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Tate · 05-22-2020, 12:55 PM

Previously on the Chronicles of Knox Booth:
Chapter 1 - First Article
Chapter 2 - The SMJHL Draft Approaches
Chapter 3 - The Losses Mount
Chapter 4 - Draft Day (SMJHL)
Chapter 5 - Collect $200 when you Pass Go
Chapter 6 - Best Served Cold
Chapter 7 - Lucky Guy
Chapter 8 - The Mid-Day Move
Chapter 9 - The Day the Earth Stood Still
Chapter 10 - Rumors
Chapter 11 - Against All Odds

Chapter 12

Straight Shooter

“How am I supposed to help you, Mr. Booth, if you won’t help yourself?” It was a simple question and a fair one that was being asked, and it was a question that Knox Booth had no intention of answering honestly.

Knox was beaten, battered, and just shy of having most of his bones broken. Knox’s lifeless body had been found by a good Samaritan, having been left to die in an industrial section of downtown Vancouver. Knox had been viciously attacked by two men who were meant to dissuade him from ever seeking out the man known Daniel Murphy. The man responsible for the death of his parents. Perhaps they should have finished the job and killed him? Knox was unsure why they didn’t.

Knox had awoken to the presence of a Doctor, and then Detective Jack Bloom. The Detective worked for the Vancouver City Police and had been assigned to speak with Knox regarding the attack. Detective Bloom had already spoken with Detective Lindt of the LAPD and was aware of Knox’s involvement in the ongoing investigation of his parents death. Detective Bloom’s disposition was much different than that of his counterpart in Los Angeles, Bloom was much less patient and non-empathetic, and his tone of his voice was indicative of anger and frustration. Detective Bloom was a hardened man, a face full of pockmarks and a scent of cigarettes wafting from every breath. “You think I don’t know what happened?” Detective Bloom asked him, “I know you were at the race track, and I know you won some money,” Bloom told him, “So, stop wasting my time and tell me who it was that did this to you.”

Knox stared at him blankly, his mind a blur from the moment he was struck in the head to the moment he woke up, “What day is it?”

“What?” Detective Bloom asked him, caught off guard by the question.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday, the fifteenth,” Detective Bloom confirmed. Knox closed his eyes, he was mortified as he realized that tonight was the first game of the SHL Playoffs, a game he was supposed to start. “Your team is aware of where you are, and you’ll have plenty of time to make calls once we’re done here.”

“We’re done here,” Knox said flatly, anxious to pick up his cell phone and see what kind of messages awaited him. Knox had never intended to compromise the team in his search for answers, and now he realized that he had done just that. Knox’s mind was racing as he ran through all the different consequences that might befall him.

“No, we’re not,” Detective Bloom was irritated, he had a strong sense of what Knox had done to warrant the beating and he knew that Knox would be reluctant to tell him. “You can’t solve this yourself,” Detective Bloom told him, “I know you think you can.”

“You don’t know a thing about me,” Knox said what he was thinking and it came across more curt than he had intended.

“You don’t think so?” Bloom asked him, “You think I haven’t met someone like you? Someone looking for trouble? How’s it feel now that you found it?”

“The only trouble I’m having is talking to you,” Knox said as he looked away from Detective Bloom and over at his cell phone. The desk that the phone sat on was slightly out of reach and as Knox attempted to extend outward to grab it, he realized he was too sore to accomplish the task.

“Listen,” Bloom softened slightly in his tone and shifted his body so that he wasn’t facing Knox directly. Bloom had been trained to deal with all sorts of different people and it was apparent that Knox wasn’t going to open up to him if he continued in the same manner in which they had started. “I get it,” Bloom spoke with sincerity, “I know you’re angry and I would be too, but what you’ve gone and gotten yourself into is something you don’t want to be in. It’s why we exist, and you need to allow us to do our job.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Knox said back, still unwilling to discuss the truth.

“Not now you ain't, and you might not be doing anything anymore if you continue to lie to me,” Detective Bloom was being honest, “You’re lucky to be alive, do you realize that?”

Knox held eye contact with him for a moment before he said, “Yes.”

“Good,” Detective Bloom put away his notepad, “I’m not here to get you into trouble, you’ve done enough of that yourself. But I want to help you, and not just you, everyone who has been hurt just like. You can help me do that Mr. Booth, isn’t that a good enough incentive?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Knox began, “But if I did know what you were talking about, I’d tell you that I already tried to help in that way and it went nowhere.”

“You know that for sure?” Detective Bloom was challenging his statement, “What do you know about our investigation?”

“That it fizzled,” Knox didn’t want to debate with the Detective and was already feeling like he was saying too much, “The truth is Detective, that I don’t know. I tried to find out, and in doing that I woke up here. But what I do know is that I need to check my phone and see if I still have a job to go back to.”

“You can do that,” Detective Bloom collected Knox’s cell phone and handed it to him, “I’m on your side, Mr. Booth. I hope you figure that out before you leave the city.” Detective Bloom produced a business card, “My cell phone's on this as well, you can call me when you’re ready to talk.”

Knox took the card, “Thanks,” his hand shaking from the painkillers he had been given.

Detective Bloom turned to leave the hospital room but stopped just before he grabbed the door handle, “You don’t take a knife to a gunfight, Mr. Booth, you understand what I mean?”

