The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One Page 8

  Important Realization Number One: The cat was gone.

  Important Realization Number Two: I was lost.

  14

  LOST AND FOUND

  I’D BEEN RUNNING FOR what felt like forever before I finally stopped to rest. Tunnel after tunnel, room to room, choosing my path with less thought then I would chose my socks. Of course, if you don’t know me that well then you wouldn’t know that I don’t put a lot of thought into choosing socks. Probably because all of them are the same color and brand.

  Anyway, I can tell you that I felt like a real idiot. There I was, underground, lost, and I was running all over the place like some dern fool. There could be all manner of creatures lurking about down here and I wouldn’t know it until it was too late.

  I looked up and down the tunnel I rested in. I could go back, but the moment I reached a crossroads I would have to guess. I could go forward. Either choice could get me closer to getting out, or take me in deeper. I wanted to cry.

  Instead, I sat and switched off the headlamp. There, in the dark, I calmed my breathing and listened.

  You could call it meditating I suppose. I mean, I wouldn’t, but I suppose others would.

  But what I did was to focus outward, listening. I was hoping to hear something, anything out there in the darkness. Any sound that might help guide me out.

  It wasn’t easy. My own heartbeat for example, sounded like one of them giant Japanese drums. And my breathing was like a hurricane. Heck, I could even hear the blood flowing through my veins. It’s amazing what you can hear when there is nothing else out there. No television, no cars passing by, no birds chirping or insects buzzing, no wind, nothing. When the only thing you have to hear is what’s happening inside your own body, it’s like someone plugged you into a state of the art PA system.

  Me, I had to try and tune it all out.

  Like I said, it wasn’t easy. But when you have no choice and you’re desperate, you can accomplish quite a lot.

  My stomach growled and I cursed. I hadn’t eaten since the sausage biscuit I’d had on the way to Clem’s. I checked my watch. That had been nearly three hours ago. I’d been running around down here like some kind of insane marathon runner for longer than I thought.

  I checked my bag and found a candy bar, one of those they had packed with peanuts. I tore into it, tossed the wrapper aside, and washed it down with a small bottle of warm water I’d also brought along.

  Then I went back to it.

  I pictured myself reaching out with my ears. Sounds stupid, but it helps in situations such as these.

  I heard nothing.

  I waited.

  The silence pressed down on me. The darkness absolute. It was suffocating. But I ignored it. I had too. The candy bar was all I had. If I couldn’t find my way out, if I was trapped down here for a while then I might starve to death.

  Honestly, I wasn’t even sure that I could starve to death, but I sure as hell wasn’t willing to find out if.

  I was all there was. The only sounds where those made by me. The beating of my heart. My own breath. I tried to tune them out.

  But, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see a faint glow to my right, off in the far distance. It wasn’t much, more like a memory, a remembrance of light. But it was something. A way to go. A place to start. Not back, but forward. It wasn’t green, so it wasn’t a glow stick. But could it be another room?

  I stood and moved toward it. Despite the fear that slithered up and down my spine, I left the headlamp off. But I clutched at the rifle like a life raft.

  I moved slowly, but with purpose. Pausing now and again to listen, thinking I’d heard something behind me only to realize it was the sound of my own feet scraping across the floor. Then, as I drew toward the light, as it was still nothing more than a whisper of a glow, I heard something up ahead. It was almost imperceptible and I couldn’t identify the source, but you combine it with the indistinct light, then there was certainly something up ahead.

  I crept closer.

  Eventually, as the light grew brighter, I could make the sound out as voices. Maybe more than five, all speaking in unison. Chanting. I couldn’t make out any words though, I still had a ways to go.

  I checked the rifle, it was cocked and loaded. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I wanted to make sure I was ready in case there would be shooting involved.

  I moved slowly, giving my eyes time to adjust to the light as it grew brighter. Soon I could make out enough of the chanting to realize that it was in a language I didn’t recognize. Which just meant it wasn’t in English. I may be over a hundred years old, but that doesn’t mean I’ve had time to learn a second language.

