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Gripping the topmost bale, Ralph stretched out and leaned back away from the stack. He felt it shift and threw himself forward. Like a felled tree, the bales leaned, toppling in slow motion. As gravity took hold, they accelerated. Ralph clung to his bale as it slipped forward and disconnected from the ones above and below.
His stomach lurched as he found himself in freefall. The breath he'd been holding burst from his lungs as the bale he was riding hit the ground, bounced and fell forward.
He tumbled away, startled to discover he seemed remarkably free of broken bones. On his third revolution he managed to turn the tumble into a forward roll and came up in a crouch. He sat on his heels, rocking with the momentum as he scanned the open space for Yan.
When he spotted the black-clad legs sprawling out from under a roll of plastic wrap, Ralph allowed himself a grin of triumph. But he didn't stop to relish the thought of the headache he'd just inflicted on Yan. There were still two more gunmen to worry about.
Ralph edged sideways and ducked between two stacks, choosing a path roughly parallel to Bill's. Since that first shot, it had been deathly quiet in the loading dock. Well, he amended, apart from the sound of half a dozen rolls of industrial cling wrap hitting the ground.
He was nearing the end of the row and wondering if he should double back when a shot rang out near the front of the bay. Another cracked the night air a little distance away. Ralph heard a hiss and a clatter then the scuffling of feet on the concrete floor. Then a low voice sounded clearly in the sudden stillness.
"I have the agent Maxwell," it said, the words slightly accented.
"Lucky shot," he heard Bill growl. "I really hate it when a dumb, punk Red like you gets a lucky shot."
"Shut up, Maxwell," said a third voice, this one higher and touched with a strong New York accent. "Where's the other one?"
"What other one?" Bill said. "You seein' things, Joey? That's a bad sign in a guy who's already two tacos short of a combination plate."
"Gimme a break, Maxwell," Joey answered. "You're good, but you can't be in two places at the same time. Where's your partner?"
"I'm the only agent on the scene, Joey boy," Bill said. "So far anyway. Any minute there's gonna be so many Feds down this alley it's gonna look like the Rose Bowl Parade took a wrong turn."
"Nice try, Maxwell," Joey said. "I know about you. You wouldn't call for backup if King Kong was using you for a toothpick. I'm just glad it's me that gets to teach you what a mistake it is playing cowboy in the big, bad city."
"Yan!" Joey barked out without giving Bill a chance to answer. "You got the partner?"
There was a ringing silence from the loading dock.
"What's going on, Joey?"
Ralph grimaced as he recognized the low, sweet voice of Mitzi Gold.
"Quiet, doll," Joey said. "We're working here."
"Well, if it ain't Tracey Haddaway," Bill said. "Marco's gonna be real disappointed, sweetheart. You told him you'd wait. 'Course thirty to life is a long time."
"Maxwell, are you gonna shut up or am I gonna have to drop you right now?" Joey said.
"Didn't you get that Ralph guy, yet?" Tracey said. "I thought you could maybe use him as a hostage or something."
"I know what you wanted to use him for, baby," Joey said. "Get back in the car and maybe I won't take it personal. Go find the partner, Vlad. Toss Maxwell down here first."
Ralph heard a rustle and a thud then Bill's voice rang out from farther away.
"Forget the kid, Joey," he said. "He's a civilian. He's no threat to your operation."
"Tell that to Yan," Joey said. "Go get him, Vlad."
Ralph was moving before he heard the first soft footfall from the front of the bay. He slipped through the narrow gap between two stacks of papers and took an inventory of his options. It didn't take long.
He felt the pockets of his tuxedo jacket and pants, hoping for the solid feel of a blackjack he'd forgotten he owned. Predictably, there was no evidence of a weapon. But as his hands slid across the waist of his now creased and dusty trousers, he felt the contours of his cummerbund. An idea began to form.
Ralph reached back and unhooked the pleated red satin and tugged it taut between his hands. It felt solid enough. He began to scan for a good location and spotted a corner where the row of stacked papers ended. Next to it was a support pole.
