Disclaimer on first chapter.
==
Letters to an Almost Cowboy
==
Chapter Four
==
Madison Square
==
Mr. Jack Kelly,
We recently received a letter from Advice For Leaders Ltd. informing us that you have an incredible knack for planning. Escape plans, map plans, rescue plans, story plans, red plans, blue plans. All sorts of plans.
We are here to tell you that you are legible for a subscription to our magazine "Plans Galore." Please reply by calling 1-800-PLAN456 (that is, if you have phone. Do you even know what a phone is?)
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
1-800-PLAN456
Kelly,
Okay, so everyone donated their money yesterday. Will they today?
You've already sold all your morning newspapers, and you decide to forego breakfast to save that dollar. Will everyone else?
What if all this is for nothing? What if Racetrack is already dead and all this saved money goes to waste? What if Spot can't bring up the money? What if your plan doesn't work? What if—
Cowboy,
Relax. Take a deep breath. Pay no attention to the Worry Warts. Everything will be fine. Spot will come through with the money, after you tell him, of course. Everyone gave you a dollar last night, and they will tonight, too. You'll get enough money, Racetrack will be safe, everything will turn out beautifully.
Relax.
Yours,
The Sit Down and Breathe Deeply Society
Jack,
DING! DING! DING! It's twelve o'clock! Noon! You're late, Jack! You're late! Run, run, run!!
Promptly,
Alarmed and Tardy
Mr. Jack Kelly,
Quick, think of anything you can to apologize to Spot for being late.
"You're late, Cowboy," he says. He's smoking again, and he drapes his figure over the rail of the bridge. He and the steel bars are about the same in thickness.
"Sorry, Spot," you say, a little breathless because you had to run to the Bridge. Now talk to him about Racetrack. Don't stall, it makes you look weak. You open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it.
"I read that letter, you know; I know you want my help." He is calm and collected, like you should be.
"Yeah," you agree. "We need a little more money."
"I can get you ten dollars," he replies swiftly. "No more. That's all I've got."
"That's all you've got?" Great, Kelly, now you sound like a parrot. Squawk! Squawk! That's all you've got! Squawk! Get a hold of yourself. Tell him that ten dollars is enough. Ask him why he can't conjure up more money.
"I don't want to involve my boys, Kelly," he huffs. "This is personal." He inhales some smoke. It is like he can read your mind.
"Ten bucks is enough," you say, to satisfy him. Jack, when are you going to grow a backbone? You should have demanded another five dollars. Where are you going to get that money?
—Advice For Leaders Ltd.
Cowboy,
Astounding! Awe-inspiring! You will be a great President one day, Mr. Kelly. After receiving the money Spot promised you, a trip to the little box under your bed proved that you are very self-sacrificing. You are donating five more dollars to the 'Give Race a Change' Foundation! We are so proud of you! To reward your act of leadership generosity, we are saving a space for you at your next formal dinner.
Sincerely,
The Society of Future Leaders
Jack,
DING! DING! DING! It's 6:30 p.m! Time for dinner! Time for a game of cards! Hurry, hurry, hurry!!!
The Clock is Ticking,
Alarmed and Tardy
Kelly,
It's amazing! It's wonderful! It's fate! Everyone has given you the proper amount of money! You now have seventy-five dollars! You plan worked! You are a genius! Brilliant! Extraordinary!!!
Cheers,
The Pepper-Uppers Alliance
Cowboy,
Shady place, isn't it? You walk into the Tiger's Eye Pub. It is 11:57 p.m. Immediately the stench of cheap alcohol and days old cigarette smoke fills you. The fellow at the bar glares and growls at you as you pass. Just ignore him, Kelly. Get the back room. Give them the money. Save Racetrack. That's all you have to do.
—Advice for Leaders Ltd.
Kelly,
We should be calling you SuperCowboy! The way you swooped into the room, intent on saving your friend, astounded us. Whoosh! Smack! Yee-Haw!
"I've got your money," you said to the thugs, reveling in how they flinched at your words. "Now let go of Racetrack."
And then they tried to persuade you to give the money to them first, that they had Racetrack outside, and they would bring him in as soon as they got the money. But you were too smart. You demanded that they gave Racetrack back first.
Grudgingly they had nodded to each other, and the smallest one swaggered out the back door. He came a few seconds later with Racetrack, a little battered, but otherwise alive. He smiled at you slightly when he limped in; his lip was cut so he couldn't grin any larger.
"I knew you'd come through," he said, his voice scratchy.
"Of course, Racetrack."
Score one for you, SuperCowboy. You are welcome to join our ranks anytime.
Heroically,
Superheroes of New York, Inc.
Dear Jack,
You've saved Racetrack! Congratulations! I'm glad he's okay. I'm glad that you're okay. I hope nothing like this ever happens again. I hate it when you're worried.
You are going to Tibby's tomorrow at noon, right?
Love,
Stranger Whom You Will Possibly Meet Tomorrow.
==
End Chapter 4
[A/N]:
Thank you to LeftyHiggins and Ccatt for reviewing! Sorry it took so long for me to write, but I was having a major writing block with this story. But now that writing block has transferred to See Spot Run. Argh.
Read and Review please!!!!!!