[Editor’s note: Parts 1 – 8 of The Kibitzer and the Kidd are available by clicking on “Kidd” or “Kibitzer” in the tag section. This is science fiction western with more than dollop of humor and satire.]
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“The Boss wants to see you,” said one of the men blocking the Kidd’s way.
They were both tall, thick, and none too brightly dress. In other words, they fit the typical definition of goons.
“Tell him I have an opening next Tuesday and I’ll pencil him in.”
One goon looked at the other one as if they were seriously considering this offer, and that’s when the Kidd made his move. He ran toward then, feinted to the right and then to the left, and then charged right toward them, intending to split the space between them. But a loose board sprang up from the floor, tripped the Kidd, and he tumbled into one of the goons, almost knocking the goon backwards.
Soon the second goon was behind the Kidd, pinning his arms to his side with the first goon pulled a dark hood over the Kidd’s head and tied his hands.
Then they started jerking him across the floor.
The Kidd thought he heard a floor plank say, “Had to do it to keep the plot going.”
It was then the Kidd realized he was looking at the plank with his right eye. The left one was covered. Soon they were both covered and he was lifted up and shoved outside.
The air felt noticeably cooler, as if the evening were sighing at the folly of humans. But there were also sounds: clanging and banging, voices raised and footsteps running along the wooden sidewalk. Somebody bumped into the Kidd, slumped by him, and continued running without even saying “excuse me.”
The Kidd thought he heard someone shout “Fire!” and “Spreading!” but he wasn’t sure from which direction.
Were they headed toward the fire? Were these goons going to throw him into the flames?
“There’s somebody trapped inside.”
“It’s only that Kidd fella.”
Two voices, both soon gone.
He was being lifted again. One goon on each side.
“Open the door,” the goon on his right said.
“You open it.” the other one said.
“The Boss is waiting.”
“Then open it.”
The Kidd kicked his legs around until he felt his boot hit something.
The goon on his left groaned.
The Kidd kicked again, aiming as best he could.
The goon let go and cursed.
The Kidd turned and kicked at the other goon while he worked his hands free. They had not tied them well. He then reached up for the hood.
He was free of the hood and the other goon at the same time. He turned to run and immediately bumped into a third person, who looked uncomfortable and displeased.
“You have come all this way to see me and now you want to leave so soon.” It was a statement and not a question.
“I came here for cough drops,” the Kidd said, “and a hot toddy. Whatever festering range war you have is none of my concern.”
“Global warming is everybody’s concern.”
The Kidd stared at the man. He was tall, stocky, and looked very much like Al Wayne. A step-brother maybe? Or was this some sort of joke with the same guy pretending to be two different people? That way, he got all the good lines.
“Let me introduce myself.”
“You are Al Wayne’s evil twin, John Gore.” It was a statement and not a question.
“Don’t interrupt the Boss!” one of the goons said and shoved the Kidd toward the surrey’s open door.
The Kidd tripped and fell to the street. The air was clearer down by the dirt, not as much smoke and burning odor, though it stank of the shit recently dropped by the horse pulling the surrey.
“Goon!” Gore said. He then reached out and helped the Kidd back up. “Please excuse the manners of my aides. Sometimes their enthusiasm exceeds my expectations.”
Gore brushed some of the dust off the Kidd’s upper arm. He then climbed inside the surrey.
The goon’s nudged the Kidd toward the surrey’s door.
“Let me go so I can help a friend who might be trapped in that fire. Then I promise I’ll come back and we can talk all you want.”
The goons kept the Kidd boxed in. He nudged away from the door, but the goons clamped hands on him, lifted him up and threw him inside. They then slammed the door shut.
The Kidd scrambled around the tight quarters until he was up on the seat opposite Gore.
“I will send my aides,” Gore said. “They can handle the situation better than you or I.”
Everybody wants to talk to me, the Kidd thought, but nobody says very much.
Reluctantly, he agreed. If nothing else, once the goons were gone, he could escape, albeit, without his sidearms. No plan was perfect.
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(To be continued….)
