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Whisked Away Part 2: A Joe and Hobby Poker Fiction

I had been dreaming that I was in a dark smelly place. When I opened my eyes I discovered I was bound to a chair, lying on a dirty carpet. My mental computer went into turbo putting it all together. I remembered being outside the casino for some fresh air. Someone came up behind me and I got hit on the head. The motel room recollection also came back too, with a vision of the palooka who clobbered me. Had I seen Sonny, or did I dream that too?

Earlier in the evening Hobby and I encountered this dubious character who had collected a pair of broken wrists when he tried to throttle Hobby over a poker game dispute in Las Vegas. We thought we were well rid of him, but then he turned up in Palm Springs. He was less than friendly and issued a threat. Was he behind my present predicament? Hobby came out of the casino expecting to find Joe. After looking around he turned to the security guard and said, “Did you see a guy in a maroon aloha shirt and tan slacks?”

“Yeah. He came out about five minutes ago.”

“Funny, I don’t see him around.”

“Maybe he went to the car.”

“No, we valet parked. I’ll look around some more.”

Hobby returned a few minutes later. “He didn’t go back in, did he?” he asked the security guy.

“No. No one has come through here in the last 15 minutes.”

“That’s not like Joe. Would you call your boss and report a missing person?” The guard looked reluctant and said, “Are you sure?”

“I’m damn sure,” Hobby said forcefully, “do it!” A few minutes later Hobby was viewing the exit area surveillance tape.

“Look, there’s Joe going out the door.” He was soon out of the cameras range.

“Switch to the outside camera,” Peter, the security chief said to the operator.

Another scene, dark and obscure, appeared on the monitor. “What the hell is this?”

“There must be something on the camera lens, but there’s your guy. You can just make him out.”

Suddenly someone appeared behind Joe and slugged him. “He’s been mugged,” Hobby shouted, “but where the hell is he? He could be stunned and wandering around the parking lot.”

“We’ll search it,” Peter said and he began calling out the troops.

After twenty minutes it was certain that Joe was not on the premises. Hobby went to the security office to see what else could be done. Peter said, “I’ve called the police. There’ll be here soon. They can canvas the area just in case your friend wandered off.”

“Boss, you may want to see this,” the camera operator said. “I’ve been looking at the tapes of the parking lot exits. A minute after the guy got mugged, this van left through the north exit. You can read the license number.”

“Great. I’ll give it to the cops.”

Two hours later Hobby was in the Palm Springs police station with Lieutenant Marsh. “We ran the plate; the van was stolen earlier this evening. We’ve got our cruisers looking for it. Hold on, there’s something coming in.” After listening a minute he said, “Don’t touch anything. Keep your eye on it until it’s brought to the impound yard. I’ll order forensics.”

After looking at Hobby, he said, “Abandoned; they must have exchanged vehicles.”

“That’s not good,” Hobby said. “What do we do now?”

“I’m calling the FBI. You might as well get some sleep. We’ll call in the morning, or as soon as we learn something.”

Hobby went back to his villa with the long-shot hope that Joe might be there. He wasn’t. He then remembered Sonny M, but decided it would keep until the morning.

Hobby jumped when the phone rang. “Hi, Joe,” he said hopefully.

“Sorry, it’s not. This is Lt. Marsh from PSPD. We haven’t come up with anything yet, but the FBI will be here at nine in the morning; they want to talk to you.”

“I’ll be there.”

Hobby was waiting at the station when three FBI agents arrived. After introductions, one said, “We’ll go over the details in a minute, but first, has there been any contact regarding ransom?”

“No,” Hobby answered.

I’ve struggled to no avail. I’m tightly bound to a knocked-over chair. A door opened and closed nearby and I heard, “How’s the patsy?”

“Last time I checked he was out cold, but breathing.” “Check him again. If he’s still out, we’ll go to the greasy spoon for breakfast. We can watch the room from there.”

I made like I was sleeping. Through squinted eyelids I saw a pair of huge black shoes. One foot lifted; I was afraid I was going to be kicked, but the person set it down and turned away. I thought that I’d better get loose before they come back. I noticed that the corner of the metal bed frame had a sharp edge. If I can get turned around, I might be able to cut through the duct tape. It took several minutes of gyrations before I scooted my body into position.

I pushed and twisted, time-after-time to rub the tape against the sharp edge. I couldn’t tell if I was making much progress, if any. Then I felt some loosening.

I worked vigorously and suddenly the last strand gave away. I then pulled up the end of the tape binding my legs and unwound it. It was none too soon. I heard voices; my captors had returned.

“Check him out. I’ll call the boss,” one said.

I thought about making a run for it. As the adjoining door began to open, I knew I was out of sight, but if I ran for the outside door, I’d be in the open. I picked up the wooden chair that I had been bound to and raised it over my head.

To be concluded in the next issue.

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