Devious Origins

by Thad Phetteplace

CHAPTER 26

  Behind The Mook was Red and Gray, two of the thugs that had attacked us in the factory. Gray was smoking a cigarette and leaning against a dark blue sport utility vehicle parked less than half a block behind me. Red was marching purposefully in our direction. He wore the same red leather jacket as well as an angry scowl and a cast on his right hand.

  “I told you it was the same scooter,” Red crowed as he approached.

  “Nobody doubted you,” The Mook replied.

  I swallowed and looked frantically around for help. The street was distressingly unoccupied except for us. Even the laundromat looked empty. A couple of people were walking away from us almost two blocks away. Maybe they would hear if I yelled. I drew a deep breath, then stopped as the grip on my shoulder tightened. The Mook raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly. His meaning was clear. I kept my mouth shut.

  “I owe you a serious beating,” Red told me as he came to a stop behind his fellow thug. He put his hands together as if to crack his knuckles but was stopped by his cast. He glanced down at it. When he looked back up, his expression was even darker.

  “Now is not the time for beatings,” The Mook assured him, “Mr. Buetrero will be our guest, yes?” He looked at me expectantly.

  “Um, yeah, sure. We're all just friends here, right?” I tried to sound as harmless and agreeable as possible. Unfortunately, it seemed likely that the time for beatings would be as soon as they could get me away from this very public setting. My mind chased frantically after thoughts of escape, but it found no viable plan. My heart began to race. My hands grew sweaty. My phone almost slipped from my hands.

  My phone.

  I still had an open phone line to Dee. In fact, the phone was still streaming video of her leaving the building. If they saw that, if they recognized where she was... I couldn't let that happen. I stabbed at the phone, attempting to close video app.

  “No, now is also not the time for phone calls,” The Mook informed me as he plucked the phone from my hand. I squeezed the power button before it slipped from my grasp, managing to at least turn off the display. He would now need a four digit pin to unlock the screen.

  This could actually work out. I hadn't actually ended the phone call, so hopefully Dee could listen in on everything. Maybe DualCore could even trace the location of the phone. Just in case they couldn't, I could give verbal clues. Make casual conversation with my captors with hidden messages for my rescuers. Hey, why not... I'd seen it done enough times on movies and television. These hopes were quickly dashed when The Mook slid the battery out of my phone, dropping the phone and the battery into separate pockets.

  The grip on my shoulder tightened again as I was walked, almost carried one-handed, to the blue SUV.

  “This is kidnapping,” I insisted.

  “Nonsense,” The Mook responded, “You just agreed to be our guest. Really now, such hurtful accusations will strain our friendship.” The corner of his lip twisted up with the hint of a smile.

  “Yeah, don't be rude,” Red interjected as he gave me a shove. I stumbled and would likely have fallen if The Mook's steel grip had not stopped me. The Mook shot Red an angry look but said nothing.

  Gray crushed out his cigarette and open the door as we neared the car, and The Mook stuffed me into the back seat. I quickly slid over and began to grab the opposite door handle, thinking I might bolt out the other side and run for it, but Gray climbed in next to me and grabbed my arm in a vice like grip. He might be smaller than The Mook, but he seemed no less muscled.

  “Don't even think about it,” he advised me.

  The Mook climbed into the drivers seat, and Red road shotgun in the front passenger seat. It occurred to me he might literally have a shotgun stowed somewhere. I was sure he was at least carrying another handgun somewhere within his jacket.

  The SUV leapt away from the curb, barely avoiding Dee's scooter as it sped past. We rounded the corner and approached the glass office tower but then continued past it.

  “Where're we headed?” Gray asked.

  “The usual place,” Red answered. He turned and gave me an evil grin as he said it. I shuddered. My imagination was immediately occupied with all the varieties of nasty destinations where career criminals might dispose of their victims. My fear must have shown, because Red just grinned more widely, then laughed and turned forward again. I staring out the window, looking at the street signs as we passed them, trying to figure out where we might be heading.

  “Quit your gawking,” Gray ordered. He grabbed the back of my head and tipped me forward till my face nearly touched my knees.

  “This isn't comfortable,” I complained.

  “And how is that my problem?” he replied, “at least this way nobody will see your ugly face riding around with us.”

  My heart sank. I thought at first he didn't want me to see where I was being taken, which might mean they planned to eventually release me. I mean, if they planned to kill me anyway, it wouldn't matter what I knew. Now it seemed more likely they just wanted to avoid any witnesses. If I disappeared, the last thing they wanted was some citizen saying they saw me in a blue SUV, and oh by the way officer, I just happened to remember the license plate.

