| General Fiction posted August 15, 2022 | Chapters: |
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Part 2 of The Best Time of Ohmie's Life
A chapter in the book The Best Time of Ohmie's Life
Best Time of Ohmie's Life pt 2
by Wayne Fowler
In the first chapter, Ohmie’s parents were arguing over him being suspended from school. Ohmie’s father, who he rarely saw, had come home during the night. Ohmie has stage four lymphoma cancer but takes chemo therapy. Just after Ohmie’s mother left the house in a tiff, Dad gets a call from his employer. It would seem that he was not engaged in import/export, but something more sinister. Taking Ohmie with him, they flew from their home near Washington D.C. to London. They were met by two assassins at their hotel room. Ohmie has just killed them both while Dad had been beaned and was unconscious.
I heard Dad groan. That snapped me outta my trance-like state. I was leaning on the bed, the one nearest the door. The dude that had opened the door was the one who pulled Dad into the room, kicking me and the door. Me, to get me out of the way, and the door to shut it. Dad reached for his head, but before getting there, he jerked alert, checking out the scene. What he saw was two dead guys with two holes in each. They were about his size, six foot one, or so. Both had dark hair and were dark complected, but not Middle East dark. Dad also saw me holding his gun.
What was going on? How’d I get here? I tried to think. But sometimes that’s just about more’n I can do. The last I remember Nurse May was helping me into a wheelchair to go to chemo. I don’t remember going home. Or being with Dad at all. I know we’re in a hotel room. That’s obvious by the exit chart on the room’s door.
Is this normal? Are hallucinations part of my condition and treatment, or side effects of the meds, or the cancer? I know this is real. There’s definitely two bodies on the hotel room floor. You don’t trip and nearly fall over an apparition, or a dream. Or do you? Was my memory of Nurse May helping me the dream?
Without saying a word, Dad slowly reached out and took the gun from me. “How long was I out?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I was still trying to figure out whether it was one minute, or ten, or two days. That’s a laugh, though. I didn’t even know he’d been out.
“Time to go, Ohmie. Bobbies’ll be here. Probably already in the building.” With that, he had his bag and was out the door, not bothering to see whether I was following. He did take the time to put his gun in his waistband.
The hotel was one of those Old World kind, definitely not a Motel 6 built like a short stack of dominos. This thing had hallways like a hospital. I figured we were heading for the back. We weren’t. Using the stairs, by the time we got down to the first floor, called the ground floor here in England, we were near the front lobby, just down a hallway from it.
“You okay?” he asked. I guess I was having a little trouble keeping up. “Go out the front door just like this is your own house,” Dad said. “Don’t run. Don’t look around. Just head for the door and go out. Turn left and walk. I’ll find you.”
My mouth flapped once or twice, but seeing Dad’s expression, I knew better than to question him. I just hoped I’d been listening to know whether he said to walk left, or right. Sometimes your brain plays games on you. You’re pretty sure you heard one thing, and then you could swear that you heard the opposite. I asked my hands. Yup. My left was the one that had done a little wiggle when he’d said it.
I’d walked about a half mile, I figured. Four blocks, anyway. At home, nine blocks was a mile all over town. I wasn’t walking fast, just trying to match the other pedestrians. That was tough enough. I was really cooked, roll me in batter and drop me into the grease. There weren’t many, other pedestrians, that is, but I tried not to stand out anyway. Dad was beside me without me knowing he was anywhere near. I have no idea how he did it, but he was wearing a blue sports logo jacket, probably soccer, or football as they call it here. And no tie. And a baseball cap. The cap logo didn’t match the jacket.
“Your jacket and hat don’t match.” I said. “You look like a confused American.”
Dad glanced at me, giving me a little nudge. “In here.”
It was a pub. “I’m only thirteen. Just barely.”
“So sit tall and don’t slouch,” he said. “Order Coke.”
“I prefer Pepsi,” I said as we got to a booth that his nod told me was ours. I was beginning to feel a little better.
“Coke.”
Dad ordered a pint. I guess they knew what to put in it.
“Dad …”
He raised his hand just enough to send a clear signal. His eyes were surveying the room, but I figured he was just thinking.
“You’re not into import and export, are you?”
I saw a slight twitch to his left upper lip. It was just an instant, but it was a smile.
“You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
His glare told me to shut it, even though I’d whispered and there was no one nearby.
“No questions, got it?”
