Chase The Rabbit: Gretch Bayonne Action Adventure Series Book #1 (25 page)

              “Hoboken,” I replied. “Take me back home, please.”

              Howard turned the ship around and before I could blink twice, we were dropping faster than hobos in an alley in July. They led me out of the cockpit to yet another room.  There was a large cylindrically shaped, black thing. It looked like a giant tube, about four feet wide. A door opened on it.

              “Get inside,” the old man said. “It will take you safely to the ground.”

              “Safely to the ground where?” I asked.

              “On the street,” Hearst answered, “just outside of your flat. Oh, and Bay?”

              “Yes?” I asked.

              The old man handed me a small piece of paper with a telephone number written on it. 

              “If you ever need a ride again,” he said, “call this number.”

              I walked in as the door slammed shut, and I felt as if I were falling.

              “Oh shit!” I screamed. “AHHHHHHHHHH!”

              In seconds, the falling sensation stopped and the door of the giant tube opened up. I stepped out, and looked up.  It was dark outside. The tube shot straight up into the air at lightning speed, and was gone.

I turned around and there it was. I was in front of my old apartment building in Hoboken, just like the old man said I would be. It seemed like I’d been gone for years. But as far as I could figure, it had only been 21 days. 

              I opened the door and flipped the hallway light on. I don’t know how many letters were lying on the floor just inside the doorway. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more. I stepped over them and went into the living room.

Everything was just as I’d left it. 

              My God, I thought, as I lay on the sofa. What the hell just happened to me?

              That was the last thing I remembered. It felt good to be home. I must have fallen asleep immediately, and this time, there were no dreams. Just good, content, and much needed sleep.

                                                                      ***

              I woke up the next morning and walked to the nearest pay phone. 

              “Hamilton & Shelberg,” the female voice answered.

              “My name is Gretch Bayonne,” I said.

             
“One moment, please,” the girl responded, cutting me off.             

              “This is Mr. Hamilton. Is this Bay?”

              “Yes,” I answered. “I understand Patricia wants to see me.”

              “That is correct, Mr. Bay,” he answered, “at Truser’s again. 7:30 tonight.”

“I will be there,” I said.

              “Good,” he replied. “But Mr. Bay, I have to warn you about something.”

              “Okay,” I said.

              “Just listen to her,” Hamilton said. “You don’t have to say anything. Don’t ask her any questions. Just listen.”

              “I would think she would be the one asking me questions,” I said. “She hired me to find her missing husband.”

              “You will get all of your answers tonight,” he said.

                                                                      ***

              My heart raced as I sprinted back to my apartment. The thought of meeting Patricia again was overwhelming. I had no idea what I was going to tell her. I couldn’t tell her the truth, but I couldn’t lie either. 

                                                                      ***

              I arrived at Truser’s an hour early, and waited. 

              Thoughts of the Graf and Hollywood ran through my head. Jean Harlow. Howard Hughes. Marion Davies. They all came rushing back into my mind. I loved these people. And I wanted to get this over with and go back there. 

              The double-edged sword of falling in love with this woman Patricia and having to tell her that her husband was dead was finally thrust upon me. My mission was almost complete. And as I knew from the beginning, it was not going to be pleasant.

“Your party is here,” a waiter said, “please come this way.”

              My heart dropped twenty feet as I followed him to a table.

              This is it, I thought.

              And there she was. The beautiful Patricia. I fell in love with her all over again the instant I set eyes on her. She smiled an angel’s smile as she stood to greet me. 

I took her hand in mine as she kissed me warmly on the cheek. 

              “Please sit down, Mr. Bay,” she said. 

              A young girl was also seated at the table. I recognized her from our first meeting. It was Rose.

              “I am sure you are curious as to why I have asked you here and all the secrecy involved” she said.

              “No,” I said. “I understand. A lot has happened in the last few weeks.”

              “This is my daughter, Rose,” she said. 

              “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rose,” I replied.

              The young girl shot me a knowing glance and continued to look down at her menu. I decided right then and there that I was going to lie my ass off. There was no way in hell I was going to tell Patricia anything about her husband, the monster, with Rose sitting right there.

              Suddenly, the girl looked up from her menu and announced “Mother, get on with it then. Ask him!”

              My heart dropped another twenty feet.

“My husband is missing” Patricia said, “and I want you to find him for me. He went missing almost a year ago and I believe he is in Hollywood, California.” 

              I looked at Rose, confused. She blinked her eyes at me but otherwise did not change her facial expressions.

              “I know, Patricia,” I said. “I went to Hollywood to find him three weeks ago.”

              “You did?” she asked. 

              “Yes,” I said. “You gave me a photograph of him.  Don’t you remember?”

              Patricia stared off into the distance for a moment. The young Rose looked at me and shook her head, no.

              The wall of reality suddenly dropped down on top of me like the Graf. This was the illness Hearst was talking about. The woman I’d fallen in love with suffered from amnesia in the first degree. She thought we were meeting for the first time. That is what Hamilton meant when he told me to just listen to her.

