by Jeff Olah
Shaking her head, Cora said, “Just when I was starting to like you.”
“Only trying to help.” The woman roughly ten years her senior continued to smile. “I figure you’re what, about five-foot-two and no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet? You’ve gotta admit the tough girl role is a bit of a stretch. Maybe you should just go with the innocent little girl thing. It’s a bit more believable.”
Cora began to respond, but was cut short as Trish added her final thought. “I like you, but you need to know where the line is.”
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
Back to the work staring her in the face, Trish nodded. “Yep, that’s for sure, but just in case, I want you to know you can come to me if you need help.”
. . .
The last few hours went by in the blink of an eye. The voices. The groans. The growls. The pleading. The crying. The distant sound of gunfire and finally the silence. Since arriving, she hadn’t strung together more than three hours of sleep at any one time, although last night’s foray into insomnia was much different.
Forced out into the hall and hurried along the dimly lit corridor, Cora was only able to catch quick glimpses of the sixteen silhouetted bodies lining the east wall. Laid head to toe and then again head to toe, they covered the length of the entire block wall. She turned away, moved closer to the women three feet ahead and didn’t ask, mainly because she couldn’t think of a single appropriate question.
Continuing through the set of double doors near the Control Center, Cora was overwhelmed by the distinct aroma of antiseptic spray and gauze bandages. Just on the other side of the inch-thick shatterproof glass stood four large men dressed in brightly colored hazmat suits and blacked-out masks. They paused as Cora and her group entered, but only for a brief moment.
The yellow suited men held back a separate line of women. One by one they placed a digital thermometer to the foreheads of the women. They paused, holding the readout to their masks, and either let them through to meet up with the others or pointed them back to the room they had just left. Each was given a temporary branding by way of permanent marker along their right hand.
As Cora’s line slowed at the next set of double doors, she turned to see her only friend in the world. Six feet away, and on the wrong side of the inch-thick glass, Trish moved to the front of the line and waited as they scanned her forehead.
Cora’s line was again on the move as the masked man in yellow held up the digital readout for his next in command. Both men looked around the massively overcrowded room as another row of women pushed inside. They nodded to one another and as the first man lifted Trish’s hand and quickly scribbled out his conclusion, he pointed toward the door nearest Cora’s group.
As Trish moved out of line, held her hand up, and started for the door, Cora began to sweat.
One-hundred-one degrees. “Trish, what the hell did they do to you?”
4
It definitely wasn’t a bar fight. Hell, it really wasn’t much of a fight at all. It wasn’t a brawl or a skirmish. Neither would anyone confuse what happened before the sun came up as anything resembling an altercation. Griffin Ford laid stretched out across the third row seat and was having trouble even recalling exactly what happened.
Aggressive avoidance, yeah that’s it. If he absolutely had to put a label to it, that would be the one. He couldn’t remember exactly how the whole thing got started as he was the last to leave the diner, however that man was headed for trouble long before he ran across Griffin and his new co-workers. This was undeniable.
The events that took place shortly after five in the morning still had the SUV buzzing with half-truths and foggy details. Each of the four men had a slightly different interpretation of what took place and also what the bewildered man’s motivations actually were. Through the varied stories, one thing remained constant—had the police sirens come even five minutes later, they would have killed that man.
“Okay,” Griffin said, to no one in particular, “we all get that he was crazy, or homeless, or whatever. But you’ve got to give it to the poor guy, his determination was something they write books about.”
The man in the passenger seat turned to face the others. “I hit him square in the chest with that two-by-four and he didn’t even look like he felt it. That’s when I thought we may actually have to kill this dude.”
The driver, with thick rows of perspiration now forming along his brow and above his upper lip, turned to the passenger, but didn’t speak. He blinked a few times, but didn’t join in the conversation. Before turning back to the winding highway, he smiled and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
The last man, seated along the middle row, noticed the odd exchange and turned back to Griffin. “What’s with him?”
Whispering, Griffin said, “Not sure. But he was the first to tangle with that guy, and he did take him to the pavement, I think more than once. Maybe he thinks we should have went easier on that dude. I don’t know.”
The driver, who was only known to Griffin as Joe M. took his right hand off the wheel, held it skyward, and extended his middle finger. He said nothing to the men, but began to cough. Joe’s body convulsed as waves of uncontrollable tremors forced themselves up through into his throat and out through his mouth.
Given that the sun had yet to make its way into their world, the four lane mountain road they traveled remained mostly empty. It had been more than ten minutes since Joe had cut off his high-beams as a courtesy to the passing delivery truck. As he continued to succumb to his involuntary coughing fit, the others took notice when Joe crossed the double yellow line for a second time.
“Hey,” Griffin said, “get it together my man, or at least let me drive.”
Through his next coughing fit, Joe again saluted the men with his right hand.
Swerving back into the right lane, Joe lowered the driver’s window and spat into the pulsing wind.
“Joe, pull it over.” Griffin’s sat up and leaned into the second row. “We’re way ahead of schedule. There’s no need to take any chances.”