  The light was straight ahead of me now, and I could see figures from within, though they were nothing more than blobs. They were still a ways off, so they looked like toys at this distance, but I could make out thirteen of them. Twelve were all in a group facing one standing alone.

  Before I could get any closer, however, I tripped over something that hissed and screeched beneath me. I fell, hard, the cold stone floor rising up to meet me like inevitability.

  I didn’t move from where I struck, sprawled face down across the tunnel. I was still quite a distance away from the group of chanters, but sound carries far down here. But the chanting continued, and the blobular group ahead of me in the light didn’t move.

  I breathed a little easier. But then something rough and wet touched my hand and I nearly screamed.

  I was the cat. Biscuit.

  The dern cat that got me lost down here in the first place. I have to admit that I thought about smacking it in the head with my rifle. But then it started to purr and rub its head against my hand and well, I couldn’t very well brain it at that point, could I.

  Then Biscuit did something a bit odd. It walked away from me, down the tunnel from where I’d come. Just a few steps, then it stopped and looked back at me.

  I arched a brow.

  Then Biscuit did it again. It walked a few more steps, then turned to look at me.

  I sat up.

  Did it want me to follow it? That’s not normal cat behavior, is it? A dog, sure, but a cat?

  Biscuit loped back to me, and once again, purring, it rubbed its head against my hand. Then, still purring, it walked away a few steps and then turned to look at me.

  What did I have to lose?

  I stood and the cat moved off into the dark with me not far behind.

  15

  GETTER DUNN

  THERE HAD BEEN A time when Jack Dunn had been considered an important man.

  A made man.

  Getter Dunn. That’s what they used to call him because he could get stuff done. Back then he was one of Abner Lemonzeo’s most trusted men. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done for the Boss, and there wasn’t much he hadn’t done. He was a known man back then. Trusted by the man who employed him, and feared by everyone else.

  All of that had changed the day that Mr. Lemonzeo had gone to jail.

  After that, Jack had fallen, and fallen hard.

  Rolf Klein had stepped in to fill the void that Mr. Lemonzeo had left behind. Once that had happened Jack might as well have not existed. Klein and Lemonzeo were bitter enemies. There was no way that one of the Boss’s most trusted would find a place in Klein’s family.

  Yet, Klein had offered Jack a job. Jack, of course, had refused. He’d rather live under a bridge, penniless and alone, then work for Rolf Klein. The man was an animal. He had no loyalty. No honor.

  It was two years before anyone would hire him, and even then it was for small jobs like collections or shakedowns.. He wasn’t happy about it, but he took what he could get. Besides, it sure beat flipping burgers.

  His current job involved Jack sitting behind the wheel of a sedan, engine running, as the three men who’d hired him knocked over a bank on the south side of Leavenworth. They had met up in an old barn just outside of town. From the barn it had taken them eight minutes to get to
the bank, it was going to take another six minutes inside the bank, then eight minutes again back to the barn. From there they would split the loot and then separate, each driving away in a different direction.

  All in all it was less than an thirty minutes out of his life for a score of maybe twenty-five grand. Not too shabby for driving a car.

  Jack took the job, of course. Twenty-five grand may not have been much six years ago, but now he needed every penny that came his way.

  The three other members of the team, a word Jack would use in the loosest possible sense, had been in the bank for less than a minute when his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen. The number was blocked, which was common in his line of work. Potential employers didn’t like having anything traced back to them.

  “Yeah,” Jack answered.

  “Jack Dunn?”

  “Yeah,” Jack replied. “Who’s this?”

  “You don’t remember me Jack? I’m hurt.”

  “Mr. Lemonzeo?” Jack nearly dropped the phone. “You’re out? I’m sorry, sir. Had I known I would have come to see you straight away. Please, accept my apologies, sir.”

