by Luis Samways
‘It’s the only thing he’s got since his family were killed. Then you took that away from him. He has nothing to lose.’ Shaw looks at Eddie Smith with contempt.
A senior officer walks over to the DA and the Chief. ‘Connor Chase has just gone Live,’ the officer says.
Chief Shaw and the DA follow the officer to the big screen TV. ‘You’re probably sick of seeing me by now and rightfully so. I did ruin your sunny day in Boston by murdering a bunch of people. But you, the people, the people of the United States of America, need to realise what is behind this. I’m no barbarian,’ His smile is chilling; ‘craving blood at the drop of a hatchet. I’m a man with a mission and that mission is to make the world a better place! That’s right, I said the world. I am here to bring to light the corruptness of the so called protectors of this city. They are the same people who are tasked with capturing me and sending me to prison or to my death. I am obviously talking about the Boston PD. They’re working their asses off trying to get me. The usual protocol is this: A man murders people, capture the man dead or alive within the boundaries and rules of the law. They are sticking to these rules. Apart from the obvious fact that they have yet to capture me.
But I’m not comfortable with the idea that a detective can waste the tax payer’s money talking to my former boss and then having sexual relations with her. I thought that the golden rule of police procedure was never fuck a witness.
Well these filthy bastard pigs don’t follow all the rules. I know the person who slept with Tasha, my boss. Don’t get me wrong I’m not jealous of the guy nor do I wish she had slept with me. It’s just the basic principle that an officer of the law would be so consumed with finding me and my crew and then would still find time to bang a girl just because he could? He had sex with the only witness and then watched her die at my hands. All because of his actions! Tasha would still be alive if she didn’t sleep with Frank McKenzie.’
Twenty Six
Nathan stares into the eyes of the man who is shackled to the table. He isn’t sure what to do. He knows what is expected, but does not think he can pull it off.
The man is still unconscious from the heavy backhand he received a mere quarter of an hour ago. Nathan does not have smelling salts to wake the man, nor does he want to. The longer the prisoner is knocked out, the longer Nathan has to figure this whole thing out.
Nathan stands across the room starring at the table where the man lays. He leans against the cold wall, starting to panic at the thought of being found doing nothing. If the guard walked in and found him lollygagging, there would be consequences. ‘Think Goddammit!’ Nathan mutters to himself.
The man on the table moans in pain. He tries to sit up but is restricted by shackles around his arms and legs. Nathan shoots across the room and confronts the prisoner. He puts his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder. ‘Don’t hurt me!’ the startled man begs.
Nathan tries to reassure the prisoner. ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to help you. Everything is going to be fine as long as you give them what they want.’
The prisoner cries in anguish.
‘I don’t know what they want! I haven’t done anything wrong. They picked me out from the hostages and the next thing I know, I wake up here. And then they knock me out again. Now you’re here!’
‘I can assure you that I am not going to knock you out! Just give me your name.’
‘The name’s John, People call me Hodgey though, stuck with me at high school.’
‘Okay Hodgey. Are there any reasons why these people want you interrogated?’
The man shakes his head forcefully.
‘I don’t know man. One single look and I’m dog meat.’
‘I’m sure you won’t become a dog’s dinner John.’
‘Either way I’m tied to an operating table like an animal. I feel like an inmate on death row.’
‘Nothing is going to happen to you, Hodgey. What’s your clearance level at M.I.T.? Are you on the top layer of staff here?’
The man shakes his head again.
‘I’m just a janitor. I clean all the mess: shredded paper, polystyrene cups from the water dispenser. That’s my workload, not exactly Mr Important around here.’
Nathan frowns in confusion.
‘So what could they possibly want from you?’
‘I have no idea. You tell me!’
‘I was sent to get you to talk. That’s all I know.’
Footsteps sound outside the door, coming down the hallway, these guys mean business. He grabs the mallet from the table beside the bed. It is littered with sharp objects.
