| Matthew "Crash" Buckner. Fastest pen on
| |
| | the surge at the end. If he could hold
|
| the net. Yeah, right. At the moment, he
| |
| | their attention until near the end, he
|
| had one eye glued to the pillow case and
| |
| | could hit them with a socko ending. But
|
| the other squinting away from the glare
| |
| | what? Closing his eyes in concentration,
|
| of the sun coming through the window. A
| |
| | Matt drank some water. It tasted bitter,
|
| hazy image of 11 AM on the clock surfaced
| |
| | echoing his fears of losing.
|
| to his brain. Trying to think why he
| |
| | Concentrate! he told himself.
|
| should get up. Oh, yeah, today was the
| |
| | The door to his cabin burst open after a
|
| Speed Writers Grand Competition..
| |
| | brief knock. McCauley tried not to show
|
| Matt plowed his way through the mess on
| |
| | any expression that would give away the
|
| the floor, moodily kicking an empty beer
| |
| | pounding of his heart. It was just the
|
| can into the kitchen. Why couldn't a
| |
| | conductor asking for his ticket. A too
|
| writer of sixty-five retire in peace?
| |
| | long scrutiny metamorphosed into a sharp
|
| Didn't he write enough stories for a
| |
| | demand for his "Ausweise" papers.
|
| lifetime? Social Security would pay for
| |
| | Prepared for the worst, McCauley had,
|
| the basics, but he wanted to spend them
| |
| | besides his German passport, a letter
|
| on the coast of California, not in a hick
| |
| | from a high official in the Bundeswehr, a
|
| town in Pennsylvania where he was. Matt
| |
| | bogus letter of introduction and carte
|
| blasted himself with the hot water in the
| |
| | blanc for any mode of travel. Though
|
| shower. Maybe a shave and a quick
| |
| | written on official stationary stolen
|
| breakfast would wake him up enough to
| |
| | from a German general's hotel room, it
|
| face the challenge.
| |
| | provoked a silent, suspicious stare from
|
| One hundred thousand dollars went to the
| |
| | the conductor. Faced with such powerful
|
| winner of the Speed Writers Grand
| |
| | permissions, he left abruptly. Sagging
|
| Competition. The rules were simple:
| |
| | back in the seat and touching the
|
| write a 2000 word short story in thirty
| |
| | hardness of the gun secreted near his
|
| minutes. Millions of readers all over
| |
| | ankle, McCauley dared to plan his next
|
| the net would log in, their pulses
| |
| | step.
|
| connected to the comparative heart rate
| |
| | Matt suddenly went blank. Nothing. Not
|
| meter. As they read the emerging story,
| |
| | a glimmer of an idea would pop into his
|
| the meter would indicate their interest
| |
| | brain. The irresistible meters grabbed
|
| and give Matt a boost in the ratings.
| |
| | at his eyes, confirming his worst fears.
|
| The money would go to the writer with the
| |
| | He was dropping behind! Frantically,
|
| highest point total. Matt would go head
| |
| | Matt rummaged through the top drawer of
|
| to head with the previous day's winner,
| |
| | the computer desk. There! He knew he
|
| "Garbage" Johnson. This was the final
| |
| | had a few bennies left from college
|
| match-up one last effort to win all the
| |
| | finals. He'd better take two. He could
|
| marbles. Please God let them pick a
| |
| | work them off later. No, he'd better
|
| Title he knew something about.
| |
| | take only one -- he might get sick and
|
| An old classmate, "Garbage" Johnson got
| |
| | blow the whole thing. He wondered if his
|
| his nickname from his dad, who was also a
| |
| | opponent was having the same doubts. No.
|
| writer. Unlike his dad who wrote
| |
| | Just write the damn thing!
|
| fourteen novels, two of which fostered
| |
| | Dawn finally smudged the horizon. They
|
| movies, "Garbage" made his money in the
| |
| | were coming into the last stop before
|
| fifties writing for the pulp magazines.
| |
| | entering Poland. McCauley watched as
|
| Sleazy police rags and low end sex
| |
| | boarders fussed with their luggage, one
|
| magazines was more his style. Four cents
| |
| | well-dressed civilian even arguing with a
|
| a word hardly paid for the rent unless he
| |
| | guard, berating him with large gestures.
|
| cranked out three stories per day. Like
| |
| | There must have been something important
|
| "Garbage" Johnson, Matt didn't get paid
| |
| | in the trunks to cause that much
|
| much more. His venues were the romantic
| |
| | commotion. They must have been heavy,
|
| monthlies, True Story clones and fillers
| |
| | too, because two burly porters were
|
| for the daily rags. But he was still a
| |
| | struggling to lift one of the trunks onto
|
| hack writer.
