Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (35 page)

After several minutes of digging around in the file cabinets, Tim had obtained what he was looking for, the log book of all of the items in the Wong collection. The log appeared to be organized by categories. The first section was coins, then vases, weapons, dinnerware, and clothes.
Crap, this is a large listing.
He began to read the coin section. Each item was listed along with a brief description and a date indicating its approximate age. His eyes roamed over the page hungrily searching for some clue that would guide him.

Struggling in vain to find anything, he plopped down frustrated behind the curators big wooden desk. It was a disorganized mess, or perhaps an organized mess to the owner that knew the layout. Tim sat in the worn leather desk chair, rubbing his temples.

Putting down the log book, he began to search the desk drawers. The bottom drawer contained a small bottle labeled “medicinal whiskey”. He pulled it out and removed the cap. After a quick smell, he took a long pull on the bottle. A pleasant burning sensation ran down his throat.
Not bad, prohibition my ass. People from this era still managed to get plenty to drink,
and with that he took another long swig.

Again, Tim flipped through the book rather sporadically. Feeling much more relaxed, he tried to come up with another course of action.  

Picking up a pen, Tim began to scribble on the margin of the page in front of him. His hand started to write something almost subconsciously.

Reggie continued to pace angrily around the museum. He didn’t like how long this job was taking. Get in get out, that’s what the good ones all said. What made a good thief in his mind was anyone still alive after forty. That was god damn old as far as he was concerned. He knew his ugly mug looked at least that old, but in truth, he was only in his early thirties. Hard living and lots of fighting had taken its toll on him.

Reggie came around the corner back into the medieval section of the museum. Glancing sideways as he passed by the first suit of armor, he missed what was directly in front of him, realizing that fact just a few seconds too late.

Charles stood there grinning at him like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. “How’s it going, Reggie? I’m going to need you to pull your gun out real slowly and place it on the floor,” Charles said sternly, his gun leveled at Reggie’s face.

“Damn it, Charles, this isn’t right. You’re making a big mistake.”

“No, you’re making a big mistake, if you think I’ll hesitate to kill you!”

Reggie slowly removed the gun from his suit pocket with two fingers, and placed it on the floor. The two men were standing only about six feet apart.

“Now back up a few feet nice and easy.”

Again Reggie complied. He was eyeing Charles cagily. 

“I don’t like that look on your face, Reggie.” Carefully, Charles stepped forward, picking up the gun, never looking away from his opponent.

“You’re never going to get whatever it is you’re after,” Reggie almost growled.

“How’s that, Reggie, and where is Tim?”

“I’m not a stoolie and a rat like you.”

“Now you’re just starting to irritate me. Tell me where he is!”

“You know what; I don’t think you’re going to shoot me in here, it would be too loud. Might bring the cops down on us, then you wouldn’t get your precious whatever it is, now would ya?” Reggie bent down, pulling his large hunting knife gradually out of his ankle sheath and brandished it in Charles’s direction.

Oh damn it, that asshole is right. If I go and blow his brains out it will alert Tim and quite possibly draw unwanted attention. I need to continue bluffing; he’s awfully tough with that knife in a fair fight.
“Listen Reggie, have you ever known me to back down? Just drop the knife if you want to keep on breathing.”

Reggie stepped menacingly forward, testing the waters. Just as he thought, Charles didn’t shoot, he only backed up a couple of steps.
This is the best opportunity I’m going to get,
Reggie thought, and began to charge.

Oh hell, he’s going to call my bluff.
In the blink of an eye, Charles darted backward replacing his gun with the switchblade in his coat pocket.

Reggie leapt forward, his knife slicing past Charles’s arm, barely missing. He followed with several more rapid attempts to draw blood, but Charles always managed to move at the last second.

Now it was Charles’s turn. He stepped shiftily to Reggie’s left, making a quick slashing motion. Reggie was onto him, though, and stepped away easily. The perpetual sneer on Reggie’s face looked even more intimidating than usual.

