Chapter 2: A Beretta lipstick mirror
I took a ride on the Shoot-the-Chute,
The girl I sat beside was awful cute...
When they reached the vast parking area, it was almost full. Crowded with cars and trailers, with license plates from nearly half the states and Canadian provinces. During the ride over, along with describing the park's history, he had enthusiastically sung the Freddy Cannon anthem (twice). His excitement was infectious. Rekindling memories of Tara's own family holidays, with her parents and older brother.
And in a certain sense, despite delaying her get-away, she was glad to be entrusted with this assignment. Even now she hadn't quite gotten over replacing, so to speak, the highly regarded Mrs. Peel. She still envied the respect her predecessor had so effortlessly commanded during her years with Steed. Remembered by all as the cool, intrepid, emancipated woman; a role model for young females everywhere. While Tara King – on the other hand – was the cute lass with the Diana Dors figure, who could never fill the boots of The Incomparable Emma. It was a frustrating situation. But lately she'd decided to stop trying to "fix" it. Resolving instead to just be honest, and professional; look out for her fellow agents; hit her marks, and do her duty. Whatever reputation comes of that, let it come.
When they got out of their car, instead of heading towards the gate, Johnny led her to the far edge of the lot. To the split-wood railing that separated it from the Palisades cliffs, overlooking the Hudson River and its Atlantic estuary. "I wanted you to see this now, in the daytime, how New York looks. When we see it again tonight, it'll be spectacular." Tara took in the panoramic view of sea and air, and the dramatic skyline on the far shore, and was indeed impressed. "Do you have cliffs like this in Britain?" he asked.
"Oh yes, all up and down the coast. Land's End to John o' Groats." She patted down her brunette hair, as the ocean breeze riffled through it. "Last year I was at a place called Carmadoc, on the North Sea. I took a dive off one, about like this."
He leaned on the railing, and scanned the turbulent waves. "You must have nerves of steel!"
"Well, it wasn't volunt'ry. A motorbike gave me the nudge." She looked along the rocky banks, and out over the broad, dark waters, and added wistfully, "I can't explain it... but I did feel something special about that place." Then she flashed a smile. "Like you do about here, I suppose."
They walked back towards the gate, along the drive paths, and wending through the vehicles. Music and crowd sounds drifted from the park up ahead, waiting for them like Shangri-La. Along the way they passed a car in the next row from theirs, with a UK plate. Johnny pointed it out to Tara, with delight. Tara noted the way the numbers and letters were coded... and was not so delighted. But she allowed it could mean nothing.
Once through the broad gabled entrance, they strolled down the center midway to begin with. The thoroughfare teemed with families, and music; the smells of delicious Coney hot dogs and cotton candy; the gleeful shouts from the Wild Mouse, bouquets of balloons, and the calls of game vendors. Tara munched on popcorn from a pasteboard box, while Johnny described the various rides and attractions, how they operated, and how long they had been there. He even pointed out where long-ago rides had once stood, which he had only read about, or been told of by his parents.
"It really is the end of an era," he reflected, in a tone beyond his 17 years (if almost 18). "No more local, family-owned parks like this will ever be built. It'll be big corporations, here on out." He pulled up, and stopped – and looked around at the sights that no one would ever see, or enjoy, again. "Three weeks from now, on October 1st, Walt Disney World is opening in Florida. That's the future. We are passing the baton tonight."
Tara was struck by the narration – and began to empathize with his desire to come today, risks or not. As they weaved their way through the crowds, and he continued sharing, she had the fey yet pleasant sense that she was shifting into a different world. Like a slow dissolve in a movie, from one setting to another. She and Johnny were here together, as protector and charge. But also in another way.
They had gone the full length of the first concourse, and halfway back the second, when Tara noticed, from the corner of her eye, someone closing on them. It was an odd-looking man with an oversized hat and dark glasses, and an overcoat too heavy for the September weather. He wasn't exactly running, but seemed to be lurching along, almost comically, on an intersecting path. Tara's instincts came alert. She shifted her popcorn, and eased her hand towards the polished Beretta "lipstick mirror" in her shoulder bag. In a moment the man collided with them. Apparently flustered, he apologized profusely – speaking very quickly – and headed off again. At ninety degrees from the direction he'd come.
"Well, that was strange," Johnny remarked, his voice somewhat muffled by a bite of hot dog. Tara walked beside him, frowning. She replied, "Yes. And what's even stranger..." – she looked back at where the man had disappeared – "...I think I know him. From somewhere."
"Your partner Mr. Steed?" Tara had mentioned him on the drive from the city.
She scoffed. "Not unless he can disguise himself 4 inches shorter, and cross the Atlantic by magic. But," she said, walking more slowly now, "perhaps we should cut the day short, and get back to the hotel. To be safe."
"Forget about that. This is –"
"I know, I know. The last day of the legendary Palisades Park. But there might be people who don't want you to leave here alive."
"Everything's a chance. We'll stick close, and keep our eyes open, and nothing will happen. At least," he added, with a winsome glint, "nothing bad."
Coming next...
CHAPTER 3: "We're going to make your dreams come true..."