              “I have a photograph of him,” Patricia said.

              “Yes,” I said taking the photograph. “But I will need a lot more information.” I was acting again. But this time, it hurt.

              We finished our dinner and conversation much in the same way as we had the first time I’d met her. I finally had all of my answers. And despite the insanity, I was still in love with her.

              As we stepped outside of the restaurant to part ways once again, Patricia smiled at me and gave me a big hug.

“I know I can count on you, Bay,” she whispered in my ear. 

For the first time since my parent’s died, I shed a tear. I let go of her and started walking away. As I was hailing a cab, suddenly Rose appeared.

              “Where is your Mother?” I asked.

              “She is waiting for me back at our car,” Rose said.

              “And why aren’t you with her?” I asked.

              “I wanted to thank you for helping Mother,” she said.

              “I’m not sure how much help I’ve been,” I replied.

              “I can’t even tell her the truth.”

              “You’ve been an immense help to her already,” the young girl replied. “If she asks you anything, just tell her stories.”

              “Stories?” I asked. “What kind of stories?”

              Rose started back towards her Mother’s car. As she ran off, she turned and yelled, “You know, Mr. Bay! Stories!  Like you write!”

              “What do you mean?” I shouted back. “She doesn’t want to hear stories!”

              “Just tell her stories!” the young Rose said. “Stories of how you chase the rabbit!”

                                                                      ***

Mark Anthony stepped off of the fishing boat onto a dock in New Orleans. He had escaped once again.

This is the link to the second book, Rabbits Never Die

http://www.amazon.com/Rabbits-Die-The-Gretch-Bayonne-Adventure-ebook/dp/B0160N4FG0/ref=pd_sim_351_2?ie=UTF8&dpID=51w9zp-zYIL&dpSrc=sims&preST=_AC_UL160_SR116%2C160_&refRID=04PQP0543V4EQWM45QKP

About The Author by Cleve Sylcox

It was twenty years ago today, Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play…                                                                                                                                            It hasn’t been that long since I met Steven M. Thomas. Maybe longer since I actually first saw him in the principal’s office at St. Charles High School. I was there because I smarted off to a teacher or got caught smoking or hit a bullying senior in the face. He was there making copies for the school newspaper and getting his picture taken for the yearbook. Two guys couldn’t be any more opposite. We didn’t say anything but may have given each other a nod, but nothing more.                                                                                                                                            I dropped out, joined the Army and never saw him again.                                                                                                                                            Years later I was on my second cup of marriage and cruising through Facebook when I saw a black and white picture of a skinny kid standing next to a copying machine. His shaggy light hair and thin face looked familiar but yet foreign somehow. Over the next few weeks we chatted and soon the topic of writing came up. I told him about my books but I was far more interested in his writing.                                                       
I Was a Drummer She Was a Dancer
, Steven’s autobiography, had just come out. It was a detailed account of his love and life. I read it and was deeply moved. I knew then that he carried within him the emotion and deep gifts of storytelling that one day would make him one of the most well-known authors of our time. His sense of humor and quick wit made me laugh out loud. His poetry drew my heart and mind to union of spirit and soul. I turned the last page and closed the book, realizing I had just finished a masterpiece.                                                                                                                                            “A star is born,” I told my wife.                                                                      Over the next few months we chatted on Facebook and I was humbled when he asked me to be his mentor. I was shocked actually that someone of his unique talent wanted me to be his guide. I knew nothing of writing in general. I had written several books but was still learning myself. I took on the task with a conviction that I would pass along whatever I learned. Turns out he knew way more than I ever would.                                                                                                                                                          We shared ideas and I assigned him a short story. I asked him to write about picking up a mysterious lady in a bar or something to that effect. He began writing,
Chasing the Rabbit
that later was renamed,
Chase the Rabbit
. It was awesome from the get go. The story was in its infancy and eventually involved into a Humphrey Bogart type character who drove a Packard into the Hudson River to Hoboken. I told him then that it was a great story and I couldn’t wait to read the rest of it.                                                                                                                              A year later, after researching and developing the idea further (with the help of the incomparable George Wier, Nick Russell, and a cast of many other awesome writers) the first book was finished and he gave me the honor of reading the freshly edited manuscript.                                                                                                                I was glued to each page. It was a quick run off a short pier and I wanted more. I was pleased to hear he wrote two more books –
Rabbits Never Die
, and
The Hollywood Murders
. And I’m sure there are more to come.                                                                      I’m excited for him, but sad to see him go. Yeah, I remember that kid in the principal’s office by the copier getting his photo taken for the school paper; the guy who was completely opposite of me. Now I think of him as a brother. A close friend who has graduated from Mentoring School to become a writer who stands on his own merits.                            Steven will be someone’s mentor someday and I for one will envy that student. He will have an excellent advisor that will teach him/her how to grab the rabbit by the throat and shake it for all it’s worth.