PRE-DAWN CAPERS

From: Murder Incorporated - In a Keg

by Harold J. Treherne

t precisely 4:53 A.M. this February 7th, the alarm dinged for two seconds before I shut it off. This was the morning I had to catch the 7 A.M. bus for the East in Downtown Vancouver. Everything was deathly still and I had to get out of here, "quiet as a mouse." At this bewitching hour of the morning though, a thought and even a wish can appear as loud as the spoken word. Could I do it? If I could, my name would be among the all-time greats and comparable to any one of Houdini's neat disappearing tricks. So here goes.

I eased my weary carcass over the side of the bed and did it complain! It squeaked and groaned - must have been in terrible anguish.

"Pipe down, you fool, you can't feel half as bad as I do."

Slowly taking my weight off the bed it followed my ascending anatomy with a relieved drawn out'eek.

"Shut up and don't be a sissy and let that be the last peep outta' you."

The floor, the bed, the light switches, the water taps and the stairs all must have belonged to the same union. It had for its title: The Nerve Wreckers Union and - Pitfalls for the M(ass) was their slogan. They all ganged up to reduce me to a state of frenzied immobility.

The flushing toilet was the exception. Studiously I avoided tickling the innards of this notorious contraption. To let loose a Niagara of dashing water and its accompanying bellowing into this haven of peace and quiet - man, I would far sooner have leaped out of the window and hollered, "MURDER!"

Ten feet separated me from the light switch. Should I make one desperate leap and risk collision with the wall or should I try it hands and knees fashion, deliberate, maddeningly slow, as if I was stalking a mouse? I walked manfully across and let the squeaks squeak where they may - and they did. The light switch, such an innocent and ingenious little device is unpredictable at this hour and, all unsuspecting I snapped it on and the uncouth bully snapped right back at me. The noise was awful; comparable only to the ball leaving the professional baseball bat. Casey himself couldn't have done better. Feeling a little peeved and on the defensive I tried it again, most painstakingly this time.

The little flipper and the fulcrum were in perfect balance and now just a weeny bit farther and - BING! as the spring shot the works. Holding both my hands over my ears I whispered hoarsely, "QUIET, PLEASE," and listened intently but the night was completely and absolutely snoreless. This put the light out but could I risk bringing it again? Not on your life and mine already was in jeopardy.

The bathroom was the next objective and to reach this haven of rest a treacherous landing strip intervened and believe me I couldn't have made more row if I had galloped over iron bars in hobnail boots. There were recumbent forms all around me just waiting for the undertaker - I was sure of it. The little ping-pong bulb of the upstairs landing light added exactly that touch of finality to everything. Ghastly crimes, murders and goings on like that are all conceived in this very kind of murky atmosphere.

I felt more like a thief every minute.

So far by providential grace I was still a free man but there was no way out of it. I simply had to clean up a little. With this in mind I grasped the hot water tap and turned it slowly while offering up a silent prayer. The "slowly" part was entirely ineffectual. To hang slowly is the same as hanging fast in the long run. It seems it objected lustily to gentle treatment and let out a sizzling roar like steam under duress. Truly, this is the end! With a sudden twist and an inward curse I shut it up and it retaliated with a strangled gurgle and a final pop. It either had apoplexy or its appendix had busted. The drain was my only ally; the water departed without a murmur.

Did you ever try making a noise quietly, like opening a paper bag? I had a few sandwiches wrapped in cellophane made up the night before and they were hiding in a well folded paper bag. That bag looked like Porky himself - all bristles. This was my breakfast if I could get past the outer defenses. I plucked at it and static crackled all over the place. I put my coat over my head and held it close.

"Quiet, you idiot"

Finally I threw it under the bed clothes and crawled in after it. I was getting so jittery I was even afraid to stir my tea in case I started a tempest in a teacup. I took one last look around in the bedroom, tiptoeing stealthily back and forth like a ghostly shadow in the dim glow of the landing light. I wasn't going to be snapped at by any more switches.

Now I was ready to descend the winding stairs, ten or twelve steps of potential clammy hazards. With topcoat and hat on and carrying a fair-sized suitcase I intoned: one-two-three-four with a cold feeling of foreboding. Holding the case at arm's length (I wasn't afraid of it) and about halfway down my grip on the grip slipped and so did the grip. It hit me a conk on the knee and I missed a step which was my undoing. The last three steps were negotiated at accelerated speed and I threw the case away in glorious abandon; slid a few feet on the mat and subsided in abject Salaami. My hat acquired a forty-five degree forward lean in the quick shift. This was it and I was just waiting for Casey and the bat to show up in person.

Strange as it may seem nothing happened except that the dim light had gone out altogether, but of course - my hat, one shove and it assumed a forty-five degree backward slant. Thinking things over from every conceivable angle, including the floor, I came to the unbelievable conclusion that the people in this house (all of 'em) wore ear-muffs. I know you won't believe me but it must be so because I was talking to them only a few hours before. What else could have such a deadening effect? That's it precisely - ear-muffs and night caps!

I had half a mind to snoop around and find out for myself. What a headline for the Vancouver Sun! But an inner voice said urgently: "Scram, get outta here."

I will in a minute but don't rush me. Then another thought struck me; maybe I had overplayed this thing and all my pussy-footing had been needless. Hoisting myself up and retrieving my suit case I was all set to holler, "FIRE" to test my latest theory when that same old voice again said, "SCRAM" with considerably more emphasis.

I happened to look in the long mirror by the door and saw my hat – real cock-eyed it was – and I began to wonder: was I just coming in or was I just going out? This was a poser. My hat told me in silent and pregnant language that I was just returning from a night of jollification but I was still stable on my feet in spite of strong evidence to the contrary. So I was headed the other way. I thought maybe it would be better if I made myself scarce round these parts.

Two distinct clicks as the lock and safety catch slipped home and I was standing outside in Vancouver's murk. Tensions suddenly melted and I disappeared into the night.