The man on the table reels at the sight of the mallet and lets out a shriek. Nathan’s gloved hand covers his mouth. He raises his arm in the air in a striking motion. ‘Sorry Hodgey. I said I would not knock you out, but that’s likely the safest option for you right now. I’ll be back to free you when I can. You have my word,’ Nathan swings the mallet down hard on the man’s knee. His screams are muffled by Nathan’s large hand pressed on John’s face. The footsteps stop outside. The door opens and the guard who escorted Nathan earlier walks in looking meaner than before. The bulky man strides over and smiles. Nathan’s hand still covers John’s mouth.
‘Let him scream. Were all friends here, Nathan,’ the guard says.
Nathan releases his grip go on the man’s face and John lets out a massive scream.
‘My knee. My Goddamn knee, you bastard!’ John shouts in agony.
The guard looks at John’s shattered knee.
‘Stop being a baby! You’ll be fine as long as you tell us what you know. Lucky for you, our friend Nathan here knows nothing about breaking knee caps. Yours is not broken. It’s dislocated. You will walk again if you tell me what I want to know,’ the hefty guard says, grabbing the mallet out of Nathan’s grip.
‘I told you everything I know… honestly... I’m not lying…..’ The guard swings the mallet and hits him on the jaw, instantly knocking John unconscious. The sound of the impact is harsh in the cold silence of the room. The guard hands Nathan the mallet.
‘When he wakes up, go for round two.’
Twenty Seven
Crystal sits in silence, unsure what to say to her best friend. Crystal never thought of herself as a prude, but she has always made sure Jenifer and her friends make the right decisions. She hated when the people she knew threw everything away for cheap thrills. Crystal has only ever been in one intimate relationship. That lasted for five years until she realized the guy was playing the field behind her back. Jenifer avoids eye contact with her. Jason had dozed off in the seat next to her. Crystal signalled Jenifer to get up and follow her. She did. Crystal made her way to the toilets; Jenifer followed her friend into one of the cubicles. Crystal locked the door behind her.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Crystal asks.
Jenifer smiles and shakes her head. ‘I can do what I like. I don’t need permission from you, Crystal.’
‘You don’t know this guy from anywhere. You don’t know who he has slept with or what sort of guy he is.’
Jenifer’s tainted chuckle angers Crystal even more.
‘Say what you want to say, but what happened…happened. End of story.’
‘What did happen?’
Jenifer laughs again.
‘The best sex I’ve had in a long while.’
Jason presses his ear against the door of the cubicle to listen. He smiles a sinister yet goofy smile. The smile could stop a person in his tracks. The smile could make anyone question the sanity of the person wearing it. His eyes grow wider with every word flowing from the other side of the door. His lips grow dry, prompting him to lick them as a lion might lick his before devouring its prey.
Twenty Eight
‘Jacob, I got a problem. I need that hardware that you promised me. Okay, I’ll meet you in a bit. I’ll drive down. I’m going to be in a Ford Capri.’ Frank clicks off the phone and puts it back in his coat pocket.
He sips his Starbucks medi
um whipped latte with extra sprinkles. The cardboard cup is seeping with foam trickling down the sides. The Starbucks overflows with customers and commotion. From his corner table, he witnesses the chaos as people rush around ordering coffee, serving coffee, and eating overpriced cakes and sandwiches. They clamour for seats and tables. Why was it so easy for him to get a seat at Starbucks? Frank’s hand twitches. The day’s events have left a decidedly eerie atmosphere in Boston. Frank felt it on the streets. He feels it in the coffee shop. A little girl is staring at him. Her stare bores a big hole in Frank’s soul. The little girl’s plain features, pale skin and bright red hair do not distract from the distilled sadness in her eyes. The girl turns to her mother and shakes her arm to get her attention. The girl ominously points square at Frank. As soon as the mother’s eyes meet his, she grabs the girl and rushes out of the coffee shop. ‘What the fuck was her problem?’ A few dozen people stare at him and he realizes he didn’t ask himself as quietly as he thought. He shakes his head in frustration and downs his lukewarm latte. Grabbing his cigarettes from the table next to his empty cup, Frank stands up and walks across the Starbucks towards the men’s toilet. His hands rustle his pill container. He breaths deeply, his heart races hard and he enters the toilets. By now his pills have found their way into his hand. As soon as the door closes behind him, they find their way into his mouth.
