David Robbins - New Orleans Run

“It’s me,” Lynx said from six feet away. “I was afraid of this.”

“Do you want a suggestion?”

“Anything.”

“Put the woman down and climb on Saddlesore. If you can show him who’s boss, he’ll let you ride him, no problem.”

Lynx hesitated. Trying to break in the animal seemed like a monumental waste of time. But if he succeeded, he’d get to the mambo’s place that much sooner. “All right,” he said, and gently lowered Eleanore down once more.

“Just climb right up,” Wells advised, straining on the reins.

“Climb, hell,” Lynx declared. He took two steps and sprang, his wiry form gracefully sailing through the air to come down squarely in the saddle. The horse seemed to freeze. “This might be easier than I thought,” he remarked and took the reins.

He spoke too soon.

Saddlesore suddenly erupted into violent motion, bucking twisting like the wildest mustang that ever lived, reverting to the instinctual level of its evolutionary ancestors, neighing all the while.

Lynx clamped his legs on the horse and held onto the reins with all of his strength, his body jarred by every buck and wrenched by every twist.

He had only limited experience with horses, and none whatsoever at breaking the animals. Still, he felt confident his feline prowess would enable him to weather the equine storm.

Saddlesore moved away from the trees and into the middle of the road, his legs stiff, his back arched, bucking even harder and higher.

The world spun before Lynx’s eyes, a vague swirl of shadowy contours.

He thought he heard Wells yelling at him but the words were indistinct.

His complete concentration was devoted to the task of staying on the horse. Never, ever would he allow a dumb animal to defeat him, so he clung to Saddlesore tenaciously and endured agonizing torment in the process. Time stood still. He had no idea whether he rode the horse for three minutes or ten. Gradually, his legs began to tire and his arms to ache.

Then the light appeared.

Lynx didn’t know what to make of the bright light that suddenly enveloped both the animal and himself. The brilliant whitish glow grew brighter and brighter, dazzling his eyes when the horse turned in a certain direction. Somewhere, Bob Wells shouted muddied words. Lynx had about had enough. The combination of the strange illumination and the shouting convinced him something must be wrong. He prepared to vault from Saddlesore, but in the second before he leaped, the steed abruptly and astonishingly stopped in its tracks, wheezing in great sighs.

“Congratulations!” someone cried out in a gruff voice, and clapped in appreciation.

For a moment Lynx experienced disorientation. He was facing directly toward the source of the lights, which he now recognized as the twin headlights of a military-style convoy truck parked only 20 feet off. And he also perceived another chilling fact.

Tonton macoutes completely surrounded him.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m going to kill him.”

“Ferret is joking, yes?”

“Nope.”

“But you can’t be serious, no? Lynx is our friend.”

“Some friend. He’s the idiot who talked us into this, remember? Maybe you can overlook a few minor incidents like being shot at, almost being gobbled up by a jumbo snake, being beaten with a gun barrel, and then captured by refugees from a psycho farm,” Ferret declared angrily. “I can’t.”

“Gremlin has a better idea, yes,” the humanoid said. “Just punch Lynx in the mouth.”

“After I skin him alive and boil him in oil.”

Gremlin sighed and walked to the small barred window in their cell. He gazed out at the bayou and pier, both 40 yards from the tower in which they were imprisoned, and remembered the walk up from the boat several hours before. Night had fallen, and spotlights positioned at regular intervals along the outer wall illuminated both the inner grounds and the surrounding swamp. “Look at the bright side, Ferret. At least our wrists aren’t tied, no?”

Seated on the sole piece of furniture in the ten-by-twelve-foot room, Ferret snorted. “Remind me to boil you with him.”

“How much longer do you think they will hold us here, yes?”

“Who knows?” Ferret responded irritably.

“You must learn to control your temper, no? Sometimes you can be as bad as Lynx.”

“We can’t all be saints like you.”

The humanoid looked at his friend. “Why are you being so rude to Gremlin? You’re mad at Lynx, yes?”

Ferret detected the hurt tone in Gremlin’s voice and glanced up, frowning in displeasure at his own juvenile behavior. “Good point. I shouldn’t be taking out my anger at that turnip on you. I apologize.”

“Gremlin understand.”

“All this waiting is getting to me,” Ferret groused. He stood and crossed to the locked steel door on the opposite side of the cell from the window.

Standing on tiptoe, he peered through the narrow slot positioned at human eye level. A limited stretch of corridor was within his line of vision.

“Still no sign of any guards.”

“There’s a bright side to that too, no?” Gremlin mentioned.

“How do you figure?”

“As long as they leave us alone, we stay alive, yes?”

Ferret turned, his lips curled wryly. “What’s with all this bright-side stuff?”

“Do you like Gremlin’s new and improved attitude on life, no?” the humanoid asked proudly.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Certainly, yes. Gremlin read a fascinating book in the Family library that has changed Gremlin’s whole life around.”

“Alice in Wonderland?”

“No. Gremlin has not read that one. Gremlin was referring to the wonderful book by the great man Peale. Have you read it?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“You really should, yes. The book will improve your life for the better, Ferret. It will give you a new lease on living, no?”

“Do you mean I’ll start thinking and acting like you?”

“Yes.” Gremlin squared his. shoulders and nodded vigorously. “You will have a genuinely positive attitude about everything, yes?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“But why, no?”

“If we were meant to only look at the bright side of things, we wouldn’t have the capacity to cry.”

Gremlin did a double take, his forehead furrowing, tremendously impressed by the statement. “That’s beautiful, yes? Gremlin had no idea you are such a philosopher, no?”

“Don’t start.”

“Start what, yes?” Gremlin replied, then repeated the insight in a very profound manner. “If we were meant to only look at the bright side of things, we wouldn’t have the capacity to cry. How wonderful, no?”

Ferret shook his head wistfully. “I think I’ll shoot Lynx first, then punch him in the mouth, then skin him and boil him in oil,” he muttered.

“What was that, yes?”

“Just talking to myself.”

“About what, no? Gremlin doesn’t want to miss another word you say, yes?”

“It’s not important.”

“Tell Gremlin, please?”

His shoulders slumping in resignation, Ferret gestured and stated the first thing that came into his head. “What goes around, comes around,” he said.

The humanoid beamed broadly. “Wow! You’ve done it again, yes?”

“Give me a break. The humans say that expression all the time. Surely you’ve heard it before?”

“Gremlin doesn’t think so, no.”

“Well, it’s not original. So don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“What goes around, comes around,” Gremlin intoned solemnly. “Maybe you should write a book, yes?”

“Maybe I should stick a grenade down Lynx’s loincloth.”