by Baron Sord
Without fire, I had to figure out another solution than blasting my way out of this. But what?
Think, Doug! Think!
Down on the ground, Rifle Thug #1 growled up at me, “Get your ass down here, Pogo Stick! You’re coming with us. If you try anything funny, I’m shooting your friend. You hearing me?!”
“Yeah!” I nodded.
“Okay. Come down nice and slow.”
“Wait,” I said, trying desperately to focus on extracting heat from the water tank.
“NOW, POGO STICK! OR I SHOOT YOUR FAT FUCKING FRIEND!”
I didn’t know what to do so I hopped off the water tank and walked over to them with my hands in the air.
Think!
Both thugs stood behind Arnold. Thug #1 had his rifle trained a foot away from Arnold’s back. Thug #2 had his trained a foot away from Arnold’s head. Arnold’s vest might stop a round from one of those rifles, but it was only rated for handgun ammunition, not rifle. His head wasn’t rated for either.
“Now we’re all going for a nice little walk,” Thug #1 said. “You first, Pogo Stick. If you start jumping, your friend dies. You hear me?!”
“Yes, yes!” I growled.
“Pump the brakes,” Thug #1 warned with icy calm, “or I start shooting.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“Lead the way,” he said.
“Which way?” I asked.
“Back the way we came, dumbfuck. Remember, if you try anything funny, I mean any fucking thing, if you so much as blink funny, your friend here bites the bullet big time.”
—: Chapter 45 :—
While berating my decision to bring Arnold along tonight to the quarry, I led him and the two Rifle Thugs back to the SUVs parked deep in the canyon.
I considered simply jumping up and back and landing behind both thugs and taking them out. I could easily do it. But I had been warned. In the time it took me to pull off such a move, they could shoot Arnold in the head 5 or 6 times. He’d be dead before I landed on the ground.
That was why this felt like a fricking funeral march.
Arnold’s funeral.
Bringing him here had been a gigantic mistake.
I should’ve made him stay home.
Why had I let him come with?
Fricking why?!
Back in the high-walled canyon with the SUVs, the man with the suppressed pistol — the bossman with the black suit and the attitude — spoke first when he saw our group. “Who the fuck are these two?”
The bossman’s voice was rough and refined at the same time. It reminded me of a cross between that character Al Swearengen (played by Ian McShane on that old HBO western Deadwood), and Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s portrayal of Negan from The Walking Dead. Like Swearengen and Negan, this guy presented complete and total bad-assery without even trying. He commanded everyone’s respect.
For a brief moment, he even commanded mine. Had I known he would soon dedicate himself to ruining my life by any means necessary, I doubt I would’ve felt that way.
Rifle Thug #1 and #2 led Arnold over to the tied-up guy with the bloody face. Tied Up Guy was kneeling on the gravel ground, awaiting execution.
I prayed Arnold wasn’t about to join him.
One of the pistol-packing thugs kicked out the backs of Arnold’s legs and he fell to his knees next to Tied Up Guy.
“You too, Pogo Stick,” Rifle Thug #1 said to me. “Move it.”
I walked over to stand beside Arnold.
“On your knees, Pogo.”
I knelt.
Now there were seven guns pointing at me and Arnold. If they had all been aimed at me, I would’ve done something drastic. Whatever it took to get out of this, but three of the deadly guns were pointing at Arnold. I couldn’t risk any sudden moves.
“Shoulda seen this guy jumping around,” Rifle Thug #1 said. “Musta jumped twenty feet in the air. He’s wearing some kind of full body armor too. I hit him at least three times. Didn’t even flinch.”
“You what?” Another thug asked. His face was obscured by the SUV’s headlights — he stood behind them — but something about his voice sounded familiar.
Rifle Thug #1 said, “I said I shot him point blank in the ass and he didn’t even notice. Who wears body armor on their ass?”
The familiar-sounding thug stepped into the light.
Bowling Ball.
From the alley downtown where he and Ice Statue had antagonized poor Pudgy Batman.
“You,” Bowling Ball sneered, his eyes locked on mine. “I know this fucking guy.”