| |
| | the train. Curious as to their contents,
|
| The aspirin seemed to work, but Matt was
| |
| | McCauley made a mental note to check them
|
| still foggy from the party last night. A
| |
| | out. Now the owner of the trunks was
|
| fast two mile run should shape him up.
| |
| | heading this way. Damn! He'd have to
|
| The competition log in started at one
| |
| | share his cabin with this guy. Suppose
|
| PM.. plenty of time for a run. There
| |
| | he got nosy and discovered that he wasn't
|
| was no use trying to bone up for the
| |
| | a German citizen. The train hadn't
|
| challenge, since he wouldn't know the
| |
| | moved yet. The conductor reappeared,
|
| subject until one minute before the bell.
| |
| | asking for the new occupant's papers.
|
| He'd just have to rely on his experience
| |
| | MacCauley noticed that his point of
|
| and natural talent. Half way through the
| |
| | origin was the same as his destination.
|
| run, a passing shower viciously belted
| |
| | It appeared coincidental or were they
|
| his face, plastering down his hair and
| |
| | both after the same fortune in gold? He
|
| tracking down his neck. The cooling
| |
| | also saw the hagenkreutz and eagle of the
|
| effect, though was welcome as Matt
| |
| | SS on one of the papers. Then why was he
|
| powered up the final hill. Panting
| |
| | in civilian clothes?
|
| fiercely, he leaned on his gate to get
| |
| | The dreaded gong startled Matt. Three
|
| his breath. His leg muscles tingled from
| |
| | quarters of the time had passed. What
|
| the effort, letting him know that he
| |
| | happened to the half mark? He must have
|
| wasn't a kid anymore.
| |
| | missed it. He'd better start winding
|
| Just in time, Matt changed into dry
| |
| | down. His climax must coincide with the
|
| sweats. He booted up the computer and
| |
| | allotted time or his adrenaline meter
|
| cued in the DSL. Logging onto the
| |
| | would suffer. Speaking of which -- how
|
| website, Matt lined up four glasses of
| |
| | was he doing? Sparing a glance, Matt did
|
| water and a spare laptop as backup. Its
| |
| | a double take. He was slightly ahead,
|
| modem set at the same website and a
| |
| | but as he watched, his opponent's meter
|
| thesaurus opened and ready. As he
| |
| | gave a lurch forward. Frantically, Matt
|
| waited, he propped his feet up on the
| |
| | addressed himself to the keyboard. The
|
| tattered collection of notes for the
| |
| | sweaty keys sounded loud in his ears, the
|
| novel he never had time to write. He
| |
| | space bar jumping under his thumb.
|
| gazed around him at the walls lined with
| |
| | Later, his traveling companion fell
|
| bookshelves. Not too many books filled
| |
| | asleep, his open mouth making wet
|
| the shelves, but every magazine he wrote
| |
| | noises. McCauley quietly stood up and
|
| for and wanted to write for competed for
| |
| | left the cabin. Just in case, he took
|
| space. Matt never read them, but enjoyed
| |
| | his only carry-all with him. Two cars
|
| their very presence as proof of his
| |
| | down rumbled the dining car. He sat down
|
| industry. If he won this competition,
| |
| | at a table near the end and ordered a
|
| they would stay behind with the second
| |
| | sandwich and coffee. A sign over the
|
| hand furniture and the out-of-date
| |
| | door to the next car showed the symbol
|
| clothes in the closet. All he would need
| |
| | for the toilet and a sign declaring the
|
| was his laptop and the novel inside his
| |
| | baggage car off limits except to
|
| head. A new life waited just on the
| |
| | authorized personnel. He had to get in
|
| other side of that mountain of a website,
| |
| | there. When the waiter came back, he
|
| beckoning with impossible promises and
| |
| | asked the waiter if there was any way he
|
| tons of money. It took some luck, but he
| |
| | could check on his little dog in the
|
| got this far, didn't he? Not bad for an
| |
| | baggage car. Informed that the door was
|
| old hack writer.
| |
| | open, he assumed there would be no
|
| His kitchen timer chimed once. He set it
| |
| | problem accessing the car. McCauley
|
| in case he got distracted and missed the
| |
| | forced himself to take his time with the
|
| start up. Not wanting any interruptions
| |
| | sandwich and coffee, refusing seconds.
|
| he took the telephone receiver off the
| |
| | The noise between cars was deafening as
|
| hook to his second line. False sounding
| |
| | he skinned his knuckles getting into the
|
| applause and whistles signaled the start
| |
| | baggage car. Luckily, the trunk he was
|
| of the contest. A large double faced
| |
| | looking for stood on its side in the
|
| meter took up most of the screen, needles
| |
| | middle of the car. A quick search found
|
| set at zero. Over each was a caricature
| |
| | a piece of metal he could use as a crow
|
| of his and his opponents faces. His
| |
| | bar. Lining the open trunk were rows of
|
| looked slightly drunk with wild-looking
| |
| | what looked like stockings. MacCauley
|
| hair and eyes at half mast. "Garbage"
| |
| | hefted one and found it quite heavy for
|
| Johnson appeared bloated and a little
| |
| | its size. Unwrapped, the bar inside
|
| disgusted. The announcer recapped the
| |
| | looked a dull gray, but was stamped with
|
| competition so far, alternating with
| |
| | official looking marks on one side.
