Ohio border when he was on leave—the property splits between both states. Alyson referred to it as Pohio.
I found the plate of cookies on the counter, and began to salivate—I hadn’t eaten since my Peruvian cheeseburger. I needed something to wash them down with, so I opened the refrigerator and searched for a beer. When I located a bottle of Sam Adams left over from the Wainwright-Collins & Rudingo office Christmas party, I noticed his reflection in it. It was too late to respond.
I felt a sharp blow to my kidneys. I crumbled to the floor and the assailant pounced on my neck.
“My boss wants to know where his money is,” Gooch calmly stated with a slight Dutch accent—sounding different from when he was the professor. He had also removed his hairpiece, revealing a healthy head of slicked back hair.
“If I had any money, would I be living here?” I said, and barely got the words out of my mouth before receiving a chop to my windpipe.
“Because I’m in the Christmas spirit, I’ll give you one last chance.”
When I didn’t answer—I wasn’t even sure I could after the blow to the neck—he began shoving oatmeal cookies into my mouth. Not what I had in mind when I got the craving. When I tried to close my mouth, he pried it open. It felt like he was going to remove my jaw from my face.
I began to choke, and when he held my nose shut the room started to get hazy. I could hear the dogs barking, but they sounded far away. I was certain I was going to die.
Suddenly Gooch’s head snapped back. Then a boot knocked the Cookie Monster to the ground. I spit up the cookies and sucked in as much oxygen as I could cram into my lungs.
When the room stopped spinning, I realized that Alyson was my savior. I was thankful to see her, but also concerned for her safety. Falcone’s scare tactics didn’t do this lunatic justice.
Gooch rolled away like a cat and sprang back to his feet. He stood about six-three, while Alyson was a foot shorter.
She lunged at him, and he moved away like a bullfighter. He grabbed a chunk of her dark curly hair on her way by and drove her to her knees.
She spun around like she was break dancing, and applied a martial arts kick to his knee, just enough to loosen his grip and regain her fighting position. Showing no fear, she came at him again.
This time his fist snapped so fast that her blood was already pouring onto the hardwood floor by the time she saw it coming. That was the end of the fight.
But instead of coming back after me, he retreated toward an open window, and disappeared down the fire escape.
Alyson staggered to her feet. I remained bent over and sucking for air. But as much as she would never admit it, she was the one who needed the help—the blood gushing out of her nose was impossible to conceal.
I grabbed the first thing I could find—my wet shirt—and held it over her nose.
Once the bleeding was under control, she said, “What would you ever do without me, Collins?” It was about as sentimental as she got.
“Probably die of cookie asphyxiation,” I replied. But as much as I appreciated her courageous effort to save me, I was starting to doubt that it would have affected the final outcome—if Gooch wanted me dead, I’d be dead. This was a warning shot—not much different than the one from the FBI … just more painful. And he wanted me to know he could get to me anytime, anywhere.
“Looks like you scared another man out of your life, Rudi,” I tried to joke.
“I can’t seem to get rid of you.”
“How’d you know someone was in here?”
“I use the fire escape at night, because it freaks Olive and Oil out when I come through the front door. I noticed that the window was slightly cracked—I never leave the window open. I’m obsessive about shutting it.”
What wasn’t she obsessive about? But as much as I’ve teased her about it over the years, tonight was another example of how the small details might mean the difference between life and
I found the plate of cookies on the counter, and began to salivate—I hadn’t eaten since my Peruvian cheeseburger. I needed something to wash them down with, so I opened the refrigerator and searched for a beer. When I located a bottle of Sam Adams left over from the Wainwright-Collins & Rudingo office Christmas party, I noticed his reflection in it. It was too late to respond.
I felt a sharp blow to my kidneys. I crumbled to the floor and the assailant pounced on my neck.
“My boss wants to know where his money is,” Gooch calmly stated with a slight Dutch accent—sounding different from when he was the professor. He had also removed his hairpiece, revealing a healthy head of slicked back hair.
“If I had any money, would I be living here?” I said, and barely got the words out of my mouth before receiving a chop to my windpipe.
“Because I’m in the Christmas spirit, I’ll give you one last chance.”
When I didn’t answer—I wasn’t even sure I could after the blow to the neck—he began shoving oatmeal cookies into my mouth. Not what I had in mind when I got the craving. When I tried to close my mouth, he pried it open. It felt like he was going to remove my jaw from my face.
I began to choke, and when he held my nose shut the room started to get hazy. I could hear the dogs barking, but they sounded far away. I was certain I was going to die.
Suddenly Gooch’s head snapped back. Then a boot knocked the Cookie Monster to the ground. I spit up the cookies and sucked in as much oxygen as I could cram into my lungs.
When the room stopped spinning, I realized that Alyson was my savior. I was thankful to see her, but also concerned for her safety. Falcone’s scare tactics didn’t do this lunatic justice.
Gooch rolled away like a cat and sprang back to his feet. He stood about six-three, while Alyson was a foot shorter.
She lunged at him, and he moved away like a bullfighter. He grabbed a chunk of her dark curly hair on her way by and drove her to her knees.
She spun around like she was break dancing, and applied a martial arts kick to his knee, just enough to loosen his grip and regain her fighting position. Showing no fear, she came at him again.
This time his fist snapped so fast that her blood was already pouring onto the hardwood floor by the time she saw it coming. That was the end of the fight.
But instead of coming back after me, he retreated toward an open window, and disappeared down the fire escape.
Alyson staggered to her feet. I remained bent over and sucking for air. But as much as she would never admit it, she was the one who needed the help—the blood gushing out of her nose was impossible to conceal.
I grabbed the first thing I could find—my wet shirt—and held it over her nose.
Once the bleeding was under control, she said, “What would you ever do without me, Collins?” It was about as sentimental as she got.
“Probably die of cookie asphyxiation,” I replied. But as much as I appreciated her courageous effort to save me, I was starting to doubt that it would have affected the final outcome—if Gooch wanted me dead, I’d be dead. This was a warning shot—not much different than the one from the FBI … just more painful. And he wanted me to know he could get to me anytime, anywhere.
“Looks like you scared another man out of your life, Rudi,” I tried to joke.
“I can’t seem to get rid of you.”
“How’d you know someone was in here?”
“I use the fire escape at night, because it freaks Olive and Oil out when I come through the front door. I noticed that the window was slightly cracked—I never leave the window open. I’m obsessive about shutting it.”
What wasn’t she obsessive about? But as much as I’ve teased her about it over the years, tonight was another example of how the small details might mean the difference between life and
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