From: "(thomasl)" <thomasl@copper.ucs.indiana.edu>
Subject: Kapel and Back, pt. II
Summary: Gold-darn it, where IS that medal? 
Organization: Indiana University
Date: Thu, 9 Apr 1992 09:12:26 -0500

"Worth my while" she said!  Me, sap that I was, had gone for it like a
14 year old learning five.  Just couldn't wait.  Tripping over my size 18's
in my eagerness I had taken the job quicker than I could've picked up a
dropped pass in a full shower.  After three days of wasting my wind over the 
wire to IJA officials, I still had no leads on the disappearance of the gold
medal.  Nothing to show for my time but a handful of "doubble troubble was
robbed" stickers printed on gold foil.  And then, things took a nastier turn,
and I couldn't have come down harder if I had gone off a giraffe uni backwards.

The insistant jangling alarm of a phone ringing awakened me from either a 
sound slumber, or a drunken stupor -- I couldn't be sure which, because I 
couldn't really remember the last events which had transpired.  The 
splitting pain in my head as I squinted up at the light reminded me.  Hit
from behind as I had entered my office.  Gingerly I felt the back of my head.
Something familiar about the ridge there.  After a painful moment it came
back to me, perhaps from the recesses of my primitive reptilian-brained
boyhood memory, where it had been jarred loose.  I recognized what had caused 
this -- they had made an impression on me before! The size and shape of the 
dent fairly shrieked older model Todd Smith european bone-breakers.  The 
very sort of clubs I had learned on, so many years ago.
  
From my vantage point under the desk I could see that the joint had been 
thoroughly tossed while I had been catching up on my beauty sleep.  Sighing, 
I put an end to one of my miseries by climbing to my feet and grabbing 
the phone.  

"I cannot talk long, as I am a busy man, and I have a great many 
responsibilities to Juggle.  So you must attend carefully to what I say, though
it is, to say the least, unConventional.  There could be an International
incident, and other Associated costs. Do you understand me, Mr. Yuks?"

I grunted in response, not wanting to give anything away, and not feeling
up to my usual effervescent repartee. 

The mysteriously hushed voice on the other end of the line continued:
"Now, listen to me carefully --
Menes the time I've thought how pleasant if you could visit our juggling
club. You'd never want to meet a Nizer bunch of people.  Lucas up next
time you are in the neighborhood.  We meet at the clubhouse on the Hill.
Our gym is a Marvell. Kapish?  I can say no more, but you will get aHead 
if you follow my advice.  I must go now.  Good luck.  I think you will need 
it".  My mystery caller gave a muffled but hollow laugh of despair through 
what was obviously a jugglebug scarf held over the mouthpiece.  Whoever it was,
they were scared -- I'd bet my last festival t-shirt on it.  

Yet there was something oddly familiar about the style of discourse, some sort
of theme or cohesion I couldn't put my finger on.  Perhaps it was a coded 
message. Naw, I thought, just my overworked imagination playing tricks on me. I
shrugged off the nagging feeling perched on my shoulder, and opened the
April issue of Jugglers World.