The Missing Boatman Part 6

Laughter again.

"Not going to make it with that, you f.u.c.king dolt!"

The taunt made Tony jerk his head up. One the side-lines, stood a faceless figure dressed in white pants and a red s.h.i.+rt. A white sweater hung about the figure's shoulders. Tony could not see the face.

"You need a putter!" the voice insisted and broke in uproarious laughter.

I have a put-Tony balked. He no longer had a putter. He was holding a fencing rapier.

"What the h.e.l.l is this?" he exclaimed. He didn't care in the least what his sponsors might think of his language. "What the f.u.c.k? I can't play with this!"

"You can't play with that either!" the voice rang out and giggled like a ten year old girl. Tony did not want to look down, but he did, the fencing foil still in his grip. When he looked up, a treeless land surrounded him. All was empty. Where was his caddy? Where were his fans?

"I can't play like this!"

"I agree with you," the figure said. There was light blazing past his head as if he were standing in front of a searchlight.

"They told me if I made the shot I'd get everything! I can't make the shot like this! With this!"

"Oh really?" the figure asked. Lord almighty, Tony wanted to see this guy's face. "And you believed them?"

"Yeah, well..."

"Hm. So you can't make the shot then?"

Scowling, Tony looked back to the hole. Right on the cusp of the drop. Right on the edge.

"Nope."

"Then try another way," the figure sounded impatient.

That was a thought. How? "This is f.u.c.king stupid! f.u.c.king impossible!"

They changed the rules on him right in the middle of the game. b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Didn't even bother to tell him. c.o.c.k-n.o.bbling b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! If they gave him s.h.i.+t later, he would throw this entire episode in their faces. His thoughts raged for a moment. He finally dropped to his knees and hunkered over, reversing the foil and attempting to use the thing like a pool cue stick. It was awkward but useable. The ball was practically in the hole anyway. All he had to do was give it some love. Just a nudge.

Laughter, again.

"Will you, please, SHUT THE f.u.c.k UP!" Tony roared.

"What kind of game you playing there, Elmo?"

"Elmo?" Tony straightened up on his knees. "You r.e.t.a.r.ded or something?"

Then, Tony saw something he didn't quite understand but took perfectly in stride.

The hole was missing.

He blinked. It was still gone.

"Where's the G.o.dd.a.m.n hole?" he cursed. The figure was also gone. The gra.s.s around the flat green has risen up, creating a billowing wave like one might see if they were diving off a vibrant green coral reef.

"Still there," the voice said from somewhere in front of Tony. "Just not as big as you remembered it."

"This is f.u.c.ked," Tony snarled and threw away the fencing foil, which was now a length of rope.

And Tony sensed the smile around the words "As is finding me..."

He woke up. Blackness. He was in bed. The door to the living room was open. A greyness that was not quite light marked the far wall. Then, he heard the giggle and the hair on the back on his neck stood up, and a s.h.i.+ver went through him. He strained to see something, anything. The giggle, again, soft like a child's, coming closer in the darkness at the foot of his bed. Oh, Jesus! "Who's there?" Tony demanded.

He got a giggle back.

Then the claws grabbed his ankles.

Tony woke up with a gasp and a sensation of falling. The rapping on his door became louder. Tony tore his face out of his pillow and sucked in air, hoping to G.o.d above he was awake this time. The pounding got louder.

"Yeah, YEAH! ALRIGHT!" he fumbled with the caul of his sheets before tearing himself away from his bed. He kicked the clutching sheets back. He stood and yawned mightily. It was black in the room. And it was cold. The air immediately chilled his bare flesh, bringing out goose b.u.mps.

Tony took a step forward and crunched the smallest toe on his right foot into his dresser. He grimaced with pain and quietly doubled over, cras.h.i.+ng off the corner of his bed and landing halfway out of his bedroom's doorway.

The knocking stopped. Silence listened.

"Don't f.u.c.king tell me you're gone, now?" Tony groaned, lying on his back. His toe felt as if he had driven it somewhere into the back of his foot. What good was that small toe anyway? He couldn't think of a purpose for that dangling piece of meat other than a brief appetizer for a dog. If there were a generic pain b.u.t.ton on the entire human body, it was the small toe. He flexed it and grimaced again, taking in a huge gulp of air. It wasn't so bad. It wasn't broken, which was nice to know given how early in the morning it was.

Or was it still late at night?

Slowly, Tony sat up, hands before him. He groped for wall, letting his fingers feel the way, and found his baseball clock. It blinked 5:38 AM. Tony blinked back. It couldn't be that early. Who the h.e.l.l was banging on his door this early?

His mouth suddenly went dry. It was the hospital. It was his mother. Oh, Jesus...

Tony rose to his feet and speed-limped to the living room. He grabbed his s.h.i.+rt and blue jeans from the sofa where he had thrown them down the night before.

"I'm coming," he hollered through the fabric of his white t-s.h.i.+rt. Red lettering swore that 'we don't have a split personality disorder.'