Joe shook his head as the convulsions began to subside. He again held his right hand in the air, this time extending his index finger and calling for the others to give him a minute to compose himself.
Gaining speed as the SUV charged down the next descent, Joe cleared his throat and said, “I’m good, y’all, it’s just that breakfast comin’ back around on me. That’s all.”
The man in the passenger seat shook his head and laughed. “You look like ten miles of bad highway, Joe. Your face is the same color grey as your jacket and what’s with all the sweat? I’ve known people in a sauna to perspire less. I think Griffin might be right. Why don’t you let one of us drive?”
“Really,” Joe said. “Why don’t you mind your own business; you know kind of like when you decided to let the rest of us handle that vagrant back in the parking lot.”
“I didn’t leave. I mean, I just really didn’t know what to—”
Griffin interrupted, “Admit it, that guy scared you, didn’t he? I’m sure if I’d gotten any closer, I would have run too.” Nodding his head, he started to smile. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, just admit it—you left us there to fend for ourselves.”
“Yeah right, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” said the man in the passenger’s seat. “You were just coming through the doors when Joe tossed that guy into the dumpster. You missed the entire thing.”
Griffin again nodded. “True, but someone had to pick up the tab. You degenerates left the booth before I even had a chance to look up.”
“You’re the new guy Griffin, and the new guy always—”
“I’ve known the three of you for less than forty-eight hours, but I can already tell you’re all gonna be a pain in my ass… one question though. How did Joe manage to toss that guy into the dumpster on his own? He had to weigh at least two-hundred pounds.”
“He had help,” said the man in the second row. �
��That dude came stumbling in through the front doors and right away grabbed at Joe’s face. When Joe turned and pushed him backward, out onto the walkway—that guy slammed his head on the concrete. He slammed it real good. We were all surprised when he got back up on his own.”
“Then the manager came out?” Griffin said.
“Yeah, I guess he’d been bugging some other people in the parking lot. He just kept coming, really drunk. He even tried to bite Joe’s face.”
“What?” the man in the passenger seat asked.
“Yeah, that’s when we came over. He just kept coming back after Joe. We’d push him away and he’d just get up and come back. He never said a word to us.”
“So, you tossed the poor drunk bastard into the dumpster?”
“Yep,” Joe said. “I grabbed his arms and he grabbed his legs. We shoved him inside and then watched him try to climb out. It was actually kind of sad. When he wakes up tomorrow—” Joe was cut short as he again started to cough.
Shoving his right foot down on the brake and leaning out, Joe vomited out a mouthful of blood, the other men wincing as it blew back and covered the driver’s side of the SUV. Finally, careening into the opposite lane, the SUV slowly came to a stop.
“Joe, get in the back,” Griffin said. “You’re done.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, whatever.”
“I’ll drive,” Griffin said as he began moving toward the second row. “You get in the passenger seat and give me directions to the building. I don’t really care how you feel, we’re getting this done today. You can take a sick day tomorrow, once we’ve all gone our separate ways.”
Joe pushed open the driver’s door before turning back to Griffin and the others. “Just don’t forget who put this thing together. It was my information that led us here. My contacts. My idea. No one else. You’re all here because of me.”
“Joe, you need to—”
“Don’t tell me what I need, I’m giving you more money than you’ll see in ten lifetimes. And for what, a few hours of doing what you’d do for free?” Now looking directly at Griffin, he continued, “You got it?”
“Hey, I’m extremely grateful for you letting me in on this job. I just want to get us there in one piece. So let’s agree that it’s in everyone’s best interest for someone else to get behind the wheel.”
“Eighteen million dollars,” Joe said. “Yes, I know how careful we need to be. I also know that I’m taking the biggest risk. When my brother-in-law finds out that its gone, he’ll be looking for me. Only me.”
“I thought he and your sister split before the actual wedding?”
“Why do you think we’re doing this? My sister is every bit as malicious as the rest of us, she just carries it better. This is her little payback for all his cheating. She’s the real reason this is happening. That poor bastard won’t even know what or who hit him until I’ve dug my toes into the sand—” With the others looking on, Joe was hit mid-sentence with another coughing fit and before they could react, he fell face-first onto the asphalt.
Griffin and the man from the passenger seat quickly exited the SUV, made their way over to Joe, and dragged his limp body up onto the rear seat. Two quick slaps from Griffin and a small trail of blood ran from the corner of Joe’s mouth. “Come on, wake up.”
Nothing.
“JOE, LET’S GO BUDDY!”
No movement.
The man from the passenger seat stepped away as he stared down at his chest, arms, and hands. Slowly walking out to the middle of the roadway, he stood illuminated by the SUV’s headlights. “Griffin, who exactly does all this blood belong to?”
5
Was the pounding in his head drowning out the thunder coming from beyond his bedroom or was it the other way around? With the amount of alcohol he’d poured into his six foot-two inch, one-hundred-ninety-five pound body last night, the new day came as a colossal slap in the face. Ethan Runner was sure of four things. He knew he’d gotten less than three hours of sleep. He knew the sun was up. He knew who was pounding at his door. And mostly he knew this day was going to kick his ass.