I got it. Dad took another swig, got up and headed for the door, leaving a twenty on the table. He’d only drunk half of his pint. I hadn’t touched my coke yet. Getting up to follow him was about all I could do. So I picked up his pint and took a big a gulp as my mouth could hold. I got it down as best I could. Probably about the same as if it was turpentine. No wonder he left it. Out the door, I turned left. Nope. He’d gone right. I followed at a pace that would catch me up to him in about a week. He never once looked back. I didn’t think him losing the hat was such a big disguising technique.
Suddenly he was at my side again, coming up from behind. “Cross the street, he said. “We’re getting a cab. He didn’t have the jacket anymore. His sleeves were rolled up and his light brown hair looked like Boris Johnson’s. The taxi took us to the bank that Dad told him the name of. He didn’t tell me whether to follow him, or to drop dead. I followed, even though I felt more like dropping dead. Inside the bank he pointed at a couch in the center of the room. “Give me your backpack. And don’t let anyone shoot you,” he said under his breath as he proceeded further into the bank. I hadn’t noticed when he’d lost his carry-on bag. Probably way back at the hotel.
Ten minutes later we were watching for another cab that I figured Dad had someone call for him. Nope, it was the same one as before. Must’ve circled the block for ten minutes.
“You must be used to working alone, huh?” I asked.
He did the same little lip twitch again, but didn’t even glance my way. I started to say something… to ask something actually. But I remembered Dad’s remarks about the same time his hand lifted into the air. My pie hole, I shut. We were going to Heathrow. Flying me back home was my guess. 221b Baker Street would have to wait.
Nope. Wrong again. Dad bought me a ticket to DC all right, but it was on a flight that wasn’t leaving until after his flight to Warsaw. And he bought his Warsaw ticket using a different passport from the one I saw at Reagan National. According to the flight schedule monitor, there were two other flights to DC before mine. Why would he leave me here at the airport alone for an hour after his flight left?
We went to the bathroom where he directed me into a stall. “Lock it,” he said. In a couple minutes I guess the room had cleared ‘cause he started talking to me. I had to strain to hear because he spoke quietly. “We’re not going home.”
Puzzled, I didn’t say anything. “You’re coming with me.”
“To Warsaw?” I wondered, not saying it out loud.
The door opened and several people came in. I figured they just got off a long flight and all had to go. It took several minutes before he could resume. “We’re going to…”
“Warsaw,” I filled in. When he didn’t respond I told him that I’d read his lips when he bought his ticket.
“I’ll get your ticket at the last minute. In the meanwhile we’ll do a little shopping, eat, and wait for our flight at the Canada terminal. Now remember… no questions. Change shirts with one from your bag. When you leave here go back to the main entrance area and look for the shops. It’s okay for you to ask directions. I’ll meet you there.”
I didn’t say anything. A couple minutes after the door opened and shut, I went through it, turning left outside the door. The shirt I’d changed into wasn’t much different from the one I took off, but it was a little. I did have a Nationals hat. I’d thrown it into my back pack grabbing it at the same time as the Clancy novel. Getting my hat was when I saw the bundles of cash and the two guns and boxes of ammo that Dad must’ve put in there at the bank. No way he’d just leave me with all that stuff. I figured he be watching me as I made my way to the shops.
In the first chapter, Ohmie’s parents were arguing over him being suspended from school. Ohmie’s father, who he rarely saw, had come home during the night. Ohmie has stage four lymphoma cancer but takes chemo therapy. Just after Ohmie’s mother left the house in a tiff, Dad gets a call from his employer. It would seem that he was not engaged in import/export, but something more sinister. Taking Ohmie with him, they flew from their home near Washington D.C. to London. They were met by two assassins at their hotel room. Ohmie has just killed them both while Dad had been beaned and was unconscious.
I heard Dad groan. That snapped me outta my trance-like state. I was leaning on the bed, the one nearest the door. The dude that had opened the door was the one who pulled Dad into the room, kicking me and the door. Me, to get me out of the way, and the door to shut it. Dad reached for his head, but before getting there, he jerked alert, checking out the scene. What he saw was two dead guys with two holes in each. They were about his size, six foot one, or so. Both had dark hair and were dark complected, but not Middle East dark. Dad also saw me holding his gun.
What was going on? How’d I get here? I tried to think. But sometimes that’s just about more’n I can do. The last I remember Nurse May was helping me into a wheelchair to go to chemo. I don’t remember going home. Or being with Dad at all. I know we’re in a hotel room. That’s obvious by the exit chart on the room’s door.
