Dangeruss & Tazer

After Jonathan Toews finished his story on Patrick Kane, Russell Wilson put his hand on the hockey player’s shoulder. The Blackhawk turned to face him. His eyes were glittering with water in the arena lighting. They held a locked gaze with one another. The two remained sitting on the bench, in the visitor’s section.

“Where is Kaner? What happened to him?” Russell finally asked.

Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know. I went by his house earlier and the police showed up. There was a crime scene inside and reports of a struggle. I was told that Peekaboo had been kidnapped!”

“Peekaboo?”

“Another nickname of his. It’s based on his initials, “P.K.” Often we call him Lil Peekaboo or Peeks!”

“That’s adorable!”

“It is, but why would someone kidnap my teammate?”

“And who?”

“That’s what I don’t know,” Jonathan wailed, burying his head into his hands, sobbing.

“Does Kaner have any enemies?”

“Pretty much everyone other than Corey Perry, Adam Burish, Tyler Seguin, and a few other “Americans” who played with him during the Olympics….anyone is fair game!”

“Who has more of a grudge? For instance, if he angered someone on the ice, maybe fought an opponent?”

“Fight? Ha!” Jonathan had to chuckle at the thought of Patrick Kane fighting someone. “Peeks doesn’t fight!”

Russell shakes his head to clear it. “Oh, I’m sorry. Well has he done anything OFF the ice?”

The Chicago captain spun back to face the ice. He tapped his head, pondering if there was any chaos that Patrick had caused off the ice. He remembered the incident back at the bar and the taxi cab driver. He reflected on how much the shaggy blonde haired forward had actually improved and bettered himself. How much he had matured.

“Well, he did get into a bar fight...in 2010. We were fresh off a win and had decided to go share a few drinks at the local bar here: Hawks Nest. He got a little too drunk and ended up fighting with one of the NHL’s worst goons…” He trailed off.

“Who is he?”

“Sean Avery.”

“Avery, heh?” Russell’s face screwed up into a thinking expression now.

Suddenly, Jonathan’s phone rang with the “Chelsea Dagger” goal song. He instantly dug into his pocket to get the cell, as Russell raised an eyebrow. “It’s our goal song! It’s kind of a big deal!” the hockey player stated, as he whipped out his small cellular device and rapidly tapped the screen. A text message from one of his teammates showed up. It was Andrew Shaw. “What does Shawzy want?”

“Shawzy?”

“Andrew Shaw. He’s one of my teammates! But what does he want?”

****

It was a hot and humid day in the Windy city of Chicago. Andrew Shaw was out walking two dogs, his small white dog Charlie and his girlfriend’s bigger black labrador dog Hershey. They were walking by the neighborhood lake. The water glistened under the heavy sunshine. His house was just past that, the first of a series of expensive townhomes, that lined the back half of the body of water.

He wore a loose white tank top that hung about his body and a pair of plaid shorts. He had on a pair of cool black sunglasses and a Chicago Blackhawks hat that was turned backward. Up ahead, he spotted the fence that surrounded the greenhouse. He couldn’t see anything but the building of the place. And the fence that lined it had a few panels of wood knocked in from trespassing teenagers. Even though there was a “No Trespassing” sign on the fence, rebel teens disobeyed and often snooped around.

Andrew wasn’t one of those people. He respected private property.

Suddenly, the two dogs jerked forward, tearing themselves free from Andrew’s grasp. They bounded across the grass, their leashes billowing behind them, and slipped in through the hole in the fence, onto the private property.

The pesty forward hit his palm to his forehead in shock. “My girlfriend will kill me if I lose her dog! Charlie, Hershey come back!”

The small man darted across the grass and squeezed in, after the dogs. He had to get them back. He found them sitting, staring up at the top of the fence a little ways away. They were barking at a small furry critter that dashed along the top. It jumped off and into the nearest tree that led to the short forest area at the front end of the lake.

Andrew snuck up and quickly snatched up the leashes once more. “Bad dogs!” he scolded.

He yanked them backward, attempting to get back out of the property as quickly as he could, but a flash of black caught his eye. Curiously he crept forward, putting a finger to his lips as a signal for the animals to quiet down. They both looked at him with big eyes, their tails wagging back and forth and their muzzles partly open, with their tongues lolling out. They seemed to say, “Did we do good, Master?”

Andrew ignored them and opened a side door and slipped inside, rapidly with his dogs. Normally he didn’t pull these snooping moves, but his curiosity was spiked. He peered through leaves from the plants inside. It was hotter in the place than outside and for a second he forgot about the dogs, as he spotted two men arguing in the front. One looked familiar from somewhere, with a villain type crew cut and piercing gray colored eyes.

Andrew narrowed his vision, attempting to try and get a better glimpse of the two men. He couldn’t make out anything. He shrugged giving up. Maybe it was nothing. He didn’t want to spend anymore time in the greenhouse than he had to.

“Charlie, Hershey, come on, let’s get back home!”

