Chapter 10 - The End of The Islander
Adapted Words of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Our meal was a merry one. Lewis could talk exceedingly well when he chose,
and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He
spoke on a quick succession of subjects - on miracle plays, on medieval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism
of Ceylon, and on the warships of the future - handling each as though he had made a special study of it. His bright humour
marked the reaction from his black depression of the preceeding days. Steve Pomposello proved to be a sociable soul in his
hours of relaxation and faced his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. For myself I elated at the thought that we
were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of Lewis' gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause
which had brought us together as we watched a customer struggle to remove his change from the plastic slide emerging from
the cash register. His number three meal waiting motionlessly on the Wendy's counter beside him.
When the cloth was cleared, Lewis glanced at his watch and filled up three glasses with Diet
Pepsi.
"One strike," said he, "to the success of our little expedition. And now it is high time we
were off. Have you the proposal, Chris?"
"I have it written on my old notepad in my Dungeons & Dragons folder."
"You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that Bill's 1989 hatchback is
in the drive. I ordered it for half-past six."
It was a little past seven before we reached the food kiosk at the Bay Shore Mall and we found
Dave Kirkup waiting for us. Lewis eyed him critically.
"Is there anything you want to say before I talk to him?"
"Remind him that we all agree on this."
"Then let's be off."
A small change in the wording was made to add all four names to the document. We stepped forward,
and sat beside the bespectacled and tense Mr. Kirkup. Pomposello, Lewis and I sat to his left. We placed one
man, Bill Menendez, at the other side of the kiosk, to watch the doors. Menendez had official mall security credentials that
might come in hand should the situation demand it.
"What's this?" asked Kirkup.
"It's a proposal. A rule change. To tell you, and all others, that you can't block the strike
zone with your body."
Our plan was evidently a very good one. We shot glances toward each who were in our
line of sight. Lewis smiled with satisfaction as we delivered the overhauled rule sheet, and left it and Dave, behind
us.
"We ought to still be able to get tickets for the 7:10 showing of Clear and Present Danger,"
he said.
"Well, hardly. It's already 7:25." replied Pomposello with a quick nod towards his imitation
Rolex.
"We shall have to catch the 7:30 screeing of Forrest Gump then, and it has a reputation
for being a winner. I will tell you how the land lies, Chris. You recollect how annoyed I was at my pitches being blocked
at the plate?"
"Yes."
"Well, I gave my mind a thorough ...
