The House of Storms

By: Geron Kees
(© 2017 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

GKees@tickiestories.us

Chapter 6

In the morning, they had breakfast together in the hotel dining room. Mr. Dane told them again to enjoy the day, and then went into the nearby town to see Sheriff Kingsley. The boys donned their by now daily outfits of swim trunks, tee-shirts, and canvas deck shoes, took some towels, and headed for the beach.
 
 There were staircases that went from the boardwalk atop the seawall down to the warm sands every thirty feet or so along its length, and the boys went down to the beach and laid out their towels, took off their shoes and shirts, and sat to watch what was going on about them. Frank had brought along a bottle of the new suntan lotion that was supposed to keep skin from burning in the sun, and they took turns rubbing it in, helping each other with their backs.
 
 There were a lot of guys in their age group all about them, and it wasn't hard to take in a nice eyeful at every turn. They even spied the boy from the sandwich counter in the hotel, sitting in a small beach chair while a pretty girl applied sun lotion to his shoulders. He eventually noticed them watching and waved, and the boys waved back.
 
 "Even cuter in a bathing suit," Chip said, giving Frank a small nudge.
 
 Frank just smiled, not rising to the bait. That Chip had been slightly jealous of the counterboy, he knew. Chip was not normally the jealous type, but the counterboy was very cute, and the fact that Frank had obviously been attracted to the lad caused Chip to feel insecure.
 
 "Not as cute as you," Frank whispered back. "I'm happy with what I have, boy."
 
 Chip didn't say anything more, but the smile on his face was enough.
 
 They romped in the surf, raced back and forth in the deeper water, and laid out in the sun a bit more before Joe announced the he had had enough. "I don't want to be so burned I can't have fun the rest of the time we're here," he pointed out.
 
 Frank smiled at that. The four of them were already sun-browned from the summer sun, and the chances of getting burned were slim now. Frank understood that his brother was just restless to get on with the job of solving the case. He could feel the draw to resume their investigation himself, and understood the feeling all too well. It's in the blood, he thought, sighing to himself.
 
 They dressed again, retrieved their towels, and headed back up the steps to the boardwalk. They were searching out a drink stand when Joe suddenly pointed. "That doesn't look good."
 
 The boys turned to look where Joe was pointing. At the other side of the carnival, the big Ferris wheel was turning. But it seemed to be slowing down and speeding up in little jerks and pauses, and the riders up high were swaying back and forth in their seats, and waving frantically at the ground.
 
 "Better have a look at that," Frank agreed. They crossed the carnival grounds, joining a growing stream of people walking towards the Ferris wheel to see what was going on. They soon arrived at a larger crowd, and pushed their way through to the front of it.
 
 At the base of the Ferris wheel, a small crowd of men stood near the power plant that ran the ride. The engine seemed to be running smoothly enough - the men were clustered around the big gear assembly that transferred power to the wheel to give it motion.
 
 Frank nodded at the others, and they all moved closer to hear what the men were saying.
 
 "-- never seen anything like it!" A small, horse-faced man in a red shirt with the Land's End logo embroidered above the pocket was saying. "The teeth seem to be crumbling right off the gears!"
 
 Another man, large, balding, and with a slight paunch, clamped his teeth down on the cigar he was smoking and shook his head. "I've seen this before, even if you haven't. It looks like someone has poured a strong acid into the gearbox."
 
 "Acid!" exclaimed the smaller man. "Who would do that, Mr. Jixson? And why?"
 
 The bigger man shook his head. "I dunno, Melvin. It doesn't matter just now." He craned his neck back and looked upwards. "I'm more concerned with how we're going to run the wheel in order to get these people down." He stepped back and grasped a large lever, eyed the wheel, and waited until one of the seats came hesitantly around to the landing at the base. Then he yanked the lever back, and the wheel ground to a halt with an alarming yowl from the gearbox.
 
 "Get those people off, quickly! I want to try to unload the ride before the gears are gone!"
 
 The red-shirted man nodded, and he and several others ran to the stopped carriage, drew back the restraining bar, and hurriedly helped the people off.  The big man - obviously Hiram Jixson, the man responsible for ride maintenance at Land's End, according to the boy's father - nodded, threw the lever back the other way. There was again a horrendous sound from the ride's gearbox, but the wheel jerked and moved forward until the next seat was down. In this fashion they had unloaded all the seats except for two when the wheel suddenly jerked, and stopped moving.
 