"I'm coming," he repeated. "Just wait."

Sockless, he reached his outer door and clawed at the three locks. Metal snapped on metal like a shotgun being readied. He pulled it inwards with a jerk.

"Good morning, Mr. Levin," greeted one of the pair of strangers standing at his door. Tony blinked at the pleasantry. The two men were dressed for winter, standing there bundled from head to toe in heavy charcoal black trench coats, toques and thick checked neck scarves. The one who had spoken regarded Tony with a "you ok?" look for the briefest of moments before smiling. He had a gash of a mouth with almost no visible lips. The man's face was hairless, smooth-looking and barren of any facial lines. It must have been a trick of the light. The man's face looked doll-like, but he was obviously older than Tony. He possessed almond-shaped eyes of a smoky grey, like the fog enveloping the city on spring days.

"Are you alright?" the man asked. The mouth hooked up on one side in a bad smile. "We heard the noise."

A nod towards his partner. His partner appeared every bit as hairless and erased of facial lines, but his head was shaped funny. It was oval and long as if it had been pulled out of a monkey's a.s.s. The dude must've been teased fiercely as a kid with a head like that. But the man's eyes were different. His eyes were black. Tony took back his previous thought. There was danger about the man that Tony could sense. He suspected that if there were any teasing directed in football head's direction, there would not be enough plaster to mould the body cast needed for the offender.

It was much too early in the morning to have to deal with these two visitors.

"Mr. Levin?"

"Yeah," Tony said after a wary pause.

"May we come in?"

"Why?" despite the earlier pain, the word came out partially dunked in sleep. But Tony was waking up fast. And the pain was quickly subsiding. Tony was tough that way.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you guys? And why the h.e.l.l are you pounding on my door this time in the morning? You sure as h.e.l.l better not be Jehovah's Witnesses, cuz I'll bounce both your a.s.ses to the curb and smile all the way."

The visitor with the football head straightened up and glared at Tony as he took one step forward. Tony instantly took one step back as if his spine were gripped by the tailbone and yanked on. The fear he suddenly felt was as reflexive as a gag on a piece of food in his windpipe. The man advanced three more steps into the apartment, and Tony matched him as if they were in an unrehea.r.s.ed dance. Tony had his hands behind him, feeling the air for something, anything to stop his retreat. And why was he retreating anyway?

"Stop that," the first man spoke sharply, and the invader complied at once. He turned about slowly, his features twisting into an annoyed, questioning mask.

"Not that way," the first man continued with a derisive tilt of his head.

The second man stared at his companion for a few seconds. Then, the message understood, he arched his back again as if he were attempting to burst out of his current frame and regarded Tony anew. There was a quiet understanding in those black eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, Mr. Levin," the first man said, and meant it. "My companion here is much more direct than need be. He doesn't have, or should I say, isn't used to small talk. He prefers being straight up, I believe you might say. Frank. Raw. Having you by your short and curlies..."

Tony backed up another step, placing his old faded coffee table between himself and the pair of necromaniacs in his apartment.

"Your short and curlies...?" he said, expecting the worse any moment.

"I'm different," the first man explained. "An opposite. Yin to his Yang. And I would be ever so heartened if you would allow us some time to talk."

The second man quickly sized up the apartment and screwed up his face in distaste.

"You guys get out now, or I'll start screaming for the cops."

The second man studied Tony again. This time his features morphed into amus.e.m.e.nt. Tony did not like that in the least. "Mr. Levin," First Guy said affably, "if you draw breath to scream, it will die in your throat."

The second guy took a step towards Tony behind the coffee table.

"JESUS!" Tony exploded and jumped backwards. His back cracked against the gla.s.s of his balcony window door. Second Guy halted his advance, but Tony still felt the aura of menace about him. It was the childhood fear of the bogeyman just behind the closet door or of an adult walking through an unseen spider's web with their mouth wide open. Or something grabbing you by the ankles in a dream.

Tony's hands came up in surrender. "Sure, come on in, then. Close the door too, eh? But you," he stabbed a finger in the direction of Second Guy. "Don't come anywhere near me, okay? You do, and I'll break your f.u.c.king head open. Got it?"

While he made his threat Tony took in everything within grabbing distance which could be a potential weapon to use against the two men. All he spotted was a phone book. The smirk on Second Guy's features was unmistakable. The black eyes narrowed in amus.e.m.e.nt in his pulled-from-a-monkey's-a.s.s shaped head. Obviously, of the three people in the room, two of them were not so concerned with the threat.

"Mr. Levin," the first guy began, "he couldn't physically hurt you even if he tried. I promise you that. It isn't his nature at all-ah." First Guy abruptly raked the toque from his head, revealing a full head of short, spiky grey hair. "This isn't how I wished to speak with you Mr. Levin. Not at all. And speak with you, I must. I hope you pay close attention to what I have to say, but you cannot do that if you are distraught by fear."

