The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Chapter 31

  Unlike in the cabs that roamed Baltimore’s streets, Chris and Tracy could not change the destination of the car without access to the front seats. Kaufman’s lackeys provided a formidable barrier to the car’s holoscreen. Both lazily stared out the windows as the car trolled down the street. Their broad shoulders blotted out much of the view through the front windshield.

  To their left, sunlight glinted off white-capped waves between apartment and office buildings. Chris could even make out the green, bulbous dragon shapes of paddleboats in the water. He’d always scoffed at the stupid tourist trap, dismissing the idea of paying an exorbitant fee to labor oneself around a harbor smelling of fish and polluted water that stank of sulfur.

  Now he envied the careless people propelling their boats through the gray water.

  The views of the harbor became obscured once again by warehouses and factories, all with drab brown- and gray-hued facades. The glowing Domino Sugars sign atop the refinery stood far above them now, no longer visible through the windows as it disappeared beyond the roof of the sedan.

  Tracy nudged Chris, and he turned from the window to face her. She clenched her jaw and scowled at him as if to scold him for his suspicious behavior. He straightened up and peered out of the corners of his eyes at her. Her right wrist twisted free of the nylon rope bonds.

  She inched toward him, leaning slightly. Chris could feel her hand explore behind his back, tugging at the ropes that held his wrists. The sensation of a dozen needles spread in his fingers, no longer numb from lack of circulation. He wriggled his fingers to restore the blood flow.

  With a subtle nod, Tracy indicated the two men in front of them. Both faced forward. Behind her back, she clenched her hands together. Chris nodded in understanding and Tracy inhaled deep. She mouthed “one, two, three.”

  Like a mouse trap, her arms shot around the neck of the man in front of her. Chris followed suit, just a second behind her.

  The vessels in her forearms popped and bulged, her muscles tense and tight. Brown Eyes worked his fingers around her thin arms, struggling to loosen her grip as he gulped for air.

  Chris used both arms to pull Blue Eyes back against the front seat. He leveraged his legs to apply extra pressure, kicking at the seat in front of him to aid his hold on the man’s neck. The lackey grunted, and Chris could feel the man’s neck muscles bulge out against his forearms.

  With one thick hand, the man gripped Chris’s right arm and twisted it off his neck.

  Tracy’s victim turned red in the face. He clung to her arms.

  Chris’s target slammed him back into his seat, and Blue Eyes reached out to help Brown. Blue delivered a powerful blow to Tracy’s shoulder.

  Absorbing the hit, she wrapped her arms tighter around Brown Eyes and grimaced. Chris punched Blue only to be deflected and countered by a deft chop.

  Blue landed a second blow on Tracy’s temple. With her grip now loosened, Brown’s neck bulged. He growled as he tore her arms away. Free, he sucked in a deep breath. His face returned to its normal almond hue as he breathed, though his arms shook as he held Tracy’s away from his neck.

  “You think you’re a strong bitch, don’t you?” Blue Eyes leaned over the front seat and threw Tracy against the back of the car. Her head cracked against the rear window.

  She slumped back into her seat, fuming and clutching the back of her head. Blood trickled around her fingers. She seemed more livid than hurt. Chris shrank back into his own seat, his right arm on fire and shuddering.

  “Shoot ’em,” Brown Eyes said.

  Blue Eyes reached into his coat. Chris cowered in his seat as Tracy lunged at him, but Brown Eyes batted her away. From his inner pocket, Blue Eyes whipped out a pair of syringes. He uncapped one and grabbed Chris’s wrist.

  Chris flailed but could not shake the man’s grip. The needle dove underneath his skin, and warmth spread from the injection site. His vision blurred as the man grabbed at Tracy’s swinging arm. She kicked his hand away and sent the needle flying into the front windshield.

  His head heavy, Chris blinked and reached out toward Tracy with a hand made of cement. Both Kaufman’s thugs held her down now, grunting and growling, as Blue Eyes plunged the second needle deep into her arm. She lashed out at them with her unrestrained feet, kicking at their faces. Her movements slowed and faltered as Chris struggled to keep his eyes open.

