborhood, with beautiful older homes, mature trees in the yard, and perfectly manicured lawns. His house was small, but very elegant in red brick with white and black accents. His yard was cut short and outlined by perfect flower and shrub beds. This didn't surprise her at all. The image of a white haired older gentleman who puttered in his yard as a hobby was reinforced in her mind.
She knocked on his door and thought about the fact that he hadn't really sounded old on the phone. The cold was probably just throwing her off.
A guy with the name of Alastair Honeybun had to be old.
The sound of shrill barking greeted her insistent knocking long before she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. She suddenly felt as if someone was staring at her and waved at the peephole in the door, smiling.
She figured he'd open the door just to find out who the ditz on his doorstep was.
The door finally slid slowly open to reveal a mass of vibrating blankets with close cropped, bright red hair. The blankets sniffled and shuffled toward her. “Whadya want? I'm not interested whatever it is. I'm dyin’ and I just wanna be left alone."
A small, black and brown sausage type dog wriggled past the blankets and hopped around excitedly on the small front porch. He barked happily, wagging his entire backend in greeting. The little dog raised himself up on two stubby back legs and put oversized front paws on her knee. Angie reached down to pet the daschund's head and tried to peer under the blankets at its owner.
"Hello, I'm Angie Peterson. We spoke on the phone a while ago."
The blankets gave a jerk and started to turn back into the house. “Go away."
Angie grabbed the edge of the door before he could get it closed and forced her way into the house. “I'm sorry. I know you must feel like hell and I'm not normally this pushy. But you have to listen to me. I really believe your life is in danger."
The man in the blankets sneezed and stared at her. Finally he turned back into the house and headed down a long hallway toward the back of the house. “I don't have the energy to throw you bodily out of the house so if you'll promise to make me some of that tea you suggested I'll sit and listen to what you have to say."
This extended speech ended in a bout of violent coughing that sounded as if Mr. Honeybun was about to spew a spleen. Angie quickly threw the bolt on the front door and followed him. The happy little dog bounced after her down the hall.
When they reached the kitchen the little daschund flew past her and exited through a flap at the bottom of the back door. She turned the bolt on that door too. Turning to Alastair Honeybun, who was now perched miserably on a chair at the kitchen table, she asked, “Do you have any other doors I should lock?"
The cap of bright red hair was underscored now by blue eyes with a thick fringe of dark red lashes and a pale, sweaty brow. Unlined. Angie did a quick reassessment of the old guy thing.
"What are you some kind of mobile rent a mommy?"
Angie blew out a sigh of frustration. “Humor me."
He jerked a blanket clad shoulder toward another door across the room. It looked like it probably led to the three car garage she'd noticed as she'd climbed out of her Edge.
Angie walked over and locked that door too. Then she turned back toward the shivering mass of blankets at the table. “Tea?"
The bristly red head nodded toward a long cabinet in the corner of the room. “Pantry."
Angie moved briskly toward the pantry and dug out two tea bags. Then she looked at him again. “Cups?"
"Over the sink."
She grabbed one mug that proclaimed, God's Gift to Discerning Women, and another that said, If it Weren't for Bad Love I'd Have no Love at all. She arched a brow at the quivering pile of blankets at the table and it shrugged. “What can I tell you, my friends are all a bunch of smart asses."
Angie shook her head and added water and the tea bags to the two mugs. Then she put them into the microwave and set the timer for six minutes. She busied herself gathering honey, cream, and spoons until the timer on the microwave chimed. Then carried the mugs to the table, where she handed the God's Gift mug to the blankets.
They silently doctored their cups of tea for thirty seconds and then, pushing aside the blankets just long enough to take a sip of the hot, sweet beverage, Alastair Honeybun smiled at her. “Good. Thanks."
Angie got a jolt of surprise at the extremely pleasing face that she could almost see between the edges of the blankets. Not old. Not at all. And maybe the mug was right after all. But then she remembered why she was there and, setting down her mug of tea, she leaned across the table toward him. “Mr. Honeybun..."
"Alastair.” He shrugged. “You made me tea and tucked me safely into my house, we're practically best friends.” He sneezed three times.
She got up and grabbed him a handful of tissues from a box on the counter.
"Danks.” He said, taking them from her, and then he proceeded to make honking noises into the tissues so loud Angie wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors came pounding on the doors.
"Anyway, I own the Dunk and Run down town."
"I dnow, I'b seen you there."
Angie was surprised that he'd recognized her and she hadn't recognized him. But then she realized he probably hadn't been swathed in blankets when he'd been in the shop. “Yes. Well I was using the men's room this morning..."
He arched a dark red brow at her.
Flipping a hand toward him in a dismissive way she hurried on, “The Ladies was out of order. Anyway, these two men got past my assistant and came into the bathroom. I hid in the stall and heard them talking about killing you."
This brought both dark red eyebrows flying up. “Dat's ridigulous!"