“Chuck Weaver,” I chuckled. It was then when I noticed FwCK tattoos on the necks of several of the other men, making this the 4th time I had crossed paths with men sporting similar ink, men who were clearly criminals. Now I had no doubt that FwCK was a gang of organized criminals. The question was how many members they had and how widespread they were.
Bowling Ball frowned at me, “What did you call me?”
“Chuck Weaver,” I smiled angrily. Chuck Weaver was my middle school nemesis. When Bowling Ball and Ice Statue had harassed Pudgy Batman, they had reminded me of grownup versions of Chuck.
“Who’s Chuck Weaver?” Arnold muttered to me. “Do you know these guys?”
I had never told him the story. I had never told anyone about Chuck. I smirked at Bowling Ball, “I know this guy. I killed his friend.”
Bowling Ball walked up to me and pulled my ninja mask off. He grimaced when he saw my face, which he had seen the night of Pudgy Batman. I hadn’t had a mask then.
Bowling Ball scowled, “You’re that freak who killed Sully. Guys, this is him! This is the freaky shit-heel who killed Sully! I saw it with my own eyes! He turned him into black ice or some shit!”
A few of the other thugs chuckled.
“Black ice,” one muttered derisively.
Bowling Ball glared at them, “The fuck you guys know? You weren’t there! He did! He froze Sully! Swear to God!”
Rifle Thug #1 said, “I don’t know about ice, but I saw Pogo Stick here jump twenty feet in the air a bunch of times like he was wearing a powered exoskeleton.”
“I saw it too,” Rifle Thug #2 said. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it. This guy could win the Olympics with a vertical like that.”
“Or play NBA,” Rifle Thug #1 added.
Another shadowed thug said, “What if he had some kind of freeze gun? Liquid nitrogen or something similar? Like a reverse flame thrower?”
Bowling Ball said, “He didn’t have no flame thrower or no cold thrower! He just grabbed Sully by the ankle and—”
“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the bossman shouted in his rugged Swearengen voice.
Finally, the bossman stepped into the light.
He had black hair, light gray eyes, and a deep scar that cut down across his eye socket and through his eyebrow. The scar had created a gap in the brow hairs. He stared down at me. He had a calmness the other men seemed to lack. Despite their professional cool, they were all twitchy and on edge. By contrast, Gray Eyes here was the picture of placid.
He took my lycra ninja mask from Bowling Ball and looked at it thoughtfully.
One of the other thugs said, “He’s the guy from the news. That shit was insane. He jumped right over that big sign on El Cajon.”
Another said, “Has to be the same freak Nails and his boys shot at the Marina last week. The one he saw kill Javier and his brother Miguel. That freak was wearing a mask, and Nails said he was a fucking jumping bean. Said he jumped right over a yacht.”
Rifle Thug #1 said, “Way he was jumping around tonight, he coulda jumped over two yachts.”
“Nails said they shot him twice and he didn’t even flinch.”
Rifle Thug #1 said, “Same thing tonight.”
Rifle Thug #2 said, “They gotta be the same fucking guy.”
My guess was that Nails was Blondie, and Javier was Golden Grill because I already knew Mexican Sumo Wrestler was his brother Miguel. Add Jav
ier and Miguel to my murder scorecard with Ice Statue Sully and Karambit Kayhill. Now my victims all had names.
To me, Gray Eyes said calmly, “You’re the Masked Jumper.”
I sighed to myself. Mention of the Masked Jumper by anyone other than Arnold or myself always reminded me of Max Garrison the District Attorney, and of course Justine Escala, who I could never date because she had a very low opinion of the Masked Jumper and was one of Garrison’s assistant DAs.
“You’re the Masked Jumper,” Gray Eyes repeated with a confident chuckle, now amused. He looked at his men. “We caught the Masked fucking Jumper, boys. Can you believe that?” He waved my ninja mask in the air like a victory flag.
His men chuckled cockily in reply.
“His name is Wildfire,” Arnold snorted to himself.
