Those Bastardly Dastards - Part Three

"What?"

"Why you lookin' so worried for? I thought you—"

"What did they look like?"

"Well, I dunno...they were just here for a second."

"Just tell me what they were wearing!"

"Okay, okay. Like ummm...long trenchcoat lookin' jackets and those gangster hats, you know, the ones they wear crooked?"

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted and jumped out of his chair.

"Whoa! What's wrong?"

"Those are the guys I said were following me this morning."

"But I thought you said you were just imagining it 'cause you're so tired?"

"Yeah, um, it seems like I was wrong, doncha think?" he said with an angry roll of his eyes and ran toward the door.

"Oh, okay, well I hope everything works out...put some Neosporin on those hands, okay?" she shouted after him, even as he and his bike shot past the space in the closing doorway.

"Come on, think!" Ezra shouted at himself as he flew down the street in front of the diner. "Why are they following you? You've never done ANYTHING to make somebody point a gun at you, have you? What-the-hell what-the-hell what-the-hell! What do I do?! What if they just give up?They might just stop. No, they're not gonna just STOP! Come on! Should I buy a gun? I don't want to be a guy who owns a gun...that seems a little over the top. Well come on, Ezra, this is over the top!"

He absentmindedly looked at his watch and shouted, "Ah shit! Dave's gonna kill me!" He abruptly flipped his bike around and wheeled off in the opposite direction. He glanced in all directions compulsively at every intersection, waiting for and hoping against the sight of an old Bentley idling at the crosswalk, shadowy driver and passenger staring him down. He still hadn't seen them when he pulled into the parking lot of the museum and chained his bike to one of the light poles in front of the building. He brushed his hair out of his face and straightened up his clothes, desperately hoping he didn't have sweat spots showing through at his back and armpits. He opened the front door and walked inside, running a lengthy list of possible apologies and excuses past the backs of his eyes.

He stopped moving and let the door close softly behind him, staring ahead in shock. His fingertips tingled and his feet felt like the bottoms of stilts. Dave, the Floor Manager of the Monutropolis Museum of Natural History was smiling and shaking hands with a tall man in a long black raincoat, fedora, skinny tie and sunglasses. The man smiled thinly, glanced away and saw Ezra standing in the doorway watching them. The smile slid off his face and he bid Dave a distracted goodbye with a small pat on the back. He turned and walked purposefully toward Ezra, cracked his neck and began pulling something from his pocket.

***TO BE CONTINUED***