Is this normal? Are hallucinations part of my condition and treatment, or side effects of the meds, or the cancer? I know this is real. There’s definitely two bodies on the hotel room floor. You don’t trip and nearly fall over an apparition, or a dream. Or do you? Was my memory of Nurse May helping me the dream?
Without saying a word, Dad slowly reached out and took the gun from me. “How long was I out?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I was still trying to figure out whether it was one minute, or ten, or two days. That’s a laugh, though. I didn’t even know he’d been out.
“Time to go, Ohmie. Bobbies’ll be here. Probably already in the building.” With that, he had his bag and was out the door, not bothering to see whether I was following. He did take the time to put his gun in his waistband.
The hotel was one of those Old World kind, definitely not a Motel 6 built like a short stack of dominos. This thing had hallways like a hospital. I figured we were heading for the back. We weren’t. Using the stairs, by the time we got down to the first floor, called the ground floor here in England, we were near the front lobby, just down a hallway from it.
“You okay?” he asked. I guess I was having a little trouble keeping up. “Go out the front door just like this is your own house,” Dad said. “Don’t run. Don’t look around. Just head for the door and go out. Turn left and walk. I’ll find you.”
My mouth flapped once or twice, but seeing Dad’s expression, I knew better than to question him. I just hoped I’d been listening to know whether he said to walk left, or right. Sometimes your brain plays games on you. You’re pretty sure you heard one thing, and then you could swear that you heard the opposite. I asked my hands. Yup. My left was the one that had done a little wiggle when he’d said it.
I’d walked about a half mile, I figured. Four blocks, anyway. At home, nine blocks was a mile all over town. I wasn’t walking fast, just trying to match the other pedestrians. That was tough enough. I was really cooked, roll me in batter and drop me into the grease. There weren’t many, other pedestrians, that is, but I tried not to stand out anyway. Dad was beside me without me knowing he was anywhere near. I have no idea how he did it, but he was wearing a blue sports logo jacket, probably soccer, or football as they call it here. And no tie. And a baseball cap. The cap logo didn’t match the jacket.
“Your jacket and hat don’t match.” I said. “You look like a confused American.”
Dad glanced at me, giving me a little nudge. “In here.”
It was a pub. “I’m only thirteen. Just barely.”
“So sit tall and don’t slouch,” he said. “Order Coke.”
“I prefer Pepsi,” I said as we got to a booth that his nod told me was ours. I was beginning to feel a little better.
“Coke.”
Dad ordered a pint. I guess they knew what to put in it.
“Dad …”
He raised his hand just enough to send a clear signal. His eyes were surveying the room, but I figured he was just thinking.
“You’re not into import and export, are you?”
I saw a slight twitch to his left upper lip. It was just an instant, but it was a smile.
“You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
His glare told me to shut it, even though I’d whispered and there was no one nearby.
“No questions, got it?”
I got it. Dad took another swig, got up and headed for the door, leaving a twenty on the table. He’d only drunk half of his pint. I hadn’t touched my coke yet. Getting up to follow him was about all I could do. So I picked up his pint and took a big a gulp as my mouth could hold. I got it down as best I could. Probably about the same as if it was turpentine. No wonder he left it. Out the door, I turned left. Nope. He’d gone right. I followed at a pace that would catch me up to him in about a week. He never once looked back. I didn’t think him losing the hat was such a big disguising technique.
Suddenly he was at my side again, coming up from behind. “Cross the street, he said. “We’re getting a cab. He didn’t have the jacket anymore. His sleeves were rolled up and his light brown hair looked like Boris Johnson’s. The taxi took us to the bank that Dad told him the name of. He didn’t tell me whether to follow him, or to drop dead. I followed, even though I felt more like dropping dead. Inside the bank he pointed at a couch in the center of the room. “Give me your backpack. And don’t let anyone shoot you,” he said under his breath as he proceeded further into the bank. I hadn’t noticed when he’d lost his carry-on bag. Probably way back at the hotel.
Ten minutes later we were watching for another cab that I figured Dad had someone call for him. Nope, it was the same one as before. Must’ve circled the block for ten minutes.
“You must be used to working alone, huh?” I asked.
He did the same little lip twitch again, but didn’t even glance my way. I started to say something… to ask something actually. But I remembered Dad’s remarks about the same time his hand lifted into the air. My pie hole, I shut. We were going to Heathrow. Flying me back home was my guess. 221b Baker Street would have to wait.