Gray Eyes smiled, “He looks more like the Masked Jumper to me. Who are you? The sidekick?” Although Gray Eyes’ tone was sedate, it was edged with menace and insult. He gently removed Arnold’s glasses and pulled his ninja mask off his head. “You definitely look like a sidekick to me. A fat fucking four-eyed sidekick. More like a side-shit.”
Gray Eyes’ men laughed.
Arnold said sourly. “I’m his partner.”
“You look like a mistake waiting to happen,” Gray Eyes chuckled as he dropped Arnold’s glasses onto the gravel.
The other men laughed with their boss.
Arnold swallowed nervously, eyeing his glasses like he wanted to grab them. He didn’t.
Personally, I found Gray Eyes’ comments totally offensive and completely inaccurate. Arnold’s weight and limited eyesight aside, he was far more than a sidekick. As far as I was concerned, he had been my equal partner since this all started. But I didn’t say anything. Now was not the time.
Gray Eyes said to his men, “Did Nails mention seeing a second man at the marina?”
“Nah,” one thug shook his head. “He said the Jumper was alone.”
Gray Eyes nodded and dropped Arnold’s mask on the ground before saying, “Somebody check their wallets.”
Two thugs man-handled me and Arnold while patting us down. Finished, one said, “They don’t have no wallets.”
Thankfully, we had left them in the Ford with our phones.
“Check again,” Gray Eyes demanded.
They did.
“Nothing,” the thug said. “No phones neither.”
Gray Eyes nodded. Stepped in front of me and narrowed his eyes, “You killed Sully, huh?”
Sully had shot me eight times at point blank range.
I grimaced at Gray Eyes, “It was him or me.”
“And you what… froze him? Or something like that?”
“Something like that,” I muttered sarcastically.
“Now how did you manage that?”
“Science.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Gray Eyes smiled, “Science, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Well, I didn’t see your science in action the night Sully died, but deductive reasoning would dictate there was some kind of trick to it, am I right? Some kind of gimmick? A pressurized liquid nitrogen tank as my colleague suggested? Perhaps a hidden hose up your sleeve?”
I shrugged silently.
Bowling Ball said, “He wasn’t wearing no sleeves! He was wearing a T-shirt!”
Gray Eyes ignored him and said to me, “Can we see your trick, Mr. Mask? I’m sure the boys would love to see a good show. If you entertain us, perhaps I will let you and your friend walk away with your dicks attached and your balls intact.”
I smirked, “Why should I trust you? You’re going to kill this guy.” I nodded toward Tied Up Guy, who was still on his knees next to Arnold. “Why should I believe you won’t kill us too?”
Gray Eyes smiled in a charming way. “You’re quick. I like that. I will tell you something. This cancerous testicle I was going to kill?” He nodded at Tied Up Guy. “He and I do not get along. I gave him ample opportunity to not fuck me over, but he chose to fuck me over at every turn. You, on the other hand… have yet to do anything that pisses me off. Yet. As I was saying, if you entertain me and the boys, I may feel compelled to let you and your friend live. How does that sound?”
“It depends what you want me to do.”
“I want you to turn this cancerous testicle into an ice cube,” he flashed a hateful look at Tied Up Guy. “If you do that, we will call it even.”
I looked at the beaten and bloody man. To me, he was a complete stranger. He could be a saint or a sinner. I didn’t know one way or the other.
I had to wonder, had he killed people? Kidnapped innocent little girls and sold them into sex slavery? Maybe he deserved to die. If I killed him, maybe the world would be a better place and Arnold would be spared.
No, I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t rationalize like that. I wouldn’t start killing people on the off chance they might be bad, or that this Gray Eyes was good for his word. It was too big of a risk either way.
There had to be another way out of this.
Then it hit me.
There was.
I said, “How about instead, you let my friend go and you kill me?”
Gray Eyes narrowed his eyes. “That’s a strange request, but it’s awfully brave of you.”
“Well, it’s the truth. Let my friend go and I’ll… I’ll freeze your friend over there. If not, you can kill me.” I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. These guys could try and kill me from now until next year for all I cared. As long as Arnold was safe, I was up for anything they threw at me.