  At last, he slipped sideways on the cool leather of the back seat, his body falling against hers. Darkness replaced light, sounds distorted until they quieted, and his thoughts dissolved.

  ***

  The harsh smell of ammonia jolted Chris awake. Blue Eyes crouched next to him, his fingers under Chris’s nose. The man stood when Chris opened his eyes.

  He tried to raise himself up, but his hands were secured together behind his back. He bent his legs closer to him but couldn’t separate his feet. As he brought his legs up, he could see the ropes tied around his ankles. He lost his balance and fell back on his side. The side of his head cracked against concrete, but his nerves remained dulled and the pain just a distant throb. He rotated his shoulder in place. Though it ached, he felt only a sliver of the agony he had experienced before.

  Water dripped in the distant corners of the shadowy warehouse where he lay. Around him, wooden crates emblazoned with the logo of a sportswear company were stacked in heaps. Metal rafters lined the ceiling like the rib cage of an enormous whale. Lights hung from above on long chains, most shut off.

  “This one’s awake too,” Blue Eyes said.

  “Good,” Brown Eyes said. “Boss don’t need to know we put ’em to sleep. Don’t want that.”

  Chris craned his neck to see Tracy’s eyes shoot open, her face distorting into a fierce grimace. She struggled against her bonds, and her face turned red with effort, her mouth gagged. Like a fish, she flopped on the floor, her cries muffled through the cloth strung over her mouth. Blue Eyes kicked her hard in the stomach. Chris cringed as she turned redder, her eyes narrowing to slits.

  “You take the bitch,” Blue Eyes said.

  “Hell, no. She’s as bad as a feral cat.”

  “You can’t handle a skinny little girl?”

  “Come on, man. I don’t want to touch that bitch again.”

  Blue Eyes shook his head, bent, and picked up Tracy. He threw her over his shoulder. As they walked behind the nearest stack of crates, she stared hard at Chris and he returned her gaze with equal intensity. He wasn’t sure what message she sent now, but he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off her until Brown Eyes swung him over his large back.

  Chris’s head bounced against Brown Eyes’ muscles as they wound through the labyrinth of crates and cardboard boxes. They plunged deeper into the stacks. Brown Eyes paused. The sound of a lock clicking was followed by the squeak of metal hinges. A sickening thud accompanied muffled cursing from Tracy.

  Brown Eyes stepped through the doorway and stopped. He flung Chris forward and jammed him onto a cold metal folding chair. He turned to see Tracy beside him, the back of her hair matted with wet blood and a scowl glued across her face.

  “Good to see you in person, Mr. Morgan.”

  Chris swung around. When he moved too fast, the fire in his shoulder and neck flared. “Ben Kaufman.”

  The man laughed. His lifeless gray eyes glowed yellow in the low light of the small office. Bookcases lined the walls. While his suit was impeccably clean and pressed, a fine layer of dust coated the paper books and windowless walls. Only the surface of the desk appeared devoid of settled grime.

  “I told you: I am not Ben Kaufman. But you will meet him soon enough. Go ahead and remove the gag from Ms. Harrow’s mouth. She might be helpful.”

  Brown Eyes untied the cloth gag and tore it from Tracy’s mouth.

  Tracy kicked in her chair. “Get these damned ropes off of us.”

  “I’m not that stupid, Ms. Harrow. I do not take caution lightly.”

  “Are you kidding? Caution? You left quite
a mess with that girl. Blood everywhere, hung her up to die. Asshole.” Tracy spat at the businessman, but her saliva fell short, splattering on the desk. “That didn’t seem a bit like caution to me.”

  His face indicated neither disgust nor disapproval while he took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He wiped the desk clean. “That was not my mess. However, it is an unfortunate situation that I wish could’ve been avoided.”

  “I know you called her before torturing her, you sick bastard,” Chris said. “And even if it wasn’t you who personally killed her, you’re responsible for your damned thugs.”

  Brown Eyes and Blue Eyes looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “My boys are just as meticulous as I am. In fact, they’ll be headed back to your friend’s place later to go clean up, won’t you, boys?” Both men nodded at their boss as he crossed his thin arms. “Such scenes aren’t typical of our operations, I assure you. All the same, I suppose what happened is quite unlucky.” He leaned forward, his cool eyes boring into Chris. “Did you have sexual relations with Ms. Powell? She wouldn’t tell me during our brief call.”

