Most times, the audience would express disappointment that there was no cure for crime, even though Jack had just pointed out the pitfalls of implementing such a theoretical vaccine among the unsuspecting public.
About 85% of the audience took the money. Most of them were glad to have attended, and he heard more than once an individual say they had never before won anything in their lives. The rest gave it back with a variety of explanations. Everyone, it seemed, felt the need to justify giving back $500 in cash. They couldn’t be "bought", they would say, or the presentation was "entertaining" enough without payment, or "put this toward finding a real cure for crime". Not one person ever said they intended on ruining his little charade.
For that matter, rarely did anyone approach Jack who was angry at being deceived… and this gave Jack hope that perhaps, should there be some radical scientific breakthrough, or aliens communicated with us, or any of a number of other world shaking events happen, perhaps society would handle it much better than he supposed.
Many in the audience did not approach Jack to offer their comments, so he had gotten quite good at observing those that looked like they had something to say but who lacked the courage to volunteer their opinion. He would approach them with the same opener each time, "You look like you have an interesting comment I could use in my research…" he would say, and then paste on his most attentive expression and let them talk.
It worked so well, Jack began experimenting. He began to enlarge his criteria, even asking those with disinterested looks for comment on his performance. So when the two men who had been sitting on the front row appeared in the exiting crowd, Jack strode over to ask his question.
"Excuse me, you men look like you have an interesting comment that I could incorporate into my research!" Jack said, pasting on a car salesman smile.
The two men looked at each other as if they were trying to figure out what to do next. Then one of them said "That’s right, professor. We want you to come with us."
The other man opened his jacket just enough to reveal a pistol, and then grabbed Jack’s elbow firmly. "Let’s not make a scene, okay? Be a shame to hurt some of your fans, now wouldn’t it?"
The two men walked through the crowd with Jack between them, and then pushed Jack through a service door and down a long corridor to the parking garage.
When they got to the back of a dark import car, Jack felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and everything went black.
Chapter 17 The Thread Unravels
"Brenda, get me Senator Deason on the line please…"
Hank Caswell was in early with a lot on his mind. He hadn’t slept since the call last night from William with the news that his "lab rat" had become a real problem. If there was one thing Hank Caswell hated above anything else, it was individual initiative. It led to all sorts of trouble, and caused dissention and ambition…both threats to the absolute control he demanded from those around him.
"Hi Hank," said the senator, "I’d ask what I can do for you, but I think I’ve done quite enough already." Max Deason’s voice sounded tired and drained, as if he hadn’t slept either.
"I’m just following up," Hank drawled. "I see you made the call to our Colonel friend like you promised."
"Yes, but that's the last time I do anything like that do you hear me?"
Hank held his tongue. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was placate some politico elitist, but he needed him and his contacts. But hearing Max complain about making a phone call, when Hank was up to his navel in the swamp was more than he could stomach.
Hank swallowed hard and replied tersely, "That’s why I insist on taking the ball from here. What we need is an expert in persuasion, and let's face it Max, you just don't have the killer instinct when it comes to blackmail. But don’t you worry about it. I’m handling things on this end. Just remember you were on the bubble just as much as I was, and with your election coming up, well, let’s just say extermination was the only option."
'Well, don't be expecting me to do anymore of your dirty work. I'm done, do you hear me? Done!" Max said hoping to set new rules going forward.
"Say Max," Hank said in a patronizing voice, "there is one thing you should be good at…"
"What’s that?" Max said in a hesitant tone.
"Working your colleagues!" Max could hear anger rising in Hank’s voice, like he was repressing the urge to hurt something.
"Now, you should know I've already got a gut full of your whining." Hank said slowly and forcefully, "While I’m over here saving your ass from the firing squad, why don’t you show your appreciation by going up on the hill…circling your little panderers together, and get my GODDAMNED BILL PASSED FOR GOD'S SAKE!"
Hank slammed the phone down hard and leaned back in his chair. He was listening to his heart pound while summing up his next move when Brenda buzzed his phone.
"Hank, I have Ramy Basra on the line… can you speak with him"
"Jesus," Hank griped, "Why are all the rats swimming toward my boat?"
"Is that a yes or a no?" Brenda said in a pleasant but firm voice.
"Yes, Bren," Hank sighed, "put him through"
"Hank?" Ramy said in a panicked voice.
"Hi Ramy, what’s up?"
"I thought you were going to keep me posted? How’s Mark getting along?"
"So, now it’s my job you keep you in touch with your guy? Why are you really calling Ramy?"
"I’ve lost contact with Mark, that’s why. I was hoping he was working so hard he ignored my calls, but now I’m not so sure."
"Well isn’t that special! Ramy, I’ve got a prison to run, and I don’t have time to keep track of your wayward personnel. Maybe he’s lost in Vegas… wouldn’t be the first time the strip turned a guy’s priorities around you know."
