by R. T. Ray
Faithful Harold. He had stood guard until exhausted he too succumbed to the room's quiet. A thin bony hand supported his head listing precariously to one side.
Matuszak lowered the bed's railing. He moved, first testing each leg then slowly arched his back. Finding only a slight increase in pain, he eased his protesting legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. The room began to spin.
Harold, awakened by the movement, stirred. He stood and stretched his arthritic body. Unhurried, in his customary catlike manner, he arched his back trying to rid his body from its sleep-induced stiffness. Pleased to see Matuszak somewhat recuperated, he yawned and said, “Glad to see you're back among the living. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, how’s your back?”
“Terrible,” Matuszak groaned, pausing to let the last remnants of dizziness ease from his addled brain. “Where are we? What time is it?”
“Emergency Room, Fallston General Hospital. They brought you here after the incident.” Then, squinting at his watch, he announced, “It's a little after two.”
It all came flooding back. The sight of those gray running shoes from beneath the running board. His panic at the sound of the parking brake being released, and the terror and pain of being dragged down the incline.
“The doctor says you were lucky,” said Harold. “No sign of any broken bones or internal injuries. But you're rather a banged-up chap, lots of scrapes and abrasions. Your back looks like it's been sandpapered with eighty grit.”
Matuszak was fully awakened now. There were a thousand questions swirling inside his head, and Harold tried to answer each one as patiently as he could.
“Didn't anyone see what happened?”
“No,” Harold replied. “No one noticed anything at first. That is not until they saw the car moving and heard you screaming.”
“Who? And why?”
Harold shrugged. “Hard to say. Everyone's attention was on the wayward Chevy, of course. They rushed to the scene and had a dickens of a task pulling you out. By that time, whoever did it had a good head start.”
“They catch him?”
“No. Naturally several men gave chase, but they lost him in the crowd.”
Anger rose in Matuszak. “I suppose no one got a good enough look at his face to identify him?”
“It’s doubtful.” Harold massaged the muscles in the back of his neck. “The police have a general description, of course, but damnation it would fit half the people there. White male, mid-thirties, medium height and weight, wearing jeans and a multicolored shirt. I gave the police all the necessary information and a report was filed, but it seemed a futile gesture.”
Matuszak was forced to agree. He stood and steadied himself against the edge of the bed. Using the nearby chair for support, he cautiously made his way into the pint-size room that held the cubicle's toilet. His forward progress was difficult and painfully slow. Not so his mind, that was a different matter, it raced about on full alert.
Standing in front of the tiny, wall-mounted mirror, his mind continued to careen along at a fever pitch. First Matty and now me, he thought, shifting the hospital gown to reveal a mass of discolored bruises and patches of raw skin tissue covering his back. Someone's out to kill me!
Fortunately they had failed this time. He had survived. But, they would try again. From now on his continued existence depended not only on keeping a sharp vigil, but also by employing every trick he learned pounding a beat.
A brief examination from the duty resident, followed by a liberal application of an analgesic spray to his raw back and he was ready to be released.
“Best we can do,” the orderly apologized, offering Matuszak a fresh set of hospital greens in exchange for the drafty, examination grown.
“Thanks,” Matuszak said, gingerly slipping on the baggy clothing.
It wasn't his first choice in clothing, but under the circumstances there was little he could do. His shirt and pants had been cut away by the medical staff during the initial examination and treatment. Their tattered remains lay in a discarded heap next to the cubicle's trashcan.
Despite Harold's assistance, the short walk to the Chevrolet proved to be a slow, laborious task. The leg muscles, cramped and stiff rebelled at each forced movement. Fortunately, the last application of analgesic spray was doing its job well and his back remained somewhat numb.
Walking down the aisle of parked autos, the old Chevrolet seemed strangely out of place. Its high, box-like roof line towered above the line of sleek, late model BMWs and Mercedes.
“We're a little out of our league aren't we?” Matuszak said, noting the line of expensive autos and the doctors only parking signs.
“Age has it privileges,” Harold replied, drawing himself up to his full five foot three stature and assuming a mock aristocratic tone.
“How did you manage it?”
Harold smiled. “The parking lot attendant, a true lover of antique autos I might add, felt that both the Chevrolet and I were of sufficient age, and judging from our appearance, had endured enough hell for one day. He was sympathetic to our plight and directed me to park close to the emergency room entrance.”
Matuszak's heart sank as he caught sight of the Chevrolet’s crumbled nose protruding over the sidewalk curbing. The once finely tapered grill, now embedded with grass and clogs of dirt, resembled a pug fighter's battered nose after a long and bloody battle.
“Sorry,” Harold said, noting the pained expression of Matuszak's face. “I simply didn't have the heart to tell you back in the hospital. I was afraid you might pass out again.”
Matuszak nodded. “How's the rest of the car?” he said, prepared for the worst.
“Fine,” Harold replied. “The engine and running gear came through without a scratch.”
Matuszak heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. You drive,” he said, opening the rear door and easing his battle-scarred body inside.
Moments later the Chevrolet was just another vehicle caught in highway traffic. Placing his hand on the edge of the seat, Matuszak cautiously shifted his body and peered out the rear window at the line of following cars.
