The Hedge Extreme by Steven Briggs

Author:Steven Briggs [Briggs, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780692350096
Publisher: Zedarhaus Publishing
Published: 2015-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Back in the Seattle parking garage where we left her car, Linda offered to give me a lift home, but I declined.

“You gotta be at work in five hours so go home and get some sleep. And anyway, it’s Seattle,” I said. “I can get a cab, no problem.”

I waved at her as she drove past, out of the garage. I pulled out my own phone and saw that it was dead. Great. I walked outside into the rain and stood by the stop light on Elliott Avenue. It was 1 a.m. but a cab should come along soon, right? This was a big city. After five minutes, finally, a yellow car. I waved for him to pull over but he flipped me off and ran the red light. It was a Volkswagen Beetle not a cab, and he probably thought I was a male prostitute.

A few minutes later, a real cab appeared. This one stopped at the light but wouldn’t pull over to the curb. I stepped onto the street and banged on the passenger window. It came down a few inches.

The driver said in an East Indian accent, “I am full.”

“I see that. Can you order one for me?” He stared back, saying nothing. Then the light turned green and he drove on, leaving me like an abandoned dog watching his owner drive away.

It had been much easier to get a cab up in Anacortes. After some fish and chips and a few beers at Anthony’s, I offered a cabbie $500 to drive us to Seattle. It was like the old days when I had a few grand walking around money. In less than two hours we were back in the city.

Of course getting to Anacortes wasn’t as easy. When I left the log cabin, I joined up with Linda sitting in the boat. Bud drove us back to the dock where the plane was tied up. I was hoping for a quick flight home, but Fu Manchu said no, we’d go by boat, and not ‘til it was dark, I guess to conceal the location of this CIA interrogation camp. It would be quite embarrassing if word got out that the CIA served its Scotch without ice. What would the ACLU say?

Fu Manchu put us in one of the metal sheds at the end of the dock. On the cold concrete floor were two lawn chairs and a small table with a chess board, nothing else. A single light bulb hung from the center. I missed my log cabin.

“I’ll be back,” he said in his best Arnold, trying to be funny. “After it’s dark.” He shut the door and I heard a latch. I went to the door and tried. Locked. I was pretty sure locking us in a shed was against the law, but I wasn’t in a position to complain.

Linda sat down by the chess table and said, “So what happened?”

I held my finger up to my mouth. “They’re probably listening,” I mouthed.

“So,” she said.

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