Sliding out from under the comforter, Ethan pushed into a seated position, rubbed his eyes, and started toward the maniac nearly breaking down his front door. For the third time in as many weeks, his overly enthusiastic best friend and co-worker decided to play good cop.
Crossing the living room, the head-splitting reverberation against the front door began to fade; however, the team of jackhammers working the inside of his forehead amplified their fury. “I’m getting way too old for this—never again.”
At the door, he didn’t bother to check, as he knew who it was and why he was here. Stepping aside, he pulled the door open, turned, and started back to the kitchen. “I know, we’re late. I just need to dump some caffeine down my throat and after I find my pants, we’ll get moving.”
David walked through the door as if his heels were on fire. “Hey, I got you covered.” His friend followed him away from the entry and held at arm’s length a tall cup of the strong stuff. “You got like two minutes to get this stuff in you; we need to go. But I don’t care how late we are today, you need a shower. We’re not doing this again.”
As Ethan moved out of the kitchen, he attempted a compromise. “You know I really don’t care about this job, but I don’t want you taking the fall for this. Go get the truck and meet me back here in ten minutes, no use in both of us getting the call. Does that work for ya?”
The throbbing behind Ethan’s eyes began to manifest itself into a permanent scowl as David fought to keep from laughing. “You know she won’t call me and if she reaches the truck she’ll want to talk to you anyway. Your sister is relentless.”
“Yeah, Emma called me like three times in the middle of the night.”
“She what?”
“Probably just trying to make sure I knew what today was.”
“You didn’t answer?” David said.
“You really think that would have put her mind at ease, hearing me unable to form a complete sentence? I just feel lucky to be alive today. Oh, and by the way, your ability to bounce back after last night is a bit annoying. We consumed the exact same drinks and somehow you seem to have come out the other side without a scratch. You really aren’t human, are you?”
David moved to the couch, flopped back into the oversized pillows, and grabbed the TV remote. “Buddy, I stopped drinking hours before you last night. And I hate to say it, but I told you this would happen.”
“First of all, nobody likes a know-it-all—it’s not funny, it’s not clever, and it kinda pisses people off. Oh yeah and while we’re at it, NOBODY likes a know-it-all, period.”
Before Ethan could finish, David had turned his attention to the television. “Just get in the shower, I’ll be the guy on the couch just waiting for you to get your crap together. Now go.”
Down the hall and into his bathroom, Ethan turned on the shower and made his way back into his room. “Where the hell did I leave my phone?”
Sliding his comforter off the bed and tossing his pillows aside, Ethan tipped the cup back and took another long sip. He quickly scanned the floor and the window ledge. The TV stand was also not the answer. Setting the coffee on the dresser, he crawled across the bed and over to the nightstand, getting brief glimpses of the last six hours.
Steam began to pour out of the bathroom as Ethan found his phone and separated it from the charger. Rolling onto his back and depressing the home button, he glanced back behind the nightstand. Noticing the charger was never plugged into the wall, he tossed his phone onto the bed and hurried into the wall of steam now engulfing the left half of his bedroom. “Five minutes.”
Finishing the too hot cup of liquid adrenaline, Ethan quickly moved to the sink, brushed his teeth, and stepped into the shower. Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. Hot water. The combination had him leaning back against the tile and fighting to keep his eyes open.
He could step out, dry off, and head out the door. He could be t
wenty to thirty minutes late and then apologize to his sister for once again not living up to the recommendation she’d given him. He could plead with her to not report his fourth tardy this month to their employer and hope they never found out. He could do the right thing. Or he could close his eyes… just for a moment.
. . .
The water was now running lukewarm. His legs had begun to cramp from the awkward position he found himself in, leaning against the back wall of his shower, and to save his life, Ethan couldn’t say how long he’d been asleep. Was it five minutes or two hours. He was fairly certain it wasn’t more than a few minutes, as he hadn’t heard a word from the living room since David began flipping through the three-hundred channels his satellite dish offered up.
Standing and stretching away the aches of each individual vertebra, Ethan shut off the water and pulled back the curtain. “Dave?”
Nothing
“Hey bud, let me throw on my uniform and we’ll get out of here.”
Again silence from the adjoining room.
Across his bedroom, Ethan avoided looking out into the rest of the apartment and instead made a beeline for the closet. His powder blue shirts and navy pants lay in three separate piles. One for each day of the week—somehow they were unable to see their way into the hamper.
Down on his knees, the stench emanating from the pile to his right appeared, for the moment, to be the least offensive. Digging free a pair of black socks, he pulled on the heinous poly-blend security uniform, grabbed his Forced Entry, black six-inch Tactical Boots, and strode quickly into the living room. “You ready?”
David didn’t hear Ethan, there was something else possessing his attention on the illuminated box ten feet away. He hadn’t yet noticed that his friend walked into the room, much less the fact that his shower ended minutes ago. He was no longer in a hurry to get out the door as he flipped from one channel to the next.
