by Luis Samways
Using a crate as a makeshift seat, Connor stares hard into the camera lens. His reflection is distorted, bent through the shiny surface of the 30 x zoom 28 megapixel camera. The camera rests on a tripod, the feet are muddy due to the condition of the floor.
‘Not an ideal studio, ay, boys?’ Connor laughs.
The guards and technicians surrounding him don’t respond.
Connor surveys the DIY studio they have put together in the offices of the M.I.T Building. The place is a mess of loose wiring and clutter. Debris from the trashed computers that once occupied that area is still all over the place. The blood from the execution of Tasha has stained the floor, mixing with dirt and plastic trimmings. The white sheet used as a background is covered in blood.
‘I thought I told you guys to clean this place up. It looks like a slaughter house!’ One of the guards laughs. Connor walks over to the hired hand. ‘Is there something I’m missing?’
The guard shakes his head emphatically.
‘I could have sworn that I heard you laugh at my slaughter house remark.’
‘No, Sir.’ Connor grins.
‘You’re calling me a liar, then?’
The guard emphatically shakes his head again.
‘No, Sir, of course not.’
‘Of course not.’ Chase quickly grabs his gun from his holster, raises it and shoots. The bullet hits the burly man in the chest. Blood trickles from the man’s mouth as he falls to the ground. The area fills with the deafening ringing sound.
‘Of course not,’ he repeats and holsters his weapon once more.
The witnesses stare at him, grim faced.
‘I don’t have time for people who question my actions. I do not have time for people who force me into questionable actions. This operation needs leaders. If you feel I lack those qualities, feel free to walk out. I have my reasons for being here and so do you. Your reasons may not match mine, but I shit you not, mine are the only ones that matter!’
‘When I tell you to do something, do it. I don’t want anyone watching thinking I’m some sort of maniac hell bent on killing people. That’s the wrong sort of message I’m trying to convey.’
‘What we want, gentleman is true freedom and privacy to do what we want, when we want. Our information is not currency. That’s what we are here for. Sometimes there are casualties of war. That is inevitable. So when I tell you to clean it up, it’s not because I want chores done, it’s because it could affect the way people see us. We killed and kill the people for one reason and one reason only. The government did not cooperate. If we have the place looking like a war zone, people won’t blame the government. They will call us terrorists, not revolutionaries! So clean this damn mess up!’
Connor brushes himself down and sits back on the crate. He stares deep into the lens once more.
Thirty six
‘It was risky coming down here, Frank. They have an APB out on you. If anyone reported you, you could go up like a Christmas tree and then what?’ Jacob pours himself a cup of coffee.
Frank sits facing Jacob’s official looking office desk. He looks around the room and notices the large painting of Jacob on the wall. The room resembles a stately home from the eighteen hundreds. Why so much grandeur, he wonders?
Frank has come across a lot of people in the political game in his career. All of them share the same characteristics. Cut from the poor, give to the rich. Media likes to portray politicians as “for the people,” but most of them don’t account for the enormous expenses these men and women need to furnish their buildings, and dress for their functions and ride in limos to the airport to hop aboard private jets for their globetrotting.
‘Nice office, Jacob.’ Jacob looks around his office. ‘Thanks,’ he replies.
‘It’s terribly stately wouldn’t you say?’ ‘It does the job.’
Frank shakes his head in disappointment and lights his second cigarette in twenty minutes. ‘Tell me something, Jacob. Why do you need all these pictures of yourself? Do you forget what you look like? Surely a mirror would do. No need for portraits.’
Jacob nods in agreement and sips his coffee.
‘Just my opinion,’ Frank adds.
‘It is what it is, Frank.’ He examines Frank with his eyes. ‘I’m a successful man. For all my hard work, I get certain perks. That’s life, Frank. Heck, that’s my life! Is it wrong to enjoy success that most people do not reach? No, it’s not. Is it wrong that the government wants to cut your pensions despite your hard work for the state? Yes. Do I give a rat’s ass? No. You’re here to discuss our agreement, not my lifestyle.’
Frank’s face lights with anger. He stretches.
‘You know what Jacob?’ Frank abruptly exhales.
‘What Frank?’
