White Owl: the grudge




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My shoulders were sore and my jaw was aching as I struggled to bring myself to
full alertness. I tried to stretch, only to find I had been tightly restrained
in a sturdy chair. I opened one eye, then the other and stared in amazement.
The room had a slight middle eastern motif, but the furniture was eclectic--A
George III desk sat in front of the high windows staring out at Queen City to
the south.

I worked my way back to the last things I remembered. I had been patrolling
near the downtown when I'd stopped to watch a pick up late night basketball
game. The players were good and I thought I'd offer some support. I found a
corner store still open and went in to buy several Tigerades. The honied
blonde at the cash register looked vaguely familiar and her smock was ill
fitting. Still, her accent was pleasant...and I paid her.

"Wait White Owl," she said. "Here's one just for you, ma'am." She handed me a
bottle and I took it graciously.

I crossed back over and waved at the ball players. "Hey guys!" I said. "Have
some Tigerades on me!"

The guys were grateful and we made small talk at the court for a few minutes.
Then I said I needed to get going. The guys agreed--curfew was coming. I
watched them leave, then turned to fly on out. I saw the lights go out in the
convenience store then felt my legs get weak. I didn't remember anything

I heard the door open and felt a presence as Lauren O'Rourke breezed past, her
crimson hair blazing. "Ahhh the Ecru Ostrich," she crowed. "Well Little
Birdie, I don't think you know how much you've cost me over this past year.
But THIS is a day of reckoning." She slammed my belt on the desk and lit up a
tiny cigar. "Don't feel so comfortable being in the restraints...does it? You
keep sending me to jail, Owlie....but I'm gonna send you to hell..."