Twenty Nine
Eddie Smith paces up and down his temporary office. Chief Shaw watches him from a chair facing the DA’s desk. A mirror on top of some large cardboard boxes catches the DA’s reflection. Eddie stops dead in the center of the room. ‘Shit!’ he yells.
‘How the hell did this happen? How the hell did I not see he was unstable?’ Chief Shaw is looking at the DA’s reflection in the mirror. Fire and brimstone accompany every word and the DA’s pace grows quicker. Shaw sits back and lets Eddie vent his frustrations.
‘I was good to him! I let him come back…. I insisted he come back…..To save him. Is he that stupid to think that sleeping with Tasha, a key witness, would fly with me? Did he think I would never find out?”
‘Obviously it pissed Connor Chase off something rotten,’ Shaw comments.
Eddie shakes his head in annoyance.
‘The mayor wants to ask the president to issue a state of emergency, but I fear it will only make the situation worst. This thing with Chase is causing more than a ripple; it’s starting to strain our police force and fire and rescue teams. We need to lock down this thing now, or we could be in the shit.’
Chief Shaw gets up from his seat and faces the DA.
‘We can’t do that.’
‘Why not? We go in, get them. That’s it. What’s the hold up?’
‘It’s a little more complicated than that. Our intelligence says they have every exit booby-trapped with explosives. They have sentries stationed everywhere in the building, all armed with automatic weapons and explosives.’
Eddie shakes his head. ‘Intelligence, what fucking intelligence would that be?’
Shaw turns back to face the mirror in the clunky office.
‘Intelligence from the units stationed outside the M.I.T building.’
The DA starts to laugh ‘How can they possibly know there are sentries in the building and that they have booby-trapped the entrances and exits? My Harvard educated brain can distinguish bullshit from ballistics.’
Shaw looks down at the floor.
‘You know everything you need to know,’ he says quietly.
‘Well good.’ The room is silent. The DA smiles and walks out of the room as if his point is made more valid by his absence.
Chief Shaw pulls his cell phone from his pocket and punches in a text. He hits send, all within seconds, as if he wants the message out there as quickly as possible. He stares bleakly at the LCD until it reads “MESSAGE SENT.” He scrolls down to the sent box and rereads the message he just sent.
“Hourly report A.S.A.P”
Shaw puts the cell phone back in his pocket and gets up from his seat. He spots a pack of cigarettes on the DA’s desk and swipes a cigarette out of the pack. He lights it up and throws the pack back onto the mahogany desk and walks out of the office.
Thirty
A flashing light, the unmistakable hum of vibration rattles the cell phone violently, nearly twisting it three hundred and sixty degrees rotation on top of the operating table. Nathan grabs it and reads the text message. He looks around nervously and shuffles the cell into his inside bomber jacket pocket.
John who has come to at the sound of the phone near his head on the table looks up at Nathan with a half-smile. His face is covered in blood from the beating he had sustained at Nathan’s hands.
‘So much for ‘I‘m not going to knock you out, John, I promise,’’ John says.
Nathan smiles.
‘I’m sorry about that. But if I did not do anything, it would look bad and blow my cover.’
John’s eyes widen
‘You’re a cop? I knew it!’
Nathan shakes his head. ‘No I’m not a cop! I would appreciate it if you don’t blurt out shit like that. You’re going to get me killed.’
John nods his head in agreement.
‘I can’t control what happens to you, if I’m dead, can I?’ Nathan smiles, ‘Call me Nathan. Everything is going to be okay. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.’
‘How are you going to do that??’