  We rode that way for minutes that stretched into an eternity, my back becoming more cramped with each bump and pothole. I tried to count the turns, to estimate approximately where we were headed, but I quickly lost track. Eventually we turned and drove downward and out of the sunlight. Gray finally let me sit up as we rolled to a stop. We were in an underground parking garage. It was mostly empty. The only other vehicle was a white pickup truck parked far enough away that I couldn't read the business name printed on its side. I squinted at it, thinking maybe the text on that truck could provide a clue to my location, but it was no use.

  Gray pulled me from the car and marched me toward an elevator. We all rode up to the third floor, the top floor of whatever building we were in, and exited into a dimly lit hallway. It looked like a hotel or perhaps an apartment complex, though it was still under construction. The carpeting had a layer of plastic over it, and the walls were unpainted. Smears of drywall joint compound hand been sanded smooth on the walls, leaving a coating of white dust across the plastic covered floor. Tracks in the dust revealed this path was well traveled. Light trickled in from a window at the end of the hall, but I couldn't see anything of the outside world, just a cloud dappled sky. We stopped at room 307. The Mook unlocked the door and let us in.

  The layout shouted luxury apartment or condo, not hotel room. It offered a spacious living room and attached kitchenette, floor to ceiling windows, and doors that likely led to bedrooms and such. The windows had been covered over with translucent white painters plastic, so daylight bled into the room, but the outside world was obscured. I still had no idea where I was. Like the hallway, the walls were unpainted and the floor was also covered in plastic. I thought about all the movies I had ever watched where murder victims were forced into a plastic covered room before their bloody execution.

  “Sit there,” The Mook instructed. He pointed at a folding chair. Gray shoved me into the chair before I could even respond. The Mook pulled up another chair and sat opposite me. Gray and Red hovered on either side. Gray kept a hand on my shoulder, exerting a low, constant pressure.

  “Nice place you've got here,” I tried to sound unafraid, but it came out as a breathy squeak. My eyes darted around the room, trying to drink in any detail that might help me. The place was sparsely furnished. Just a few folding chairs, a large wooden crate, and a folding table covered in fast food wrappers. The light through the windows was indirect, so the view was not east facing. Probably not south either.

  “Don't get comfortable, you wont be here long,” Red answered. His tone rendered it a threat.

  “Hush now,” The Mook instructed, “you are frightening our guest. We are just having a friendly conversation, yes?”

 
; “Sure... we're all friends here.” I swallowed and glanced up at Red. He grinned evilly and rested a hand on my shoulder, mirroring Gray's stance.

  The Mook continued. “So as a friend, you will tell us who you and your lady friend are working for.”

  “Working for?” My mind spun. I grappled with what he was implying. I didn't know how to answer.

  “Don't play dumb,” Red growled. His fingers dug into my shoulder. The Mook shot him a dark look but did not stop him.

  “Yes, your employer,” The Mook continued, “it is obviously someone with resources. The very fact that they have managed to stay unknown to us says as much.”

  “No really, its not like that, its just...” I stopped. What was I going to tell him? Would my situation be helped if they believed it was just me and Dee? Or would I have a better chance at freedom if they thought I had some vast organization behind me? I didn't know enough about the situation, about them, to really be sure.

  I sat silently and wish for a real superpower. Super strength, teleportation, laser vision... anything. Instead all I had was empathy, and I wasn't even convinced of that. Dee said empathy could be a superpower, that understanding the truth of someone could be extremely powerful. Right then, I desperately wanted to believe that.

  I decided to start cautiously and keep things vague. Maybe I could draw them out and chart a path out of this. “You have to understand, I'm not very far up the food chain.”

  The Mook nodded. “That much is obvious. Go on.”

  “I only know what I'm told, and I'm only told what I need to know.” The Mook nodded again like this was to be expected. I glanced from him to Red to Gray. Red seemed the same as always. Angry. Gray looked... well, he look bored. So what could my empathy tell me about my captors? How did this work? Did I need to recreate that weird disconnected sensation I had felt before? This situation was no less panic inducing than any of those others, but that strange fugue sensation now eluded me. Dee said I should just trust my first impressions. That would have to be enough.

  Gray. He seemed to be of moderate to low intelligence. Unimaginative. Morally flexible. Willing to use violence but not sadistic about it. No strong feelings about his coworkers. Just a guy doing a job.

  Red. Smarter than Gray. Ambitious but cruel. Revels in using violence and proving his superiority to others. Basically a sociopath. Looks down on Gray. Fears and dislikes The Mook.

  The Mook. Capable of violence, but taking no particular pleasure in it. Less morally flexible. Lives by a personal code, though obviously one that allows for law breaking. Dislikes Gray and Red and considers them unprofessional.

  So assuming this was all true, how could I make it work for me? The Mook would not resort to violence unless necessary. I needed to stay on his good side. He could be a buffer between me and the other thugs. The friction between him and Red, if I could play on that, light a fire under it somehow, maybe I could get them so focused on each other I could make a break for it. They hadn't tied me up. That was surprising, but I could use it to my advantage. If I convinced them I was totally compliant, happy to be here even, they might let their guard down. Gray was something of a wildcard, but he already seemed bored with the situation, so maybe he wouldn't be a problem. The Mook was the key. A thread of a plan showed itself, and I grasped it.

