by Ethan Cross
“In other words, I could have played the role of the victim.”
“I’m just saying that you had a choice.”
“I’ve thought long and hard about that, brother, and I honestly don’t know if I did. When you’ve been taught to do one thing your entire life, and you’re dropped alone as a teenage boy into the world … Can that boy be expected not to do the one thing he’s been trained to do?”
Marcus said, “I don’t know that it really matters. It happened. It’s over. All we have is right here and right now. The past is gone, and tomorrow may never come. What you do in this moment and every moment after is all that matters, and I do believe that you genuinely want to do good. That’s all that counts right now.”
“That means a lot to me, little brother. If I were a person who was ever so inclined as to lovingly embrace someone, I suppose this would be such a moment.”
Marcus said, “Please don’t hug me.”
“I didn’t intend to actually embrace you. I was merely observing that I feel a vomit-inducing sensation that I can’t quite define and require your assistance in identifying it.”
“I don’t know, Frank. Could be happiness. Or pride. Or love. All I know is that if you try to hug me, I will take you down.”
As a long black limo pulled to the curb in front of them, Ackerman said, “That’s so cute. He thinks he could take me down. Adorable. It’s like when dogs wear people clothes.”
Under his breath, Marcus said, “That’s enough, jackass. Remember, be on your best behavior.”
A well-groomed young man, dressed in a classic chauffeur’s uniform, got out from behind the wheel and walked around the car. He didn’t say a word. He merely nodded and opened the door for them.
Ackerman bowed his head in thanks and then dropped into the back of the limousine. Marcus, however, took off his jacket and looked into the vehicle’s interior. It was all dark leather and smelled of hard liquor and ArmorAll. He also noticed a rubber floor mat just inside the door. He had been hoping to find one, which meant he wouldn’t need to use his tuxedo jacket. It really was a rental, and Andrew had been up his ass lately about accurate reporting and overspending.
Looking up at the chauffeur, Marcus put on his best tough-guy face and said, “I don’t turn my back on anybody, kid. You go get back behind the wheel, and I’ll be inside by the time you get there.”
The young man’s expression remained neutral. He simply bowed and walked back to the driver’s door.
Tossing his coat at Ackerman, Marcus bent down to step inside the vehicle. As he did so, he snatched up the floor mat, rolled it up twice, and stuffed it between the door and the latching mechanisms. Then, with his right hand, he gripped the door to make sure it was pulled tightly enough to keep an alert from sounding to the driver. But, if all went as planned, the rubber mat would also keep the locking apparatus from fully engaging.
Ackerman said, “It would appear, dear brother, that you are expecting a trap.”
“I’m always expecting a trap. And, according to my research, seventy-five percent of the time there is a trap.”
“Is that an actual statistic?”
“Be useful or be quiet.”
Ackerman said, “Very well. All the glass in here is bulletproof and impact resistant, so I hope your little trick works. Otherwise, we will be at their mercy.”
“What are you thinking they’ll use? Some kind of knockout gas pumped through the vents?”
“That would be the safest and most effective method. Lock us back here and pump in the gas. We’re restricted from shooting our way out. And we can only hold our breath for so long. Not very sporting, but effective.”
“Okay, if they try gas, we’ll take turns breathing at the crack in this door.”
Ackerman leaned forward and grabbed one of the crystal carafes, which contained a light-brown liquid. He popped the top and sniffed. “Smells like twenty-five-year-old Scotch.”
“Don’t drink that.”
With a little shrug, Ackerman sat the bottle down and started fiddling with the controls for the entertainment system.
Marcus asked, “Are you taking this seriously?”
Grabbing a handful of mixed nuts from a tray beside the liquor, Ackerman leaned back and said, “I’m taking it very seriously. If you are holding the door open so we can breathe, couldn’t they just stop the car, roll down the little divider window, and shoot us?”
Marcus considered that for a moment, and then he said, “Here’s what we’ll do. If they start pumping gas, and it’s safe, we’ll jump for it. Then we’ll have the advantage. We’ll have time to get set up before they can come back at us.”
“What if the gas is odorless, and they’ve already activated it?”
“You’re getting on my nerves more than usual today. I just want you to know that.”
“It’s likely a side effect of your self-inflicted head trauma.
“Never mind that. I always keep an extra burner phone on me. We’ll stash it back here, just in case.”
Marcus fished into his jacket to grab the burner phone, but then the limo pulled over to the side of the road, and he heard the front passenger door open and close. They had just picked up another passenger.
The protective glass began to roll down, and Marcus, releasing the door, snatched a hidden pistol from his sleeve and aimed it at the glass. On the other side of the glass waited a muscular man holding a Beretta equipped with a long sound suppressor. The driver stared straight ahead, as if none of this was happening.
Marcus suspected this was the same man Ackerman and Emily had encountered at Willoughby’s. The newcomer’s face was round with a large, overly pronounced chin. His countenance was oddly childlike and menacing at the same time. His nose had clearly been broken on multiple occasions. Scars etched his skin. Some small, perhaps from fighting. Others—surrounding the lower jaw—appeared to be surgical. During his analysis, Marcus also noted the presence of cauliflower ear, a condition often suffered by wrestlers and MMA fighters.
