Storms brewed and clouds gathered over the riverfront town of Halcyon as Portia set out for the new job that she'd taken for the summer. The sky flashed brilliantly then collapsed into darkness as if someone had flipped on a giant light switch, and the loud clashes of thunder made her jump each time. She struggled to concentrate on what was at hand.
She had never seen such weather—was she a fool for being out on such a night? What was she thinking? There were flood warnings and tornado watches and the streets seemed deserted of life. Why did she have to agree to take on a job installing lightning conductors? Tonight, of all nights....
She pulled up outside the old library and waited for the appearance of the caretaker, Albert Stanton. She had arranged to meet him at 8 pm to gain access to the roof, but after 10 minutes of watching the rain drum on the steamed up windshield Portia pulled her coat over her head and splashed her way to the library entrance. It seemed odd that the door was open and swinging in the wind but she was desperate to get someplace warm and dry so she gingerly stepped inside.
The cavernous room was in total darkness save for the occasional burst of lightning. In time with a shattering thunderclap, a hand came to gently rest on her shoulder. She whipped around with an audible exclamation—only to be met with the cannon-mouthed end of a blue-steel .45 automatic.
A scream rose in her throat as the blinding flash of light came. Lightning—she was still alive. In her mind's eye her hands went to the gun, but she was paralyzed.
The voice came as a raspy, guttural growl. "Whadddya want, lady?"
She tried to talk, to move, to anything, but her voice caught in her throat and her heart pounded frantically in her chest as she struggled for words.
"Wh...wh...who are you?" stammered Portia.
"I'm the guy with the iron, and I'm the one asking the questions. Who are you and what's your business here?"
"I...I..came to meet Mr. Stanton. I'm here to fit the lightning conductor."
"Stanton? Looks like you're too late, lady. I found him over there with a—"
"Noooooooooooo!" she screamed, and the floor moved under her feet as her knees went to jelly. A dark mist started to fall curtain-like over her eyes—Mac's rough hands caught her as she went completely cold in his grasp.
"Sheesh…dames" he thought as he laid her gently down on the floor, covering her with his raincoat. Pushing his hat back on his head, he safed his .45 and pushed it back in his should holster.
"Now, where was I?" he thought. A withering groan coming from the direction of old Albert's blood-soaked body. Albert's life was slipping away fast, and Mac needed some clues.
"C'mon old guy, hold on. What happened? Who did this to you?"
Stanton couldn't speak. His energy was ebbing away. With eternal darkness before him he reached out towards one of the shelves and clawed at a dog-eared book titled The Blue Orchid. With a final grasp, the gnarled fingers pulled the spine, sending the book crashing to the floor. A final muted gasp signaled the end of the life that Albert had known as he crossed the threshold into eternal darkness.
"Why did he want this book?" Mac picked the book up from the pool of blood flooding the floor around it. As he flicked on a lamp and dropped the book on a table, he noticed a scrap of paper flutter from the pages.
The paper was creased and tattered, but traced with faint pencil marks. Mac held it up to the light and made out the words—Delphine 26973.
"Delphine? Is that a woman or an exchange number?" he said under his breath. The sound of a soft murmur encroached upon the puzzling silence as Portia stirred gradually back to consciousness.
Mac helped her sit upright and cradled her head in his arm. "Hey Toots, you back in the land of the living? You've had a few scares tonight. What say we grab a coffee?"
"OK" Portia whispered as she struggled to her feet. "But I want some answers."
"Sure, sure. I'll explain everything once we get a cup o' java. I think we both could use it."
Mac turned and deftly tucked the scrap of paper in his breast pocket as the newly formed partnership crossed the street to the deserted diner.
* * *
They entered Bernies Café—it was a tiny place, smelling of week-old grease and burnt toast. The floors were wet with mud and grime tracked in from the nearby alley. A short and weathered old woman stood behind the counter with a pencil stuck behind her ear and a large faded rose on her lapel. Her name tag read "D".
The woman eyed the couple up and down and gave a slight shrug as she poured them each a hot cup of coffee, then went about her business wiping the counters and straightening already-straightened menus. She never uttered a word—shell-shocked dames and half-baked thugs, all they ever ordered was coffee.
Under the blue haze of the overhead lights and the occasional flash of lightning off in the distance, Portia began to try to speak.
Mac stopped her and said "Don't...it's ok" and put his hand over hers. It was warm, and he looked into her eyes. "A little less frightened," he thought to himself, and the deep pools of violet stirred him to thoughts that had been buried for a long time.
She stared back, her eyes tracing him back and forth.—and suddenly he felt the snub-nose .38 in his side. The stranger's mouth was so close to his ear that he could taste the man's breath...sickly sweet with the smell of cheap rotgut.
The stranger snarled "Don't say a thing. Where is it!?"
Mac dropped Portia's hand, his mind racing. His hand was in his coat—he could feel the .45 sweetly fit into his grip...but he couldn't make the shot, not in here, at least. He could se the crescendo of fear rise within her—he timed her ear-splitting scream perfectly.
As the stranger flinched Mac drew his .45, caving in the stranger's nose with a well aimed pistol-whip jab. Blood flew across the booth as the .38 went off, the sound completely enclosing the small diner. As Mac delivered a another hammering blow he saw the old woman frantically dialing the phone.
"Go get the car!" he screamed.
Portia ran out across the glistening street and into the car. A snarl of the engine, a screech of tires, a deftly handled U-turn and the car was purring outside Bernie's. She could see through the grubby windows that the men were still wrestling. She knew neither of them, but was prepared to risk all on this stranger from the library. Her gut instinct told her that whatever trouble he was in, he was on the side of the angels.
A crushing blow to the temple sent the aggressor sprawling across the filthy floor and gave Mac enough time to gulp down the remaining drips of cold coffee, pick up his hat, and make his way to the waiting car.
"Step on it kid. I don't wanna be here when the cops arrive."
"But where..."
"Just drive!"
Contributing to this chapter were retroruby66, Lost Soul, the_librarian, and MissRoulette. Edited by Dante Murphy.
| Be sure to catch every chapter in the series... |
|
Chapter 1—Cold Steel and Hot Lightning Chapter 2—Secrets |
