2 Jan 2017

Exchange on the I-75

I won't lie, when I received today's writing prompt my first response was *Moms, if you're reading this, close your eyes*: "What. The. Ferret?!" (Ok, I didn't really say "ferret", if you know what I mean). HISTORY?! No. I hate history. This is like a school project. Where do I unsu...

But wait, little firecracker. Just stop for a second. This is a prompt. It's supposed to challenge you to be creative. So, be creative. You don't have to write about a history lesson...


Day 2: your recounting/variation/take on the USA-RUS prisoner (spy) exchange of Feb 10, 1962.

Brief history lesson  >> here << . Now please bear with me as I venture off brief... for a *touch* more than 500 words.


The year was 1962. The weather was a less than balmy 4°C. Frankie sat in the corner of the basic wooden hut in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, the threadbare woollen blanket providing no comfort against the cold. This was a very, very long way away from his home in Bay Terrace. Hell, before this he'd never even been camping. A charmed life he'd led, star quarterback for the New York Giants and going steady with the most beautiful girl on Staten Island. His future was a sure thing, all mapped out. Until he got mixed up with Merrill and the Coach in that hair-brained plan. It's easy, all you gotta do is sneak into their digs and grab the playbook. They'll all be out for the season and nobody will see you. We've set it up so that the janitor will let you into the change room and we know he won't say anything because he's always buzzed. Frankie could hear the Coach's calm assurance as if he was right there with him. Except that he wasn't. Not even nearly. Merrill had run like lightening in the opposite direction when the Packers Coach had spotted them in the gymnasium. Where the hell was all that speed when Merrill was on the field?

Anyhow, that was months ago. At this rate he would miss the next season and be so out of shape that he'd never run down that field in a Giants jersey again. What was he thinking? It all seemed so important at the time. I mean, they all knew that the Green Bay Packers had only won the previous season by such a landslide because they had pulled exactly the same move the year before: get in, steal the playbook, take the season. But he should've known - they eventually tracked down and caught the cat who had pulled off that job - and he was still paying for it (holed up somewhere in New Jersey of all places).

He snapped back to his current predicament. Someone was coming. He could hear heavy boots crunching on the fallen branches outside. He hoped they'd brought some food, he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He hoped they weren't going to ask him any more questions about the Coach. They already knew he was a Giant, they must have been talking to the guys back home, surely? What more could they want? He didn't run things, he didn't come up with the plays, he just knew his part. When were they going to let him go? 

Footfalls on the wooden landing. A key in the lock. Whew, it wasn't the bruiser. "We're packing for bear". Frankie stared at him blankly, which didn't seem to be the correct response, because the man lunged forward and yelled "Ey, I say let's go yet?! Get up!". With legs that didn't quite straighten out and ankles still bound by zip ties this was easier said than done. Impatiently, the warden grabbed Frankie by the arm and yanked him along, the blanket slipping from his hands. "No, wait, it's too cold out there for..." "Quiet. No more jibberjabber!". One shove through the door and he was outside in the fresh air, staring straight at a mockingjay blue Thunderbird. Funny, I didn't even hear that arrive thought Frankie, but no sooner had he started to feel a creeping sense of elation than the trunk popped open. Frankie began to protest, but a shift in position revealed a hunting knife holstered on his captor's left hip. At that moment he realised that he was going in there, willing or not.


The journey was a bit of a blur. The car stopped a number of times and he heard what he thought were 4, maybe 5 voices. He couldn't make anything out, other than that they were all thick Wisconsin accents, dragging their "A's" through the cold, wet snow like a heavy blanket. And suddenly he really missed that blanket. After a few hours the car sounded like it hit a gravel road. Frankie thought he heard, or rather felt, jackhammers all around him. The deep-chested vibrations faded away, but the gravel road became bumpier, bouncing him around in the small, cold space. 

Suddenly the car stopped. He heard the driver & passenger get out and begin shouting. They're gonna kill me, I just know it. Seriously, c'mon fellas, it's just NFL. I mean, I love this game as much as the next guy, but please, can't we all just get along? You do your thing, we'll do - his silent begging was interrupted by the trunk popping open. The bruiser stood over him, sneering. "Get out will yer?!" Frankie swung his still-tied legs over the edge of the trunk and edged out, blinking up into the softly falling snow. A thick hand to his chest and the reappearance of the hunting knife stopped his breath in his throat, until he saw the blade moving down to cut the ties at his ankle. And then he saw it - there in the distance, about 300m out, the most beautiful sight he'd seen in months - the royal blue of his team colours. Resisting the urge to push his hulking captor and run towards freedom, he let his sulking companions hustle him along until he was about 50m out from his teammates. A few quick exchanges, mostly grunts and nods, and he was being shoved forward unceremoniously by the two Packers. He roughly brushed shoulders with an equally harassed-looking man in a green jersey moving in the opposite direction, Hey, isn't that the guy Coach caught trying to... and it suddenly dawned on him: Frankie was being exchanged for the Green Bay Packers' spy from the previous season's heist. 

No sooner had the exchange taken place, than the Coach stepped out into the drifting snow. "Well if it ain't Frankie G Powers. Let's get yous guys inside, it's brick out here and those Packers are giving me the creeps". And just like that, the 1961/62 Great Playbook Infiltration was over. And I was going home.


[word count: 1021/1140]

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