Nearly Departed by Max Schlienger (read novels website .TXT) 📗

Dennis. He swung his makeshift weapon at where he thought Spinner’s head was. The pile grunted, and Bobo shifted his weight to hang on.

“How?!”

“Use the tablecloth!”

“I am using the tablecloth!” Bobo screamed. A protruding bulge from the fray caught him against the chin, and he jabbed an elbow back in response.

Dennis move forward on his knees, pulling the cloth tight beneath his weight. “Where’s the knife?”

“What knife?”

“The steak knife!” Dennis landed another blow with the candlestick, not caring what he connected with. “It was on the table!” His words seemed to give Spinner new energy, and the struggles beneath the tablecloth increased. A sudden tear erupted in the material, and a glint of metal slashed through, narrowly missing Dennis’ hand.

“I think he has it!” exclaimed Bobo, pulling back. The move was almost enough to grant Spinner a second of freedom, but Dennis swung his candlestick, smashing it into the man’s knuckles and sending the blade flying.

“Grab it! Hurry!” Dennis shouted. Spinner’s hand shot towards him through the rip in the fabric and closed around his forearm like a vice. Even tangled as he was, the man’s strength easily outmatched Dennis’, but with his head still covered it was a reduced advantage. Dennis fought furiously, trying to free his arm for another swing, when Bobo sprang forward with the steak knife in hand.

“Here!” he exclaimed. He yanked the tablecloth down, revealing Spinner’s scowling face. There was no way for the man to block as Bobo launched a rocketing fist at his head, connecting solidly with his right temple. The grip on Dennis’ arm slackened. He twisted away, bringing himself around to trap Spinner’s hand. The detective’s face took on a hint of fear. With a growl worthy of an enraged grizzly bear, Bobo pressed the knife against Spinner’s throat and tensed. Spinner froze beneath the tablecloth, and finally crumpled as Dennis brought a streak of heavy silver down on the man’s skull.

Bobo was breathing in short, heavy gasps, while Dennis readied himself for another swing. The detective lay motionless, his face slackened, but that was by no means a guarantee of safety. Dennis watched carefully for any signs of life. Other than the shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest beneath the rumpled white linen, he was still.

“Well,” Evy said, her voice stern, “that is quite enough.”

“I’ll say,” muttered Dennis. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Help me get him into the chair.”

“What?” Bobo asked with a start. He looked back towards Evy. She had wrapped into a protective ball and was peering over her legs.

“Not that chair, the other one.” Dennis let the candlestick fall to the floor. His fingers were stiff and his arm felt rubbery, but he wasn’t ready to relax just yet. With Bobo’s help, he lifted Spinner’s unconscious form into the chair across from Evy’s, which was still standing even after the brawl. “Okay,” Dennis said, exhaling. “Now let’s tie him up.”

Using the steak knife that Bobo had retrieved, Dennis cut the tablecloth into strips, still keeping a close eye on their captive. He bound Spinner’s hands and legs, working as quickly as his shaking fingers would allow. The last several pieces were spent securing the man’s arms to the chair, which would hopefully be enough to keep him from escaping. When they were finished, Dennis and Bobo sat in deflated lumps on the floor, both of them still trying to catch their breath.

“I sure hope you’re right about this guy, September,” said Bobo after awhile.

“Evy recognized him, didn’t she?” Dennis glanced back towards the ghost, but her chair was empty. She left as soon as the excitement was over, he thought.

“Alright, fair point.” Bobo rolled his shoulders with a quiet groan. “What do we do now? Call the Old Bill?”

“No police,” replied Dennis. “We’d have a hell of a time explaining what we’re doing here.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t know.” Bobo said nothing, but Dennis could tell that he was waiting for a better answer. “It’s not like I make a habit of beating people up.”

“Two fights in three days, and you’re not making a habit of it?”

“I’m going through a rough patch.” A smile fought its way through Dennis’ exhaustion. “Besides, I got lucky. If you weren’t here, he would have killed me.”

“Looks like he killed your jacket, though.”

Dennis looked down at where Bobo had pointed, and saw that his blazer was ripped down one arm. He removed the article, tossing it behind the overturned table. Then, catching himself, he chased after it.

Bobo watched as Dennis retrieved his phone from the pocket of his destroyed jacket. “Blimey, I forgot!” He rose and hurried to Spinner’s side.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking him for weapons,” Bobo said. “Good thing, too. Look at this.” He pulled a compact pistol from a hidden shoulder holster. “Huh.”

“Cripes.” Dennis stared at the weapon. “We’re lucky he didn’t try to use it during the fight.”

“Not really,” replied Bobo. Dennis flinched and threw up his arms as Bobo aimed the gun at him, but a stream of water caught him in the face before he could duck out of the way. “See? It’s a water pistol.” He pumped a few more squirts to make his point.

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Dennis spat and wiped the moisture from his face. “I’ve been worrying about him all this time, and the worst that he could do was get me a little bit wet.”

“Yeah, funny, that.” Spinner was next in Bobo’s shooting spree. He groaned and shifted as the water hit his face. “Whoops,” Bobo said, stepping back. “That’s done it. He’s waking up.”

With the candlestick in hand, Dennis climbed to his feet and took up a guarded stance next to Bobo. Spinner continued to moan, his eyes fluttering and seemingly out of focus.

“Oi,” said Bobo loudly. He sprayed the man again. “Wakey wakey.”

Spinner blinked and grunted, trying to stretch but finding his arms tied. He examined himself with a befuddled expression, until his eyes came up to meet Dennis’. “Oh,