Gray Eyes looked up at the moon thoughtfully. “I’d like to say yes… but I feel like you’re hiding an ace up your sleeve, son.” He smiled down at me. “You aren’t hiding an ace, are you?”
“No.”
Gray Eyes frowned, “I want to believe you, but… I don’t.”
Bowling Ball said, “We should kill him, boss. For what he did to Sully. Eye for an eye.”
“Death for a death,” Gray Eyes smiled. “It’s only fair. Moreover, killing El Mejor has put me in a position I do not like.”
“Who?” I said.
“Javier,” Gray Eyes smirked. He obviously meant Golden Grill.
I was about to apologize for killing Javier and Miguel when I remembered Gray Eyes wasn’t the one who deserved an apology.
He said with pent-up frustration, “Prior to Javier’s death, he and I were on good terms. Now his people blame my people for killing their leader. If my man Nails is correct, which I believe him to be, you are the guilty party.”
And there it was: the boiling water the dumb bullfrog named Doug Moore (aka me) had been stewing in for weeks. It was too late to jump out of the hot pot now. I was already up to my eyes in fire. Worse, my best friend had unwittingly jumped in with me.
Gray Eyes continued, “Do you have any idea the frustration I have endured in the past seven days because of you? The time I have wasted? The financial costs I have incurred cleaning up the mess you made? To call it an inconvenience would be an error of epic proportions.”
I didn’t care one bit. The only thing I cared about was getting Arnold out of here safely. “What about my friend? He didn’t have anything to do with Sully or Javier. That was all me.”
Gray Eyes grinned amicably, “True, but your fat side-shit friend here came with you tonight, and the two of you together interrupted my little pow-wow. As I am sure you know, such actions have consequences.” He placed the barrel of his automatic’s suppressor against Arnold’s forehead.
Arnold’s vest wouldn’t do him any good now, but he snorted defiantly, “You can’t kill me. I’ve only had sex once! And she was really ugly!” Even to the last, Arnold was staying strong and putting on a show. Trying to win them over.
Gray Eyes chuckled, “A fat fuck like you? I find that rather hard to believe.”
“No!” Arnold pleaded. “She was really ugly! I swear!”
Gray Eyes snorted, “No, I find it hard to beli
eve you have ever had sex with anything that has fewer than four legs.”
The other men laughed heartily.
“No!” Arnold said. “Her name was Melanie! I swear!”
One of the thugs chuckled, “Was Melanie the name of your fat pet cow, or your fat pet pig?”
“MOO!” one mocked.
“SQUEE, WEE, WEE!” another squealed derisively.
The men laughed again.
When their laughter faded, Gray Eyes jabbed the barrel of his pistol against Arnold’s forehead.
Arnold cringed fearfully, “She was fat but she wasn’t a cow! Or a pig! She’s human! Her name is Melanie! I’m serious!”
Gray Eyes smirked, “I don’t give a fuck what her name is. But I promise you, you fat fuck, you will never fuck anything ever again. Not even your hand.” He cocked the hammer of the automatic.
Arnold just about shit himself. His eyes goggled and he whimpered, “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot! Please, man! Please!” He was ready to cry as he begged for mercy.
My heart nearly stopped as Arnold’s last words echoed through my head — for the second time tonight.
I suddenly put it all together.
Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot! Please, man! Please!
That was the exact distress call that had led us here.
Arnold’s distress call.
Until this moment, I had assumed those heart-wrenching words would be the last ones to come from the mouth of bloody Tied Up Guy, not Arnold. But noooo, the future voice I’d heard in my head outside Flashbacks was Arnold’s voice all along! I should’ve known! But the voice had come in distorted and faint! I didn’t know it was his! Damn it! If it wasn’t for me, Arnold wouldn’t be here right now! He’d be home sleeping!
This was all my fault!
Because of me, Arnold was going to die!
I was horrified.
How could I not have known?!
I shook my head in desperation.
If Arnold got killed, I would never forgive myself.
“Wait,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’ll freeze this guy for you.” I meant bloody Tied Up Guy. “I’ll do anything you want to him. But don’t kill my friend!” The second the words spilled out of my mouth, I hated myself. Trading one life for another like they were mine to trade.