‘Let’s just get on with this. So how are you getting the gear that I need?’
Jacob paces the width of his desk and looks at Frank cautiously.
‘There is no gear Frank. Don’t expect magic from my ass. That’s not how it works. You need to give me time.’
Frank swats Jacob’s comment away with his hand.
‘Don’t give me that shit, Jacob. Why the hell did you agree to me coming here if you were not going to help me out?’
‘You can’t work that out, Frank, being a detective and all?’
Frank slams his fist on Jacobs’s desk. ‘Don’t Bullshit me, Jacob!’
‘I’m the damn Defence Minister of the United States of America. I have worked my way up the position since leaving the Marine Corp, seven years ago. I’m a black man doing a white man’s job and we may not get another black President any time soon, but I can assure you, if we do, it will be me. I can’t risk my career, helping a fugitive break into the M.I.T research building. I can’t help you on your personal revenge trip, Frank, even if you happen to be my best friend and former bunk mate at the Corp. Sorry Frank.’
‘You’re sorry? Is that supposed to make me feel any better? If you’re not going to help me? Then why am I here?’
Jacob looks Frank square in the eye. And then looks at the intercom on his desk.
Frank reacts. He covers the intercom so Jacob cannot operate it.
Jacob shakes his head in disappointment.
‘There’s no use trying to stop the inevitable, Frank. You’re going to get caught, sooner or later.’
Frank yanks the intercom chord. The room fills with a staticy buzz for a few seconds.
‘Like every master batsman, Jacob, you’re going to strike out, sooner or later.’
Nose to nose over the desk, the men stare each other down, their hands on the table, waiting for the other to react.
‘Looks like we have a problem,’ Jacob finally speaks. ‘Not only is there a warrant out for your arrest, you are locked down in a government building with highly trained men guarding it. You lay one finger on me, you will be taken down. You may recall me talking to the guard at the gate. I told him that if you are spotted by yourself in the building then they have permission to shoot on sight, you are not leaving here unless I let you go!’
Thirty Seven
Chief Shaw pours himself another double.
‘Whisky in the early afternoon helps me think.’ he tells Commissioner Alvarez, who remains seated reading the newspaper in Shaw’s office.
Alvarez is a slender, tall man of Mexican descent. He’s known for his loyalty to the working officers of the Boston PD. He’s an every man’s man.
Chief Shaw overshadows Alvarez by demeanour and manner. Shaw’s New York Irish accent is worlds apart from Commissioner Alvarez’s well-spoken tone. The commissioner crosses his legs. His well-polished shiny shoes reflect the light in the room. His suit is well pressed. Alvarez rests the newspaper on his legs. Every action is as elegant as his $4000 suit. He looks up at the Chief of Police with a smile.
Shaw is surprised the man sitting across the room hasn’t got a gold tooth. He laughs.
‘What’s funny, Mr Shaw?’ Chief Shaw takes another swig of whisky. The ice h
its his teeth and makes him cringe. He pours himself another double and clears his throat.
‘Nothing. It’s just been one of those days. I’m glad you made it down here. I heard they shut down the airport after Connor Chase made his way into our lives.’ Alvarez smiles and surveys the Chief over the rim of the cup. ‘I think you mean “minds” Chief Shaw.’
Shaw takes another sip, using his lips as a shield against the ice.
‘I don’t think I get you,’ says Shaw
‘Not many people do, Mr Shaw. When you said Connor Chase made his way into our lives, I think you meant into our minds.’
Shaw shakes his head
‘No, sir. I meant lives.’
Commissioner Alvarez gets up from his seat, walks over and puts his hand on Shaw’s shoulder.
‘If Connor Chase was in my life, I’d be scared to walk out of the door. I’d be looking over my shoulder every minute, watching and waiting for him to show up. Connor Chase is nothing more than fear in my head.’
Shaw looks Alvarez up and down. ‘I’m sure the people he’s holding hostage find Mr Chase very much in their lives.’
‘To me, he is just a number, a number that has to be eliminated from the equation. Life is a formula Shaw, and Connor Chase is fucking up the formula!’
Shaw is shocked at Alvarez’s outburst. ‘We are doing everything we can to capture Chase and his men.’ he says.