Becker's warning was ringing in his ears.
19
Inner Harbor
Baltimore, Maryland
October 13, 1992
The silhouette of the large, sail-shaped pavilion gave it the appearance of a tall ship floating gracefully at the water's edge. Erected at the tip of Pier Six, the white-tented structure jutted into the harbor's dark waters.
This was the last of the Pier Six Pavilion's fall performances. Matuszak congratulated himself on his good fortune; a front center seat at such a late date was a rare find. Sitting motionless with his eyes closed, he pushed all the ordeals from the past weeks from his mind. Gradually, the music took over, his body began to relax and he allowed himself to become immersed into the music of Wagner.
Gotterdammerung had long been a favorite of his. The cascading strings and growling brass passages took on an almost mythical quality, against the backdrop of salty night air and the silently passing sailboats.
Intermission was a necessary evil. The announcement came much too early for him, but it did afford the opportunity to stretch his fifty-year old body and for that he was thankful. Only days before it had been suspended beneath the Chevrolet during its wild descent. His back was still smarting from the ordeal.
Standing on the open seawall, away from the main body of concertgoers, Matuszak enjoyed the solitude of the warm night and the view of the harbor's lights. A short distance away, on the pavilion's lawn, small groups of patrons were engaged in conversations.
He didn't know why but his attention was drawn to a particular couple, or more precisely, to the intriguing woman. Perhaps it was her long flowing auburn hair, or her movements. He wasn't sure which...but a certain quality about her had caught his attention. Her back was to him and he couldn't make out her features, but he knew her. That much he was sure of.
Casua
lly dressed in preppy shorts, with a white sweater draped across her shoulders, she was lost in conversation with her companion, another woman he didn't recognize. Through brief openings in the crowd, Matuszak found himself catching small glimpses of the two women. Intrigued, he continued to stare into the sea of passing patrons. He waited. If he were patient enough, perhaps she would turn and then he could see her face full on.
Her companion, the one facing him, noticed his unwarranted attraction to them. Their eyes met several more times over the mysterious woman's shoulder and each time the companion frowned and gave him a questioning look. Leaning forward, she whispered to the woman and with her eyes gestured in his direction.
Embarrassed at being caught staring, Matuszak turned away. However moments later, when his curiosity could no longer contain itself, he turned and looked again. Damn! The spot where the two women were standing was vacant. His eyes eagerly searched the crowded lawn area hoping for a glimpse of the white sweater. Finally, forced to realize that he had lost them he gave up. He shrugged the incident off and drifted toward the refreshment stand.
“A large draft,” he said to the attendant at the beer concession.
“Good evening, Agent Matuszak,” a voice to his rear said. “So, you were the mysterious stranger staring at Kelsey.”
Matuszak turned to find a smiling Judith Carberry, minus the tightly wound school teacher’s bun and rimless eyeglasses. He looked to her companion. An equally stunning female, she stood to the side and was only slightly younger.
“Ah, Miss Carberry. I thought it was you,” he lied, quickly recovering. “But, in rush of so many people I wasn't quite sure.” He looked to the second woman. “Was I that obvious?” to which he received an acknowledging nod.
Judith Carberry gave a soft laugh. “Well, Kelsey thought so. Kelsey,” she said, turning to her companion. “May I introduce Agent Matuszak. He's the gentleman I was telling you about. You know, that incident with the missing train.”
“Glad to meet you, Kelsey,” Matuszak said offering his hand.
“Sorry for the dagger-like glares,” Kelsey meekly apologized. “I didn't realize you two were friends.”
“I certainly hope we are,” Matuszak said. “We originally met at Senator Ewald's office. Miss Carberry was kind enough to arrange an impromptu meeting with the senator.”
“How's the investigation coming along?” Judith Carberry asked. “Any new developments?” She had moved from her companion's side and was now standing slightly closer to Matuszak.
“No,” he said. “I'm still in the preliminary stage, going through routine background investigations. Nothing new to report so far.”
Although he was certain his experiences at Williamsport and Ladew Gardens were somehow linked to his investigation of the missing coaches, there was no sense spoiling the evening by boring Judith with it. That could wait. More to the point, he was much more interested in listening to Judith Carberry than in retelling his misadventures.
Judith continued. “The senator was quite impressed with your meeting. He tells me you're tops in your field. Says you should get to the bottom of this in no time,” she said confidently.
Tops? Matuszak thought. I don't know where the senator gets his information, but if it impresses Judith, then come next election, he gets my vote.
“Please thank the senator for his confidence in me,” Matuszak said. “But we mustn’t forget the train vanished a long time ago and a lot of highly qualified people have searched for it and failed. At this late date I'm not sure what I can accomplish.”
Kelsey glanced anxiously at her watch. “It’s getting late and we should be returning to our seats. We’re in the lawn section,” she said. “Could we offer you a seat on our blanket?”
“Thanks,” he said. “But I wouldn't want to intrude on your evening.”
In reality nothing would have pleased him more, but his back was still a mass of scabs and tender bruises. Even the cushioned comfort of the pavilion's seating had proved taxing. The mere thought of attempting to lower himself to ground level sent shivers throughout his body. He gave what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Perhaps next time.”