  “What the hell business is it of yours?” Chris snarled.

  “I just want to be sure we can collect our property.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tracy asked.

  The businessman smirked but ignored her. “Answer me, Mr. Morgan.”

  Chris shook his head and the businessman gave a slight hand gesture to Brown Eyes. He stepped closer, pushed Chris forward with one hand, and yanked his bound wrists up.

  He yelled in agony. “Yes! I did!”

  The businessman nodded, and Brown Eyes dropped Chris’s arms.

  He sat back against the folding chair, panting. Tracy’s glare burned in his peripheral vision.

  “Was this recently, Mr. Morgan?”

  “When we dated,” Chris said between agonized breaths. “Before I went to prison.”

  Furrowing his brow, the businessman clasped his hands together on the desk. “But not recently?”

  He shook his head, sweat trickling down his forehead and stinging his eyes. “No, no. I didn’t.”

  “You must realize how important it is that you be honest with me, Mr. Morgan.” The businessman nodded once more at Brown Eyes and he bent Chris’s arms up several excruciating inches.

  A drop of sweat from his forehead landed on the metal folding chair, causing a soft ping. His chest heaved and he pinched his eyes closed. “I’m telling the truth.” He dropped his chin against his chest. “I’m not lying.”

  The businessman made another gesture to tell Brown Eyes to let go, and Chris’s arms slapped down against his back. He pointed at Tracy. “Take that one away. Run the blood tests on her.”

  Brown Eyes indicated Chris with a nod of head. “Him, too?”

  “No. I’ll take care of him.”

  Blue Eyes and Brown Eyes picked Tracy up, swinging her between the two of them. She grunted, her eyes aflame in ferocity.

  When the door shut behind the men and their captive, the businessman got up from his seat and stepped around the desk. “Now that it’s just us, we can speak more freely.” He knelt down by Chris’s feet and looked up. “Don’t try anything stupid, Mr. Morgan. I don’t make idle threats.” After pulling a small knife from his suit jacket, he cut the ropes binding Chris’s ankles. “To be honest, I don’t trust that Tracy Harrow girl, either. Never have. As you’ve noticed, we’ve two gentleman who have tailed you to protect you from, among others, her. She seems particularly volatile.”

  “Protect me from her? You’re the goddamn monster that killed Randy and Veronica.”

  The businessman stood up. He rotated a silver band on the ring finger of his right hand. “To be clear, I killed neither of them. The two gentlemen you’ve become acquainted with did indeed kill Mr. Randall Nee, but I assure you that the man could do no more good alive. Quite a rat.” He walked behind Chris, out of his vision. “No, that is offensive to rats. In fact, rats have served us much more respectably in our labs than Mr. Nee ever did. I have the utmost respect for those animals’ sacrifices and none for Mr. Nee.”

  A couple of quick snaps preceded the nylon ropes falling from Chris’s wrists. He stretched and flexed his wrists and fingers.

  The businessman leaned against the front of the desk. He rotated the ring around his finger again.

  Chris’s eyes darted about the office, looking for weapons.

  The man held up his ringed finger and pointed at the silver band. “Don’t do anything rash. Among other functions, this ring monitors my heart. A sudden, prolonged surge or slowing in pulse will bring those men back immediately. I’m sure you are well aware of their gifts of strength by now and understand that you are overwhelmingly overmatched.” With his hand, he brushed the surface of the desk. “Now that Ms. Harrow is gone, I might change your mind about my intentions.”

  “You’ve got Jordan hostage, and now you take Tracy too, to do God knows what with. Change my mind? You’re insane.”

  The man’s face remained stolid.

  “You’re a murderer, a manipulator, and a torturer. Kill me and let Tracy and Jordan go. They shouldn’t even be involved in this.”

  A subtle, almost pitiful smirk curled the man’s pale lips. “Veronica Powell is alive. She’s expected to make a full recovery. It will be a long one, but she’s lucky to have a LyfeGen Sustain. I’ve heard it called it a god organ, no?”