‘Obviously, you’re not doing enough, Chief. You know where they are and still have not captured them!’
‘It’s not that easy sir. It’s a public building sir. There are hostages involved and heavy media coverage on the case. We cannot jeopardise the safety of the hostages by rushing the place. More lives will be lost.’
Alvarez turns his back on Shaw and walks to the drinks cabinet. He pours himself a double and drinks it in one shot then turns to face the Chief.
‘I did not tell you to bum rush the place. I want results. I want them fast! Washington is breathing down hard on me at the moment. They want this sorted out fast. They do not want a shit storm, so control it.’
Alvarez cracks a forced smile.
‘Look Shaw, you have ten hours to finalize this situation. If you don’t succeed, the FBI will take over.’
Shaw shakes his head as Alvarez puts his empty whisky glass on Shaw’s desk and makes his way to the door. He pats Shaw’s shoulder once more and walks out.
‘Asshole,’ mutters Shaw.
He reaches into his pocket and looks at the menu on his mobile phone in anticipation.
‘Still no messages. What’s going on, Nathan?’ he mutters.
He puts the phone back in his pocket and pours himself another drink.
Thirty Eight
Nathan’s eyes open to a circle of humanity looking down at him while he lies on the floor catching his breath. His vision is blurred and unclear. The pain in his jaw reminds him of the punch that he suffered a minute ago. The ominous crowd reminds him where he is. A few dozen guns pointed at his face make him snap out of his daze. Nathan slowly sits up with his hands raised.
‘Relax, fellas,’ he says calmly
The butt end of an AK47 knocks Nathan back to the ground. He spits out a bloody tooth and the pain is back again.
‘Shut the hell up!’ the AK47 swinging guard commands.
Connor Chase pushes his way through the circle of animals. His pack smiles at his presence, cheering and jeering as he signals for quiet.
‘Looks like you’re a bit banged up there, Nathan, my boy!’ Nathan scrambles back to a seated position.
‘Don’t you move!’ Chase orders.
Nathan scans the area for an escape and doesn’t like his chances. He closes his eyes, preparing for the worst.
‘Look at me!’ Nathan follows the order and looks Connor square in the eyes.
‘That’s better. Now I know that this may come as a shock to you, but you are being held prisoner now.’
‘No shit.’ Nathan says.
The guard with the AK47 kicks Nathan in the face and he hits the ground again with a thud.
Connor puts his arm in front of the guard’s chest to stop him. ‘Not yet Mike, You’ll have your fun. I promise.’
Mike grunts in understanding.
‘Looks like we have a problem, Nathan; my crew has taken a disliking to you. I’m not quite sure why that is. Maybe you can shed some light on the matter?’
Now blood is pouring out of Nathan’s mouth like a waterfall spurting out of a rock face. He sits up again and wipes his bloody mouth with his dirty sleeve.
‘I don’t know’ Nathan answers.
‘My men are good, hard working men, Nathan. They pull their weight around here, and maybe you don’t. That could be a good enough reason. Or maybe you left the toilet seat up and someone needed a crap. If they had to take the time out of their day to put the damn seat down or maybe you pissed on the seat, so when they did manage to get the seat down they had pissy hands for all of their hard work!’
The men chuckle and Chase turns to them and gives them a stern look. The chuckling stops.
‘As I was saying, maybe you’re just an asshole and nobody quite likes you. You do have one of those faces I just want to punch…no offence, of course.’
Nathan shrugs. Chase’s face fills with rage and he cocks his gun.
‘Answer me, God dammit!’
Chase presses the cold barrel of the gun into Nathan’s scull and sends shivers down his spine.
‘I don’t know why they don’t like me!’ Nathan manages.
Chase pulls Nathan’s mobile phone from his pocket. Nathan’s throat sinks to his shoes.
‘I believe you left something on the operating table next to poor old Hodgey, God rest his soul. Why have you got a mobile phone, Nathan? Mobile phones are not allowed on this job. Outside communication with the world is prohibited. It could jeopardise the mission. You know that. Why do you have the phone?’
Nathan stares at the floor.