‘Thankfully, I’m not the only one trying to help you and the people who work here. There’s a heavy police presence around the building. SWAT is here. Helicopters are flying above us. No way anyone is getting out of here without being shot or rescued.’
John puts on a brave face. ‘Shot or rescued it is then’
‘Don’t worry John. You’ve just got to sit tight now and wait. In the meantime, tell me everything you know about this place. Why is everyone being held hostage? And most importantly, why you are the one being tortured?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just the janitor.’
Nathan pats John on the shoulder to comfort him.
The door to the torture room opens and the guard rushes in, heavy framed and heavy footed. He slams the door and faces Nathan. He hurtles towards Nathan, his fists clenched at his sides.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ the guard shouts.
‘Nothing’
‘Exactly, you’re doing nothing. I set you a task, and you’re doing nothing. The prisoner is awake. Did I not say to carry on the interrogation once he wakens?’
‘Yes you did, and he hasn’t given me anything useful. He is just the janitor. Maybe we have the wrong man.’
John remains spread out on the operating table. He breathes sporadically. The chains around his wrists have dug into his skin and blood runs down his arms from his wounds.
The guard smiles; His hands remain at his sides.
‘Your opinion is not relevant here. You were given an order.’
‘I did what you asked. I found nothing.’
The guard’s yellow teeth gleam through his tight bloodless smile.
‘Well if he hasn’t got anything useful to tell us, I don’t think we need him.’
Before Nathan can do anything, the guard pulls out a handgun. As if in slow-motion, Nathan sees the guard raise his arm and place the barrel of the 9MM firmly against John’s head. John’s eyes drift back to face the guard and the heavy set man fires the gun at point blank range into his forehead.
The weapon recoils and jolts the guard’s arm a few milometers up from its shooting position. A faint, but vibrant muzzle flash lights the dimly lit room. The light ricochets off the metallic surface and is replaced with an explosion of red. Shades of John’s life are plastered all over the floor and up the Guard’s arm. Blood drips off the gun barrel.
The guard face’s Nathan and lands a punch squarely in the middle of Nathan’s wide-eyed face.
Thirty One
2006: SIX YEARS BEFORE BOARDING THE TRAIN
‘Okay class. In
two weeks, you’ll all graduate. I thought we would have a discussion about what everyone plans on doing after high school. Will you go to college? Will you get a job? I want a serious class discussion! Let’s keep it clean and positive,’ Mrs Gardener said.
Mrs Gardener wears a short, classy dress. Her legs are tanned and she sports knee high black boots. Her white frilled blouse is buttoned up. At 39, she still makes 18 year old boys pay attention in class—probably more to how she looks than what she says.
Jason Bordello sits at his desk at the back of the class with the troublemakers. Jason was at the back of the classroom because he chose to be, it was his decision. That surprised Mrs Gardener, but Jason’s work was adequate for passing grades and his demeanour was quiet. He wasn’t a troublemaker, more a quiet rogue. He stared at her with his deep steely cold blue eyes. She sometimes looked back.
Today, the class lacked enthusiasm. She could empathize; it was near the end of semester. ‘Most of you are tired,’ she told the predominantly male classroom, ‘but this will be an excellent way of marking down your futures. After all, you are all growing up! Some of you will go to college; others have jobs waiting for you when you graduate. I’m interested in hearing what everyone will be up to. This will be the last time many of you will see each other. Wouldn’t it be nice to know what our friends are going to do once they are no longer in your life?’
‘We’re not dying Mrs Gardner,’ a student says.
Mrs Gardner laughs. ‘I know Trent. But I’m going to miss all of you’
She wipes a tear away.
‘We are all dying,’ Jason says quietly. His voice sends a chill through the room, all the way from the back of the classroom. He sits slumped over his desk twiddling a pencil.
Mrs Gardener looks at him. So does the rest of the class.
He sits up and stretches.
‘There’s no need for negativity, Jason,’ Mrs Gardener says.
Jason laughs. The chill in the room is like ice cracking under pressure.