  “No apologies necessary, Jack. Had I wanted it known that I was out, you would have known. Think nothing of it. You busy?”

  Jack glanced up at the bank.

  “No, sir,” he said.

  “I got a job for you Jack,” Mr. Lemonzeo said. “You up for it?”

  “Of course, Mr. Lemonzeo. Of course. When do you need me?”

  “There’s a police van leaving Eudora in two minutes. They’re transporting an associate of mine to Leavenworth. I’d like you to intercept the van. Can you do that? I know it’s pretty short notice.”

  Jack glanced once more at the bank before shifting the car into gear and driving away.

  “What route are they taking?” Jack asked.

  “Tonganoxie Road.”

  “That’s good. Not a lot out there once they’re north of Tonganoxie. That’s where I’ll hit them.”

  “So you can do it, then?”

  “I’m on my way now, Mr. Lemonzeo.”

  “I know I could count on you, Jack.”

  Ten minutes later Jack was racing south on Tonganoxie Road. Five minutes after that he turned left onto Seymour road and then turned around, pulled to a stop on the shoulder of Seymour, and waited, facing Tonganoxie Road.

  He didn’t have to wait long before the police van passed by. Jack followed.

  Now all he had to do was get the van to stop. Jack turned a couple of ideas over in his head. He could come up from behind and ram the van, maybe try to push it off the road. Or he could speed past and then block the road ahead. He didn’t like either idea. Both involved the possibility that Lemonzeo’s associate could get hurt.

  It was then, as Jack had decided it would be safest to block the road ahead of the van, that the two doors in the back of the van burst open. Jack nearly wrecked the car as he jumped in surprise at what now stood in the back of the van, looking out onto the road below.

  The Walrus.

  Jack had heard of the Walrus before, but never gave much stock to to the guy’s reputation. He just figured him for one of those body builder types. But there he was, in the flesh, and wearing a set of orange prison coveralls. Jack slowed the car when he realized that the Walrus was going to jump. Surely whoever was driving the van must’ve noticed that the rear doors were open.

  Yet the van never slowed.

  Jack hit the brakes as the Walrus jumped onto the road, rolling into a ball once he’d hit the pavement.

  The Walrus rolled right off the highway and into the ditch. Jack stopped on the shoulder where the Walrus had left the highway. He got out the car, gun in hand. Never hurt to be safe.

  He could see the walrus laying there in the ditch below him, unmoving.

  “You okay?” Jack called out. He should probably go down there, but couldn’t quite get himself to move.

  The Walrus groaned.

  “My name’s Jack Dunn. Mr. Lemonzeo sent me for you. To help you. If you’re alright we need to get moving. Whoever they got driving that van might be an idiot, but they’re gonna notice that you’re gone sooner or later.”

  “You’re one of Lemonzeo’s men, huh,” the Walrus said and then sat up.

  “I am.”

  “I’ve heard of Jack Dunn.” The Walrus stood and brushed himself off. The coveralls were torn and ripped, but he looked no worse for wear. “Getter Dunn, right?”

  “That’s what they used to call me, yeah,” Jack said.

  “You gonna shoot me, Getter Dunn?”

  Jack realized he was still holding the gun.

  “No,” Jack said and then put the gun away. “Come on, I can get you out of here.”

  It was a good thing Jack had been driving the sedan. Anything smaller and the Walrus may not have fit. But the sedan was a boat with plenty of leg room. It wasn’t perfect, but the Walrus looked comfortable.

  “Where we going?” Jack asked once he was back behind the wheel. “Mr. Lemonzeo said to free you, nothing beyond that.”

  “Take me back to Eudora,” the Walrus said. “I have something that needs finishing.”

  Jack turned the car around and in moments they were heading south. He didn’t know what Mr. Lemonzeo wanted with the Walrus, but he knew by reputation that there was only one reason to hire him. Whatever job needed finishing in Eudora, Jack could only assume that it would end with someone’s death.

