LILMDDH: Chapter Three
Skipping the usual obstacle course so often encountered on narrow, winding country roads, I turned the Daimler onto a rutted gravel track and braked at a gated sentry post securing a warehouse and empty parking lot surrounded by fencing garlanded with razor wire. The guard checked my ID against a computer that appeared to be off and saluted me through. Impressed, I made a voice note to have Eerie remind me to tell Harold and Charlie* to do away with our rusty portcullis and get a checkpoint.
From the asphalt, I examined the sign above warehouse’s walk door. Breakable Plastic Shelving, Inc.
“Who wants a shelf that breaks?”
A voice next to me said, “No one. That’s the beauty of it.”
I turned to see a dour, hunch shouldered man in a checkered suit. His falcon sharp green eyes, tiny rimless glasses, and thin-lipped humorless mouth made me think of World War II spy movies.
“We have been waiting for you,” he said, ushering me in.
Inside was a narrow foyer; ahead, a set of massive carved double doors.
Beneath my feet, the Persian hunting scene runner seemed to move. A mounted archer winked at me. I hopped sideways off the rug and onto the concrete floor. Today was not ideal for falling into a parallel universe. An etiquette dilemma loomed at home where I had left a guest struggling to feed a finicky pachyderm along with some opinionated dressage horses who like logic problems.
Portraits lined the walls. I pointed toward a gilt dragon on a frame subtly different from the others. The creature disappeared shyly behind spark dotted smoke.
Ahead the guide held open one of the doors while pointing to a console table along the wall to my left. “You can leave your bag there. Visitors must check belongings.”
“To guard your corporate secrets?”
“And our treasures.” He nodded his head toward a jarringly awkward display of a sallet, griffin ewer, and gorget on a Mazarin chest along the opposite wall.
Beyond my escort was the sort of opulent room favored by robber barons worldwide and on either side of a Napoleonic partners desk sat two familiar members of the species smoking cigars.
Okay, I thought, here comes the part where circumstances force me to break a window then wrap a glass shard in a scarf as a substitute for my utility knife and snag a burlap sack from a tree to fill in for my Hermès toolbox. I marched forward into the room.
“Aren’t you the people who install the door puzzles on secret passages for Harold?"
"Your husband has been kidnapped,” one informed me.
"Getting kidnapped is one of Harold’s hobbies. We don’t pay ransoms.” I paused and decided on honesty. “Maybe sometimes I do then pretend I didn’t. Saves wear and tear fighting pilferage charges when I get arrested and Charlie can be so forgetful about bail. But mostly we don’t.”
Before anyone could stop me, I whirled and shouted, “Eerie, text Charlie. Code One.”
From a portrait a beam shot out annihilating my purse on the console. I knew it. There goes another toolbox. And my phone.
The door thundered shut cutting off my escape.
I did not know if the call completed.
*********
*Harold and I shortened the given name to "Charlie" on the theory he would get beaten up less often in school.
Last edited by 8dognight; 08/09/18 09:18 AM.
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