Autumn 1970 – A Truth, Bitter and Unpalatable


Although the hall was dark, the big man still wore his thick sunglasses. I walked to within twenty feet of him before he held up his hand in a gesture meaning, “stop”. So I stopped. “Where is Miss Jones?” I asked.

The man smirked. “Cyclone Jones?” he jeered. “We have her locked up somewhere safe and quiet. She’ll stay there until you and my directors finish your discussion.” 

I shook my head. I said, “I have not agreed to meet with your directors. I do not plan to. Not on your terms. I am here to ask you to take me to wherever you are holding Miss Jones. Now.”

He laughed. He said, “If you’re threatening me, little lady, you better have brought an army with you. And if you were hoping to seduce the information out of me, you’re wasting your time. I prefer white meat.”

I launched myself at him.