 Mr. Jixson shook his head. "She's done, boys. Good thing those last two carriages are down low. Grab a ladder and help those people down. If we still had riders up top, we'd be facing a real rescue operation about now."
 
 He stepped over to the wheel's engine, and shut it down. He made sure the big lever was tight against its stops, and then grabbed a restraining rope and draped the loop at its end over the top of the lever. "Well, at least the brake seems okay."
 
 The boys watched as a ladder was brought and the last riders helped back to the ground. They did not appear to be pleased, and several of them stomped off in a huff.
 
 "More bad publicity for the resort," Tony said, shaking his head. "Somebody really has it in for this place!"
 
 "I'll say!" Joe agreed.
 
 They debated going to Mr. Jixson and trying to talk to him, but felt that job was better left to the elder Dane. The boys were aware that they were supposed to observe, not ask questions.
 
 For the most part!
 
 They left the Ferris wheel and wandered back towards the hotel. There was a noticeable number of people doing the same thing.
 
 "I hope this doesn't mean people are leaving," Joe whispered.
 
 The went inside the hotel, took the elevator up to the fourth floor. As the doors opened they caught sight of a man just ducking into the other elevator. He was large, with dark, curly hair, swarthy of complexion, and dressed like a businessman. He was carrying what looked like a burlap sack in one hand. And he seemed in a real hurry!
 
 "Must be late for an important appointment," Frank said, shaking his head.
 
 They let themselves into Frank's room, and sat down on the sofa and the bed. "I could use some lunch," Chip said, patting his belly.
 
 Frank nodded. "Breakfast seems like a long time ago, doesn't it? I guess we can go back down to the dining room and get something." He laughed. "We should have thought of that before we came upstairs!"
 
 "I wonder if dad is back?" Joe said. "Maybe he learned something more about those men in the car." He got up and went to the door into his room, opened it, and crossed to the door to his father's room. He rapped lightly on the door, but there was no answer. He was just about to walk away when he heard something, and stopped.
 
 "Dad?"
 
 "Joe! Don't come in!"
 
 Joe's eyes opened wide, and he turned back towards the other room. "Frank! Come quickly!"
 
 He heard the sound of voices, and the the other three boys came running.
 
 "What's the matter?" Frank called, drawing up next to his brother.
 
 "Something's wrong!" Joe hissed. "Dad's in his room, but when I knocked he said not to come in. He sounds like he's in trouble!"
 
 Frank grabbed the doorknob and turned it. The door was not locked. He inched it open, and peered into the next room.
 
 His father was standing on the bed, his legs spread for balance. He was looking over by the desk. Frank inched the door open wider, and looked at where the elder Dane was watching.
 
 Frank's breath went out. A snake! It was about six feet long, and brown, and not of a species that Frank recognized. It was coiled, and the head was up, and it looked agitated.
 
 Mr. Dane turned his head. "Boys, do not come in here! Do you understand me?"
 
 "Yes," Frank said. "Dad, what can we do?"
 
 The elder Dane looked back at the chair by the desk, over the back of which hung a shoulder holster containing a Smith and Wesson snub-nosed .38. Frank had not realized that his father had brought his pistol - it must have been in his luggage, as he was not wearing it on the trip up. "If I can get my gun, I can finish the thing."
 
 Frank looked over his shoulder at the others. "There's a big snake in dad's room. We need to lure it over this way somehow, so he can get his gun."
 
 "A snake!" Joe said, looking horrified. "Is it poisonous?"
 
 "I don't know," Frank admitted. "I've never seen a snake like this one. I don't think dad knows, either. But he's not taking any chances."
 
 "Hey," Chip said then. "Remember when we were getting off the elevator, we saw that guy getting into the other car? He was carrying a burlap bag!"
 
 Frank grimaced, considering the idea that the man who had brought the snake now menacing their father had walked right by them and escaped. But they could not dwell on that now. Frank pressed his face into the opening again.
 
 "Dad! If we can somehow lure it this way, you can go for your gun."
 