For a second time Reggie came after Charles, slashing to one side and then the other putting him on the defensive and driving him backwards. Just one missed step and this fight would be all over. Finally, Charles wasn’t quite quick enough and Reggie’s blade found a mark. A fresh wound opened up on Charles left shoulder.

Charles could feel the blood starting to trickle down his shirt sleeve, warm and sticky. He didn’t have much time to worry about it, though. Reggie was coming after him again, with a renewed sense of vigor after getting in the first strike. Charles made a vain attempt to cut Reggie’s fighting hand. The move was countered with a successful response.

The result was not good. Charles felt the blade bite into the back of his hand. It stung badly, but fortunately didn’t feel that deep. Backpedaling, Charles thought,
this guy is too good. I have to change the odds somehow.
His brow was starting to sweat. He hadn’t felt this nervous since, the night he almost died in the Wong robbery.
There isn’t going to be any magic way out of it this time.

*    *    *

That’s it,
Tim thought looking at what he had just written. Closing the log book, Tim got up from the desk and headed towards the office door. With any luck, Reggie could help him get this done. As Tim opened the office door, he heard a slight scuffling sound followed by the clang of metal hitting the marble floor. These unexpected noises ended as abruptly as they had come.
Oh crap, that can’t be good.
He stuck his head cautiously out into the sparsely lit hallway. Just one small security light illuminated the hall from the left. To the right and around a ninety-degree corner was the hall he and Reggie had come down to find the office. That passage was lit only by the light that diffused from the central area of the museum. The clamor had appeared to come from that general area.

Slowly, Tim set out in that direction. When he got to the corner, he peeked around it like a kid playing hide and seek, his ears straining for the slightest indication or clue about what might be going on.

Nothing was what answered back to both ears and eyes. Creeping forward and staying close to the wall, Tim headed for the central part of the museum.
Maybe Reggie just knocked something over. Yeah, that’s probably it. He must have got a little too interested in something and then bam.
Tim was trying very hard to convince himself of this, but he had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, a deep down feeling that was telling him he knew better.

*    *    *

Charles knew he was giving up too much ground, and despite his ego, he had to admit that in a knife fight with Reggie he was outmatched. If he didn’t do something soon it was going to be all over.

Reggie lunged again, seeing his opponent sweating profusely and beginning to slow. A small grin split Reggie’s haggard face. He swallowed hard, remembering the scar on his throat.
Don’t take anything for granted, just finish him.

Charles in his constant backward motion finally reached his limit, bumping heavily into a medieval suit of armor. The knight tipped backwards, bouncing hard off the enclave it was situated in. In the next instant the weight of it came rebounding back at Charles, tackling him like some ancient warrior, knocking him to the ground with a loud crashing noise.

This unexpected event left Reggie completing his jab into the empty space where Charles had been.

Charles’s switchblade was knocked out of his hand and went skittering across the polished marble floor. Scrambling and wreathing in the throes of panic, he rolled, clawing at the suit of armor which had pinned him solidly to the ground. His hand slid off the armored chest plate and on to the floor; where it encountered something unexpected. Charles fingers quickly closed around a handle, not just any handle, but that of a heavy-duty fighting mace the knight had been previously clutching.

Intent upon the kill, Reggie leaned in close, about to slit Charles’s throat. He never saw his opponent’s right arm which swung up from the side brandishing the deadly weapon. The mace bludgeoned Reggie’s skull with a sickening thud.

Reggie came instantly down on top of the armor, getting one last dig in on Charles before glancing off the metal suit, hitting the marble tile hard for the final time.

Charles lay there for a moment, stupefied. This hadn’t been magic by any means, but it was no less miraculous to him.
I can’t believe I dodged that one. I’m destined for success; nothing is going to get in my way.
Slowly, straining to be silent, he slid the suit off of himself. Getting up, he began to take measure of his wounds. The one on his hand was fairly shallow, as he had thought. The cut on his arm, however, was still bleeding slightly. The blood coagulated, causing his shirt sleeve to become stuck to it. Cursing slightly, he thought to himself “It could have been worse.”

