What a Knight (Part Two)

(Reading Part One first would be advantageous)

One week later.

It was 10.00am on the day of the Chess Tournament at City Hall.

I had an hour to spare before Louey picked me up. I'd been busy over the past five days, and everything was set to get Karparov out of danger from the Russians during the first half of the Chess match. We'd take out the hit men on the way if we had to. I was prepared for that. I lay back on the bed with my hands behind my head, and began wading through what we had to do. I had a PRESS BADGE tucked into the brim of my hat, and my .38 revolver snug inside my belt. Now I all I needed was to make the plan perfect. I began to drift, and lost concentration momentarily as some loose change in the pocket of my pants bit into my groin making my eyes water. Those quarters could sure injure a person. Jockey shorts are a lot thinner than they used to be. Make no mistake, this was a big job - the biggest so far in my career - but it felt for a moment like I was losing my touch. Since when does a person take a handful of dimes for the parking meter to a stakeout?

   I'd already called Lieutenant Jack Hutchinson at the precinct the day after Louey's phone call. Hutchinson was a hard-boiled detective from the 'old school' Police Academy with no hang ups about roughing up suspects, or searching without a warrant. He owed me a few favors over the years which I'd never bothered to collect. The fact that I had him over a metaphorical barrel hacked him off big-time, but I was too valuable an ally for him to do anything about it. That commendation for bravery he'd been awarded last year following a big heist at City Bank was all down to me. I'd conveniently neglected to mention to the Police Commissioner after the ceremony that Hutchinson was huddled on the back seat of my Buick under a plaid rug during the shoot out, while yours truly took pot shots and whacked the raiders before they even hit the street. Five minutes after it was over, the brave Lieutenant burst into the foyer gun blazing as if he'd been popping ammo in the line of fire all on his own; and that's exactly how he put it to the TV Anchorman and the crew from CBS the following day.

Hutchinson. How I loathed him. One word from me in the right ear and his career was was down the pan. But not just yet. I had a few more plans up my sleeve for him before I was through.

The good Lieutenant - mainly due to his reputation as the new Elliott Ness - had been assigned a SWAT team after a discreet call to the FBI. One thing the Bureau wouldn't risk was a major political incident with such far-reaching consequences - especially with the Russians - a sensitive bunch at the best of times. Louey and I were gonna be in on the whole thing as armed informants. I knew it was never going to be a problem. The Bureau knew my reputation all too well. I was handy under fire. I was informed about the situation. I was street-wise and revered by the public. I was experienced in the field of dangerous criminals, and I also had a little black book about who was on the take from the top down in the force.

Besides, there were going to be no more medals for Hutchinson if he had to rely on his yellow streak without my assistance to make his mark as a hero.


I turned to the window, and could hear Louey parking outside the apartment building in the street below. The exhaust on his 1979 Chevrolet made more noise than a sawn-off blunderbuss at the Alamo. I'd warned him to get the car fixed - no more duct tape keeping the headlamps in place, and no more Band Aids on the tire tubes. I wasn't taking my own car anywhere - I mean, it was still under warranty and all; and I don't think the insurance company claims department would buy any more bullet holes in the bodywork as normal 'Wear and Tear.'
 
   Louey knocked three times and coughed nervously. On the other side of the door I could hear him shuffling his feet, and he sounded like the Avon Lady after a wrong turn somewhere in The Bronx. Jeez. Talk about conspicuous. I'd told him to dress smartly: nothing too noticeable, etc. and he promised me he wouldn't disappoint. I walked across the room and opened the door. He stood out there in the hallway dressed in a blue tweed suit three times too big for him, an apple green polyester shirt WAR ON WANT would send back with a 'Thanks, but No Thanks'  note, and a pair of red suede sneakers with 3-inch rubber soles. He looked like Ronald MacDonald on Prom Night. I shook my head, stood back, and let him in.

'Where did you get that suit, Louey?' I said, as my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline.

'Don't you like it, Boss?' Louey replied looking hurt. "I wore it to my cousin Marty's wedding.'

'Did he get married in Rio during Mardi Gras?' I shot back at him, eyes popping.

Louey's face fell, and he looked down at the floor at his crimson feet.

'Never mind, Louey, let me see what I got in my wardrobe that will fit you.' I said, walking into the bedroom towards my bulging closet.

A couple of minutes later I came out with some pressed cream chinos, a pale blue shirt and a black blazer.

'Here,' I said, throwing them at him, 'wear these; and hurry up, we got work to do.'


It was a slow silent drive down to City Hall. The streets were filled with Saturday shoppers blocking the sidewalk in their haste to empty their pocket books. I could feel the breeze blowing on my face as I glanced my paw over the gun in my belt, and began to crack my knuckles in anticipation of what was to come. Louey had made a reasonable job at fixing the car, and the engine was humming along rather than coughing its heart out. Louey: my little pal from Detroit. I'd let him assume he was gonna stick with me if there was any trouble. I'd tell him to wait in the car when we reached the parking lot at City Hall, as we might need a quick getaway if things didn't go to plan. It was all I could think of to keep him safe. I wasn't going to risk his little furry life because I needed adventure. He'd pull his face, I know: so I'd make it sound as if he was the key man to the whole thing. To me, he always had been: the catalyst to everything I did.

Everybody needs somebody like Louey in their lives - loyal, lovable, reliable and a little stupid. Nothing was ever gonna happen to him: at least, not if I could help it.

Besides, he still owed me ten bucks from that poker game we had last month.

TO BE CONTINUED