The new passenger said, “So you’re aware, every surface in the rear of the limo is actually coated with a mild neurotoxin. It won’t kill you, but it will render you unconscious and give you a hell of a headache. You both should be asleep within the next thirty seconds, give or take. You wanted to see the Diamond Room. This is how that happens.”
The man with the facial scars and the gun started to roll the window back up, but then he stopped and added, “And, before you pass out, please pull the mat out of the door. It makes this awful buzzing sound up here. Appreciate it, gentlemen.”
Marcus gritted his teeth so hard that he thought he was going to snap them to pieces. They had been thoroughly and completely outplayed. Again.
He said to Ackerman, “Do we stay or do we go?”
“Our new friend wasn’t bluffing. We won’t get far,” Ackerman said. Then, throwing another handful of nuts into his mouth, he added, “I say we sit back and enjoy the ride. Hopefully, this neurotoxin has some psychotropic effects.”
95
Her world had become blurry, the lines between nightmare and reality slipping out of focus. She didn’t know where she found the strength to push the wheelchair forward and keep up with Dr. Derrick, but she could hardly feel a thing now anyway. The hall seemed to travel on forever, the world shrinking and contracting all around her.
But even in a reduced state, Corin never lost sight of the goal. She analyzed everything along the way. Every door, every room, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon or become the instrument of her salvation.
The wheels of her chair whirred and squeaked down the forever corridor. It had once been beautiful but had fallen into ruin, a creeping black rot staining everything. Dr. D wheeled on in front of her as if he didn’t have a care, or fear, in the world. She wanted to shove that overconfidence down his throat, but she also knew that he wasn’t the only demon prowling these halls.
They took an elevator to the sub-basement—a place
of concrete, pipes, conduits, and the odor of wet soil. She was afraid to ask any questions, not trusting what she might say. But eventually, after Derrick had led her into another elevator and down another decaying hallway, she said, “Where are you taking me?”
“I just wanted to introduce you to another of our guests, before he has to depart. I think it would do you some good to see firsthand what happens around here when someone wears out their welcome.”
“You really don’t have to prove anything to me. I’ve gotten the point about defying you.”
“I’m not sure you have. You still think that you’re going to kill me. You don’t seem to understand the futility of such an act. There is no escape from this place or from me. But words are cheap, and seeing is believing. We’re here.”
The doors to the next room were encased in a massive stone archway, the words VIP lounge etched into the rock. The Good Wife stood beside the door like a subservient subject, wearing her white dress and her comfortable shoes. With a nod, Sonnequa said, “Your brother has been waiting for you, sir.”
“Thank you, my dear one.”
The French doors to the VIP lounge were inset several feet, and video screens covered the walls of the alcove. The LED displays were dark, but Corin wondered about their purpose. When The Good Wife parted the French doors, the screens came to life. The effect was dizzying, as if a bevy of new dimensions just opened up beside her. What had once been the entrance to the VIP lounge was now a giant viewing window. The screens, she now realized, showed every angle of the room beyond the window. The massive lounge had two occupants: a metal chair bolted to the floor and a shirtless black man, his face covered by a hood.
Dr. Derrick said, “Welcome to the Diamond Room. Of all my business endeavors, this room perhaps hasn’t made me the most money, but it’s damn close, and it’s certainly the most fun. It’s amazing what the rich and sadistic will pay to watch someone die.” He gestured toward the video displays and added, “Notice the shape in the center.”
Corin, still trying to determine if this was a dream or reality, studied the room on the video monitors. The center of the large space was sunken and shaped like a diamond. The rest of the floor was built in three stair-stepping levels, which she guessed had once held tables for dining and viewing the entertainment in the center pit. She could easily picture the place as a swank club for the resort’s elite.
Derrick said, “My boyhood home possessed some unique architecture. In the very center of the house, there was a sunken sitting area in the shape of a diamond. It was the hub of the place, a central gathering point. But our mother turned it into our own personal battle arena. She called it the Diamond Room. When I saw this place, I immediately knew what I wanted to use it for. The symmetry was just too much to ignore.”
“I don’t understand. What am I looking at?”
“This is my own personal ThunderDome. And I figured, why not charge admission? So I put one of my team on it, and they set up this wonderful portal on the Dark Web, which is basically the Internet for criminals. People can log in for a price and witness a live feed of two men fighting to the death. It’s like pay-per-view murder and mayhem.”
Corin watched as a door on the other side of the Diamond Room opened and a massive man entered. He wore a twisted skull mask, the same one she had seen in the background of her photos, the one that had haunted her nightmares. The same one he had worn as he raped her. His body was all muscle. Not huge like that of a bodybuilder, but lean and lithe like a fighter. He wore only a pair of spandex shorts.
The man in the skull mask descended to the center of the room. Then, after pulling off the black man’s hood, he snapped his fingers. Instantly, like a team of obedient shadows, the hellhounds poured through the open door and took up positions along the raised levels like an expectant audience.