Angie shrugged, “I thought so too but they had this.” She pulled the pieced together sheet of yellow paper with his name on it out of her pocket. She'd taped it together before she left her apartment.
He took the piece of paper with a well manicured hand that shook just the tiniest little bit as he held the paper up so he could read it. She noticed the hand was tanned and square and sprinkled with dark red hairs. Despite the clean, square nails, it was a very masculine hand. Finally he threw the paper down on the table and picked up his tea again. “That has to be some other Alastair Honeybun."
Angie just gave him a look.
The blue eyes with the dark red fringe just stared at her over the blankets for a moment and then a sigh emerged from somewhere under the eyes. “Okay, so it's not a very common name. But why would anybody want to kill me? I'm just a financial planner for god's sake."
Angie shrugged. “They seemed to think you saw something you shouldn't have. Something about a girl?"
Alastair shook his head and sipped his tea, staring down at the small, fragmented piece of paper between them. “I haven't seen anything except the inside of this house for days. I've had the damn flu and then I got a sinus infection.” He sneezed again as if to prove his point.
Angie stood up and walked over to the wall to grab the phone. “You need to call the police. T
hese men were planning on killing you today. They were going to try your office first but then I assume they will come here."
She offered the phone to him and he stared at it thoughtfully for a moment. Then he took it out of her hand. Angie sat down with a sigh of relief and picked up her tea. She cradled it in her hands, enjoying the warmth the hot mug gave her suddenly cold fingers as he punched numbers into the phone. She sat back and looked around the kitchen as he waited for the police to pick up.
It was a very nice kitchen, filled with very expensive appliances. The floors were covered with wide planks of hardwood in a deep golden color and the countertops were granite. The stove was gas, huge, and looked like something you'd find in a gourmet restaurant. They sat at a small, granite topped table with two chairs in a nook that was surrounded on three sides by a large, arching window that overlooked an expansive back yard. Under the window on all sides was a deep window seat with cushions tossed invitingly in every corner. A folded newspaper with a partially completed cross word puzzle showing and a silver Cross pen lying across it told her that he actually used the window seat. Imagine that.
Her attention was drawn back to him as he spoke into the phone.
"Allyson. Hi. It's Alastair. Yes, thank you I amb feeling a bit bedder. No, I dknow I still sound bad. It's this sinus infection...” He threw Angie a look of frustration, nodding as the woman on the other end appeared to blather on.
Angie frowned at him and put both hands in the air, palms up as if to say, “What gives?” She'd thought he was calling the police.
Alastair nodded at something the woman on the phone apparently said and tried to break in several times and then finally instigated a brutal takeover of the conversation, cutting her off in apparent mid-sentence. “I'm sorry, Allyson, but this is important. I need you to tell me if two men came looking for me today."
He listened for a minute and then turned to Angie. “What did they look like?"
"One tall, skinny ... one fairly short and muscular ... one of them cranky, oily, with a ponytail ... the other tall, fancies himself a ladies’ man. Yup, got it.” Alastair glanced toward Angie. She nodded. “How long ago?"
He thanked the woman on the phone and hung up. Then he picked up the small piece of paper on the table and stared at it as if it held some vital secret. He'd let the blankets drop to his shoulders as he'd spoken to the woman whom Angie assumed was his secretary. Angie took note of the square jaw that was currently covered in dark red stubble, and long, slightly arched nose. The blankets rested on a very wide set of shoulders that stretched the material of his worn, soft t-shirt in a very nice way. When he bit his bottom lip as he was doing at that moment, two long creases showed up in his stubble covered cheeks. Angie had a serious weakness for dimples.
"They were there?"
He looked up at her, worry had settled in the sexy blue eyes. “About twenty minutes ago."
Where it had been scary before, but a bit unreal, it all came crashing down on Angie at that moment. She suddenly realized the man sitting before her was in real danger. And sitting there with him, so was she. “Call the police, Alastair. Now!"
He nodded and picked the phone back up just as the little dog started barking in the back yard and surged through the doggy door to bounce toward the front of the house, barking frantically.
Alastair looked at her and surged to his feet. “Too late."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
"Let's go!” Alastair said as he grabbed her hand. He whistled softly and the little dog pattered back up the hallway toward them. Alastair scooped up the doxy and dragged Angie to one side of the back door, peering through. He ran his gaze over the back yard. Then he unlocked it and pulled her through, closing the door softly behind them. “This way,” he whispered.
Angie marveled at the change in his demeanor. From nearly dead guy with a cold wrapped in five blankets and still shivering, to super spy extraordinaire. If she didn't know better she'd think he'd done this before.
They ran toward a small shed at the back corner of the property. When they got to the shed he shoved the little dog into her arms and pushed them to the side of the small building that faced away from the street, so she wasn't visible from the front of the house. “Wait here."
