October 7 2025 Plot Climax

The Climax to one of Longfellow's stories

He stood in the restaurant, the man who ordered his wife’s death arriving with a cadre of muscle. No way could he fight them all and finally exact revenge, his justice, to this person. For years, the private investigator has looked for him, using aliases derived from his own writing, coming close but the evil escaping his grasp. Now, in a small, mom-and-pop restaurant hours from New York City, the man just walks in.

“May I help you?” the hostess asks, loud enough for Longfellow to hear. She’s pushed aside by a bruiser and the group walks towards the back, to the large but empty table. The room fell quiet, no one was eating. He cleared his throat.

“Oh, Mr. Darke,” the man said, almost chuckling out the words. “So good to see you.”

Longfellow rolled up his hands, the anger boiling quickly to the surface. He went to take a step, but someone grabbed an arm. He turned his head quickly and saw who it was.

“Let us take care of it,” the man, taller and thicker than any of Van Schuyler’s men, whispered.

“Us?” the widower asked. The ruffian smiled and waved his hand all around.

“Us.”

“Why do you think you’re here?” a female voice added. He looked to his right and saw a familiar face. A friendly face, someone who, many years earlier, had tried the center of rage but had the case thrown out. “Did you think we’d forget what today was?” She took a beat, “And did you wonder why you were invited here, with all your high school friends?”

He slowly sat and watched as the scene unfolded. Busboys, tall and athletic, added plates and water glasses, but moved only to the side. Two more came with pitchers of ice water and began to fill them as the men sat. The ruffian made his way towards the back and loudly asked if they wanted anything to drink. Before anyone could answer, guns were drawn, pointed at Van Schuyler and his men.

“You are under arrest,” the ruffian said, showing his badge.

He laughed. “You can’t arrest me! Double jeopardy was attached!” Van Schuyler and his men burst out in hardy laughter. The woman, still a deputy district attorney almost skipped to the table, holding court documents. His eyes widened with glee. “You can’t do this!”

“Normally I couldn’t,” Natasha Gaines began, her happiness showing fully on her face, “But when the New York courts heard about the witnesses that were threatened and the police officer who wrote the ticket that set your alibi recanted and played a recording of your bribe, well, they gladly revoked that privilege.” She slammed the papers onto the table.