"Hank, don’t give me that crap… you are just as dependent on his results as I am. And the last report I got was not good. In fact, he suggested there was an outbreak of Wolman disease. You've got to stop the project right now. Do you understand Hank? Right now! If you keep it going you will not only draw attention to your…"
"Ramy," Hank interrupted. "Let me stop you right there. Nobody tells me what to do here at Crimson Desert, do you understand?" Hank’s tone dropped an octave, causing his words to land with extra weight.
Ramy was ready, and lashed back at Hank. "I’m not telling you what to do, Hank, I’m telling you what I’m going to do! This has gone on long enough, and I’m salvaging what reputation I have left. If I don’t hear from Mark by noon today, I’m going public on Termes. Do you hear me? You, me, Mark, the whole enchilada. It is my word against yours, …oh, and the evidence that arrived here today that Mark sent. So we’ll see who is judged the monster, and who is not. Noon today Hank!"
The line went dead just as Hank was formulating his leverage with Ramy. All he had was the threat to ruin his reputation, and Ramy had just made that worthless.
"Brenda, see if you can get Bill Cooley for me, would you?" Hank said after thinking a moment.
"Sure thing"
Hank’s mind swirled with possibilities. He knew he needed to call William Downs but he wanted more information before making that call. He wouldn’t be happy, and things needed to be tied up a bit more before he admitted to letting them spin so out of control. William had always been against Hank’s heavy handedness, and this cockup was just another example of why.
While he waited for Brenda to find Bill, Hank reached for the pistol on his desk. He slipped the Beretta out of its holster and felt the coldness of the steel as he caressed his face with the weapon. He had always admired its workmanship, especially the coolness that masked such violence. It perfectly emulated who we was. A machined, cool exterior that masked a frightful and explosive interior…
"I’ve got Warden Cooley for you sir…"
"Thanks Brenda…"
"Hello Bill? Are you there?" Hank said, sighting the pistol at the occupants in the exercise yard.
"Hi Hank, what can
I do for you?"
"Bill, bring me up to speed on the situation, will you?"
"Well sir, there’s not much more to tell at this point. The sheriff was thrown off the case by the governor. Looks like it’s the military’s baby now. I thought the governor’s office would have called you and read you in on that…"
"Hell, Bill, …you know I’m a mushroom on this one." Hank complained. "How is it I lose thirteen inmates and we have no standing in this?"
"They’re claiming its base property, although I doubt that. We may have a few cards up our sleeve though. I saw the sheriff collect some samples of the blast debris and some scrapings along with some physical evidence… maybe he’s building his own case. I’m keeping on them, and should know something by the end of the week. I’ll keep you posted."
"Do that, will you Bill? Oh, by the way… any sign of that doctor from Chicago?"
"Uh, the bodies were unrecognizable, burned worse than I’ve ever seen, and we didn’t get a chance to recover them all before the military moved in, but from what Kyle said, Dr. Moran’s would be the least burned since his vehicle rolled and put the fire out before it got too bad. But we didn’t recover anything like that."
"Okay, it’s a tragedy all around." Hank could feign sympathy with the best of them. "Say, what do you think about the kid’s story saying the military was involved?"
"Well, hell Hank, what do you want me to say? It’s preposterous! Unless you think our Air Force settles scores on our own citizens…"
"Yeah, that’s what I thought. We’ll speak later, thanks Bill."
"Okay Hank."
Without confirmation of Mark’s death, Hank knew he couldn’t call William. He needed some good news, and he needed it soon.
His cell began to vibrate and the text ringtone chirped.
Wherz my money?
leavn twn tdy
meat me
Hank reread the text and scoffed. "Oh, I’ll meat you all right." He mumbled under his breath.
He let out a sigh and rifled through his desk drawer, pulling out a large laser pointer. He scanned the yard for a prisoner called Big T, finally spotting him in the shade holding court among his gang. Big T was a power broker at Crimson Desert, a go-to, get-it-done kind of guy who, with Hank's blessing, wielded power among the inmates with an iron fist. Each man needed the other to make sure things ran smoothly.
Over the years Hank had gotten good at pointing the laser, so when Big T turned and faced the wall, Hank directed the greenish beam so only he could see it. A brief flash was all it took. The meeting was set.
Chapter 18 What Stays In Vegas
Jack awoke with a jolt and tried to move, but was unable. The back of his head hurt so bad his eyes weren’t working, and he started to panic. He consciously opened them with great effort but he saw nothing but blackness. He was laying on his left side with his knees bent and his legs in a tucked position. Just moving his arm required whole minutes to accomplish. Then he remembered being kidnapped. He felt around and realized he was in a trunk. Locked in a trunk in a parked car, and not even a very big trunk at that. He imagined running out of air, but that only made his breathing and his heart race.