He slipped around the corner of the row, positioning himself between the papers and the pole.
He didn't have long to wait. Within seconds he heard a soft footfall down the row from the direction he'd come. Ralph tightened his grip on the two ends of the sash.
When the dark head appeared just inches away, Ralph launched himself forward, hooking the cummerbund over the startled assassin's head and giving a sharp tug.
Rostokrovinitz's forehead slammed into the pole with a ringing thump. As Ralph released his grip, the Russian slid to the floor and toppled over onto his face.
Ralph dropped the cummerbund, scooped up the assassin's gun, and tucked it in his pocket.
Joey's voice echoed through the dark bay.
"Vlad," he called. "You got him?"
In the silence that followed, Ralph looked around. He was close to the desk again. There was one more weapon he could think to use against Joey Cupid before he had to resort to the Russian's gun. He started forward.
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Maxwell watched as Joey Cupid craned his neck to stare up into the shadowy loading dock.
"Rostokrovinitz!" Joey shouted. "Answer up, Vlad!"
"I think Vlad's out of the picture," Bill Maxwell said, fighting to cover his grin as he watched Joey's dark eyes scanning for movement. "You're running out of gang, Joey boy."
Joey the Cupid glared.
"Civilian, huh?" he snarled. "Some civilian, taking out the top Russian enforcer on the West Coast."
"I'm as surprised as you are, Joe," Maxwell said.
He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and went on, "Maybe you'd better get out of here before he gets really mad."
Joey snorted.
"You wish, Maxwell," he said. "When I pull outta here, there's gonna be two less Feds in the world."
Joey straightened his shoulders in his dark blue Italian cut suit. Then he waved his gun toward the sedan.
"Over against the car, Maxwell," he said. "I shoulda done this in the first place. It never fails with you cowboy types."
Maxwell reluctantly stepped toward the car. He had a pretty definite suspicion about what Joey had in mind and a rock solid suspicion that it would work. He only hoped Ralph would remember what he said about taking care of the Counselor and wouldn't take the bait.
He flexed his gun hand. Rostokrovinitz's shot had only grazed the skin. It stung, but not enough to prevent him from taking a swing at Joey if he got the chance.
Unfortunately, Joey was at least smart enough to avoid giving him that kind of opening. He herded Maxwell toward the rear of the car, keeping a good six feet back at all times.
"Tracey," Joey barked. "Get out here."
The door to the back seat opened and Tracey slipped out, her baby blue taffeta gown falling in delicate waves around her legs as she stood.
"You told me to wait in the car, Joey," she said, her perfectly curved lips shaping a sulky frown.
"Now I'm telling you to get out," Joey said. "Cover Maxwell for a minute."
He held his revolver out toward the willowy blonde. She looked at him uncertainly.
"I don't know, Joey," she said. "I'm not-"
"Just do it, doll," Joey said, pressing the gun into her limp hand.
She closed her fingers automatically, her manicured nails struggling with the grip for a moment before she raised the gun and leveled it.
To Maxwell's dismay, she instantly shifted into a practiced shooter's stance. Once again, he thought, women's lib had a lot to answer for.
Tracey didn't shift her eyes from Maxwell's midsection as Joey stepped back toward the van.
"What do you want me to do if he moves, Joey," she called after him. "Drop him or just wing him?"
"Just wing him, doll," Joey called over the sound of the van's passenger side door opening. "I need him for a few more minutes."
"Mr. Maxwell, I was wondering," Tracey said, giving him a brilliant smile as she tossed her head to shift the wavy blond hair away from her face. "Your friend, Ralph. Are he and that lady lawyer-"
Joey slammed a heavy black case down on the roof of the car and snapped open the two brass catches that held it shut.
"Enough already, Tracey," he said as he yanked a black glove out of the case and slipped it onto his right hand.. "You been talking about that Ralph character ever since I got those pictures back. Your little beach boy is gonna be so much fish food in a minute, so just forget about it."
Tracey rolled her eyes.
"Don't be so jealous, Joey," she said. "I was just curious, that's all."
