Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Meets His Match
by Tux Toledo
Page 13
It
was a crowded North Beach Saturday night. The neon lights
buzzed electric excitement and the magical aroma of garlic and olive
oil carried on the sea breeze. James parked the Rolls near
Irene's building.
"They should be gone by now," I said. It was a few minutes
before midnight. "If you have any trouble finding the box, go
to the window. I can see it from here."
"Yes, sir."
"Otherwise, I'll just wait for you. Good luck."
"Thank you, sir."
James left the Rolls and walked down the sidewalk. I rolled
down the window and rested my arm on the sill. I’m not a
chauffeur so I’m allowed to do that. Seconds later two
familiar looking men passed by carrying suitcases. One of
them wore sunglasses even though it was night. He had short
hair that stood straight up. The other man kept his head down
but I was sure I had seen him somewhere before. It bugged me.
"Good night, Mr. Churchill," one of them said to me as they passed.
Those words were like ice cubes on my spine. Whoever they
were they knew my name! By the time I recovered and went
after them they were gone. North Beach had engulfed them.
I ran back to the Rolls and found James leaning out of the window of
Irene's apartment. Something was wrong. The
long-haired man was no longer on the steps. He had probably
found a new home, steps with running water or a better view.
I dashed into the apartment building. The lobby was
quiet. Much too quiet. I was no longer being
watched.
I jumped up the stairs with all the getup of one of Maranello's finest
and dashed into Apartment 31. The apartment was not
dark. An unshaded light bulb hung from the ceiling and
created film noir shadows. I know a vacant apartment when I
see one and this was definitely a vacant apartment.
"James, what's going on?"
"This was on the chair," he said.
"What is it?" I asked, taking the large envelop from him.
"It has your name on it, sir."
"What?" My stomach felt funny. "I used an alias
with her. How did she know my real name?" I ripped
open the envelope and took out a letter. It read:
"Ha!" My fingers were numb.
"Sir?"
© 2008 David Biagini