 "Do not come into this room," the detective reiterated. "Go to your phone and call the front desk. Have them call Sheriff Kingsley and tell him what is happening. Do it, Frank!"
 
 Frank nodded, and shut the door.
 
 "Are we just going to stand here? Joe asked, looking incredulous.
 
 "You heard dad," Frank returned, grimly. He went to the phone and called the desk, and asked for Mr. Crandon, saying that he was calling for Ben Dane. The operator switched them, and in a moment Frank was talking to the hotel manager. He explained what was happening in his father's room, and that he was to call the Sheriff for assistance. The man was aghast, but assured him that he would comply.
 
 Frank hung up the phone, went back to the door, and inched it open. "They're on their way, dad."
 
 Mr. Dane nodded. "Now close that door. The snake went under the bed and I don't know where it is."
 
 It was five minutes before they heard sirens approaching. Joe went to the hallway door and out to the elevators to await the Sheriff. Presently, he saw the car on its way up, and soon the doors opened, and three men in uniform stepped out. Another man, in a business suit, was right behind them.
 
 The first lawman was tall and rangy, with a small mustache, and about Mr. Dane's age. He had confident eyes with laugh lines on either side of them, and Joe liked him immediately.
 
 "Sheriff Kingsley? I'm Joe Dane."
 
 He explained to the man and his two deputies what was happening in his father's room. The man in the suit turned out to be Mr. Crandon, the hotel manager. He looked grim, and worried, and not only for his hotel.
 
 Joe walked the men back to Frank's room. He introduced his brother and their chums, and then let Frank take over.
 
 "Never saw a snake like it," Frank said. "It's brown - dark on top, light on the bottom. About six feet long. It looks pretty agitated. My dad seems to think there's some danger. He warned us not to come inside."
 
 The lawman nodded. "Probably a good idea. I know the local breeds of snakes, and this does not sound to be one of them. You seldom see them this close to the ocean, anyway."
 
 "Hey," one of the other men - a deputy - said then. "There's a snake handler at the carnival. Maybe he can help."
 
 The sheriff nodded. "Good thinking, Jim. You want to go and get him?"
 
 The deputy nodded, and headed for the elevator.
 
 Sheriff Kingsley went to the door between rooms and inched it open. The snake was not visible on the floor. "Ben? Jake Kingsley. What have you got?"
 
 Mr. Dane's head turned, and he nodded. "The snake was under the bed, but it just came out and is now by the dresser, about eight feet to your right."
 
 "Can you make the door?"
 
 "I can't chance it. The snake is too close to it."
 
 "What about your gun?"
 
 "Maybe. I'm pretty sure I could reach the gun and get it - but what happens next would depend on how the snake reacts. If it stays still, I might be able to shoot it before it gets me. But it's a pretty small target. If I miss, I might be in trouble."
 
 The sheriff nodded, opening the door a little wider and peering around the jamb to his right. "I see it now. Not a local breed, Ben. Have any idea how it got here?"
 
 "No. I was sitting at the desk, and heard a sound behind me, like the lock bolt easing into the strike plate. I turned, and there was the snake, just inside the door,  I jumped up on the bed, and here I am staying for the time being."
 
 "We think we know how it got here," Frank said, and then described the man with the burlap bag getting onto the elevator as they were getting off.
 
 "You saw his face?" Mr. Dane asked.
 
 "Yes, dad. Big man, curly hair, dark complexion, wearing a business suit. He had a burlap bag in one hand."
 
 Mr. Dane nodded. "Maybe."
 
 "One of my deputies went to bring the snake handler from the carnival. Maybe he can identify the snake."
 
 "Good idea." Mr. Dane made a sudden noise. "Jake! Close the door! It's coming your way!"
 
 The sheriff slammed the door shut. There was a sound from the other room, and then a horrendous bang, and they felt something strike the floor a solid wallop. Joe leaped for the door, but Frank grabbed him and  held him back.
 
 "Dad!"
 
 They all stopped moving, listening. There was no sound from the other room.
 
 Behind them, the door to the hallway opened, and Ben Dane came in, carrying his pistol. Frank and Joe both let out a yell and ran for the man, and the detective opened his arms, smiling. "Watch the pistol, boys," he said calmly, as Frank and Joe took turns hugging their father.
 
 "Dad, what happened?" Frank asked, after they had finally separated.
 