Nope. Wrong again. Dad bought me a ticket to DC all right, but it was on a flight that wasn’t leaving until after his flight to Warsaw. And he bought his Warsaw ticket using a different passport from the one I saw at Reagan National. According to the flight schedule monitor, there were two other flights to DC before mine. Why would he leave me here at the airport alone for an hour after his flight left?
We went to the bathroom where he directed me into a stall. “Lock it,” he said. In a couple minutes I guess the room had cleared ‘cause he started talking to me. I had to strain to hear because he spoke quietly. “We’re not going home.”
Puzzled, I didn’t say anything. “You’re coming with me.”
“To Warsaw?” I wondered, not saying it out loud.
The door opened and several people came in. I figured they just got off a long flight and all had to go. It took several minutes before he could resume. “We’re going to…”
“Warsaw,” I filled in. When he didn’t respond I told him that I’d read his lips when he bought his ticket.
“I’ll get your ticket at the last minute. In the meanwhile we’ll do a little shopping, eat, and wait for our flight at the Canada terminal. Now remember… no questions. Change shirts with one from your bag. When you leave here go back to the main entrance area and look for the shops. It’s okay for you to ask directions. I’ll meet you there.”
I didn’t say anything. A couple minutes after the door opened and shut, I went through it, turning left outside the door. The shirt I’d changed into wasn’t much different from the one I took off, but it was a little. I did have a Nationals hat. I’d thrown it into my back pack grabbing it at the same time as the Clancy novel. Getting my hat was when I saw the bundles of cash and the two guns and boxes of ammo that Dad must’ve put in there at the bank. No way he’d just leave me with all that stuff. I figured he be watching me as I made my way to the shops.
I heard Dad groan. That snapped me outta my trance-like state. I was leaning on the bed, the one nearest the door. The dude that had opened the door was the one who pulled Dad into the room, kicking me and the door. Me, to get me out of the way, and the door to shut it. Dad reached for his head, but before getting there, he jerked alert, checking out the scene. What he saw was two dead guys with two holes in each. They were about his size, six foot one, or so. Both had dark hair and were dark complected, but not Middle East dark. Dad also saw me holding his gun.
What was going on? How’d I get here? I tried to think. But sometimes that’s just about more’n I can do. The last I remember Nurse May was helping me into a wheelchair to go to chemo. I don’t remember going home. Or being with Dad at all. I know we’re in a hotel room. That’s obvious by the exit chart on the room’s door.
Is this normal? Are hallucinations part of my condition and treatment, or side effects of the meds, or the cancer? I know this is real. There’s definitely two bodies on the hotel room floor. You don’t trip and nearly fall over an apparition, or a dream. Or do you? Was my memory of Nurse May helping me the dream?
Without saying a word, Dad slowly reached out and took the gun from me. “How long was I out?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I was still trying to figure out whether it was one minute, or ten, or two days. That’s a laugh, though. I didn’t even know he’d been out.
“Time to go, Ohmie. Bobbies’ll be here. Probably already in the building.” With that, he had his bag and was out the door, not bothering to see whether I was following. He did take the time to put his gun in his waistband.
The hotel was one of those Old World kind, definitely not a Motel 6 built like a short stack of dominos. This thing had hallways like a hospital. I figured we were heading for the back. We weren’t. Using the stairs, by the time we got down to the first floor, called the ground floor here in England, we were near the front lobby, just down a hallway from it.
“You okay?” he asked. I guess I was having a little trouble keeping up. “Go out the front door just like this is your own house,” Dad said. “Don’t run. Don’t look around. Just head for the door and go out. Turn left and walk. I’ll find you.”
My mouth flapped once or twice, but seeing Dad’s expression, I knew better than to question him. I just hoped I’d been listening to know whether he said to walk left, or right. Sometimes your brain plays games on you. You’re pretty sure you heard one thing, and then you could swear that you heard the opposite. I asked my hands. Yup. My left was the one that had done a little wiggle when he’d said it.
I’d walked about a half mile, I figured. Four blocks, anyway. At home, nine blocks was a mile all over town. I wasn’t walking fast, just trying to match the other pedestrians. That was tough enough. I was really cooked, roll me in batter and drop me into the grease. There weren’t many, other pedestrians, that is, but I tried not to stand out anyway. Dad was beside me without me knowing he was anywhere near. I have no idea how he did it, but he was wearing a blue sports logo jacket, probably soccer, or football as they call it here. And no tie. And a baseball cap. The cap logo didn’t match the jacket.
