Department of Student Loans, Kidnap & Ransom

by Christian Hale

  *****

  The always cheery Rukma greeted The Executioner warmly on the street. The Executioner informed him of his plans for Mick. Rukma agreed, as he always did…eventually. After the brief debate, Rukma escorted him inside and into the elevator.

  Rukma, doing his best to fake a scowl, declared “One day, you learn to do the dirty work. By yourself.”

  “Then you’ll be out of a job, won’t you?”

  “You are a bad learner. My job will not be disappear.”

  “My job will not disappear. There is no ‘be’ in that sentence.”

  “This is serious business, not English lesson.”

  “Rukma, you’re the one that demanded that I correct you when you make a grammar mistake.”

  “Yes, OK. I know. But I didn’t sleep last night. My head does not work now.”

  Walking down the hallway of what looked like a perfectly normal residential apartment complex, Rukma stopped at a door and knocked.

  “Anything that I should know, Rukma? Has he said anything interesting since you picked him up?”

  “He asked for weed. We give him weed. He is calm now. You need to say to him that there is big penalty for smoking marijuana in Indonesia. OK?”

  “There’s also a big penalty for kidnapping in Indonesia. OK?” said The Executioner in reply.

  Rukma didn’t have time to reply. The door was opened by another smiling Indonesian who led The Executioner to a windowless room at the back of the apartment. It was there that he met Mick for the first time. Mick sat quietly in a chair, his shirt covered with ashes from the joint he had earlier smoked.

  “Hey man, how’s it going?” asked The Executioner as he pulled off Mick’s blindfold.

  “OK.”

  “We’re going to have a long chat,” said The Executioner, untying the rope that held Mick’s arms bound behind his back. “Do you need to use a toilet or anything before we get started?”

  “No.”

  “Alright, if you do need to go, let me know. The floor is carpeted and I think one of the guys that kidnapped you actually lives here. So you are not allowed to piss your pants.”

  “Right, sure.”

  “Straight to business then…Where’s your lady friend?” asked The Executioner casually.

  “Alison? Maybe she’s visiting Blue Team headquarters? Maybe she decided to take a last-minute vacation? I don’t know. She was supposed to stay nearby. But obviously that wasn’t the case.”

  The Executioner had not, until that moment, known for sure of Ally’s affiliation. He made no reaction and showed no surprise.

  “Well, my guys didn’t see her. I was worried that there would be a big trap ready to be sprung by the fully combined might of Blue Team.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking Blue Team is not exactly a formidable force.”

  “Why do you think that?” asked The Executioner.

  “Because all I’ve seen of it is Alison. And she said that Blue Team would grab you before you grabbed me.”

  “Maybe their goal all along was to let you be taken?” said The Executioner.

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they tagged you or your clothes with a tracker. But if that was their plan, it failed. The Indos who picked you up at your hotel took you into a zapping booth at some point in your journey to this room. I’m sure you felt that. So…you are invisible. What, then, do you think could be Blue Team’s brilliant plan?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe they are making it up as they go along?” guessed Mick.

  “I can sympathize with that. I’m like that most of the time.”

  “So, are you going to kill me?”

  “Why does everyone always ask me that question?” exclaimed The Executioner in an exasperated tone.

  “You have a reputation.”

  “It’s mostly lies invented by Blue Team, plus me being credited with stuff that other debt collectors do. What did your friend Alison tell you might happen?”

  “Well, I saw your friends kill Alison’s partner in Cancún. So she didn’t need to say anything.”

  “Those weren’t my friends; they’re just some random locals I hired. I never grab a runner myself.”

  “Why not?”

  “Locals know best – always. They’ll always do a better job.”

  “Except in Cancún?”

  “That’s the exception to the rule,” said The Executioner. “It’s a law of averages. Plus, I had never hired anyone there before. I do almost all of my work in Asia. My crews here are far more reliable and less trigger-happy. Anyways, if I had tried to grab you myself in Mexico, I would be dead.”

  “About that, and this…you are under the impression that I’m filthy rich from cash I embezzled from terrorist financiers?” asked Mick.

  “Yeah, no. Not anymore. I was only recently filled in on the true state of your financial health.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. This is just so anti-climactic. You have no real money. I’m no longer interested in you. It’s over, I guess…” said The Executioner. “I thought this was going to end dramatically...or lucratively.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” said Mick. “What’s going to happen now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you going to kill me and toss me into the ocean?”

  “What? No! Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. Your name is The Executioner.”

  “Again, you need to quit reading anarchist propaganda.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  Mick was quiet for a few seconds, which was a long time for him. He then broke his silence and asked “So, what’s up?”

  “Um…You want to go grab a beer?” suggested The Executioner.

  “Yeah, sure,” replied Mick, not entirely sure if he had a choice. “Can we go to a place that also serves food?”

  “Definitely.”