God opens a window


They say each time God closes a door, He opens a window.

This doesn’t help me much looking down six floors from the Park Avenue Suite to see the girl I’m hired to protect being shoved into the back seat of a limo.

So I charge down the steps – the elevator’s too slow.

Even then, I know I won’t get to the curb in time to catch the license plate number.

Logic tells me even that won’t help since the bastards likely rented the car and unlike the terrorists who attacked the World Trade Center in 93, these guys aren’t stupid enough to use their real names or bother going back to get their deposit once they’ve finished their evil deed.

By the first floor I’m breathing so hard that my heart is ready to jump right up out of my throat.

The doorman politely holds the door for me and as I figured I arrive at the curb in time to catch only the whiff of exhaust.

The limo is now a block away, vanishing into traffic.

I think: the girl’s dead for sure.

And her old man will murder me for letting it happen.

The doorman – still politely – taps me on the shoulder.

I jump a mile high.

His soft smile is accompanied by devious eyes I never noticed before.

He asks if he can call me a cab.

I sigh and ask “What’s the use?”

The limo is probably half way to the Jersey City by now.

But the doorman politely shakes his head and says, “I don’t think so, sir, since I took the liberty of using this on one of the rear tires.”

He holds up a Boy Scout pocket knife.

I could kill him.

In fact, I do.

Right on the mouth.

He knows and I know the limo won’t get more than a few blocks with a cut in the tire.

The polite man doesn’t look like a window, but I promise him the biggest tip he’s ever seen when I get back

He only smiles politely, then hails me a cab.



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