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"Take the Honey and Run"
May. 17th, 2022 02:40 pm"Take the Honey and Run"
10/22/1962
I.
"What happened to the assassin who was following us?" asked McKenna.
Standing close by him on the crowded station platform, Lisa Po turned her head in a half-circle, making her waist-length black hair swing behind the motion. She was a remarkably beautiful Chinese woman in her late twenties. Tall, slim but with impressive curves in her white linen dress, she had delicately shaped lips and a short straight nose in a heart-shaped face. Her oblique eyes were a luminous jade green, like those of a cat. Green eyes in Chinese were rare but not completely unknown. "The Winter Snow fool, you mean?"
"Yeah. He kept giving himself away the past few days by looking away whenever I spotted him." At thirty-four, William McKenna was a trim, fit-looking man a shade over six feet tall and weighing just one hundred and eighty pounds. He was well dressed in a lightweight charcoal grey suit with narrow lapels and a black knitted silk tie over a white shirt with buttoned down collar points. McKenna's Scots ancestry on both sides was easy to see in his thick black hair and blue eyes, the straight nose and thin-lipped firm mouth. Above the outer edge of his right eyebrow, a thin white scar reached up into his hairline. Like Lisa, he kept his eyes moving.
"Perhaps he is merely being more careful, beloved." Lisa carried her own small valise, letting McKenna lug the two substantial suitcases around. The platform was swarming with well-wishers and family seeing travelers off, so someone occasionally got close enough to threaten to bump into her and she had so far managed to avoid that..
"I suppose," McKenna grudgingly admitted. "I hope he hasn't been replaced by someone better at his trade. I liked that our friend didn't get too close for comfort."
The familiar shrill whistle of the train whistle signaled it was time to board. Two elderly couples were ahead of them, debating some detail of where their luggage would be stowed. McKenna placed one of the suitcases down and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Under his left armpit in a diagonal shoulder holster was an M1911 automatic. Reliable, accurate, a reassuring piece of black metal he seldom allowed to be far from his reach. He did not expect the inevitable attempt on their lives to be tried here, with so many witnesses and more than a few police officers visible, but one never knew. He would be relieved when they were safely out of public exposure.
Was he being slack in his alertness? Could he have been more watchful? McKenna habitually reproached himself. The past two days with Lisa had left him slightly dazed in a sensual fog from so much lovemaking. That would be fine if he was on leave but...
The attendant touched his red cap and relieved him of the suitcases. McKenna gave Lisa a light supporting touch on the elbow as she stepped up into the open door of the sleeping car where they had their cabin. He himself paused for the merest second as he put his foot on the lowered metal steps, and one more time his eyes flicked back.
There. By the line of cars and taxis. That face was gone as soon as he spotted it, but it had triggered all sort of alarm bells in McKenna's mind. Where had he seen that man? A wide, strong-featured face with deep furrows from long exposure to the elements. Shaggy medium-brown hair. If he had only had a full second to get a better look, he was sure he could have identified the man. And in the shadowy world where William McKenna lived, every face which provoked such a reaction had to be considered a likely enemy.
"Come, dear, there are people behind you," Lisa called down gently.
More troubled than before, McKenna got aboard the Pegasus Line luxury train. He had two more days at least with Lisa before they would arrive in DC and he had to let her go. Under any other circumstances, he would have been giddy at the prospect but, knowing the Winter Snow killers were out there....
In the line of cars which had been left empty by the crowd on the platform, the man who had been spotted by McKenna opened the driver's door of a huge ugly canary-yellow Chrysler and examined the form behind the wheel. The corpse of the Winter Snow assassin had its eyes closed, no blood showed from any visible wound. Hawk propped the man up carefully, tilted the head back and placed the killer's fedora over its face. With luck, passers-by would assume this was merely someone taking a nap until the Pegasus Line was far enough away.
Michael Hawk was in his middle forties but his weathered face made him look considerably older and the habitual sour expression did not help that impression. Knowing he might have had a real duel on his hands, earlier he had removed his tie and left the top button of his shirt undone. Now, as he strode quickly up the steps onto the platform, Hawk straightened himself up. His overnight bag had already been stowed aboard. Hopping up onto the rear of the last of the four sleeping cars, he was sure he was not in line of sight of the first car where the two people he were shadowing might be watching. So many windows between them were filled with riders leaning out to shout farewells and declarations of undying love that he felt sure he had not been spotted.
As soon as the door closed, the attendant blew a whistle. In the distance, a wave from the station-master was returned by the engineer. By then, every door had been tapped by an employee to prove it was secured and no one was going to fall off as the locomotive moved. The engine belched a huge cloud of steam into the night air. The great machine began to roll forward on the start of its long journey across five states. Entering his cabin, Hawk did not even notice the plush furnishings which included carpeting, carved mahogany shelves for belongings, a print of a storm-tossed ship at sea and a sideboard with glasses, crushed ice and one bottle of bourbon, one of scotch. He dropped heavily onto one of the two comfortable padded benches facing each other. No one else realized how many real killers were on this train.