He spun around, ready to leave, but something else caught his eye. As he turned around, he found himself gazing into a window. He saw a cage beyond. And in the cage, he immediately recognized his fellow teammate. “Kaner!” He gasped, dropping the handles to the leashes once more. He saw the poor winger in the cage, helpless. Patrick was bound to a chair with tape and gagged. Something wasn’t right!

He whirled around, finding that the two men had vanished and the two dogs were also missing. He began to creep along the wall over to the door, which he spotted wasn’t that far away. He didn’t get very far, before he was attacked from two sides. The pesky Blackhawk put up the best fight of his life, as he defended himself. He could hear the dogs barking. A flash of black bounded forward and attacked one of the men, snapping his jaws down hard on the men’s arm. The man screamed and shook the animal off. Andrew glimpsed a brief sight of brown skin complexion.

“Go Hershey!” Andrew thought to himself, as he swung his fists in every direction, desperately.

Soon, Andrew managed to get free and he bolted for the exit. He quickly threw the door open and darted outside, into the cooler, fresher air. He ran for the fence and slipped out, quickly. He didn’t dare look back and he kept running back to his house. He heard the reassuring panting and clopping sound of the two dogs, running with him at either side. They passed him, their leashes fluttering in the wind, behind them.

Andrew dashed up his front porch, flung open the door, allowed the animals in, and then slammed it shut, locking it for extra caution. He leaned against the wood, breathing heavily. His eyes turned up to the ceiling, as he attempted to calm his racing heart inside his chest.

After ten minutes, he finally sighed and walked over to the window. He gazed out, in the direction of the fence. He didn’t see anyone or anything. He was safe and in the clear. He backed away from the window and sat down in a comfortable chair.

His face was twisted up in worry and perplexment. He wasn’t sure what to think. He remembered what he had just seen in the greenhouse. He could still see the image of Patrick and it made him cringe.

“Now why would someone be holding Kaner like that?” Andrew hissed to himself, seeing the image of his poor teammate in the cage like some kind of wild animal. He knew that Patrick Kane was harmless. The man wouldn’t hurt a fly; sure he’d had problems in the past, but he had changed! He had matured and he never fought on the ice. So, who would hurt the Chicago goal scorer?

The small hockey player touched his forehead, where he suddenly felt a stinging sensation. He drew his hand back and saw his fingers covered in his blood. He jumped to his feet and walked over to a massive circular mirror, that hung on the wall. He saw that he was bleeding from a cut on his temple, where he had been slashed. It wasn’t terribly deep, but it stung and would need some stitches. He also caught sight of all the black and blue bruises on his skin. He had a slight black eye, but it wasn’t too bad. Andrew winced at the agony he felt, but he forced himself to push the pain aside. He had more important manners to worry about.

He had to call the police or someone! Maybe Jonathan, his captain, his leader, Chicago’s leader? Yes Jonathan Toews would know what to do! Still shaking from the experience, he withdrew his phone out and sent a text message to his captain.

****

Jonathan read the text message from his friend aloud, “Hey, sorry to bother you, but I just saw something scary.” He looked at his phone weirdly.

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know, I’m calling him!” Jonathan stated, before the next text from Andrew came in with the explanation. He dialed Andrew’s number, calling him and stuck the device up to his ear.

“Alright, what’s wrong, Shawzy?” Jonathan asked, sternly.

“It’s Kaner!! I saw Kaner!!”

“Really? Where?” the Blackhawk captain shot Russell a look. The football player cocked his head in interest.

“He was all tied up in the greenhouse near my lake! I tried to rescue him, but these two men attacked me!”

“We’ll be right over there Shawzy! Stay low and don’t let anyone in, but us!”

“But how will I know it’s you?”

“You’ll know! We’ll call out to you!”

“Okay, but be fast. I’m freaking out here and poor Kaner!”

Jonathan heard Andrew sobbing on the other end. He was clearly shaken and upset.

“Listen, Shawzy buddy, you need to pull yourself together and buck up! We’ll get there as quick as we can, okay?”

“Okay.”

They both hung up. Russell and Jonathan shared a look.

“When we save your little Hawk friend, I’m going to teach you, the mighty hockey player, how to throw a football.”

“It’s a deal! Now let’s go see what Shawzy has for us!”

They sprung up from the bench and darted down the tunnel. They quickly slipped out of the equipment and put on some normal clothes. Russell put on a black athletic shirt that said Chicago Blackhawks across his torso. He slipped his Seattle Seahawks jacket over it. Jonathan put on his gray shirt shirt and a light black jacket over that. They both put on a pair of dark denim jeans.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Let’s go!”

The two athletes dashed out of the locker room and back out to the parking lot to Jonathan’s car. They hopped in and zoomed off, heading for Andrew Shaw’s house.

Notes

Aww poor Shawzy...the big mean pair of Avery and Crabtree beat him up.
GO HERSHEY!! :) YOU ROCK DAWG!! :D