Being Bahama

The Podium Produces a Clue

I’ve watched my surroundings closely lately.  I wouldn’t classify it as paranoia just yet, but no doubt, my recent dealings with a certain acquaintance lately has left me feeling a bit exposed. 

That alertness paid off the other day when I noticed him ride through Moneta.  He didn’t stop and I tried to avoid letting on I’d seen him at all.  Out of sight, I ran into city hall and hid behind a pillar. 

Not  because I was afraid of him so much as I thought simply avoiding him would be easier.  My heart sunk when I heard footsteps growing closer.  I knew it was him.

With no possibility of escape I mustered my courage, came out from hiding and demanded to know what he was doing there.   Without a word he walked to the podium and a moment later appeared to pull a pile of explosives out.  Unconvinced, I suggested he’d placed them there to scare me.  He denied it. 

Once again at an impasse, I decided to change my tactics.  In my sweetest voice, I invited him back to my house to collect the armored helmet he’d loaned me back when this had all begun.  He claimed he didn’t want it and that he didn’t need to come to my house but I walked on keeping my fingers crossed that he’d follow anyhow. 

He did.  I walked slowing contemplating what my next move should be.  My goals were clear enough. I wanted to make him believe that I was not afraid of him and I wanted information about what was going on.  Neither would be an easy task.

As we entered the house I ran through various scenarios in my mind for escape or calling for help if it turned out this was a bad idea.  I offered him a tour of my house but he paused at the door.  I resorted to telling him to come in and proceeding to the living area myself in the hopes that, once again, he would follow.

Seated in front of the fire I spoke to him in a calm voice.  I asked to explain how he’d have known about the explosives if he hadn’t placed them there himself.  He gave me some story about having heard from a third party that they were there.  I smiled at him and inquired why I should believe him.  He plopped the explosives down on my coffee table and sat back confidently. 

I reminded him existence of the explosives did not prove he hadn’t placed them there.  He told me to believe what I wanted, rose to his feet and began walking toward the door. 

Desperate to keep him long enough to find out more, I changed tactics again.  I raised my voice and said, “What?  You’re just going to leave again?”  He didn’t pause to argue. 

“I don’t want to spend another sleepless night wondering what is really going on here.”  I let my voice crack and allowed my eye to tear, hoping the damsel in distress card would yield better results.  Without so much as looking back he replied, “You know what you must do to earn my trust.”

I locked the door behind him and kicked it in frustration.  What the hell is going on here?!

I returned to the living room and found the pile of explosives there on the table where he’d left it.  Despite having no knowledge about such things, I inspected it closely. Etched on the side were what appeared to be coordinates…. I jotted them down quickly on my datapad and then placed the pile into a container for disposal.