Chase clicks the buttons on the phone and skims the content displayed on the small LED screen. He stops and reads messages. He takes a good five minutes before smiling. He nods as if the messages answer his questions. He throws the phone on to the floor, and stamps on it, obliterating the device. The phone splinters and pieces hit Nathan in the face. Nathan thinks he’s taken his last breath. He doesn’t blink; he stares at Connor who is licking his lips.
‘Interesting messages you got there, Nathan. Interesting messages indeed.’
Nathan braces himself and Connor kicks. Nathan’s vision goes black.
Thirty Nine
Crystal undoes her blouse. The smooth velvety fabric falls off of her curvaceous bust. , She grabs Jason’s belt and looks deep into his eyes, deep into his soul. She pulls the belt from Jason’s trousers up and the sound turns her on. It whooshes and sends shivers up her neck. Her hair brushes his chest. She’s on her knees, pulling down his trousers. His erect penis stops the pulling motion. She wants Jason in her mouth. She can’t stand the wait. She tugs the trousers harder. He whimpers.
‘Damn that hurts,’ She looks up at him and he smiles and helps her undo his trousers. They fall to his ankles. She gasps his hard penis stares straight at her, inviting her to opens her mouth. She grabs it, pulling it closer to her and she takes it in. She feels full.
He grabs her hair tight, bunching it up as he feels pleasure. She moans and takes every thrust deeply in her mouth.
He thrusts harder as he grabs her breasts. They are firm and hard and he thrusts even harder. Her knees rub against the rest room’s floor. He stops looking at her as he raises his head up and looks at the ceiling.
She moans as she grabs his penis with both hands. She sucks hard as she rubs him at the same time. He grabs the side wall nearly ripping the mirror off as he releases in her mouth. She embraces the warm liquid. He stares at the ceiling and convulses with pleasure, finally looking down at her with nothing but euphoria in his eyes.
Forty
Officer
Mullins sits in the patrol car waiting for his partner to come back from the coffee shop. The radio in the car goes off. Mullin’s reaches for it. ‘Car 765 receiving, over.’ ‘We have a confirmed sighting of suspect Frank McKenzie entering the industrial area in downtown Boston. He was spotted in a dark blue Ford Capri. Suspect is presumed armed and dangerous, approach with caution, Car 765, the voice on the radio intones.
‘Shit.’ Mullins sounds the horn and sirens to catch the attention of his partner. His partner rushes out of the shop and enters the car out of breath.
‘What’s the rush, Mullins?’
‘We just got a 10-4 on Frank McKenzie.’ ‘Where is he?’
‘Just strap up and let’s go!’
‘Keep your blond Irish ass in check man. I’m strapping up, damn it!’
Mullins presses the gas pedal and swerves out of the parking space. The patrol car speeds through the lower eastside of Boston.
Forty one
‘Blocking the door won’t do you any good, Frank. They can breach it if they must,’ Jacob watches Frank rearrange the room. Frank sifts through the furniture, turning desks over and pushing filing cabinets down.
‘Where the hell is it?’ Frank demands.
Jacob looks confused. ‘Where the hell is what?’
Frank faces Jacob. ‘Where the hell is your key card?’
Jacob shakes his head and laughs. ‘My key card? What the hell are you talking about? What key card?’
Frank grabs the corporate looking blue tie Jacob wears.
‘The key card to the armoury.’
Jacob pushes Frank away. ‘Are you crazy Frank? This is the Twenty First century. We don’t carry key cards anymore.’
‘So how do you get access to certain buildings?’
Jacob does his jazz hands gesture.
‘Fingers, Frank. Every place in this building uses military grade finger printing security. You need an authorised person to unlock any door.’ Frank’s eyes widen with glee as he approaches Jacob. He pulls a blade from his pocket. Jacob screams and Frank grabs his face to muffle the sound of his cries for help.
Forty Two
Eddie Smith lies face down on his desk, fast asleep. His arm twitches and an empty bottle of vodka falls off the table. The crash wakens him to a bitter taste of cigarettes and alcohol. He stretches his arms wide above his head. The colour drains from his face, illuminated only by the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead and shining in the light coming through the cracks on the window blinds. He lights another cigarette and walks to his liquor cabinet. His mobile phone goes off. ‘DA Smith speaking,’ he answers.
