won't have to tell me twice," Tony said. The old man peeled off the rear saddle and collapsed to the ground.
"Is he okay?" The man asked.
"He's fine," said Kaplan. "Legs probably went numb on the ride out here." He turned to Tony and said, "Shake your legs and get up, old man."
"I've been watching the news," the man in the driveway said. "Is that you two?"
Kaplan nodded. "Mind if I park this thing in your bunker?" He made reference to a storage bunker behind and under the house. "I'll bring you up to date in a few minutes."
The house sat on the banks of the Arkansas River northwest of Little Rock and slightly south of the town of Mayflower. It was a good-sized brick home with a beautiful view of the rolling hills of North Central Arkansas on the horizon across the river. Heavy clouds from earlier thunderstorms had dissipated and revealed a modest orange moon in the serotinal sky. Amber moonlight danced across the flowing waters of the river casting an eerie glow across the terraced backyard. It was still hot and humid but a breeze blowing off the water made it feel cooler than the city.
It had been several years since Kaplan had visited. Not because they weren't good friends; rather that life just seemed to get in the way.
The bunker wasn't visible from street level. Even from the house it was imperceptible. The bunker was built under the first terraced drop in his friend's backyard. Looking back at the house from the river, Kaplan could see the bunker doors. Above the doors at house level sat a broken concrete bench. It was a good place for Kaplan's friend and his wife to sit and watch the river make its way toward the Mississippiâ¦until the tornado uprooted a large tree and crashed it into the house, breaking the bench along the way.
He opened the doors, rolled his Harley inside, and stowed it to one side of the bunker. For the most part, his friend stored lawn equipment inside. Riding mower. Weed eater. All the required tools to maintain a yard half the size of a football field. Like most storage sheds, unused items found their way down there too. Junk mostly. Half a dozen lawn chairs, a moldy sink, several flowerpots and bags of potting soil, and a stack of lumber that had waited too many years to be used. A place where things were stored and forgotten.
He hurriedly unloaded his saddlebags into his backpack and gathered everything he thought he would need. He didn't know when he'd return to retrieve his bike although he sensed it wouldn't be anytime soon.
Ten minutes later Kaplan rejoined the two men, who were still standing in the driveway and made an attempt at introductions. "Jeff, Tony. Tony, Jeff."
"We have already introduced ourselves," said Tony.
Jeff nodded in agreement.
"How's Kam?" Kaplan said, referring to Jeff's wife.
"Curious, as I am."
"So you told her?"
"Not much I can keep from Kam. I told her as much as I know. Which is nothing more than whatever's been blasted across the news and your cryptic phone call. How about we go inside and you can explain what trouble you and your friend have gotten into."
Kaplan moved toward the door and said, "He is not my friend."
"Amen to that," Tony mumbled.
The three men went inside where Kaplan introduced Tony to Kam and noticed her reaction when she saw Tony's bloody face.
"Your nose has been bleeding," she said. "Are you okay?"
"I am now, thank you for asking," Tony replied in a sarcastic tone. He pointed at Kaplan. "And no thanks to him. He hit me with his elbow after he hit me in the head with a rock. He says he was trying to save my life butâ"
"Shut up, Tony or I'll hit you again." It only took his glowering stare to stop the old man from running his mouth.
Kam walked toward the kitchen. "Anybody want something to drink?"
Kaplan nodded, "Would you mind making some coffee? Might be a long night."
"You got it. How about some chips and homemade salsa? Jeff made it fresh today."
"That would be great," said Kaplan.
Kaplan recounted the
"Is he okay?" The man asked.
"He's fine," said Kaplan. "Legs probably went numb on the ride out here." He turned to Tony and said, "Shake your legs and get up, old man."
"I've been watching the news," the man in the driveway said. "Is that you two?"
Kaplan nodded. "Mind if I park this thing in your bunker?" He made reference to a storage bunker behind and under the house. "I'll bring you up to date in a few minutes."
The house sat on the banks of the Arkansas River northwest of Little Rock and slightly south of the town of Mayflower. It was a good-sized brick home with a beautiful view of the rolling hills of North Central Arkansas on the horizon across the river. Heavy clouds from earlier thunderstorms had dissipated and revealed a modest orange moon in the serotinal sky. Amber moonlight danced across the flowing waters of the river casting an eerie glow across the terraced backyard. It was still hot and humid but a breeze blowing off the water made it feel cooler than the city.
It had been several years since Kaplan had visited. Not because they weren't good friends; rather that life just seemed to get in the way.
The bunker wasn't visible from street level. Even from the house it was imperceptible. The bunker was built under the first terraced drop in his friend's backyard. Looking back at the house from the river, Kaplan could see the bunker doors. Above the doors at house level sat a broken concrete bench. It was a good place for Kaplan's friend and his wife to sit and watch the river make its way toward the Mississippiâ¦until the tornado uprooted a large tree and crashed it into the house, breaking the bench along the way.
He opened the doors, rolled his Harley inside, and stowed it to one side of the bunker. For the most part, his friend stored lawn equipment inside. Riding mower. Weed eater. All the required tools to maintain a yard half the size of a football field. Like most storage sheds, unused items found their way down there too. Junk mostly. Half a dozen lawn chairs, a moldy sink, several flowerpots and bags of potting soil, and a stack of lumber that had waited too many years to be used. A place where things were stored and forgotten.
He hurriedly unloaded his saddlebags into his backpack and gathered everything he thought he would need. He didn't know when he'd return to retrieve his bike although he sensed it wouldn't be anytime soon.
Ten minutes later Kaplan rejoined the two men, who were still standing in the driveway and made an attempt at introductions. "Jeff, Tony. Tony, Jeff."
"We have already introduced ourselves," said Tony.
Jeff nodded in agreement.
"How's Kam?" Kaplan said, referring to Jeff's wife.
"Curious, as I am."
"So you told her?"
"Not much I can keep from Kam. I told her as much as I know. Which is nothing more than whatever's been blasted across the news and your cryptic phone call. How about we go inside and you can explain what trouble you and your friend have gotten into."
Kaplan moved toward the door and said, "He is not my friend."
"Amen to that," Tony mumbled.
The three men went inside where Kaplan introduced Tony to Kam and noticed her reaction when she saw Tony's bloody face.
"Your nose has been bleeding," she said. "Are you okay?"
"I am now, thank you for asking," Tony replied in a sarcastic tone. He pointed at Kaplan. "And no thanks to him. He hit me with his elbow after he hit me in the head with a rock. He says he was trying to save my life butâ"
"Shut up, Tony or I'll hit you again." It only took his glowering stare to stop the old man from running his mouth.
Kam walked toward the kitchen. "Anybody want something to drink?"
Kaplan nodded, "Would you mind making some coffee? Might be a long night."
"You got it. How about some chips and homemade salsa? Jeff made it fresh today."
"That would be great," said Kaplan.
Kaplan recounted the
Similar Books
