Suicide Squeeze

They turned the canoe into Folger’s canal, passed the houses into the dark, deserted stretch, paddled a little faster, and emerged into the fuzzy light spilling from the bungalow’s windows across the yard. Co

Which was good because the screech of nearly anything would have scared the shit out of Co

And Je

Je

“I’m thinking how to do it,” Co

“What do you want me to do?”

“Cast off the lines. Be ready to leave in a hurry.”

“Right.”

She paddled him to the edge of the canal, and he hoisted himself up and into Folger’s backyard. He paused a second to watch Je

He jogged toward the bungalow, keeping low in war-movie crouch. One of Folger’s windows glowed from a lamp inside, but the yard was dark, no outside floods. Some houses had lights that kicked on when motion detectors were tripped. Maybe Folger had a dog. A hundred things could go wrong.

Co

He ran toward the house, ducked and rolled on arrival, landing under the windowsill where the lamp within cast weak yellow light. Deep breaths. He waited, listened. I hate this shit. When he heard nothing, he lifted his head slowly, peered through the window.

Inside. Bare beige walls, fake bamboo furniture, cushions with a tropical pattern. Tile floor. Ceiling fan. Co

Co

Then a figure wearing a dark suit came into the room. He talked over his shoulder to somebody else out of sight. The man was medium height, black hair, Asian features. Co

Who was he? Not Teddy Folger. Co

He wanted more information.

Co

The guy tied to the kitchen chair must’ve been Teddy Folger. He was about the right age and the only white guy in the room. The other two were Asian. Teddy didn’t look good. A split lip, a black eye, hair disheveled. Folger’s Hawaiian shirt was ripped.

Co

One of the Asian guys backhanded Folger in the face, and the sharp crack of skin on skin made Co

“Okay. That’s good,” said one of the others. “I think maybe Mr. Folger want to cooperate now. That okaydokey with you, Mr. Folger?” The man’s accent was heavy. Folger’s name came out Mistah Folgah.

Folger nodded. “Water. A drink.” Folger spit, a gooey strand of blood and saliva hanging from his chin.

“Get him water,” the guy in charge said. The other opened a cabinet, found a glass, and filled it in the sink.

Co

Co

From the backyard, the hot cough of a boat engine startled sleeping birds. It sputtered, rumbled, and petered out. It cranked again, turned over, revved into a high idle.

The Asian guys and Teddy Folger all turned their heads at once.

Co

The Asian guy in charge screamed something to his pal, who took off through the kitchen toward the back door. Co

He rounded the house and sprinted toward the boat. He heard the back door slam open, footfalls galloping behind him. A flash and gunshots, bullets whizzing. Yelling in a language Co

Ahead of him the Electric Je