Second Chance

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The tuxedo fit him well. He had room in all the right places, hung well against his muscles. The “Sun faded peach” colored shirt made his olive skin pop. He smiled looking at himself: Antoinette’s going to love it.

He looked at the clock. He was still early, needed to be at her house in two hours. Micah picked up the bowtie and the directions. He looked at them and shook his head.

“This is going to be fun,” he mumbled. He never tied one before; the last bowtie he wore was a clip-on. This one he had to do himself.

He fumbled, couldn’t move one end over the other correctly. He tried again, expecting a different result.

“Damn,” he screamed. He was angry. Nothing before had come with this much difficulty. He tied his shoes after shown once. He rode a bike on the first attempt. He read and wrote quickly after his parents showed him how. Even soccer came naturally to him. This was frustrating him, an emotion he rarely felt.

He attempted again, but stopped when someone knocked on his bedroom door. “Come in.”

“Micah, how are you doing?” It was older sister Veronica, though she didn’t like her siblings and friends using that name.

“Ronnie, I’m in trouble.” He walked out of the bathroom, holding the bowtie in one hand, the instructions in the other. “I can’t get this to work.”

“Let me see.” She took the instructions’ page from him and looked it over. “I remember how to do this,” she said. She grabbed her younger brother’s hand and sat him in his desk chair. “Give me the tie.”

“I don’t think it will work.”

“What, you doubt me? Do you remember where I worked a few years ago?”

He was silent: he remembered. She was an associate/clerk at a men’s clothing store, one that specialized in formal wear. “Sorry,” was all he could say as he sat.

“Let me see here.” Ronnie stood behind her brother and flipped the shirt collar. She put the tie around his neck. “I used to do this every weekend for the men that would come into the store,” she told him. With a dexterity he didn’t possess, she whipped the peach-shaded fabric into a perfect bow.

“Stand up, let me see.” Micah stood and faced her. She made only a slight adjustment and smiled proudly about her work. “I still got it.”

“Thank you, Ronnie.”

She looked past him and onto his desk. His dream writing was on the desk and she saw it. “You back writing?”

“For now,” he answered. He walked to the bathroom, to look in the mirror.

“How come you are? I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore, thought you were going to be a computer programmer.” She walked and picked up his latest work. She sat in his chair and read.

“Ewa suggested that I do some writing,” he called out from the bathroom.

“Well, she’s right. I like what I see.”

“Are you reading it?” He poked his head out.

“Yes. When do you think you’ll get this done?”

He walked out and grabbed his cummerbund. “It’s done. Well, the majority of it is. I’ll type it when I get home tomorrow.”

“Let me read it then.” She stood and helped him finish. She tugged on the tie once more and smiled. “You do know what’s downstairs, don’t you?”

Micah thought and shook his head. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, really.” She tried to hide her blushing face.

“Veronica, what’s going on?”

She didn’t have a chance to answer. “Micah, are you ready yet?” his mother called from the stairs.

“You’ll see soon,” Ronnie said. She didn’t stop her chuckle.

He was unnerved again.





“The boss wanted us to see if you did finish one of the reports,” one of Van Rossum’s men stated. He was tall, standing well over six feet. A former football player whose professional career ended before it began due to an automobile accident on the way to the Rams’ training took away the full range of his left shoulder; Martin Bowles kept his physique trim and fit something that helped him in his new career. He was a member of Van Rossum’s private security.

“What do you mean?” the private investigator asked. He knew what the man meant. He was stalling, trying to formulate another course of action. Phillips knew his time was short: The men were going to take the report and make him disappear.

“Don’t play stupid,” the second tough spoke. Unlike his partner, Vincent Hannah was short, standing eight inches shorter than Bowles was. Hannah did not play college sports; rather he spent his time pursuing academic awards. His parents were both Harvard educated, and the expectations of him following them to the Boston school were great. When he announced he was attending the University of Pennsylvania for a degree in business, there was some confusion. His parents supported his decision and were proud when he finished his baccalaureate in Management in three years.

Phillips answered quickly, “I’m not playing”. He suppressed a telling smile.

“I was born at 1:23 AM but not this morning,” Bowles answered. He reached inside his sports coat and removed a pistol. He pointed it at the private investigator. “You know what we’re here for. It would be best if you just hand over the family report before we have to go through your office.”

“It won’t be pretty if we do,” Hannah added. He moved closer to the desk. He noticed the opened file on the desk and realized that Phillips didn’t hide it. “Is this it?” he asked closing the file. “Is this all of it?”

Phillips exhaled in resignation. He knew that he couldn’t lie now; it would be futile. He shook his head. “There are six more of them.”

“Wow,” both toughs exclaimed simultaneously.

“That’s a lot of information for the boss,” Bowles said. He replaced the gun back into its holster and stepped forward. He took the six folders next to the previously opened one. “Are these the others?”

Phillips just nodded. He knew his end was near. “I knew I shouldn’t have tried anything with him.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Hannah said. He removed half of the folders. “You know our employer is upset.”

“I thought so when he had you guys bring me into his office on a Saturday.”

“You know this isn’t going to end pleasantly,” Bowles said. “Pick up the others and come with us.”

Gregory Phillips sat for a moment and tried to think of a way in which he would escape these two with him surviving. Nothing came to mind. He put his hands on the desk and pushed himself up. “Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?” Bowles pushed the remaining folders to the private investigator before moving behind him. “Follow Mr. Hannah out quietly and we might be inclined to make it quick and painless.”

“Thank you,” Phillips said, picking up the files. He quietly followed the shorter of the two Van Rossum employees out to the parking lot.