The District Manager

by Matt Minor

  Contact looks visibly upset. Crane is frozen.

  “You just didn’t count on Jules—or for that matter…me.”

  Contact pushes Crane away and points his gun straight at me.

  “No, wait…wait you animal!” Crane commands. “Mason… Mason, please listen to me…I’m your friend, above and beyond anything else…I’m your friend. Why do you think you’re still alive? How do you think your girlfriend is still alive; that reprobate friend of yours? Because of me! I’ve known you were snooping around from the beginning…”

  “So you’re admitting it?” I am indignant.

  Crane continues, “If that idiot called ‘Spider Monkey’ had not been stoned every second of his life then none of this would be happening. I tried to get you to go on vacation. Remember?”

  “And Jules, he’s dead isn’t he?”

  “He got in the way.”

  You fuckin’ people. His wife…she’s dying!”

  “That’s why he was so easy to eliminate.”

  “Ya know…since Brenna and her clan were taken, I’ve beat myself up wondering how these goons knew I was even seeing her. Sure, it could’ve been Spider Monkey at the Texans game… but he didn’t see me. His ignorance wasn’t a con, I could sense that. Oh the cops could have had me followed, I guess. But it was you. You’re the only one who knew. You had her and her kid and her mom kidnapped. YOU!” I affirm with an accusatory finger.

  “Listen to me real good, Mason…these people are ruthless. They will kill you, her, her kid and mom, and everyone they’ve ever known—as well as everyone you’ve ever known. I can protect you. It doesn’t have to end this gruesomely. I have a future and you can be a part of it.”

  “Are you fucking out of your mind? Future? You have no future! You got prison at best. That is if your compadres don’t wax you for ultimately just being, despite your genius, such a goddamned amateur!”

  Contact steps forward.

  “Just set the gun on the desktop. Give us the file and I promise your girlfriend and her family will be let loose. They know nothing… I made sure of that.”

  I realize that this file they think I have—which I do, just not here—is the only thing keeping me alive. But something doesn’t add up.

  “How did you find out about the file?” I ask.

  “Your friend, the private investigator, confessed to it before he was killed. We checked Jules’ home and it’s missing.”

  What a stroke of brilliance on Rusty’s part. He gave me one last parting gift. Even if I had the file, it wouldn’t be incriminating…but they don’t know that. And as long as they think I have something, it’s buying me time. And…they don’t know I have an ace in the hole.

  “Okay.” I remove the piece from my pants and place it on the desk in front of me.

  “Now you’re listening to reason, Mason,” Crane says, placing his hands together. All ten fingers join in a temple like a televangelist.

  “Before I give you what you want, show them to me.”

  There’s a hesitation on Crane’s part, but then he gives. With his thumb he signals Contact towards the office entry. Contact vanishes down the hallway. Now it’s just the boss and me.

  “Why did you do this, Mason…why?” Crane asks, contemptuously.

  “ME?! You ARE crazy aren’t you? Why did YOU do this is the question. It wasn’t just drugs, which I think should be legal, by the way, but young girls and boys…animals. What is wrong with you? Why?”

  “Power.” His nose and chin are pointed upward in a smug pose.

  “You really are a sociopath. How did you think you’d ever get away with all this?”

  “We are getting away with it. Occasionally, you have to make adjustments. This model works. It works in Latin America and it will work in the Southwest. It’s the expansion of the narco-state.”

  “Is that all Jules and I are, an adjustment?”

  “Just a few marks on a balance sheet.”

  “I used to look up to you, but you’re really just a sick motherfucker!”

  “How dare you speak to me like that! You were just a failed school teacher when I found you. Just a mutt.”

  “Actually, I worked for the Land Office before I found you.”

  There is a commotion down the hallway. It sounds like warm bodies making their way.

  “Brenna, Will, Ms. Spears?” I call out.

  “It’s okay, Contact, they can speak, but under no circumstances remove the blindfold,” Crane directs. His voice sounds sinister.

  “Mason?” My name chimes out from three recognizable tongues, but I cannot see them.

  “Those blindfolds are the only thing keeping them alive,” Crane inserts with a glare so evil, it chills me. “Now you know they are alive,” Crane hisses.

  “Why in the hell are you talking like that? You sound like Satan.”

  “Along with the blindfolds, it’s the only thing keeping them alive,” he reiterates. Now get me the file and any other information you may have.”

  I turn back towards the closet that houses the filing cabinets, knowing there is no file. No dress rehearsal here, I have one chance to get this right. The secret compartment is empty. But again he doesn’t know this. I pull out the drawer…second from the top. I run my hand along the roof, just beyond the divider, which obviously fooled them. My warm hand grips a cold handle.

  “You wanna know something, Crane?”

  “What, Mason?” he snaps.

  “Your goons may be ruthless…but they sure as hell ain’t thorough!”

  I do a one-eighty with my gun drawn, hammer cocked. WHOA! Contact has returned to Crane’s side. He’s an ugly sitting duck.