Angie opened her mouth to ask questions but he shushed her and she reluctantly clamped her mouth shut. The long suffering fingernail found its way into her mouth.
She hugged the sweet little dog close and got some wet kisses on her nose as a reward. Leaning her head against the metal side of the shed Angie took deep breaths in an effort to keep from going into a full-blown panic attack.
Alastair emerged from the shed pushing a motorcycle and she had new things to worry about. As soon as she saw it her head started shaking back and forth. No way was she climbing on the back of a motorcycle with this guy. No way.
He jerked his head toward the doorway she hadn't noticed before in the shadow of the shed. She stood rooted to the spot clutching the little dog. She didn't realize how tightly she'd been clutching him until he gave a small whine.
She forced her grip to lighten and kissed him on his little black nose. “Sorry, baby.” She whispered to the little guy.
Alastair was at the door glaring back at her and she realized he couldn't open the door while holding onto the bike. She ran to open it and then followed him through.
He grabbed the little dog from her and shoved him into a pouch on the front of the bike and then handed her a helmet. She was still shaking her head when he slammed his helmet onto his head and climbed onto the motorcycle. He turned to look at her. “When I start this they'll know we're back here and we'll need to move fast. I need you to climb on now."
Angie had just about chewed the fingernail down to her first knuckle but she realized he was right and, taking a deep breath, she slammed the helmet onto her head and climbed up behind him. “I'm terrified of these things and I'm not wearing any leather so if you wouldn't mind I'd appreciate it if you didn't slide us across the pavement or anything."
Alastair's response was to turn the key, rev the engine, and yell, “hold on!” over his shoulder before they jerked into what felt like about a hundred miles an hour.
"Shitttttttt!!!!!!” Angie screamed as they took the first turn into an extremely narrow alley without slowing in any noticeable way. The tire under her butt slid sideways until she thought for sure she was going to be pavement bling but then it finally worked itself out and they were flying straight down the alley.
They whizzed past an overflowing dumpster and Angie saw a couple of sets of beady eyes glowing at her from the middle of the dumpster's aromatic contents and suddenly wished she were a rat in a dumpster instead of a dope on the back of a death trap. Then a fat, orange cat jumped out of the shadows in front of them and Alastair slammed on the brake to avoid hitting it. The bike went into a skid and they started folding toward the ground. Angie thought her eyes would pop from terror as they headed toward a brick wall fast and sideways, but then Alastair threw down a foot and somehow got them upright again.
As soon as they were almost vertical, he revved the engine and they took the rest of the alley at full speed again. Emerging finally from the dark, obstacle strewn passage, Alastair pointed the bike toward the park. He left the street without slowing and as they hit the curb they were airborne for at least two minutes and then landed hard on the sidewalk. Alastair threw out a hand to hold the dog in its little sack and then gunned it again when both tires were on the sidewalk. They crossed the park on the sidewalk with Alastair screaming at people to get out of their way.
When they emerged on the West side of the park Alastair immediately took a sharp left and re-entered it using the road that wove past the war memorial. They followed the beautiful, winding road past pristine white buildings and whipped back out onto the street on the North side of the park. Then he headed into quiet, pristine suburbia and wove through several streets until Angie was totally lost.
>
Finally he pulled the bike into another alley and drove through at a more sedate pace. When they stopped at the other end Angie was looking at the front of his house. The thugs’ car was gone. Apparently they'd either given up or were giving chase.
He gunned the engine again and they were off, shooting across the street at an impossible speed. He jerked the bike to a stop in front of the garage and reached into a pocket of the dog sack. One of the garage doors started opening.
Alastair pulled into the garage, parked the bike, and immediately hit the garage door button to close the door. Angie sat there, feeling like her mind was mired in cement. Her entire body was vibrating. Alastair pried her arms from around his waist and climbed off. Angie followed slowly, and when she stood up, her knees buckled. Alastair caught her before her butt hit the clean cement of the over-tidy garage.
"Never again. Never again. Never again. Never, never, never, never...” Angie muttered as she forced her knees to lock under her.
Alastair watched her carefully, like you'd watch a crazy person in a room full of knives. “Are you gonna be okay or should I bitch slap you?"
Angie glared at him and took a tentative step to see if her legs would hold her. “Do you think it was a good idea to come back here?"
He shook his head. “No. We can't stay. I just wanted to grab a few things for me and Jaws before we hit the road again."
Angie held up a hand. “Don't ... use that expression in my presence ever again. And if there isn't a car involved in the next leg of the journey you can count me out. I'd rather be killed by the thugs, at least it would be a fast, and comparatively terror free."
He grinned at her.
"And did you say, Jaws? You're kidding me right? You did not name that sweet little thing Jaws."
He turned away from her, grabbed the daschund out of its little sack, and headed for the house. “I didn't?"
Angie hobbled after him. “Smartass. I'm gonna use the Ladies before we go. I need to get the bugs out of my teeth and puke. Things like that."