Knox nodded back at him, “Yes.”

“Leave the dirty work for the professionals, okay?”

“Okay,” Knox repeated.

Detective Bloom grabbed the door handle and twisted it, opening the door slightly before looking back at Knox one last time, “If we have to have the same conversation again, it’s going to be different next time, you get me?”

“I get you.”

“Take care of yourself Mr. Booth,” the Detective said, and with that, he was gone.

The moment the hospital door closed Knox turned on his phone, and he closed his eyes again as he saw the list of text messages and phone calls he had missed. “Fuck,” Knox said aloud as he opened his eyes again and faced the truth.

Call me

Knox dialed his general manager, Niclas Wastlund. Knox had a fairly good relationship with Wastlund, it was built primarily on a professional level but had developed into a kinship over the past several years. Wastlund had been one of the first people to call him following the death of his parents and had been immensely supportive. It was in Wastlund that Knox had entrusted the truth about his trip to Vancouver, and it was Wastlund who had expressed understanding over why Knox had to go. “Knox!” Wastlund was upbeat upon hearing his voice and it was this reaction that allowed Knox’s tension to ease, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Knox told him.

“Are you sure?” Wastlund asked and as he did Knox could tell that there was something Wastlund wanted to say but was holding back.

“I’m fine,” Knox tried to reassure him, “Nothing broken, just a little money gone and that’s the end of it. I can be back tonight.”

“No, no,” Wastlund was quick to dismiss the idea, “Don’t rush it.”

“But the game,” Knox began to say but was cut off by Wastlund.

“McMahon’s going to start,” Wastlund said abruptly, “Everything’s fine here, you rest up and get back when you can.”

Knox wanted to object but knew he couldn’t, “Thank you,” Knox forced himself to say even though he didn’t mean it. Yes, Knox was grateful that Wastlund had been so understanding but losing out on starting in the playoffs was almost as unbearable as the beating he had just taken.

“Look, Knox,” Wastlund paused for a moment and Knox could sense that what Wastlund wanted to say wasn’t good news. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and maybe it’s not fair for me to say this or ask this of you but I want to know if you’re done with… with whatever it was you were doing?”

Knox hesitated. He didn’t want to lie to his general manager, and tell him what he wanted to hear. But at the same time he knew he had to or there would be worse repercussions that would come his way. “I am,” Knox finally said.

“Good,” Wastlund replied, “That’s good to hear. I know we all have things that happen to us in life, I mean, I can’t say I’ve been in the same position as you. But we need to know you’re alright, and that your heads here, in Los Angeles.”

“I’m a Panther through and through, Niclas,” Knox said and meant it, there was nothing he meant more than that, “I’ll be back the moment I can, and in net for game two.”

Wastlund laughed, “We’ll see about that, we have to get a look at you first.”

Knox switched gears, “I appreciate your help,” Knox told him sincerely, “Everything you've done for me, it’s meant a lot.”

“You mean a lot to us,” Wastlund said reassuringly, “I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Knox said, “I really do.”

“Good,” Wastlund repeated, “What can I do for you while you’re in Vancouver?”

“Nothing,” Knox was quick to say, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Call me if you need anything and let me know when you’re on your way back,” Wastlund told him.

“Niclas?” Knox asked.

“Yes?”

“I’m on my way back,” Knox smiled as he said it, trying to make an attempt at cracking a joke and also meaning the statement at the same.

Wastlund laughed lightly, it was slightly forced by Wastlund but he was pleased to know how Knox felt, “Sounds good, we’ll see you soon.”

Click

***

The Los Angeles Gun Club located at 1375 East 6th Street in Los Angeles, California, has three safety checks for all guests who arrive at the range, ready to shoot. The first check is done outside the premises as guests enter, and it was here where Knox Booth was first stopped. The Los Angeles Gun Club employee noticed that Knox stood out right away as when Knox stepped out of his car he was still sporting two black eyes and a swollen lip.

“How are you today, sir?” The employee asked him, she was half his size but well equipped with turning patrons away. No guests were allowed inside the range if they were intoxicated or showed any signs of aggression, and Knox looked like he might fit both of those descriptions.

“Hello,” Knox said to her, “I’m doing great.”

The employee thought otherwise in her head but returned Knox’s smile nonetheless, “Can I help you?”

“I’m not sure,” Knox said honestly, “I'm looking to head inside.”

“Excellent!” She said with fake enthusiasm, “We ask all guests before they head inside whether or not they’ve taken any medication or consumed alcohol, have you done either today, sir?”

Knox shook his head, “Nope,” he told her, lying about the pain medication he was still taking to help with his recovery from his injuries.

“First time at the range?” She asked.

Knox nodded in agreement, “Yes, you can tell?”

“Sure,” she said, her smile sincere, “Some of the time.”

“Any recommendations?” Knox asked her with a sly grin, “I've never shot a gun.”

“Oh okay,” she began her sales pitch, “We have a wide variety of guns available to try, it depends on what you’re looking to shoot. Is this for hunting purposes? Home defense, or just a hobby?”

Knox thought about the question for a moment, “All I want to learn is how to hit a target,” he grinned at her, revealing the fact that several of his front teeth were now missing, “You can call it home defense.”

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