Beside Corin, Derrick whispered, “I love those dogs. A business partner, who actually helped me get all my endeavors off the ground, trains them and gave them the ‘hellhound’ name. I suppose the nomenclature shouldn’t be surprising, considering that my associate’s name is Demon. I’m not sure if he trains them personally or if he just designed the regimen, but they are truly amazing creatures. Although, the real killing machine in that room is my baby brother. Simon ‘The Gladiator’ Gladstone.”
“Why did you have your brother rape me, instead of doing it yourself? Is it because of your disability? Are you not able to function below the belt, Dr. Gladstone?”
“I’ll forgive your insolence because I know you’re impaired at the moment, but no, I function just fine. My spinal cord injury occurred during a college football game as a result of damage to my T7 vertebrae. I have no feeling below my waist, but I’m still able to move my legs and function, as you so eloquently phrased it. However, walking is difficult and disorienting for me because of the lack of feeling, that’s why I require this chair.”
“Do you really not see how sick and depraved all of this is?”
“Like I’ve told you previously, in order to make such judgments you have to have some kind of measuring stick. Many use moral codes and religious beliefs as that measuring stick. That all hinges on there being some kind of purpose or higher power. When you realize the truth of our existence, you also realize there are no ends that don’t justify the means. I’m not a sadist personally. I don’t enjoy watching people suffer. But I won’t refuse millions of dollars in profits for providing the service of suffering to those who are into that sort of thing.”
Corin considered throwing up again, this time forcing herself to do it all over Derrick. Instead, she asked, “And who’s tonight’s victim?”
“He’s an FBI agent who crossed me. As you can see, despite his training, he was unable to escape this place.” Derrick looked at Sonnequa and asked, “How much time?”
She replied, “The feed goes live in sixty-three seconds.”
“Excellent. I think you could be in for a real treat here, Corin. I do hope you get to see the hellhounds in action. They are truly remarkable. Mr. Demon takes them through very rigorous training, but the real trick he employs is so deviously simple. He establishes the dogs as loving and loyal protectors over the client. My brother and I were the first people that each of these dogs saw after they were born. Then, as the dogs received their training under what I’m certain were most brutal circumstances, Simon and I would visit them and essentially bring them all kinds of treats and shower love on them. The effect was that the dogs associated us with love and safety. They would die for us. We are the bright center of their universes. It kind of works in the opposite way that advertising sponsorship does. A company may choose a celebrity to be a spokesperson for their product. What they’re doing is taking a known figure associated with positive feelings and getting people to view their product in the same light. This, of course, is a logical fallacy, but an effective advertising method. It’s the same with the dogs. They associate us with happiness and full stomachs. And that, to a dog, is an almost unbreakable bond.”
“It’s really not much of a fight if your brother needs attack dogs backing him up.”
“Oh no, you misunderstand. The dogs won’t participate in the fight. But after my brother is done with Agent Fuller, they’ll get to clean up the mess. So, sit back and enjoy the show.”
96
FBI Special Agent Jerrell Fuller was tired of waiting around to be killed. First, he had been confined in darkness and a concrete cell. That cell had opened into another in which a long and very strange test had taken place. It consisted of several questions which seemed like something you would find on an IQ test or maybe something designed to gauge cognitive development. Jerrell couldn’t see the point to any of it. Unless the point was to piss him off. Then he had been escorted at gunpoint to this room where he had sat ever since. It was almost a relief when he heard his tormentor enter, the little black death machines right on his heels.
The light blinded Jerrell’s eyes as the hood was pulled off. The man in the skull
mask didn’t say a word at first, but Jerrell heard him moving about. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the Gladiator carried a small wooden table atop which sat food, water, washcloths, and a wash basin. The Gladiator then removed his restraints, and if his legs hadn’t been asleep, Jerrell might’ve made a move right then and there, but it was pointless in his current state.
The man in the skull mask unrolled a yoga mat in front of Jerrell and crouched down into the lotus position. The deep voice behind the mask said, “Prepare yourself for combat, Agent Fuller. Get cleaned up. Take as long as you wish, but I wouldn’t get too close to my pets. They’ll tear you to shreds if you try to leave this room. I always feel it appropriate to give my opponent the opening move, and so I will be here meditating. When you’re ready, make your move.”
“And what happens if I don’t? What happens if I just sit down and don’t do a damn thing?”
“Then we’ll sit here until our four-legged friends decide that their hunger is more important than their training. At which time, they will eat you.”
Jerrell said, “At least I’d be taking you out with me.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s not that I feel that the hellhounds and I have some kind of unbreakable bond. But the animals have been conditioned to the point that they would never harm me until other food sources had been exhausted.”
“And what happens when I make my move?”
“We fight until one of us emerges victorious.”
“Right, but I’m not allowed to leave, so even if I win, daddy’s little monsters will still eat me.”
“Actually they’ve been trained quite well on how to kill and who to kill. In this instance, they know that once the fight starts, there is one winner and one loser. The winner is allowed to leave, and the loser is lunch.”