( the rest of the story )
10/22/1962
I.
"What happened to the assassin who was following us?" asked McKenna.
Standing close by him on the crowded station platform, Lisa Po turned her head in a half-circle, making her waist-length black hair swing behind the motion. She was a remarkably beautiful Chinese woman in her late twenties. Tall, slim but with impressive curves in her white linen dress, she had delicately shaped lips and a short straight nose in a heart-shaped face. Her oblique eyes were a luminous jade green, like those of a cat. Green eyes in Chinese were rare but not completely unknown. "The Winter Snow fool, you mean?"
"Yeah. He kept giving himself away the past few days by looking away whenever I spotted him." At thirty-four, William McKenna was a trim, fit-looking man a shade over six feet tall and weighing just one hundred and eighty pounds. He was well dressed in a lightweight charcoal grey suit with narrow lapels and a black knitted silk tie over a white shirt with buttoned down collar points. McKenna's Scots ancestry on both sides was easy to see in his thick black hair and blue eyes, the straight nose and thin-lipped firm mouth. Above the outer edge of his right eyebrow, a thin white scar reached up into his hairline. Like Lisa, he kept his eyes moving.
"Perhaps he is merely being more careful, beloved." Lisa carried her own small valise, letting McKenna lug the two substantial suitcases around. The platform was swarming with well-wishers and family seeing travelers off, so someone occasionally got close enough to threaten to bump into her and she had so far managed to avoid that..
"I suppose," McKenna grudgingly admitted. "I hope he hasn't been replaced by someone better at his trade. I liked that our friend didn't get too close for comfort."
The familiar shrill whistle of the train whistle signaled it was time to board. Two elderly couples were ahead of them, debating some detail of where their luggage would be stowed. McKenna placed one of the suitcases down and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Under his left armpit in a diagonal shoulder holster was an M1911 automatic. Reliable, accurate, a reassuring piece of black metal he seldom allowed to be far from his reach. He did not expect the inevitable attempt on their lives to be tried here, with so many witnesses and more than a few police officers visible, but one never knew. He would be relieved when they were safely out of public exposure.
Was he being slack in his alertness? Could he have been more watchful? McKenna habitually reproached himself. The past two days with Lisa had left him slightly dazed in a sensual fog from so much lovemaking. That would be fine if he was on leave but...
The attendant touched his red cap and relieved him of the suitcases. McKenna gave Lisa a light supporting touch on the elbow as she stepped up into the open door of the sleeping car where they had their cabin. He himself paused for the merest second as he put his foot on the lowered metal steps, and one more time his eyes flicked back.
There. By the line of cars and taxis. That face was gone as soon as he spotted it, but it had triggered all sort of alarm bells in McKenna's mind. Where had he seen that man? A wide, strong-featured face with deep furrows from long exposure to the elements. Shaggy medium-brown hair. If he had only had a full second to get a better look, he was sure he could have identified the man. And in the shadowy world where William McKenna lived, every face which provoked such a reaction had to be considered a likely enemy.
"Come, dear, there are people behind you," Lisa called down gently.
More troubled than before, McKenna got aboard the Pegasus Line luxury train. He had two more days at least with Lisa before they would arrive in DC and he had to let her go. Under any other circumstances, he would have been giddy at the prospect but, knowing the Winter Snow killers were out there....
In the line of cars which had been left empty by the crowd on the platform, the man who had been spotted by McKenna opened the driver's door of a huge ugly canary-yellow Chrysler and examined the form behind the wheel. The corpse of the Winter Snow assassin had its eyes closed, no blood showed from any visible wound. Hawk propped the man up carefully, tilted the head back and placed the killer's fedora over its face. With luck, passers-by would assume this was merely someone taking a nap until the Pegasus Line was far enough away.
Michael Hawk was in his middle forties but his weathered face made him look considerably older and the habitual sour expression did not help that impression. Knowing he might have had a real duel on his hands, earlier he had removed his tie and left the top button of his shirt undone. Now, as he strode quickly up the steps onto the platform, Hawk straightened himself up. His overnight bag had already been stowed aboard. Hopping up onto the rear of the last of the four sleeping cars, he was sure he was not in line of sight of the first car where the two people he were shadowing might be watching. So many windows between them were filled with riders leaning out to shout farewells and declarations of undying love that he felt sure he had not been spotted.
As soon as the door closed, the attendant blew a whistle. In the distance, a wave from the station-master was returned by the engineer. By then, every door had been tapped by an employee to prove it was secured and no one was going to fall off as the locomotive moved. The engine belched a huge cloud of steam into the night air. The great machine began to roll forward on the start of its long journey across five states. Entering his cabin, Hawk did not even notice the plush furnishings which included carpeting, carved mahogany shelves for belongings, a print of a storm-tossed ship at sea and a sideboard with glasses, crushed ice and one bottle of bourbon, one of scotch. He dropped heavily onto one of the two comfortable padded benches facing each other. No one else realized how many real killers were on this train.
( the rest of the story )
