Escape
Excerpt from A Gut Feeling
© 2019 from
Fables Foibles & Follies
(Göteborg, Sweden - June, 1975)
Ekaterina was already halfway into her midnight blue, silk and brushed cotton pantsuit when I pulled on my Y-fronts and grabbed my socks. I was into my shirt, summer worsted trousers and jacket in a flash.
Kat was standing at bedside, slipping on her Charles Jourdan open-toe pumps. We finished fastening buttons and closing zippers as we grabbed the valise, Kat’s smalls bag, our airline duffle and papers. Without another word, we scurried out the door, down the hall and toward the double staircase to the lobby.
I checked the time; it was less than two minutes since I answered the telephone. I spotted Kari smiling like a cunning barroom vixen and waiting behind the checkout counter with the guest book open in front of her. Her eyes sparkled, flashed and burned a warning into mine. Maxim was secure inside his compact carrier, under a warm, Icelandic woolen blanket and safely swaddled in his white cotton wrap. Kat came forward, scooped up our precious little rascal, nuzzled his pink cheek, and murmured nothings. Kari managed a plastic grin and turned her telltale gaze to Kat. There was one shabbily dressed man in the lobby, seated in a chair to my left, about fifteen feet away and looking blindly into an East German newspaper. Another was standing inside the red Swedish Telefon and Telegraf booth near the entrance doors to the foyer. He had the handset to his left ear and his right hand inside his jacket.
I smiled, nodded, stuck my hand inside my suit coat and said to Kari, “Thank you so much, Miss. We enjoyed our stay.”
I grit my teeth and breathed, “Kari ... telephone man ... Kat ... go. Go, Kat, go!”
All hell broke loose. Kari dispatched the man in the telephone booth with three rapid-fire rounds from her 25-caliber Walther before he could open the door. Kari sprang out from behind the counter. The fellow in the lobby was surprised, but had jumped to his feet with his weapon pointed in my direction. He got off one shot before I spun around and finished him unawares. Two unanswered rounds from my Beretta dropped him like a wet dishcloth. Kat was nearly at the exit doors with Maxim and her personals bag. I turned and saw that Kari had turned away from me, with both hands on the counter and still holding her pistol.
The lobby shooter missed me, but hit Kari.
“Go, Les.” she said. “Go. I’ll be fine.” A bullet had struck her right shoulder below the clavicle. She pressed a hand to the wound. Blood oozed between her fingers. I felt a sharp, brief pang in my heart.
© 2018 Edward R. Hackemer
© 2019 from
Fables Foibles & Follies
(Göteborg, Sweden - June, 1975)
Ekaterina was already halfway into her midnight blue, silk and brushed cotton pantsuit when I pulled on my Y-fronts and grabbed my socks. I was into my shirt, summer worsted trousers and jacket in a flash.
Kat was standing at bedside, slipping on her Charles Jourdan open-toe pumps. We finished fastening buttons and closing zippers as we grabbed the valise, Kat’s smalls bag, our airline duffle and papers. Without another word, we scurried out the door, down the hall and toward the double staircase to the lobby.
I checked the time; it was less than two minutes since I answered the telephone. I spotted Kari smiling like a cunning barroom vixen and waiting behind the checkout counter with the guest book open in front of her. Her eyes sparkled, flashed and burned a warning into mine. Maxim was secure inside his compact carrier, under a warm, Icelandic woolen blanket and safely swaddled in his white cotton wrap. Kat came forward, scooped up our precious little rascal, nuzzled his pink cheek, and murmured nothings. Kari managed a plastic grin and turned her telltale gaze to Kat. There was one shabbily dressed man in the lobby, seated in a chair to my left, about fifteen feet away and looking blindly into an East German newspaper. Another was standing inside the red Swedish Telefon and Telegraf booth near the entrance doors to the foyer. He had the handset to his left ear and his right hand inside his jacket.
I smiled, nodded, stuck my hand inside my suit coat and said to Kari, “Thank you so much, Miss. We enjoyed our stay.”
I grit my teeth and breathed, “Kari ... telephone man ... Kat ... go. Go, Kat, go!”
All hell broke loose. Kari dispatched the man in the telephone booth with three rapid-fire rounds from her 25-caliber Walther before he could open the door. Kari sprang out from behind the counter. The fellow in the lobby was surprised, but had jumped to his feet with his weapon pointed in my direction. He got off one shot before I spun around and finished him unawares. Two unanswered rounds from my Beretta dropped him like a wet dishcloth. Kat was nearly at the exit doors with Maxim and her personals bag. I turned and saw that Kari had turned away from me, with both hands on the counter and still holding her pistol.
The lobby shooter missed me, but hit Kari.
“Go, Les.” she said. “Go. I’ll be fine.” A bullet had struck her right shoulder below the clavicle. She pressed a hand to the wound. Blood oozed between her fingers. I felt a sharp, brief pang in my heart.
© 2018 Edward R. Hackemer
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