The night the Rhymer went whack
Chapter 39

39

. . . that descending air becomes warmer and drier, which is relatively stable. Once it blankets the Earth the air stabilizes, creating a serenity, precipitating what’s on the horizon.

Straffe had made a few phone calls and secured a seat on a C-20 Gulfstream that was headed to Europe to assist the U.S. Military. It was leaving out of Liberty Airport in twenty hours and he had to get there. Newark, he thought, looking out of his window at the utter madness and wondering how was he to travel just nine miles that now seemed like a world away. He had to get there.

He looked around his apartment, taking it all in and savoring the moment, not knowing that once he exited, if he’d ever be able to return to his sanctuary. He paused at the sight of his record player and smiled. Jussi Bjorling, he thought, now wanting to hear him on record one last time, just in case. Searching through his collection he spotted the slicked-back, black hair of the opera star and pulled the record from its case. With a silk cloth, he meticulously wiped it free of dust before placing it under the needle. When the sound emanated, he sighed happily and content, suspended in the present while engulfed in pure harmony. He poured a glass of wine and drew the shades in the kitchen, living room, bedroom and finally his den where he ventured over to the bookcase and ran his hands along the mahogany edges. Smiling at his literary collection, he grabbed a well-worn leathery edition that pleased him.

Straffe settled down in his recliner and thumbed its pages. He took a sip and relaxed, engulfed in the moment, savoring it until the bittersweet end. Relieved, he finally rose, now focused on what to wear. First a suit and tie, then jeans and a sweatshirt before changing back into his comfort, a suit and tie. This is me, he thought, staring at himself in the mirror. He eyed his wingtips but for practicality, settled on his most comfortable pair of sneakers. He looked good, but he was on a mission. He opened his closet and selected the final two pieces of his ensemble, a shotgun and a nine millimeter. Ready, he strode down his hallway, but before exiting, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror. His eyes went straight to his sneakers. Disappointed that the world had changed him, he rushed back and exchanged them for his wingtips. Finally, he exited, shutting the door then locking it from the outside. His pace quickened as he headed toward his destiny.

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