 "I'm not sure. The snake suddenly started for your door, and that's when I called to close it. But it's movement put the end of the bed between it and the desk chair, and I saw an opportunity to go for my gun. I guess it caught my movement, because when I turned back it was on its way towards me. I aimed and fired automatically." He grinned. "Talk about a lucky shot!"
 
 Joe patted his father's arm. "You mean all those hours on the pistol range when you were a Gulfport policeman! No wonder you got the sharpshooter's badge!"
 
 Frank pointed at the connecting door. "Is it safe to go in?
 
 "I wouldn't," the elder Dane said. "I got a head shot, and there's stuff all over the floor on the other side of the door. Some of it could be venom, and some venoms don't have to be injected to be dangerous."
 
 There were people out in the hallway now, drawn by the sound of the gunshot, and the other deputy went out to quiet them down. A moment later, the first deputy returned, another man in tow. The newcomer was young and serious-looking, with sandy hair and hazel eyes. He wore a tight tee-shirt that revealed a stout musculature, and his forearms were covered with tattoos.
 
 "This is Dirk Jameson," the deputy offered. "He's the snake handler at the carnival. Do we still need him?"
 
 "Yes," Mr. Dane said. He stuck out a hand and introduced himself to the snake handler, who shook hands and grinned. "The detective? I'm impressed."
 
 Mr. Dane simply nodded. "I wonder if you can identify a snake breed for me? I just killed it, and the head is gone, but the rest of the body is intact."
 
 The man shrugged. "I'll give it a look. I don't know every breed, though. There are a lot of snakes in the world."
 
 "Fair enough." Mr. Dane led them back out into the hallway and around to his room. He and the snake handler and the sheriff entered the room, while the boys hung back at the open door.
 
 Inside the room, the stretched-out length of the snake lay upon the floor, headless, among a spray of gore.
 
 The snake handler immediately whistled. "Holy smoke!"
 
 "You recognize the breed?" Mr. Dane asked.
 
 "Do I!" The man stuck out his hand and grasped the detective's hand again, and shook it vigorously. "Congratulations, Mr. Dane. Not too many people survive an encounter with a taipan."
 
 Mr. Dane and the sheriff looked at each other. "Never heard of it," Kingsley said.
 
 "Me, either," The detective admitted.
 
 The snake handler nodded. "I'm not surprised. The snake is native to Australia."
 
 Mr. Dane's eyes narrowed. "Australia!"
 
 Jameson nodded. "Yes." He grinned. "I've loved snakes all my life, Mr. Dane. Ever since I was a boy. I know all the American breeds, and most of the European and Asian ones, too. I was stationed on New Guinea at the tail end of the war - navy - and so I got familiar with some of the breeds there, too." He cocked a head at the snake, and nodded. "This is a coastal taipan, and an adult, too. This is about as big as they get." He shook his head. "They're extremely deadly."
 
 "Poisonous?" Frank asked from the doorway.
 
 "Venomous, yes," Jameson said, glancing at him. "It s a neurotoxin, too - very unpleasant. There's no such thing as a small bite from one of these snakes. They get hold of you, they are going to inject you with a lethal dose."
 
 Frank stared at his father in horror. "Dad!"
 
 The detective nodded. "Don't they have antivenoms for these things?"
 
 "Some snakes, yes. This one, no. You have to have a sample of a snake's venom in order to create an antivenom, and no one has ever caught one of these critters alive." He made a startled noise. "Or, not until now, anyway. Someone would have had to catch this one in order to get it here."
 
 "The bite is always lethal?" Mr. Dane asked.
 
 "Always," Jameson agreed. "Anywhere from thirty minutes to about two hours. It isn't pretty, either."
 
 Mr. Dane was silent a moment. "How would you suggest the remains be removed?"
 
 The snake handler whistled again. "Very carefully. You don't want to get any of that venom on your skin."
 
 Mr. Crandon stuck his head around the door frame. "The room on the other side of your son's room is free, Mr. Dane. We will move you there immediately."
 
 The detective nodded. He looked at the snake, and the wet splatter around the body. "Doesn't look like any of my luggage or possessions was touched by the stuff. My suitcase is over by the desk, and my other things are in the dresser drawers." He nodded again, and looked at the hotel manager. "That will do me, Mr. Crandon."
 
