Run into Trouble by Alan Cook Page A

wallet. Using dexterity fueled by
long practice, he extracted a dollar bill from the wallet using
only the one hand, and handed it to the clerk.
    “Thanks for notifying me so fast.”
    “Oh, the envelope came an hour ago.”
    “Did you see who delivered it?”
    “It must have happened when I stepped away
from the counter for a minute. I had to go to the men’s room. When
I returned, it was sitting right here.”
    Drake thanked the clerk again and hurried
back to his room. He sat on the bed and inspected the envelope. It
was a white, business-size envelope and had his name typed on the
outside, just like the first one. The printing looked different,
however. Several of the letters were slightly smeared, as if from
dirty typewriter keys. They had been typed on a manual typewriter,
not an electric.
    The envelope was sealed in one spot, just
like the first one. Drake took the small Swiss Army Knife he
carried and slid a blade under the flap to unseal it, being careful
not to touch the envelope with his fingers. Holding it with the
handkerchief, he opened it and extracted the white sheet of paper
inside, using a different part of the handkerchief. He unfolded the
paper and read it.
    To: Oliver Drake
    From: The Syndicate
    So far good. You have recovered nice from
acident. Good news. Now that you back in top shape we need you to
do one thing more. Win race. You long shot, exelent odds. Good for
both of us. You get million dollers, we get big money to. You have
to start working harder. Maybe we help you. Dont forget Melodys
mom. Dont show letter to any one.
    Win the race? Why not ask him to fly to the
moon without a rocket? The stakes were being raised. Shit. Drake
retrieved his wallet and found the card that Slick had given him.
He picked up the phone and called the number listed for the
Christian Bookstore, not expecting an answer this early in the
morning. The call was answered on the second ring by a female
voice.
    “Christian Bookstore.”
    “This is Drake. I need to talk to
Slick.”
    “He’ll call you back in five minutes, Mr.
Drake. May I have your number?”
    Drake gave her the number and hung up. He
debated whether to tell Melody about the new letter immediately. He
decided not to for a couple of reasons, including the fact that he
didn’t know Grace’s room number. He opened his suitcase and, using
the blade from his Swiss Army Knife, carefully reopened a slit in
the lining that he had made after his room had been searched.
    He had sewed it up again using the sewing
kit his mother had put together for him when he left for college.
Fine stitches, just like she had taught him. Even a person
experienced in finding things wouldn’t spot them during a fast
search. He pulled a copy of the original note out of the space
behind the lining. Now he could verify the similarities and
differences between the two notes.
    He would also make a copy of the new note
before he gave it to Slick. If he were careful, he could do it
without damaging any fingerprints. The motel had a copier; the
clerk at the desk would help him.
    ***
    “We’re running faster today. Are you sure
you’re up to it?”
    Melody’s question brought home to Drake what
effect the letter was having on him. It scared the hell out of him.
All the runners were in a tight group as they navigated east Long
Beach. Of course, if he and Melody wanted to actually win the race,
they had to be ahead of the others, not just with them. Way ahead.
They were many hours behind Tom and Jerry overall.
    “Let’s drop back ten yards. I need to talk
to you.”
    “We’ll catch them again if they have to stop
for a light.”
    “I haven’t noticed that they pay much
attention to mundane things like traffic lights.”
    It was true. The runners tended to keep
moving in these urban areas, regardless of traffic, crossing
streets against lights, endangering themselves. It was amazing what
the carrot of a million dollars did to one.
    Drake and Melody dropped back as they