Shrouded In Silence

48





Jack Townsend closed the rear apartment door behind Michelle and started down the old, steep staircase creaking with each step. With the lights off, the darkness made it difficult to descend the rickety stairs without slipping.

"There's got to be an easier way to take a stroll than walking down a shaft under the Addams family's house," Michelle said.

"Don't worry," Jack said. "I'm in front of you."

"Yes, and who's in front of you? Get my point? You're the guy who had the broken arm. Another fall wouldn't help you any."

"Listen, I'm totally recovered," Jack said. "Well, nearly."

"Just pay attention to the steps," Michelle said.

"I am. I am."

At the bottom, Jack crouched near the door and peered through the glass pane. "I don't see anybody out there. You ready?"

"This shoulder holster isn't comfortable," Michelle said. "I hate wearing a pistol under my arm. The Walther pistol is small, but it still bothers me."

"Me too," Jack said. "But we've been through so much that we can't take anymore chances."

"Guess so," Michelle said.

Jack turned back to the window. "I can't see anyone out there."

"I guess that's both good and bad. If we can't see them, they can't see us."

Jack cracked the door. "Once we're outside, we'll walk along the wall as far as we can. It'll be black enough to cover us." He turned around and looked into her eyes. "We've got to outfox them at every point. Don't be talking."

"You're the one doing all the jabbering," Michelle said. "I'm just listening."

"Get real, dear. We're about to step into a snake pit."

"Hey, I'm ready to roll. Got my Kid Rock hat on, an overcoat, black pants, and my six-shooter. You'd think I was The Shadow. O-o-o," she cooed.

Jack glared at her. "This is no time for jokes."

"Don't be so hyper. The worst that can happen is that a cop picks up us and writes a ticket for window peeking and carrying concealed weapons."

Jack didn't say anything, but turned back to the door. "Stay close and don't talk. I mean it."

"I won't," Michelle whispered and giggled nervously.

Michelle always gets giddy when she's afraid, Jack thought. She'll pass for a guy walking next to me, but it isn't going to be easy to get out of here and avoid the cops.

Opening the door slowly, Jack slipped around the corner and pulled Michelle after him. The edge of the brick building had been littered with broken bottles and trash. Every few feet trash cans sat against the wall in between old cars parked close to the apartments. By crouching low, they could walk the first twenty feet without anyone seeing them. At the end of the stretch, another building jagged out and forced Jack to walk in the alley.

"Pick up the pace," he whispered. "We need to get out of here."

Michelle nodded.

Jack stepped out, but stayed close to the building, walking with his head bent down. Michelle hustled along at his side.

"Hey!" a man called out behind him. "Just a minute."

Jack froze and looked over his shoulder. Some guy had come out of the shadows behind one of the cars and must have been watching them go by.

"Don't mean no harm," the man called out in Italian. "I noticed you came out of that building that the Townsends live in. Want to get your picture in the paper?"

"Keep walking," Jack whispered to Michelle.

"I'm a reporter and only need a little information," the man insisted. "Could I talk to you for a moment."

Jack shook his head.

"Won't take but a second." The man trotted up behind him.

Jack knew it was a moment of decision he couldn't avoid. The guy might be nothing more than a tabloid jerk, but he was persistent. If the man got in their face, the charade was over. He had to make a decision. All his weight lifting hadn't been only to lift his self-esteem. This was one of those occasions where self-protection was the essence of the situation.

"I just want to ask you some questions about the Townsends. "The reporter hurried around Jack and stopped directly in front of them.

Jack knew if the man identified Michelle, they would be in danger and there was no time left to warn her. He couldn't allow such a slipup.

Leaning into his face, the reporter jabbered. "Just got a few personal questions." The man turned to Michelle. "Wait a minute! You're a woman!"

"I'd suggest you get out of our way," Jack's voice took on a menacing tone.

"My gosh, you're the Townsends!" the reporter blurted out. "This really is a story!"

Jack turned sideways before swinging his fist into the man's stomach with all his might. His hat went flying backward.

"A-a-ah!" the reporter gasped and doubled over.

"Run!" Jack told Michelle. "Get out of here, and I'll meet you at our rendezvous point."

With a swift thrust of his knee, Jack caught him square in the forehead, sending the guy sprawling backward against the brick building.

"Jack, I can't leave you here!"

Swinging another hard right, Jack hit the reporter in the center of the chest. The man groaned, but lunged forward bouncing Jack backward.

"Run!" Jack repeated. "Get out of here."

Michelle turned and started running for the metro.

The reporter grabbed Jack by the lapels on his black overcoat and hurled him into the side of the brick building. He felt the strength go out of the arm that had been broken and knew he was spent. The impact knocked the air out of him and for a moment he crumpled. The journalist jumped on top of him, forcing him to the pavement. Pounding on Jack's back, he pummeled him fiercely while Jack tried to cover his head.

For a second, Jack thought the man would knock him unconscious. Only then did he remember the pistol in his shoulder holster. Reaching across his chest, he pulled out the gun and slammed it into the man's head.

The reporter froze with his fist still in the air before silently slumping to the pavement. For a moment, Jack sat prostrate trying to catch his breath. He didn't hear the sound of anyone coming, which meant their scuffle hadn't alerted the police. Possibly, the cop had taken a break. Who knows? They might be down the street drinking coffee. He pushed himself up and leaned against the building. His adversary hadn't been a pushover. That was certain. Without a little encouragement from the butt of his gun, he might be on the alley unconscious.

Jack picked up his hat and peered around the corner. He couldn't hear anyone running. Michelle must have gotten to the metro station by now and probably was on the train. Pulling the overcoat closer up around his neck, he put the hat back on and started walking toward the same station, trying to look as casual as possible.