Our Only Hope Ch. 08

Sam works as a private security consultant in the LA area. If you ask him what he does, he will tell you that he provides a scary face when rich people need to keep tourists and paparazzi away from their gates. I've seen his company at work and he definitely can provide more than just a scary face.

I waited until morning, got out an unused burner phone and re-registered the phone number to one of my standbys. Then, using my computer program, I texted him on his private number, "Hi Ho Silver to my favorite contrary. Need to talk. Burner phone #3. Text back time you will call."

About fifteen minutes later, I received a text that said only, "14:05"

It was a little past eight in the morning, so that gave me some more needed sleep time. I woke up around noon and went down to the hotel restaurant for lunch. I debated taking a swim, but decided that a sunburn might interfere with the task at hand. Besides, if people saw me in swim trunks, they might wonder how a businessman from Ohio ended up with so many battle scars. I was waiting on my balcony when the phone rang at exactly five minutes after two.

If someone was somehow listening in on the call, they would have been very confused. Sam and I had talked about the Contraries in Sioux tradition. They lived their lives backward. They also talked backwards... sort of. Their answers were always reversed. When I called him my favorite Contrary, I indicated that this was to be a contrary conversation.

His first question was, "Is this W?"

"No."

"Can you talk?"

"No."

I then asked some questions of my own, beginning with, "Are you under any pressure from anyone concerning me?"

"Yes."

I relaxed. The Monty brothers and their traitor within The Society weren't pressuring Sam.

"What was the name of Tonto's horse?" I asked.

"Silver," He answered. Then he added, "The Lone Ranger rode Scout, Kemosabe."

I laughed and said, "Enough contrariness. We need to talk in person."

He said flatly, "High Rooftop Lounge, Venice Boardwalk, One hour." Then he hung up.

It took me fifty minutes to drive to Venice Beach and another ten to find the High Rooftop Lounge. After I had climbed the stairs, the hostess came up to me and I said, "I am supposed to meet someone here."

I was still trying to decide if Sam had given his real name when a young man with a very military bearing walked up to me and said, "Are you Kemosabe?"

The hostess looked shocked, but I nodded and said, "Yup."

"Follow me," the young man said and turned and walked to a nearly empty section of the club. Three additional very lean and muscular young men were standing near the outside edges of the roof. As we approached the table where Sam was seated, the man guiding me veered off and took up a post on the outside wall. All four young men were facing outward, forming a square around the table where Sam sat smiling at me. I had forgotten just how intimidating Sam Two Feathers' smile could be.

"You look pretty good for a dead man," he said as I sat down.

"What do you know about the Monty brothers?" I asked.

"I know you are after them," he replied. "Master Randolph said you might be in touch, but... that was before the incident in Vegas."

"Some poor sap stole the wrong truck," I said slowly. "Unfortunate for him; lucky for me; they think I'm dead, so I've been able to infiltrate Walter Monty's club here in LA."

"And you need my help to capture him and free the hostages," Sam said in his flat, bass-voiced way of talking.

"That pretty much says it all," I answered.

"What have we got?" he said, leaning forward and setting a piece of paper and a pen on the table. I started drawing the layout as best I could remember.

"The only entrance seems to be the elevator from The Blue Deuce," I explained, "but I'm betting there are fire escapes or rat holes out through the strip mall. We might be able to get in through there."

"Have you looked at the Fire Marshall's files on both buildings?" he asked.

"I think Boris would have checked that," I replied and he laughed.

"Not unless he had someone on the inside or got a court order," Sam said. "Those files aren't kept on line. You have to go into the office itself to look at them, and you have to have a court order or be part of a Fire Marshall investigation."

I said "Shit!" and Sam smiled at me.

"Luckily," he said, "I have both... when I need them." He then laid a small tablet on the table and brought up some images. There were three fire exits out of the hidden club area. Two led directly into the hallways. The third led through the dress shop.

"We will have to block the elevator entrance," he said flatly, "and create enough threat and confusion that people will stampede out the safety exits."

"How will they know they are even there?" I asked. "I was down there and didn't see any indication of them."

Sam smiled again. "In case of an earthquake," he said in his flat way of speaking, "those doors will automatically open and guide lights will glow in the walls or on the ceiling."

"Great!" I said, sounding much more animated than Sam. "Now all we have to do is arrange for an earthquake on cue."

Sam's smile widened. "Did you know," he said, "that all elevators are required to have an earthquake sensor in the bottom of the shaft? And that a relatively small explosion would trigger that sensor?"

"Wouldn't that be a little rough on anyone in the elevator?" I asked.

"I hate collateral damage as much as you do," he said firmly. "There will be no one in the elevator because you will be the one triggering the blast. And with my help, Boris will have control of the elevator. But we have to go tonight before they move the hostages."

Hopefully, the W team was about to score a surprise run in a game that was supposedly already over.

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END OF CHAPTER

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