“Your jacket and hat don’t match.” I said. “You look like a confused American.”
Dad glanced at me, giving me a little nudge. “In here.”
It was a pub. “I’m only thirteen. Just barely.”
“So sit tall and don’t slouch,” he said. “Order Coke.”
“I prefer Pepsi,” I said as we got to a booth that his nod told me was ours. I was beginning to feel a little better.
“Coke.”
Dad ordered a pint. I guess they knew what to put in it.
“Dad …”
He raised his hand just enough to send a clear signal. His eyes were surveying the room, but I figured he was just thinking.
“You’re not into import and export, are you?”
I saw a slight twitch to his left upper lip. It was just an instant, but it was a smile.
“You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
His glare told me to shut it, even though I’d whispered and there was no one nearby.
“No questions, got it?”
I got it. Dad took another swig, got up and headed for the door, leaving a twenty on the table. He’d only drunk half of his pint. I hadn’t touched my coke yet. Getting up to follow him was about all I could do. So I picked up his pint and took a big a gulp as my mouth could hold. I got it down as best I could. Probably about the same as if it was turpentine. No wonder he left it. Out the door, I turned left. Nope. He’d gone right. I followed at a pace that would catch me up to him in about a week. He never once looked back. I didn’t think him losing the hat was such a big disguising technique.
Suddenly he was at my side again, coming up from behind. “Cross the street, he said. “We’re getting a cab. He didn’t have the jacket anymore. His sleeves were rolled up and his light brown hair looked like Boris Johnson’s. The taxi took us to the bank that Dad told him the name of. He didn’t tell me whether to follow him, or to drop dead. I followed, even though I felt more like dropping dead. Inside the bank he pointed at a couch in the center of the room. “Give me your backpack. And don’t let anyone shoot you,” he said under his breath as he proceeded further into the bank. I hadn’t noticed when he’d lost his carry-on bag. Probably way back at the hotel.
Ten minutes later we were watching for another cab that I figured Dad had someone call for him. Nope, it was the same one as before. Must’ve circled the block for ten minutes.
“You must be used to working alone, huh?” I asked.
He did the same little lip twitch again, but didn’t even glance my way. I started to say something… to ask something actually. But I remembered Dad’s remarks about the same time his hand lifted into the air. My pie hole, I shut. We were going to Heathrow. Flying me back home was my guess. 221b Baker Street would have to wait.
Nope. Wrong again. Dad bought me a ticket to DC all right, but it was on a flight that wasn’t leaving until after his flight to Warsaw. And he bought his Warsaw ticket using a different passport from the one I saw at Reagan National. According to the flight schedule monitor, there were two other flights to DC before mine. Why would he leave me here at the airport alone for an hour after his flight left?
We went to the bathroom where he directed me into a stall. “Lock it,” he said. In a couple minutes I guess the room had cleared ‘cause he started talking to me. I had to strain to hear because he spoke quietly. “We’re not going home.”
Puzzled, I didn’t say anything. “You’re coming with me.”
“To Warsaw?” I wondered, not saying it out loud.
The door opened and several people came in. I figured they just got off a long flight and all had to go. It took several minutes before he could resume. “We’re going to…”
“Warsaw,” I filled in. When he didn’t respond I told him that I’d read his lips when he bought his ticket.
“I’ll get your ticket at the last minute. In the meanwhile we’ll do a little shopping, eat, and wait for our flight at the Canada terminal. Now remember… no questions. Change shirts with one from your bag. When you leave here go back to the main entrance area and look for the shops. It’s okay for you to ask directions. I’ll meet you there.”
I didn’t say anything. A couple minutes after the door opened and shut, I went through it, turning left outside the door. The shirt I’d changed into wasn’t much different from the one I took off, but it was a little. I did have a Nationals hat. I’d thrown it into my back pack grabbing it at the same time as the Clancy novel. Getting my hat was when I saw the bundles of cash and the two guns and boxes of ammo that Dad must’ve put in there at the bank. No way he’d just leave me with all that stuff. I figured he be watching me as I made my way to the shops.
Ohmie is derived from the parts of electricity: amps, volts, ohms, watts, and etc.
This story takes place in modern time. I'm not sure if I will post it all. Usually I don't post until the work is complete. I'm up to about 20K words and still not sure who the protagonist is.
Pays
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and 2 member cents. This story takes place in modern time. I'm not sure if I will post it all. Usually I don't post until the work is complete. I'm up to about 20K words and still not sure who the protagonist is.
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