The Mystery Danger Serials: Dead Man Running

A Bad Feeling

I had a bad feeling about this...

     If I was right, and Rose Jones had been the one to call in the anonymous tip, then things were about to get interesting. Not that exploding umbrellas, phony flower shops, hidden basements, and a hundred-million dollars of dirty money was by any means boring!

     "How long have we been down here?" I asked.

     Jim checked his watch. "I dunno, five, ten minutes maybe."

     "And how long did we look around before finding the basement?"

     "Lincoln, I dunno!"

     "I guess it doesn't matter anyway. We were toast the moment we came down the stairs. She probably has a lookout on the street." I stared at the pile of money on the floor.

     Jim climbed another step toward the trapdoor in the ceiling.

     "Hold it partner! We don't know what's waiting for us at the top of those stairs." I motioned for him to come back down.

     Jim eased his way back down, my guess was, trying to listen for any sounds in the room above us. I noticed fresh sweat beading upon his brow. He breathing was a bit quicker also.

     "That's the only way out." He said.

     "We aren't sure of that. Let's check this other room. Maybe there's a window or something." I motioned to the door off to the side.

     Together we entered the other room. At precisely the same moment our eyes locked on the bright rectangle of light that glowed high on the opposite wall. There was a window! Lady luck was riding shotgun today!

     As I hurried toward the light, Jim had already begun searching for a stool, or chair, or something. It didn't have to be very tall, but we needed something to stand on if we hoped to climb out.

     "Lincoln, gimme a hand with this." He grunted.

     In the corner behind the door was a large, sturdy table. It was covered in the remains of several broken pots. Dirt, cobwebs, dead flies, and what appeared to be a decade's worth of dust clung to every crook and cranny of the brawny desk.

     "This thing must weigh a ton!" Jim growled through gritted teeth.

     He was right. The potting table was deceptively heavy. No one man could have moved it. In fact, it was so heavy that I found myself questioning how it ever made it into this basement in the first place. I couldn't imagine bringing it down those stairs. Someone would have been killed!

     With all of our combined effort, we were able to get it just close enough to the window.

     "That's close enough. It has to be." Jim gasped, taking a moment to catch his breath.

     While he slumped against one giant leg of the hulking table, I carefully climbed on top of it.

     "Yep, just close enough." I sighed.

     From what I could see, I gathered that the window looked out the side of the building, into the alleyway nearest to our car. Lady luck still had our back, it seemed.

     I couldn't have been more wrong.

     Just as I was about to try the window, two men stepped into view at the end of the alley. They faced the street. Behind their back, each held a shiny, black revolver.

     In the other room, from atop the hidden staircase, came a familiar voice.

     A woman's voice.

     "Oh boys, you can come out now."

I had a bad feeling about this.