Originally published on December 27, 2005
The king cowered in fear. One minute the bishop came straight towards him but the rook was able to get him out of the way. Now the knight was coming. His queen was dead and his army almost gone, he had nothing left to protect besides his own life. The rook died in vain.
“Checkmate!”
Originally published on April 23, 2006; Questionable content below
“I still don’t know when I’m going to get the money from your incompetent footmen. You seem to think you know best, but I’m wondering about that. It’s a lot of money, Jack. You don’t want me telling the Queen you lost it.”
Jack held the receiver of the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Caroline stood outside the phone booth with her back to him watching the cars go by patiently.
“I’ll get it to you tomorrow. If not,” he glanced at Caroline and bit his lip, “Go ahead and tell the Queen.”
There was a bit of silence on the other end. “You know, you’re a good man, Jack. I don’t know if you’re scared stiff to say that or just stupid. The point is if I didn’t have the colonel breathing down my neck, I would let you go. Have a good night and I’ll see you soon.”
“Good night,” Jack let out a long held breath and left the booth.
“Thanks for waiting, sweetie,” he said lending Caroline his arm. She had short black hair that curled around her face in a soft frame. Her nose was pointed and sharp, but the rest of her features were soft and flawless. She had full lips with red lipstick and light blush on her cheeks. Her hazel eyes were outlined with mascara on her long eyelashes and thin-rimmed glasses sat gracefully on her nose. She had on a long brown button-down coat and black leather gloves. Her black leather boots clicked on the pavement and her red skirt waved around her ankles. She was a businesswoman who worked for the International Journalists Association, which specialized in journalism around the world. She knew fourteen different languages and had a master’s degree in linguistics. Jack could never figure out how she could keep everything straight, but she seemed to manage quiet well. Regardless of race, people seemed to respect her and have a civilized conversation with her. She seemed to have an aura about her that made innocent people smile or guilty people confess. Sometimes she seemed to get more information from a suspect than the police. But, she her job and her reputation put her constantly on the run to different countries. Jack was always on the run, too, so their schedules almost never matched. The few moments they had together, they would put away their jobs for a couple of hours. Tonight was different, because Jack was having difficulty obtaining the money he needed and his footmen were falling like ripe fruit from the tree. What was worse was that no one could figure out why.
“So what happened?” she asked. Her voice was sweet, but low. She sounded like a mother figure, which was probably why people listened to her so well.
“Just a little bit of trouble,” Jack squeezed her hand a bit and smiled. She continued straight ahead without glancing at him, but she smiled back. “Cay, what do you know of a Mrs. Dublanc? The IJA seemed to be interested in her.”
Caroline’s face lit up a bit and she turned to him. “Mme Dublanc is a millionaire in the perfume business in France. Rumors have gone around saying she killed her husband to inherit the business, but I don’t think that’s true. M. Dublanc was a very sickly man and he never cared enough to take care of himself. Anyway, the IJA is just dying to interview her because they believe she’s living the life of a pauper here and has millions of billions of dollars in France. I don’t know what kind of a pauper lives in a house the size of a cathedral and what perfume owner has millions of billions, but that’s the story.”
Jack nodded and steered them into the small French café that they always ate at. They sat down at a small candlelit table and quietly glanced at the other couples in the café. The people came from all walks of life, but the little café seemed to create from even the unluckiest person, royalty.
“Mlle Caroline et M. Jacques. C’est très longtemps. Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?” the waitress said. She winked at Jack and squatted next to Caroline. “Your usual? Oh, I’ve forgotten what that is,” she whispered, laughing gently.
“C’est la vie,” Caroline said in her buttery French. “Nous sommes très occupés.”
“Tout les temps?” the waitress stood up and pulled back into her French like a worn sweatshirt.
“Oui,” Caroline responded nodding, “tous les temps.”
“C’est dommage,” the waitress said pulling out a pad of paper. “Qu’est-ce que désirez-vous?”
This was always Jack’s cue in all the incomprehensible French to start talking and the waitress turned to him expectantly for his order. But, just then the dim lights went out and the restaurant was bathed in candlelight.
“Blow out your candles!” someone yelled from the darkness. “And get under the table!”
Jack dropped down to his knees, but he didn’t follow Caroline and the waitress under the table. He sat watching through the smoky darkness out the window into the street where the Footmen had started marching. He knew the assassins were not far off and slinking between shadows in silence as they were trained to do. Although these were his co-workers, something was off and he crouched down to the floor when one would glance in the window. Then the brigade stopped and Jack joined the two other women under the table. A gunshot went off farther down the street and the sound ricocheted off the silent building faces that screamed in the flashlight beams. No one made a sound and the sound of breathing almost stopped. A soldier swore outside the window and muttered something in butchered Latin. He was obviously a new recruit, which changed the situation further. Why on earth would they put new recruits on something like this? Someone grabbed Jack’s wrist and pulled him towards the kitchen. He stood up with his mysterious leader and walked towards the corner where there was a door. The room behind it was lit and light ran out of the cracks around the door. As they got closer, he could see that it was Caroline leading him with a long kitchen knife in her hand.
“Jack, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I want you to figure it out and stop it,” she whispered angrily as she opened up the door. Inside were hundreds of people packed into the small employee bathroom. Every one of them had their coronary artery slit and blood was splattered on the walls.
Before Jack could react, the lights went on in the kitchen and a man dressed in black faced them, his dagger stained red. “Good evening, Mrs. Caroline,” he said as he walked closer. He smiled briefly before grabbing Jack’s upper arm. “The Queen wishes to meet with you, Jack,” he said cynically, “now.”
*If you don’t speak French here is what they are saying:
Waitress: Mrs. Caroline and Mr. Jack. It’s been a long time. What’s up? then, You’re usuals, I’ve forgotten what that is
Caroline: That’s life. We’ve been busy
Waitress: All the time?
Caroline: Yes, all the time.
Waitress: That’s too bad. What can I get you?
Lucid Waking is proudly powered by WordPress and WPDesigner.
Entries (RSS)
and Comments (RSS).
