"For what?" Rip gingerly got to his feet. "Why don't you just shut off and come along like the good little hostage I want you to be. No one gets hurt. Me and my partner make a break for it."
"It doesn't work that way, son, and you know it."
"Stop calling me 'son'!" His hands flew out to grab the old fart and stopped halfway there. With a heavy sigh, he dropped them again. "Look, I ain't your son and you don't know squat about me. Now, just play along and no one gets hurt."
"Nothing to play, young man," he said, smiling again at Rip. "I guess I can't turn you from this, so all I can do is be ready to welcome you to the neighborhood. I can't wait for the folks to meet you."
Rip stopped casing the room and turned back around to the other man. "What? What are you talking about?"
"You'll be coming to stay with us," the old man answered. There was something elfin about him—besides the fact that he was really short. "In the neighborhood. If I can't turn you from this, I can welcome you to your new home."
"I ain't going to your crib, you old bastard, if that's what you're talkin' about. Me and my mate are gonna get out of this, you'll see."
Then, squinting in the darkness, Rip found what he was looking for – a small window in the farthest corner of the room. So far, so good. For a moment, he forgot about the duffer standing in his stupid fishing outfit and focused on the window. Sure enough, the window led out into a corner of the back yard by the garbage cans. It was out in the open, but, as far he could see in any direction, there were no cops, no dogs. There was nothing that could get in the way. A quick ladder from the sheets and they could be on their way with the pickings. Rip tossed a quick glance over his shoulder at the old man. Hell, they could leave the hostage tied up in a chair downstairs and be long gone before anyone was the wiser. Let the screwball talk to the fuzz about pudding and karma, whatever the freak that was.
"Look, Gramps, I ain't got time to screw around." Rip snagged the silk cord that held the drapes neatly tied and yanked it free with a single pull. The fabric fell unfettered as he twisted the rope in his hands.
The old man simply smiled at him. "This is your last chance, son. Take it or leave it."
"Man, you just don't get it, do you," Rip answered, an exasperated sigh escaping at the same time.
"I get it," the man said, smiling so benignly. "I don't think you do. But you will. See you soon. And, uh, watch out for the banana peel."
Salt of the Earth
By Jesse V Coffey
Chapter Excerpt
Sitting up, he grabbed a handful of the marbles and tossed them at the old coot. "Got no idea who you're talking about and I don't care. Damn, that hurts."
The man suddenly got serious again, kneeling beside Rip. Reaching out, he patted Rip's cheek with a look of sorrow in his eyes.
"Yes, it hurts, son. And it will hurt worse. Only you can stop this."
"What are you talking about?"
"Cause and effect, son. Cause and effect."
"Look, old man," Rip growled, "I've had enough of this. Just shut up, you hear me? Just shut up."
"This is your only chance," the old man advised, standing up again. He adjusted the cap on his head and clasped his hands together. "I don't give many chances as it is, but this is your last."