A new thought dawning on him, he turned back to Reggie’s body and bent down to inspect it.
I had better make sure he is dead. I wouldn’t want any nasty surprises.

*    *    *

Tim had just made it to the edge of the medieval wing and saw the back of someone stooping over a body. He could tell by the man’s trim frame that it wasn’t Reggie doing the looking. A sick feeling came over him. That was Reggie lying there motionless on the floor, and it could have just as well been him. Momentarily stunned, Tim just stood there. That’s when instinct took over. Instinct can be a helpful thing, but it is not always a wise thing and this time that proved to be the case. Tim turned almost unconsciously, in a total daze, and began to run back in the direction he had come from. His dress shoes slapped hard against the unforgiving floor.

Charles turned swiftly, hearing the loud echo of running feet behind him. Already the sprinting figure was starting to disappear down a hall across the central corridor. Charles started to run after him, but the pain in his leg, along with the fresh wounds, brought him to a halt halfway into the main area.

Frustrated and feeling like he had not much to lose at this point, he drew his gun and fired off a couple shots at the fleeing figure, barely visible as it disappeared around a corner.

The shots echoed loudly off the grand walls of the museum. For a second Charles felt that he had been rash. Only before concluding that, he heard a muffled curse echo back at him.

An instant before he rounded the corner, a bullet clipped Tim’s upper arm, causing him to yell out a rather nasty expletive. The shock of it caused him to drop the log book. He thought of going back for it. However, safety was more important and he no longer really needed the volume. He continued to run down the hallway at breakneck speed, his leather-bottomed shoes dangerously slipping on the polished flooring.

Finally, Tim reached the end of the hall and slammed into a stairwell exit door. The door was locked, and it hit back almost with emotion. Tim was knocked backwards onto the floor, his arms aching from the impact with the brass push-bar.

Charles was nearing the corner where his prey had eluded him. He was limping along in a half run, hoping whatever wound he inflicted would buy him enough of an edge to catch up. His eyes darted to the floor, just as he arrived at the corner. Even in the dim light, he saw two things. One was spattered blood and the other was a book lying there. Stopping briefly, he picked up the book before turning the corner.

Charles was just in time to hear a cracking noise, Tim had apparently forced open a door and exited to the supposed safety of a dingy stairwell. Charles fired again, figuring what the hell.

This time Tim managed to escape down the stairs unscathed. Running for all he was worth, he made his way into the basement trying to determine where he and Reggie had entered earlier. Everything was so damn dark. It was almost pitch black, with only the occasional light around this corner and the next. The place was a maze of hallways with offshoots in multiple directions, marked only by lettering on the entry doors. Perhaps if he could see the markings on them, he could get out.

Charles walked down the stairs cautiously. There was no reason to hurry into a bad situation. This night had been dangerous enough already. Entering the basement, Charles realized just how perilous this might be. He could barely see a thing. Tim could be around any blind corner waiting to attack.
Oh, who am I kidding, that pencil pusher doesn’t have a dangerous bone in his body. Otherwise, why the hell isn’t he shooting back?

Tim had stopped running now. He had managed to calm himself down ever so slightly, and was trying to use logic to overcome instinct.
Think, think damn it, what is going to get me out of this? Why the hell didn’t I bring a gun? I don’t play that way, nobody needs to get hurt. I’ll just break into a museum and take things, it’s not dangerous. It’s an adventure. How could I have been so naive? Stop worrying about what you don’t have and do something, you idiot.
Tim proceeded to walk slowly down the hallway looking for doors in the gloom, all the while listening intently for footsteps, or other signs of danger. It was hard with the hammering of his own heartbeat in his eardrums.