"Be curious about how I'm gonna make him sorry he ever got to be Maxwell's partner," Joey said as he jerked something out the case.
It was the biggest, heaviest composite bow Maxwell had ever seen. Not that he'd seen many. It wasn't a common weapon of choice in LA, Detroit, or any of the other cities he'd carried a badge. But it looked nasty enough to make the toughest gun-toting mobster think twice about stepping in front of it.
Joey rested the bow against his shoulder and pulled a long black cylinder from the case. The dim light from the streetlights high overhead glinted off a titanium-silver tipped arrowhead. He glanced around the space in front of the loading dock. His gaze stopped on a stack of papers leaning against the ramp Maxwell had taken the Beetle up only a few minutes before.
"Perfect," Joey said, with a nod. "That way I won't have to worry about blunting my points. Over against the newspapers, Maxwell."
Tracey made a sharp gesture with the gun and Maxwell stepped slowly around the car.
"It's not gonna work, Joey," he said raising his voice so it carried up into the dark bay. "The kids a professional. He knows better."
"I thought you said he was a civilian," Joey commented idly as he slotted the arrow into place and hefted the bow. "Either way, I'm betting he's not gonna be able to resist doing the cowboy thing."
Maxwell reached the stack of papers and shot a look up into the loading dock. Nothing moved.
"Right there, Maxwell," Joey said, giving a few experimental tugs on the bowstring. "Now be a good target and stand still. I'm only gonna hurt you at first, so you'd be better off if you try not to start thrashing around right away."
Joey grinned as Maxwell scowled and turned to stand with his back to the newspapers.
"All right, Ralph," Joey shouted, giving the name a belligerent spin. "I got your partner here. You got ten seconds to toss your gun out and hop down after it or Maxwell's gonna be ready for a new career as a colander."
Joey cocked his head to sight along the arrow and pulled the string back toward his ear. It made a creaking sound as the taut fibers stretched.
"Nine!" he shouted. "Eight! Sev-"
A heavy black pistol thudded down on the asphalt near Joey's feet. The gangster grinned.
"What'd I tell you?" he said, "You cowboys are so predict-"
There was a sharp "thunk" as something small, round, and glittery rebounded off Joey's head. He blinked once before his eyes rolled up and he fell toward the ground.
As his hand relaxed, the bowstring slipped from his fingers. The arrow shot out with a low "tsing." Maxwell dropped to the side and felt the rush of air as it thudded into the papers by his left ear. He stared at the vibrating shaft for a long moment before he turned to Tracey.
She still had the gun, but it was pointed harmlessly at the ground as she stared at Joey lying face down on the street.
"I'd quit while I was ahead and drop the piece, honey," Maxwell said moving toward her. "I think we can still go with a lesser charge like 'accessory'."
He glanced at the round handbag rolling to a stop under the front bumper of the sedan.
"It's a day for accessories," he said, grinning.
"Hold it, Maxwell," Tracey said, her green eyes hardening as she brought the gun up. "I'm not going to jail. Not for Joey, the dope, Cupid. Get away from the car."
Maxwell heard Ralph's feet thump down on the asphalt behind him. Tracey's gaze shifted.
"Sorry we didn't get to know each other better, Ralph," she said, stepping around the car to the driver's door. "I think we could've had some fun."
Maxwell heard Ralph move up beside him. They watched as Tracey pulled the door of the sedan open and slipped into the driver's seat. She put the gun on the dashboard and reached for the ignition.
As the door slammed shut, there was faint "bing!" from deep in the loading dock. Tracey revved the engine and Maxwell heard the rattle of the freight elevator's doors.
Tracey looked over her shoulder and backed the car to the end of the loading dock ramp, turning the wheel to negotiate a three-point turn. The rear wheels of the car bumped up over the end of the ramp and a second engine revved. There was a squeal of tires and a white blur shot down the ramp and slammed into the driver's side of the sedan sending it skidding sideways across the street.
Maxwell stared from the sedan, where Tracey was leaning over the steering wheel and clutching her head, to the white Beetle, where Pam was climbing out of the driver's seat with an apologetic grimace, to Ralph, who was standing beside him staring open-mouthed at Pam.