  The index twitches, firing into his neck. Blood spurts from just above his shoulder like a drunk with prostate problems, trying to piss. He’s spraying Crane when he collapses to his knees while gripping his neck. The vocal orifice in Contact’s face omits strange gurgling sounds before he falls face first to the floor. His neck pukes buckets of blood on the reasonably clean carpet.

  “Mason, wait…wait…think about what you’re about to do,” he says half-cowering, looking back and forth at the nose of the .38 and his fallen assassin.

  Will and the ladies are letting out consecutive screams of panic.

  “It’s okay, ya’ll. Representative Haliburton Crane—the man who kidnapped you—is watching one of his goons bleed to death right in front of him.”

  “Mason,” he’s trying real hard to keep up his Satan voice, maintain some control.

  “Speak fuckin’ normal, shithead!” I command.

  “I have one more man outside!”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. If you did, he’d have barged in by now.”

  “Believe what you want, but I’ve warned you…I tried to save you, Mason.”

  “Yeah? Well I don’t want your help!” With careful aim, I shoot him in the thigh.

  “Oh Lord!” he cries out like an alto soprano and drops to the floor.

  I race out into the hallway and find three destitute and dirty figures. They are all blindfolded and their hands are tied behind their backs. They are attached by a single rope, as if they’re on their way to a slave auction.

  “Mason?” they’re chiming in broken unison.

  “It’s all right, y’all,” I say. I lift the blindfold from Brenna’s eyes.

  “My arms!” she declares, squinting.

  “Fuck, I need a knife.” Then I remember that the conference room is decorated with them!

  “Aren’t you gonna get Mom and Will?” Brenna asks me, her eyes still squinting.

  “Yes, hang on.” I look over at the two huddled over and panting.

  I dart into the conference room and return with a big, serrated Buck Knife.

  The second Brenna’s arms are free, she swings around and embraces me. “Oh Mason!” Her soft, quilted tone never sounded quite so beautiful.

  Then I hear the clamor of a door from the front of the building! The second gunman?

>   “Can you cut the others loose?” I ask, breaking off. “Are your eyes too sensitive?”

  “Give me the knife.”

  Brenna goes to work and I look in on Crane who is leaning on my desk…he has his cell phone in one hand and in the other…my gun! In my haste, I forgot to retrieve it.

  “You little fucker,” he says, pointing it at me. “You’re fired!”

  “No, I quit!”

  Will’s scream competes with the deafening blast. Crane collapses to the floor.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Brenna concurs.

  “Just get us the hell out of here,” her mom adds. “I’m not even going to ask you what’s going on here!” Joyce scolds.

  “Then don’t, Mom!” Brenna retorts.

  “I can’t see Mommy…my eyes hurt,” Will says, his rope-indented hands over his eyes.

  “Just take Mommy’s hand, sweetheart, and don’t let go.”

  I’ve got to get us out of here. Maybe Rusty was right. Don’t go in alone. I’ve got three lives dependent on every move I make. Where is this second gunman? I swear I heard the front door rattle. But wait, there isn’t a key. I guess Crane didn’t let his goon know that.

  As this rumination concludes I hear the back door open from down the hall.

  “Boss?” a Hispanic voice questions from the back foyer.

  “That way,” I mouth to the three, my arm outstretched, urgent finger pointing towards the front. They flee towards the front foyer. I pause and turn around.

  “Boss?” the gunman asks. I can see a slated shadow through the French doors.

  Should I take the shot? It’s a long shot for a snub-nosed pistol. I have only three more rounds. Can’t waste it…

  I close the front hallway door behind me when I hear the gunman discover Crane and Contact. The front door may be locked, but this place is a hundred year old labyrinth with stairs and halls leading all over the place.

  The stairway door to the top floor is rusted, but it gives way with a little muscle. I switch on the lights. Will complains of his eyes as the three make their way up the steps. With one ear I hear their noisy ascent, with the other, the gunman traversing the hall. I softly shut the door behind me.

  “Through here,” I instruct. I hope I’m right because I’ve only been up here once, when we first moved in. Didn’t stay long as it was creepy enough just screwing around. Now I have a killer on my track.

  The attic is dark and the sole track light that flutters florescent overhead does little to illuminate it. But what it does shed light on is shocking.

  “So this is the ghost I’ve been fretting,” I comment in waning disbelief.

  “Oh my God. Is that cash?” Brenna asks.

  “Stacks of it. And those hay bales over in the corner…that’s marijuana. I imagine those crates next to them are filled with other potent goodies.”

  “I recognize this smell,” Joyce says. “This is where we’ve been held for the last week!”

  “Oh my God, Mom, I think you’re right! And there’s that disgusting bathroom we’ve been using,” she says pointing to a filthy door.

  These bastards, they’ve been doing this right under my nose. Actually right over my head.

  I hear a set of footsteps coming up the stairs. “Let’s go this way,” I point, leading by example.

  “Can I take some money, Mommy?” Will asks as Brenna grasps his hand.

  I open the first door I find. It’s another stairwell. But this flight goes down.

  “STOP!” the gunman calls. He sees us!

  “GO!” I yell.

  A split second later, he fires. Splintering wood explodes from off the stairwell door jam. Our shoes hurrying down the steps are as loud as thunder. No sooner have we vacated the descending tunnel, when another round is fired.

