Things didn’t look good for Chase Harlowe, but then they seldom did when she closed in on a Nazi saboteur. Reluctant sidekick and news reporter Chick
Foster couldn’t figure out how she kept getting out of these scrapes alive. As Luger bullets whizzed barely over his head, he promised himself never to
get involved again. But then he said that every time.
Chase Harlowe, Nazi Fighter, was becoming a celebrity in America. Her own father’s newspaper, The New York Sentinel, proudly proclaimed that she was
“an amateur sleuth, dedicated patriot, scrappy freedom fighter, and one swell gal.” Those words were written by Chick Foster.
Chick’s assignment was to stay with her to get those sensational new stories, but also to watch out for her. Jefferson Kane Harlowe, owner and publisher of the Sentinel, supported his feisty daughter one hundred percent, but he was concerned about her safety and devil-may-care attitude. He was a businessman, sure, but he was a father first. So Chick did two jobs for his boss at the same time. He wasn’t too happy about either one. And usually Chase ended up saving him.
“It’s over, Mabuse,” Chase’s clear voice rang out from behind cover in the cavernous dock warehouse. “Surrender while you still can.” Erich Mabuse was better known by his infamous code name; the Aryan Agent.
“I laugh at your naive American bravado; if you are so confident, why are hiding, fraulein?”
“I just wanted to show you what fair play is, you murdering Ratzi.” Chase was moving. Chick couldn’t tell where her voice was coming from anymore. What a pickle they were in.
A well-aimed bullet splintered the wood crate in front of Chase, knocking her trusty Webley-Vickers revolver out of her hand. It spun noisily across the concrete floor, hopelessly out of reach.
“Holy Moley,” Chick whispered under his breath. The pickle just turned to vinegar.
Mabuse laughed. “Tough break, I believe you Americans say. Too bad now you will be unable to stop the shipment of time bombs being smuggled in on a
Egyptian freighter today.”
Mabuse moved stealthily among the towering boxes that filled the warehouse. Spying Chick crouched and helpless, the Nazi told careful aim. “Say good-bye to your dummkopf partner,” he hissed to Chase, squeezing the Luger’s trigger.
Chase knew what she had to do. Pressing her thumbs against her temples, she chanted the incantation she had learned long ago in Lhasa. The Lokkzu Effect. A Tibetan technique for slowing time in a localized area while allowing Chase to remain outside the temporal disturbance.
As everything slowed to a snail’s pace to Chase, she raced quickly across the warehouse and knocked Mabuse’s gun hand off target. Then the gun fired,
with the bullet going wild. Touching the Nazi stopped the time dilation, and as everything snapped back to normal, Chase used her jujitsu training to grab his gun arm and jacket lapel, and flip him deftly over her shoulder. Mabuse landed hard on the cement floor, groaning loudly.
Chick scrambled over to pick up Chase’s gun, holding it on the prone Mabuse. “I don’t know how you do it, Chase. It’s like magic.”
“Clean living and eight hours of sleep a night,” Chase joked. “Let’s call the FBI to pick up this Nazi vermin, and to intercept that bomb shipment.”
“And?” Chick smiled at her.
“Okay, okay, and call dad to let him know that I’m alright. Plus we’ll tell him you’ve got another scoop for the Sentinel.” Then Chase added, tongue-in-cheek, “I don’t know how you do it; you’re always at the right place at the right time!”
They both laughed, and Erich Mabuse groaned painfully again.
Rod Drake used to think he was a fictional character in a story, but discovered he was the author instead. Check out Rod’s other
stories published in Fictional Musings, Flash Flooding, Flash Forward, MicroHorror, Six Sentences and AcmeShorts.
I liked the fact that the female character saves the day. (and your choice of names was nice, too-Chase & Chick)