"I didn't mean to do that," Pam said as she stepped around the car. "I was watching from upstairs. All I could see was a little of the car, but I saw Mitzi get in and I thought you'd want to chase her and- Oh, my poor car!"
She was looking down at the crumpled rear of the Beetle. She looked up at Maxwell with an accusing stare.
"I hope you're satisfied," she said, glaring at him. "Next time you decide to get Ralph kidnapped, feed the parking meter."
She glanced over at Ralph.
"Are you okay?" she said. "Did he at least get the gangsters?"
He and Ralph exchanged glances. Maxwell looked at Pam.
"Lady, your boy Ralph Bond here did it all single-handed," he said. "I'm thinkin' we may want to trade the super suit in for a tux."
Pam's eyes widened and she looked at Ralph. He shrugged.
"We may be stuck with this one," he said, looking down at his bedraggled and dusty formal wear. "I don't think we're going to get the deposit back on it."
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Several hours and many official reports later, the battered white Beetle rattled to a stop by the curb outside Ralph's house.
Ralph climbed out and lifted the seat for Bill. The agent stepped out onto the lawn and stretched.
"I'll never get used to riding in that thing," he said, "It's like a bumper car with a tape deck."
"That bumper car was part of the team tonight," Pam said, the flame red sequins of her dress shimmering in the glow of the streetlight. "And I hope the government is paying to get it fixed."
Bill rolled his eyes as they moved toward the front door.
"Yeah, yeah, just give me the receipt," he said. "The boys in accounting are gonna love that one. Thanks for letting me borrow the wagon, Ralph. I'll bring it back tomorrow. Hey, Ralph, I've been thinking. About that pitch of yours…"
Ralph turned with his hand on the doorknob.
"What pitch?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at Bill.
"You know," Bill said, miming throwing a ball. "When you beaned Joey with the Counselor's purse. Was that a lucky toss, or…"
Ralph shrugged and pushed open the door.
"I played ball in college," he said. "Not bad if I do say so myself. Why?"
"No reason, no reason," Bill said slowly as he stepped aside to let Pam through the door. "I was just thinking, scenario-wise, we might could use that."
"I can't imagine how," Ralph said, lifting the keys to the station wagon down from the peg by the door. "Here's the keys. Try not to wreck it before tomorrow morning."
Bill took the keys absently and leaned back against the doorframe.
"Yeah," he said, gazing into space. "I've got a scenario cooking already. What if-"
"Bill," Pam broke in. "Good night."
"What?" Bill looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me you're tired. Not with all that adrenaline. What with the car chase and the gangsters and-"
"I'm not tired," she said, grinning. "That's why I want you to leave."
Ralph looked from Pam's bright smile to Bill's puzzled frown and waited for the light to dawn. It took about six seconds.
"Oh," Bill said, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. "Oh, well, okay, then. You don't haveta paint me a picture."
Ralph could almost feel the heat of Bill's blush as he fumbled with the handle and pulled the door open.
"I mean, I guess we can talk about it tomorrow," he said, backing through the door.
"Although," he said, hesitating on the threshold. "There's just one more thing-"
"Say goodnight, Bill," Pam said.
Bill blinked at her broad grin.
"Good night, Bill," he said, and pulled the door shut behind him.
"Honey," Ralph said, slotting home the latch and turning toward her. "I'm really sorry about the dinner."
She shrugged as she moved toward the bedroom. "It's all right," she said. "You're going to have a chance to make it up to me."
She reached up with one elegantly tapered hand and let down her long, lustrously dark hair.
"Right now," she said. " I think you have a date with my dress, Mr. Bond."
She slipped one slender strap off her shoulder, winked, and disappeared into the dark bedroom.
Ralph grinned as he flipped off the porch light and followed. All in all, the Golden Gavel Dinner had been a disaster. But the desert course looked much more promising.
And now he'd have a chance to finally decide, which was better – red sequins or rumpled sheets? He had a feeling he knew the answer.
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- end -
"The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For"