 The detective's possessions were carefully rounded up and moved down the hall to the vacant room. The hotel manager locked the door to the old room, and scratched his head. "I'll have to figure a safe way to clean up that room."
 
 Sheriff Kingsley nodded. "I'll call the state police. They have experts that deal with dangerous materials - I'm sure they can figure out how to do it."
 
 Mr. Crandon looked relieved. "Oh, thank you."
 
 Mr. Dane thanked Dirk Jameson, and asked that the man keep what had happened to himself, so as not to alarm the other guests. The snake handler agreed, and he and the deputy that had brought him headed back for the elevators. The hotel manager went back to the hallway to help reassure the other guests, and Mr. Dane closed the door to his new room. Only the sheriff and the boys remained.
 
 Kingsley shook his head. "This is serious, Ben. Real serious."
 
 The famous sleuth nodded. "That's why I wanted Mr. Jameson to verify that the snake's bite was lethal. This was not an attempt to injure me, or scare me off. The man that left this snake was intent on murder, and no less."
 
 Frank and Joe both clamped their jaws, and their friends came to stand near them in support.
 
 Mr. Dane's eyes moved to his sons. "I'm torn, boys. I really think you should all go home."
 
 "Dad - no!" Frank said immediately. Joe shook his head vigorously, and looked stubborn.
 
 Mr. Dane sighed. "So far, we have been very lucky. But this is the second attempt at me now, and I am worried that you boys may get caught up in this."
 
 "We're already in this, dad," Frank said. "And this is not the first time we have been on a case with you, nor the first time there has been danger."
 
 The detective smiled. "That's true."
 
 "So we're staying," Joe said, and sat down on the couch as if to accent his words.
 
 The detective opened his mouth again, but closed it as the phone rang. He frowned, and went to the desk and answered it. "Yes? Yes, this is Ben Dane." He listened for a short period, and then reached into his pocket and withdrew his small notebook, and sat down at the desk. He trapped the phone receiver against his ear with his shoulder, grabbed up a pen, opened the notebook, and began to write.
 
 Five minutes later he was still jotting things in the notebook, while Sheriff Kingsley and the boys waited in silence. Finally, the detective nodded. "Okay, John. Thanks." He hung up the phone.
 
 "Was that Captain Lewis?" Frank asked, after hearing the conclusion of the call.
 
 The elder Dane sat with his finger pressed against his lips for a moment before slowly nodding. "Yes." He looked over at Jake Kingsley. "The prints on the Parabellum used by the auto attackers on the highway have been identified."
 
 Frank and Joe both jumped to their feet. "Dad! That's great!"
 
 But the detective did not look happy. "I'm not so sure."
 
 "Something wrong?" the sheriff asked.
 
 Mr. Dane opened his notebook again and looked at what he had written within. "The FBI couldn't identify the prints. So they passed them around to other agencies as part of the reciprocity act. They got a hit from some new agency. The CIA."
 
 "Never heard of them," Kingsley said.
 
 "No. They are not well-known yet," the detective agreed. "They are an intelligence agency, cobbled together from remnants of other agencies terminated at the close of the war by President Truman." He looked up thoughtfully at the sheriff. "One of those agencies was the OSS."
 
 The sheriff's eyes widened. "Well I have heard of them. Spies and stuff, right?"
 
 "Yes, more or less. When I was with Naval Intelligence we used to partner with them. The OSS was deep into the underpinnings of the war. Their people operated everywhere, and with all the resistance groups active in all theaters." He nodded. "That's how come they happen to have prints for our boy."
 
 "Well," Frank said, breathlessly, "who is he?"
 
 "Fellow by the name of Gunter Sturm. Austrian. A member of O5, the resistance movement in that nation. He fought against the Nazi's under his own group, and was recruited by the OSS in 1943 as a translator and guide."
 
 Frank and Joe were dumbfounded, and stared at each other. The man that had pointed a gun at them had been a patriot!
 
 Chip shook his head. "The man sounds like he was a hero. What was he doing pointing a gun at us out on the road?"
 
 Mr. Dane nodded. "What indeed? Especially as, according to OSS records, he was killed in 1945.

To be continued...

Posted: 03/15/19