Robert Tanenbaum - Counterplay

“Where are they taking me?” the man cried, recoiling at their appearance and the smell of their unwashed bodies. “Are they turning me over to the police?”

Marlene smiled grimly. “Nah, it would just be a waste of taxpayer dollars. I believe where you’re going, even in Islam, you would call it hell.”

The man started to cry. “I am mujahideen, a holy warrior, I have been promised paradise…I have-” His voice was muffled as one of his captors threw a cloth sack over his head. He screamed and was cuffed into silence as they dragged him off.

Marlene turned to Grale. “I better go track down the twins,” she said. “Thanks, I owe you.”

Grale nodded. “You’re welcome. We’ve been watching these two for a while, hoping they might lead us to Kane. But as you suspect, they are just witless pawns.” He stopped and listened. Satisfied or at least not alarmed, he continued. “Get your family out of Manhattan, Marlene, there’s death and a gathering of evil. Kane is coming…his assassins are already here. I don’t know what they’re planning yet, but it’s big, and I fear you and your family figure prominently in his designs.”

“I’ll think about it,” she replied. “Want to come back to the loft and take a shower, get a hot meal?”

Grale laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I stink? I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Living in hell, as you put it. Anyway, that’s the second time I’ve received such an invitation, first from your husband and now from you, and it’s much appreciated. However, that would not be for the best. Nor, as much as I love your family, should you always trust me to look out for your best interests.” He paused. “I am not…I serve a higher power whose purpose for me might not be safe for you and yours. And sometimes…sometimes I worry that I am in such constant contact with evil, willing my mind to think as they do so that I can anticipate them. It’s like standing too close to a plague victim; sooner or later you notice the buboes under your own skin.”

Marlene felt a sudden surge of compassion for the young man. Insane or not, Grale believed that he was fighting the good fight against evil, and time and again had saved her family from tragedy. She reached up and touched his face, surprised when tears popped to the surface of his eyes. “I will never be afraid of you, David Grale; you will always be a hero to me.”

Grale bowed. “I couldn’t ask for a better compliment. But our paths-all of us, for good or evil-are running toward each other and there will soon be a collision. Now, care to tell me the significance of your questions about the white knights?”

For the second time that day, Marlene explained about the chess pieces.

“Perhaps it’s not Kane who’s sending them,” Grale suggested.

“What do you mean? It’s part of his ‘game’s on,’ threat,” Marlene said.

“Maybe, but what if they were being sent as a warning by someone who knows Kane’s plans?” Grale said. “Maybe they can’t be any more specific…or don’t want to make it too easy on you. Maybe they’re playing their own game.”

“I guess anything’s possible. But if it’s a warning, it’s pretty hard to decipher in time for it to do any good,” Marlene said. “I think it’s just a sick mind enjoying playing cat to our mouse. Sorry, have to run.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Grale on the cheek. His skin felt warm and dry.

Grale mimicked looking at a watch, then exclaimed, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late…time for me to pop down my rabbit hole.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “By the way, sorry to hear about your mother, Marlene,” he said softly. “She’s resting in the arms of the Lord now.”

The comment caught Marlene off guard, and the sudden lump in her throat made it hard to catch her breath. But she mustered enough to say, “Thank you, David, I think so, too.”

Then he was gone.

Marlene trotted down the street to the bookstore where she found the twins hobnobbing with the owner over iced frappacinos. The Housing Works Bookstore-the proceeds of which were used to provide housing for people infected by HIV and AIDS-was a favorite hangout of the family’s. Only a couple of blocks from the loft, it was a great place to sit down peacefully with an old book and a good cup of coffee that didn’t come from one of the ubiquitous Starbucks that had sprung up all over the city.

“Come on, you two, that stuff will stunt your growth,” she said, escorting each by an arm and calling over her shoulder to the owner. “Good night, Georgio. No caffeine for these two after six or we’re all up all night.”

“Understood Ms. C,” Georgio replied. “But they coerced me by promising to tell me a story about terrorists and Mole Men. I’m a sucker for a good story.”

Marlene gave the twins an extra shake when she got them on the sidewalk. “Let’s not be spreading rumors, boys,” she warned.

“What rumors?” Giancarlo said. “Our lives are like one big Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick. Zak and I are thinking about writing a script.”

“We’ll insist on starring in it as ourselves,” Zak added. “At least at this age-we’ll probably have to get some actors to play us when we were little kids. Like the time Giancarlo got shot by those hillbillies.”

“Or when Zak stuck his switchblade into the leg of that terrorist who was trying to abduct him.”

“Or when that psycho murderer Felix Tighe tied up Lucy and-”

“Enough! Don’t remind me,” Marlene said putting her hands over her ears. “Just let me know before the Academy Awards. I’d like to buy a new dress, something becoming for the mother of the stars.”

“Who said you’re invited,” the twins laughed.

Marlene made a face. She sent a curse Georgio’s way for dosing the twins with caffeine. They were bounding around her like dogs invited to go for a walk.

“What happened with David and those guys who were following us?” Giancarlo asked.

“Bet David sliced them into pieces,” Zak said with a sigh for missing the imagined mayhem.

“He caught up to us when we got off the subway and told us we were being followed and needed to walk fast until we got to the alley,” Giancarlo explained. “Then he told us to run for the bookstore and not look back.”

“I bet they died a horrible death,” said Zak.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to celebrate violence, Zak. Violence doesn’t solve anything,” Marlene scolded, trying to sound like a responsible parent.

“But sometimes violence is the only way to stop the violent,” Zak replied. “I’ve heard you say that to Dad.”

“Don’t listen to me,” Marlene instructed. “I’m not a good role model.”

“No, you’re not,” the twins agreed.

“But you’re a lot of fun,” Zak said merrily to soften the blow.

“Never a dull moment,” Giancarlo added somewhat less enthusiastically.

“Gee, thanks, boys.”

When they reached the loft, she rushed to her desk to retrieve telephone numbers for Jojola and the Sagebrush Inn, where her daughter had taken up semipermanent residence. She tried the inn first, but there was no answer. Nor did Ned have a telephone at the rustic cabin where he stayed on the ranch. She sent an angry mother thought west in the direction of her obstinate daughter.

Next, she tried Jojola’s cell phone and was happy to hear his voice. “Hey, Marlene, were your ears burning? I’ve got Tran here in my truck, and he’s been talking trash about you. Ow! That hurt, you old gook.”

Marlene heard something shouted about “drunk Indians.” “You drinking again?” she asked sternly. When she met him the previous summer he’d been a recovering alcoholic, dry for more than twenty years.