|
| promos for their latest "Best Seller" and
| |
| | Gouging the surface proved his suspicions
|
| extolling the virtues of their book club.
| |
| | that it was really gold! It was the very
|
| Finally, the Title was announced as ..ta
| |
| | same gold stolen from the Polish
|
| da.. "Hitler's Gold". Matt's instant
| |
| | government needed by the Nazis for the
|
| response was. "Wasn't this done a hundred
| |
| | purpose of extending the war.
|
| times already?" Oh, well, here goes.
| |
| | Sweat was now dripping down the sides of
|
| At the chime, Matt started to write. The
| |
| | Matt's face, the water almost gone, and
|
| clackety clack of the wheels wound down,
| |
| | the time running out. Matt figured he
|
| signaling an unscheduled stop. Major
| |
| | had a few minutes left to cap off the
|
| McCauley looked at his civilian watch,
| |
| | story before the final gong sounded. He
|
| noting the time. In these days of dusk
| |
| | had to know how his enemy was doing. The
|
| before the war was officially declared
| |
| | meters stood near the highest mark, neck
|
| over, anything could happen to jeopardize
| |
| | to neck and moving. This was going to
|
| his mission.
| |
| | be close. A mere thousand dollars went
|
| At the word 'mission', the adrenaline
| |
| | to second place. Pound those keys, make
|
| meter by his name jumped up one division.
| |
| | the deadline or die! That was Matt's
|
| His opponent's hadn't moved. Then just
| |
| | credo his whole life as a writer. Write
|
| as he gathered his thoughts for the next
| |
| | or don't eat. Write or walk the streets.
|
| sentence, Matt saw the meter on the right
| |
| | Deep in a secret pocket, MacCauley dug
|
| side of the screen take a double hit.
| |
| | out a syringe prepared with a powerful
|
| Damn, he'd better get moving. Mentally
| |
| | sleeping potion. A gun wasn't the only
|
| vowing not to look at the enemy meter,
| |
| | weapon at his disposal. His sleeping
|
| Matt went to work. The next sentence
| |
| | visitor now snored softly, not waking
|
| flew across the screen.
| |
| | upon Matt's entrance. The drug would
|
| Just the thought of twenty million
| |
| | wear off in twelve hours, leaving him
|
| dollars of raw gold made his heart pound.
| |
| | dizzy and disoriented. McCauley had
|
| A cheap shot, but that ought to get
| |
| | replaced the labels on the trunk of gold
|
| their hearts going. Hitler didn't own it
| |
| | bars with the labels prepared for the
|
| any more than he did. The report of its
| |
| | gold's shipment out of Poland. The train
|
| whereabouts burned a hole near his heart.
| |
| | finally started to move but in the wrong
|
| Somewhere in a coal mine in Poland was
| |
| | direction! The change in direction
|
| stashed the bars of gold that would have
| |
| | shocked him at first, then he realized
|
| allowed the Reich to live on. The
| |
| | that it solved all his problems. The
|
| location was inadvertently revealed in a
| |
| | train was heading back into Germany. His
|
| news report on the last page of the
| |
| | expected two week mission was over before
|
| Berliner Zietung. Unfortunately, Major
| |
| | it started and one phone call would
|
| McCauley's opposite number in
| |
| | secure the gold for the Americans. A
|
| intelligence undoubtedly also saw the
| |
| | grim smile tugged at the corners of his
|
| report. He was probably heading there
| |
| | mouth as he turned back to the
|
| right now from somewhere deep in Germany.
| |
| | compartment to take care of his
|
| Air travel was impossible and a car
| |
| | prisoner. The End.
|
| would take too long what with all the
| |
| | Matt stared at his frozen meter. It
|
| check zones in place. So he probably
| |
| | stuttered then jumped to the top of the
|
| used the rails just as he himself did.
| |
| | scale. He won! He did it! California
|
| A gong sounded from the computer
| |
| | here I come! Matt went to the closet
|
| signaling that one quarter of the
| |
| | and started to pack. Into the empty
|
| allotted time had passed. Matt stole a
| |
| | suitcase he lovingly placed the notes for
|
| look at the adrenaline meters. His meter
| |
| | his novel. His dreams went in with them.
|
| showed him ahead by a nose, its steady
| |
| | Thogh not primarily a fiction writer,
|
| but slow rise wavering at the half way
| |
| | that vehicle presents a viable face for
|
| point. The only thing that counted was
| |
| | exploring the future.
|