Kelsey nodded in understanding. “Then Judy, we really should hurry back. Intermission is almost over and we still have to find Margaret.”
As if on clue, the sounds of the orchestra warming up filtered through the warm night air. The hoard of concert patrons turned and began the trek back to their seats.
“Perhaps your friend would like to join us after the concert,” Kelsey suggested. “We're going to Margaret's house afterward for a small, informal get-together.”
“Yes,” Judith quickly agreed. “It'll be fun. Nothing fancy, just some friends and acquaintances. You'll come? Please.”
“Certainly. I would love to,” Matuszak answered.
“We’ll meet you at the main entrance, after the concert?”
“Fine, I'll see you then.”
Judith and Kelsey wandered off in search of their friend. Matuszak watched them disappear in the crowd. He hesitated a few moments, lingering near the seawall, allowing the majority of concert crowd to reach the pavilion, before starting back to his seat.
The music of Wagner, not to mention the incredible luck of meeting Judith again, swirled madly about in his head. All in all, it was turning into the most remarkable of evenings. Soon he would be with her, even though if it meant he’d be at a boring party with hoards of people he didn't know.
Matuszak had just thrown the plastic beer cup into the trashcan, and was turning back when he saw the charging giant through the sea of returning patrons.
A charging giant.
Those were the only words he could think of to describe this huge hulk of a man bearing down on him. The giant, his dark eyes riveted on Matuszak, bore his way against the returning tide of concert patrons. Ignoring the stares and comments of the jostled patrons, he headed straight toward Matuszak. Roughly shoving aside an elderly couple, he charged the last few remaining feet. Matuszak had only a split second to brace himself.
The resulting collision felt like being blind-sided by an enraged linebacker. Unable to maintain his balance, Matuszak was thrown backward. Screams and panic broke out as people scurried away from the two combatants.
Powerful arms locked themselves around his chest in a vice-like grip. Matuszak could feel the air being forced out of his lungs. His legs dangled helplessly beneath him, as his body was hoisted off the ground. Only moments ago, he was contentedly savoring the harbor's sights and thinking of Judith. Now that was gone, replaced by waves of terror surging through his body. Slowly and unarguably, he was being carried toward the seawall's edge and to his death.
Squirming and kicking, he placed both hands on the giant's face and leaning back, pushed with all his strength. It was a useless gesture. He was caught, held fast in a deathlike grip and no amount of struggling was going to free him.
Helpless, he watched the seawall approach.
In desperation, he grabbed a handful of the giant's hair and yanked. Furiously, he slammed fist after fist into the giant's snarling, upturned face. Again and again he punched, but there was no effect...only the low animal-like grunts as the face absorbed each blow.
At the water's edge, the giant paused. An evil smile spread across his curled lips as he glared deep into Matuszak's eyes. Then, emitting a low beastly growl he tighten his grip, compressing Matuszak's rib cage even further. The pain grew intense. In desperation, Matuszak drove his outstretched thumb deep into the giant's eye socket. Emitting an animalistic roar of pain, the giant's hands instinctively went to his injured eye.
Freed, Matuszak slumped to the seawall. Painfully he struggled to stand. He tried desperately to regain his footing and escape before his assailant could recover. The giant, partially blinded by the thumb, went into an uncontrollable rage. Holding his left hand to his injured eye, he lashed out blindly with his right. Matuszak was trapped, there was no escape. He rose to face his attacker; the s
eawall’s edge with the harbor’s murky waters only inches to his rear, and this enraged giant, Cyclops-like creature before him.
He managed to duck the first of the giant’s wild swings. Each time the giant’s huge lethal fist came closer, the last missing its target by mere inches. Still dazed, Matuszak failed to see the next swing. Its arc, a little lower than the others, found its mark. The savage blow crashed into Matuszak's temple. Its impact instantly numbed his body and his vision blurred.
In slow motion, he felt himself being driven into the air. Weightless, like a puppet suspended on invisible strings, he floated above the harbor's water. He struggled, wildly flailing his arms and legs in a vain attempt to right himself and regain his balance.
Then he dropped.
The harbor waters rushed up to greet him. No cry for help came from his opened mouth. The rock-hard landing had forced the last remaining bit of air from his lungs, leaving his body paralyzed. Stunned, he floated on the water's surface for a few moments, staring up at the huge white tent and the startled onlookers gathered along the seawall.
He slipped silently beneath the surface. A woman's scream was the last thing he heard as the harbor's dark waters washed over his face, erasing his vision and drawing him downward. Oily water rushed into his open mouth, shutting off his air supply and filling his depleted lungs.
Slowly, he sank into the cold, silent world. The light faded as he sank deeper into the watery blackness. With no sense of direction, he could only twist his head about searching for the surface. In his watery grave there was no up, no down, only the ink-like blackness of the water. It was hopeless; he had sunk too far beneath its surface to see.
With lungs starving for air, he fought against the panic trying to set in. An inner voice screamed, Don't give up, Matuszak. Fight! Dammit, fight. Get to the surface!