  Chris’s eyes widened. “She’s alive?”

  “It seems that rich parents and that expensive artificial organ had helped her survive. I assure you, Mr. Morgan, that although I did indeed try to contact Ms. Powell, I did not have her tortured, much less killed. This all could’ve been resolved in a much more civilized manner.”

  With the shock of these revelations, his mind swam. A moment ago he had felt ready to die for his friends, to die for Tracy. Now a small but persistent spring of hope found its way up through the desolate thoughts that had precipitated. “If you didn’t try to kill her, who did?”

  The businessman lifted his eyebrows and held out his hands. His sleeves hung from his pale, bony wrists as if the suit hung off a dapper scarecrow. “We might be able to answer that question if your friends were a bit more honest like you.” The man walked his fingers up Chris’s chest, pressing his index finger in front of his middle finger. “I need them to be just as cooperative as you, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to convince them.”

  Chris resisted the urge to swat the man’s hand away. “I can understand your interest in Jordan, but Tracy has nothing to do with any of this. Why can’t you just let her go? I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.”

  “I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear; I want you to tell me the truth.” A soft chortle escaped the businessman’s throat, more a rasp than a laugh. “Mr. Morgan, now that it’s just you and me, I will ask this once more. Only once more.” The businessman snapped his fingers, and a projection display lit up across the surface of the desk, illuminating blue dust motes that floated in the musty air. As the image cleared, Jordan Thompson appeared, kneeling on the ground, his hands behind his back and his face cranked toward the ceiling. An arm stretched from beyond the vantage point of the display with a gun pressed against Jordan’s skull. “Did you have intercourse yesterday morning with Ms. Powell?”

  “How do I know that you haven’t already killed him? That this isn’t just video footage from earlier?”

  The businessman reached into his suit jacket pocket again, revealed his comm card, and whispered into it. “Make Mr. Thompson wave.”

  In the projected display, the gun jerked at Jordan. He appeared to respond, but the sound was muted. The gun jerked again and he lifted both his arms. Chris resisted the nauseating urge to vomit. Jordan’s fingers clenched and unclenched on his right hand, but his left hand hung, bent in his forearm where no joint existed.

  “What did you to do him?” Chris asked.

  “Mr. Morgan, did you
have intercourse with Ms. Powell?”

  Chris shook his head. The businessman brought the comm card up to his mouth and stared at him. The citrus scent of Veronica’s perfume and the touch of her naked porcelain skin against his flooded back from the day before. He had given in to her, to his emotions, and their conversation in Veronica’s studio had seemed so familiar that it had felt as if they had never been apart. Their teasing jokes and stories had escalated into a stolen touch, a passionate kiss, and then that moment when repressed desire erupted between the two of them in her bedroom.

  Holding out both hands in a pleading gesture, Chris shouted, “Yes! I did!” He hung his head. “I did.”

  “That’s what I suspected. Ms. Harrow will be rather upset to find all this out, won’t she?” The businessman smirked.

  “I’m not worried about that right now.” Chris scowled. “How do you know Veronica’s alive?”

  “I maintain a useful network of medical professionals in the area who can be easily persuaded. Quite necessary for our business here.” His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at Chris. “In fact, you met one of these individuals when you first went to prison.”

  Chris racked his brain thinking about the officers and guards he had met in various stages of the commitment process when he began his sentence. Nobody stuck out as strange, though. He massaged his wrists. Ligature marks reddened the skin where the cords had been. Then a realization hit him as he considered the businessman’s interest in his relationship with Veronica. He recalled the strange injection site on her arm. Jordan’s writing, too, flashed in his mind. The truck and trailer, built by the driver, but the driver’s body was the cargo.

  Shaking his head, Chris scowled and rubbed the red marks on his wrists as if to smudge them away. “You never cared about the samples that Randy produced, did you?”

  The businessman’s expression remained as cold and straight as ever. “We did. But they were a secondary concern. A bonus of having you work with us.” His lips twitched, forming a controlled but evident smirk. “You’re smarter than I initially thought.”