  “Just run! You’ll find a door, then just hide in the antique shop!” I instruct.

  The three take off, sweeping around a corner and out of sight.

  I hunker down behind an old, half-rotten chest. A rat scurries out from a hole in the bottom. The floor around me is littered with old forgotten junk, or treasures, depending on who’s the observer. I peer over the top of the chest and witness the gunman cautiously cross the threshold of the second stairwell. The room is barely lit and he moves like a snake so as not to alert. He’s coming right towards me.

  I have three shots. I’m going to need all three to hit him just once. His shoe hits an object. He’s closer! When to make my move…when to make my move…I can hear his breathing…wait…not yet… but…NOW!

  It takes one second to locate my target as I rise straight up from behind the rotten chest. It takes another second to steady that target, then another second to cock the trigger. The gunman hears…he turns…he spots me! He lifts his arm to fire. I unload first!

  Have I hit him? He’s hesitant…but is he staggering? I have no more shots. If I’ve missed, I’m dead.

  He walks forward slowly…

  There’s not enough light to see if he’s hit! Why don’t I run? I’m frozen. But it’s more than that. If I’m going to die I want to look this fucker in the eye. Not for him but for me.

  His aim has never left his person. But his knees give way and the round fires into the floor. I’ve hit him. Ain’t gonna stick around to make sure he’s dead.

  I find Brenna and the clan in the antique shop, hiding among a bunch of old Wurlitzers. The only way out is to kick open the shop’s back door. This is an old door and it ain’t easy. But it gives under the might of my adrenaline. We make our way out and down the street.

  “The Expedition is parked not far from, here,” I tell Brenna. When we get to the car I turn to her and ask, “Can you drive?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good, I need to make some calls.” We all pile in.

  “Are you sure your eyes are good, honey?” Joyce asks from the backseat where she sits with Will.

  “They’re fine, Mom. “Let’s get out of here,” she says turning the key. The Expedition falters again as she did earlier.

  “Please, girl…,” I cry from the passenger’s seat. Again she responds to my pleading like a tired horse on a battlefield, she won’t let me down.

  “How do you know it’s a girl?” Brenna teases as she backs up.

  “Because she is. We go way back.”

  “Mommy, look!” Will yells, pointing forward.

  It’s the gunman. He is standing in the middle of the street. His gun is drawn and ready.

  “Gun it,” I tell her, calmly.

  “My pleasure.”

  I look back and see a body violently bent rolling towards the curb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

  H.Q.

  The Expedition barrels out of the historical district like a lioness from captivity.

  “Damn, you drive this thing better than I do.”

  Brenna just smirks and flashes me a sexy smile as she fidgets with the seat belt.

  My phone has been blowing up with calls and texts. I check the texts first and they’re all from Curlee. There are probably some fifteen phone messages, all from the state troopers.

  “Where are we going by the way?” Brenna asks as we head towards the interstate.

  “I need to call Curlee.”

  “Who’s Curlee?” she asks.

  “Three Stooges!” Will answers from the back.

  “Not quite, Will. Curlee is a state trooper with the Department of Public Safety.” As I punch in the number, a whole line of black and white DPS cars are flying off the interstate, blazing past us with lights flashing.

  “A little late wouldn’t you say?” Joyce comments.

  “Is that for us?” Will asks, perking up.

  “Yep…but wait, it’s ringing,” I put the call on speaker phone.

  “Hello, Deputy Curlee?”

  “Mason, is that you? You’re still alive?”

  “Yes…this is Mason. Yes I’m still alive and we’re all free
, I got everyone out.”

  “Jesus Christ, how did you manage that?”

  “Pretty ugly, actually. You wouldn’t believe what’s going on here.”

  “Crane?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Last night, we caught one of the Gulf Cartel’s upper management, so-to-speak. After some persuasion, he filled us in on a lot of things.”

  “Well, I think Crane might be dead.”

  “That’d be a shame because he could tell us a lot. But if so, oh well.”

  “We just saw your handy work race by, some ten troopers. Rusty’s gone, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. When I didn’t hear from him this morning I knew something was wrong.”

  “What do we need to do?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Hauling ass away from the D.O.”

  “Well, we need to debrief you and everyone else.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Now?”

  “You and the others have just been victims of and directly involved in a very serious crime. We need to interview everyone as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t know, I’m pretty hungry.”

  “What?” Curlee asks in disbelief.

  “Y’all hungry? Want to get something to eat?” I ask my traveling companions.

  “Sound good to me,” Brenna agrees.

  “What’s open this late?” Joyce asks.

  “Whataburger!” Will answers, excitedly.

  “I wish I could recover as fast you seemed to have,” Joyce teases her grandson.

  “Curlee, uh, I think we’re gonna go to Whataburger and get a late dinner.”

  “Alright, after that I need you to come to our headquarters in Houston. You know where that’s at?”

  “Wait a minute, will you?”

  I take the phone off speaker and look at Brenna, she’s shaking her head in disapproval.

  “You know, Curlee, I think we’ll pass. It can wait until morning.”