  16

  FROM THE PAN TO THE FIRE

  I FEEL THAT IT needs to be said that I don’t like cats. Not one bit

  They’re weird and creepy and don’t seem to be the most affectionate of creatures. I don’t cotton to an animal that ignores your presence. It’s why I ain’t too keen on cattle. But, unlike cattle, cats come off as creatures of the devil. They act as if they own you. Like the only reason they keep you around is so that you can serve them. If not for that, they would swallow your soul and move on.

  I guess what I’m trying to say is that under normal circumstances, I’m a dog man.

  Today, however, I was Team Cat all the way.

  I followed Biscuit, Clem’s only surviving cat, through the underground labyrinth, trusting that the cat was leading me out and not further into danger.

  Eventually, as the light behind us dissolved into nothingness, I switched on the headlamp to avoid stepping on the cat.

  Everything down here looked the same. Nothing was recognizable as a tunnel I may have taken before, or a room that I’d already been in. I was somewhat concerned that there was such a network underneath Eudora. If I ever got out I’d have to come back sometime after more preparation to do a more extensive investigation. Just how far did these tunnels reach? How many were there?

  I mean, it was obvious by the group I’d seen chanting at a distance that these tunnels were still being used. I would have like to have checked those fellas out at the time, but getting out was currently high on my list of priorities.

  But when I do come back down here, I’d know what I’d need. More glow sticks along with paper and pen to map everything out. Sure, I could have brought all that with me this time, but I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I’ve only ever been in one other goblin warren and that was in Texas following the Civil War. And that wasn’t as epic as this one. Five rooms total and a dozen or so tunnels, all fairly straight forward. Easy in, easy out. It had still been a bit random and chaotic, but nothing like what we had going on down here.

  It was like another world down here and I needed to know more about it. Just not now. For now I needed to get back to the surface. I needed air, I needed food, I needed water, and frankly, I wanted coffee.

  So I put all my faith in a cat.

  A few minutes later, as a dull green glow appeared ahead of us, as we got closer and confirmed it was one of my glow sticks, I found that I’d backed the right horse. Even if it was a cat.

  I left the glow stick where it was and moved on to the next one. Now th
at I had a trail to follow I picked up the pace. Soon Biscuit was dogging my heels.

  When we reached the room in which Biscuit had been held captive, we found that the body of Lolm, the troglodyte I’d had to shoot, was gone. I found that more than a little curious, but felt little in the way of urgency to find out where it had gone. The closer I got to freedom, the more suffocated I felt. The world was closing in on me, weighing me down. I needed out and all other considerations fell to the way side.

  So I pressed on.

  It wasn’t long before I reached the end. The top of the cork screw. I checked my watch. I’d been down here for nearly four hours. I ran my hands along the bottom of the hidden door and within moments it clicked and I pulled it open. Biscuit, now done with me, shot forward into the basement. The cat was up the steps and out of sight before I could close the big slab door behind me.

  “Biscuit!” That would be Clem from the kitchen above. “Where did you come from?”

  “She’s with me,” I said, as I stepped into the kitchen.

  Clem was there, Biscuit held tightly in his arms. Old Clem smile on his face that could’ve powered Wichita. Pat was with him too. She sat at the cluttered kitchen table. Though that hadn’t registered with me right away. I was too busy taking in the air. In fact, the kitchen wasn’t good enough. The walls and ceilings pressed in on at me.

  So I did the only thing I could. I ran.

  Right through the kitchen and out into the driveway where I fell to my knees and vomited.

  “Norman?”

  That was when it hit me that Pat had been back in the kitchen. She must’ve followed me outside because quickly after saying my name, she was crouched beside me, a hand on my shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  “I am now,” I said.

  “Where the hell have you been?” She stood.

  “A few hundred feet or so below our feet.”

  “What?”

  “Not now, Pat,” I said. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” It occurred to me that going back down to map the underground was going to rocket to the bottom of my priority list.