  I took a breath, and started. “You have to understand, I'm just doing what my superiors tell me.” Sure, that's me. Just a good soldier following orders. The Mook would sympathize with that. “It was never about the factory. That was just an ice breaker, an invitation to start a conversation. It is possible our two organizations can be... beneficial... to each other.”

  “What a crock shit,” Red declared, “just tell us who you work for before I...”

  “Oh be quiet, the adults are talking,” I snapped. My interruption was so unexpected that Red was momentarily shocked into silence, but I could feel his inevitable violent response building. I looked at The Mook and donned an amused expression.

  The Mook began to laugh. It was a low, rumbling sound that gradually gained momentum. I felt Red's attention and anger shift away from me and toward him.

  “That's not funny,” Red insisted, “the little asshole is being disrespectful.”

  “Respect must be earned,” The Mook replied. He looked to me. “We understand that, yes?” I simply smiled and gave a curt nod. This just made Red more angry.

  “What total horse shit,” he nearly yelled, “Let me dangle the little cretin out the window. That'll get him talking and teach him to show respect.”

  I gave an exaggerated sigh. “I'm already talking. You're the one filling the air with pointless babble.”

  That did it. Red let go of my shoulder and swung at my head with the back of his hand. The Mook's hand shot out and stopped the blow before it made contact. They stood there, The Mook squeezing Red's one good hand inside his larger fist. It was actually working. They seemed poised on the precipice of real physical conflict.

  And then Gray chose to join the conversation. “Guys, you know I hate it when you get like this.”

  That seemed to break the spell. The Mook let go of Red. Red still seethed, but his hand went back to my shoulder. The two thugs stood there looking at each other for a moment, then The Mook turned his attention back to me.

  “Let us continue our conversation,” he said.

  “I'm going out for a smoke,” Gray announced, and headed for the door. The Mook spared him a disapproving glance, but then turned back to me.

  “Your employer. Tell me more about them. How much do they know about my... employer?”

  I chose my words carefully. “I'm not really sure. Like I said before, they only tell me what I need to know, but I get the impression they know a lot. And they have long reach. I think you know what that's like.”

  The Mook laughed again. “We are mushrooms, yes? Kept in the dark and fed bullshit.” My smile was nearly genuine. I was almost beginning to like this guy, and I felt slightly bad about lying to him.

  “I work for an international organization with a long history.” My imagination raced ahead, making up the story barely ahead of my words. “It crosses many European and Asian boundaries, and goes by various names in different languages, but they all translate roughly as The Partnership.”

  I kept it as vague as possible, but I spun an entertaining tale. I borrowed from DualCore's descriptions of money laundering and offshore tax dodges as well as half remembered news stories of foreign mafias and random details from a few action adventure novels. It sounded crazy to my own ears, but The Mook seemed to buy it, and Red was at least intrigued. They both interrupted only occasionally with questions. I didn't have an end-game anymore. At this point I was just playing for time and hoping an escape plan presented itself.

  I was halfway into another elaborate lie when The Mook suddenly shushed me to silence. He stood and turned toward the door. That's when I heard it too. Footsteps and voices in the hallway. They grew louder, then the door began to open. I recognized Gray's voice.

  “Thanks for the help,” he was saying, “I've got it from here.”

  “Just tell me where to set them down,” said another voice. A small guy in baggy jeans and and an over-sized red windbreaker slipped past Gray. In his arms he cradled a stack of pizza boxes with a brown paper bag perched on top. The bag had the Piranha Pizza logo on it, a popular local chain.

  “What is he doing here?” The Mook hissed.

  Gray froze, then slowly answered. “He brought up our pizza.”

  “But what is he doing here?” The Mook repeated.

  The wheels turned in Gray's head, and he seemed to realize his mistake. “It's fine. Here, I'll just take these and he can go.” Gray moved to take the pizza boxes, but the delivery boy was already setting them on the large crate in the middle of the room.

  “OK, so that's three large pizzas, one with double top
pings, and a large bag of cheesy bread. That'll be forty two fifty.” The delivery guy stood there with an expectant look. The thugs looked at each other. Nobody moved or said anything.

  “Well, I suppose I could make this my treat,” I said as I began reaching in my pocket for my wallet. Red dug his fingers in my shoulder, silently warning me to sit still. The pizza guy was digging around in his change pouch, oblivious to the danger he was in.

  “You also get a coupon for free jalapeño pizza toast with your next order,” he said as he scribbled something on his receipt book. Then he looked right at me and said, “that stuff is so hot, you'll want to drop to the floor and cover your eyes.”

  I realized it was Dee an instant before the cheesy bread exploded.