He had no idea how long he had been there but his left side was numb, and his left arm, tucked awkwardly under him, was fast asleep and unresponsive. He tried rolling to one side to free it to look at his watch, but moving was difficult in the cramped space.
Jack thought back to a Christmas ten or more years ago, when a friend had given him a book on how to survive life-threatening situations. If only he had read it! He remembered shelving it after suffering through almost a whole chapter on 'How to survive a lobster attack'. Despite his current circumstance, he smiled. Although thinking at the time that he didn’t lead the type life that would put him face to face with danger, he made a mental note to check whether or not it had a chapter on getting out of a locked trunk.
With his right hand, he groped around for the safety handle he hoped would be within grasp of his limited reach, but it either wasn’t there or he couldn’t reach it. He couldn't reach up past his chest because the trunk lid prevented movement in that direction. He had hoped his eyes would get used to the low light level and something would become visible, but even after several minutes of consciousness, his world was still as dark as ever.
Jack tried to extend his legs to ease the strain on his knees, and tried rolling on his back pushing into a bit of room behind him. He was lying on his side with his head toward the back seat, and with great effort he was able to feel the rear trunk wall where he assumed the taillights were located.
He began kicking at the wall, hoping he could break one of the lights out and signal for help, but the trunk’s carpet, and his weakened leg strength muted the force of his kick. Jack quickly realized his task was impossible, yet, with each kick, the blood flow in his legs returned, making them stronger.
After kicking without progress for a few more minutes, Jack was able to roll a bit more onto his back and could finally search his pocket for his phone. It was gone, but in his new position he could check his watch. 1:27, he presumed p.m…, which meant he had been in the trunk less than an hour.
Using the dim light from his illuminated watch face, he could faintly see the trunk latch and where the taillights should be behind the carpet. Shining the dim light on around the trunk wall, he spotted the wires leading to the light socket on the rear side panel, and kicked at them with his heel until the socket broke free, flooding the trunk with welcome amber light.
Jack continued his search of the surroundings and was now able to spot a toolkit, just over his left shoulder. As he reached for it he found the trunk release handle!
___________________
Jason Mathews responded to the trouble call on the 14th floor, and had made his way halfway down the hall when he saw the door slightly open. He drew his stun gun as he approached and slowly pushed open the door enough to see into the suite. Off to the left he could see the feet and legs of a female, lying facedown on the floor behind the couch.
He quietly entered the suite, stooping to check the female for signs of life, when sounds of a struggle emanated from the bedroom. As he followed the sounds, he saw a large man removing the chair from the closet door handle, attempting to free the maid as she beat on the door from inside.
"Freeze!" Jason yelled at the intruder, stun gun drawn and ready.
The man turned and rushed Jason just as he fired the probes, hitting the intruder square in the chest and delivering their crippling jolt. The man stopped briefly with a confused and pained look, then shook off the darts and rushed Jason again, pushing him to the floor and stomping his hand as he ran past. Jason’s hand was caught between the gun and the floor, crushing his hand as he cried out in agony.
The attacker ran out of Colleen’s room and down the stairway, leaving Jason struggling to get up and deciding against an attempt to give chase. He radioed a description of the man to security, being sure to mention the lack of effect his stun gun had made. Then he called his office to request backup. Out in the living room, Colleen was beginning to stir. But as Jason approached to help her, she lashed out, hitting Jason’s shin with a bible she’d found in the drawer of the lamp table.
"Hold on ma’am," Jason said, cradling his hand and now hopping on one foot. "I’m here to help!"
Colleen slowly pulled herself off the floor and sat heavily on the couch, holding the back of her head while she evaluated what must be Jason Mathews.
"You don’t look like help to me." Colleen said in a pained voice. "But then again, you probably fit right in with the rest of security around here! In fact, you look more like a victim than help…."
Colleen turned at the sounds coming from the bedroom closet, and remembered the maid she had locked up, waiting for security.
"Come on 'Mr. Help', time to earn your keep… or do you want to wait for back up? No telling how strong she is."
Colleen regretted her words when she saw how the
y had been received, but she was furious, and not in a mood to tread carefully around other’s feelings. She stood up with effort, but allowed Jason to lead the way into the bedroom, guarding the only exit, Bible at the ready, as he opened the closet and attempted to secure the maid with plastic wrist restraints.
‘Ma’am, you mind pulling these tight for me?’ Jason asked in a meek voice.
Colleen saw Jason’s mangled hand and for the first time and realized he was really injured. She rushed to help him secure the maid, kicking herself for her insensitive comments at the same time. Poor kid, she thought. Figured he had a cushy resort cop job! He never planned on the crime spree that is Colleen Baker!
The Premise Page 19