"You can take 'fear' and stick it up your s.h.i.+tter, buddy," Tony barked back at the First Guy, noting how the man's features crunched up in slight confusion. "I ain't afraid of you or-"

Second Guy again made the motion to move.

Just a feint.

It was more than enough.

"JESUS H CHRIST!" Tony roared and flung himself to one side. He tripped over the coffee table and crashed landed into his sofa. There he stayed, looking up at the Second Guy with an expression of pure chagrin. "Don't do that! f.u.c.k!" The man was like a spider dancing up your bare spine. A bare straight blade against your throat. Tony's tongue froze in his mouth. His heart crashed in his chest as if he had been injected with pure adrenalin. Panic so raw gushed into him like a faucet turned on full force. Not since childhood had Tony felt such fear, and even then, he could not quite remember an experience to compare with the terror this freak was invoking just by taking a single step towards him. Perhaps it was some kind of pheromone?

"Mr. Levin," came the voice of reason. First Guy met his eyes. "Just take a deep breath. Relax. It will be easier on your nerves. We're here to discuss many things of business. You are a locator of people right? Missing persons?"

"Yeah, so?" Tony gulped down air. "You want me to find someone?" he continued to eye Second Guy and his freaky football shaped head. The man was content for the moment to stand guard it seemed. He was looking at various things in the room and Tony was briefly amused to see the man settle his attention on his discarded ball cap "Bite Me," hanging from a hook in the wall.

"Yes. Exactly," First Guy said. "An a.s.sociate of ours decided to leave work unannounced for entirely unacceptable reasons. We have no idea as to his whereabouts but we do have resources to find him. You are one of those resources."

The man sat down on the sofa next to Tony. It squeaked with the new weight.

"And so, we are here to make an offer."

"Who told you about me?" Tony wanted to know, his eyes narrowing. The notion of entrapment blossomed in his head.

"Ah," First Guy peered at the worn chestnut surface of the nearby coffee table. "Word of mouth, I suppose."

"Look," Tony said, "I'm no private investigator awright? I'm more of a bounty hunting deal. And I ain't agreeing to nothing until you two give me a name. It says 'BITE ME' okay!"

A startled Second Guy jumped at the shout directed at him.

"Mr. Levin." First Guy implored. "You do have neighbours, I believe. And they would appreciate you lowering your voice."

"I'd appreciate you coming back around noon," Tony countered.

"I'm afraid we cannot. Every second, every microsecond, every nanosecond is precious to us. In fact, the length of time it will take me to convince you of your task ahead will be far too much to expend."

"Uh huh," Tony grunted. His fear was slacking off now, even though Second Guy was giving him dirty looks. f.u.c.k him too. "Give me a name then. Who sent you to me?"

"I believe it was a Mr. Tigh," First Guy answered.

"Really?" Tony's mouth hung open and he caught a whiff of his own putrid morning breath. "You guys didn't just happen to access a file or something didya?"

First Guy's eyes flicked towards an old yellow clock on the television set. The glow in the dark hands told him it was 5:44.

"Well, how about it then?" Tony demanded. "It better be a good story too. Else what I said earlier `bout the curb becomes f.u.c.kin' reality. Give you a can of whoop-"

The fear was back and it killed the words in his throat. Second Guy's eyes were hard and glaring and Tony felt the press of an unseen but pointed weight, like icicles, pus.h.i.+ng slowly into his head. Tony squirmed, actually whimpered, and pushed himself back into the small sofa. His eyes fluttered like window blinds in a gale. Weight, cold and G.o.d so heavy, pressed into his heart and lungs and he felt his ribs bending inwards...

And then nothing.

Everything was gone and the breath rushed out of him as if he had just spent a torturous minute underwater. Exhaustion crashed down onto Tony's frame and he collapsed on the sofa, feebly eyeing First Guy like a dying fish. He was too spent to look in Second Guy's direction.

"My name's Mr. Tim," First Guy introduced himself. "And that is Mr. Freddy," he gestured with an open palm at Second Guy. "We want you to find one Mr. Augustus D. Franklin, a missing a.s.sociate of ours. He's been missing for an eternity, it seems, and we need him back almost immediately."

"What's he to you?" Tony mouthed, now feeling as if he needed a whole year of Sat.u.r.days to recover from what he had just experienced. "Steal something? f.u.c.k your wife? Your daughter? Both? What?"

Tim appeared to mull something over, gnawing at the inside corners of his mouth. Tony had seen this behaviour before. He was taking his time, getting his story straight. His grey almond eyes were staring and Tony thought he was about to be fed a line.

"Mr. Franklin is in a similar line of work as yourself, I guess you could say."

"Oh," Tony breathed out, regaining his strength. "I could say that. Well, thank you. Like me, you say. Wow."

"Yes," Tim stated, and gave a little knowing nod, as if he had just checked a map and knew exactly where he stood. "He is a locator of people. And you could say, he... well... he..."