The Interloper

by Dave Zeltserman

  Willis used a pair of field glasses to watch as the man moved quickly into the shop ready to start shooting if necessary. Most likely he would’ve used the gun to force Willis out of the shop so he could be taken care of someplace less public, but maybe not. Maybe the plan was to end things there and expect the witnesses to be too shocked to give the police an accurate identification of the shooter. Willis could see the man scanning the shop, his eyes narrowing and his mouth pinched. Indecision marred his expression for several heartbeats as he looked for Willis. He noticed the unisex bathroom in the corner of the shop and made his way over to it. When he tried the door handle he must’ve found it locked. A grimness tightened his mouth. He had to be figuring that Willis was hiding in there. Moving slowly to the counter he bought himself a coffee and then settled down to wait. He again reached inside his jacket as the door opened, then dejection contorted his face as a young woman stepped out of the bathroom. It was only then that the man spotted Willis’s Factory badge on the floor.

  He got up from his table, walked to where the badge had been left and picked it up. After a quick look at it, he brought it to the girl working behind the counter and showed it to her to see if she had seen the man in the photo. She shook her head. The man waved over the other kid working behind the counter. The kid looked at the badge and also shook his head.

  The man left the coffee shop after that. He moved cautiously, not quite sure what to do next. He stood for a moment making a face as if he were caught in the middle of a sneeze, then looked up and down the street searching for Willis. He must’ve decided that Willis got spooked and bailed on the meeting because his mouth tightened into an angry slash and he moved quickly then to go back to his car. His eyes were little more than dull black dots as he strode past the doorway where Willis was hiding, too sure that Willis was gone and too absorbed in his thoughts to bother looking anywhere but straight ahead.

  Like Willis, the man had ignored the available on-street parking and instead chose to park illegally on a side street so that it would’ve been less likely for his car to be spotted. The man moved with a single-minded purpose. When he reached his car, he used his remote to unlock it and reached for his cell phone, probably so he could call Barry. Up until then he hadn’t realized that Willis had been following him. It was only at the last second that he must’ve heard or sensed something because his body stiffened, but it was too late to help himself. Before he could react otherwise, Willis had a grip of his hair and banged his forehead twice against the car. The first blow dazed him, the second one mostly knocked him out. In a boxing ring he might’ve been able to remain standing on his feet, but he still would’ve been counted out by any competent referee. Willis yanked the man’s arm behind his back without any resistance, took possession of the car keys, and used duct tape that he had brought with him to secure the man’s wrists together. With one hand he grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the back of the car, popped open the trunk and dumped the man inside of it. While the man lay groaning, Willis grabbed one of Bowser’s toys from his pocket—a small hard rubber ball, and he shoved it into the man’s mouth and taped it into place. He then wrapped duct tape around the man’s ankles securing them together. Before he closed the trunk, he searched through the man’s pockets and took his wallet, cell phone, and gun.

  Willis drove to a warehouse several miles away that had been destroyed three years earlier in a fire. The building, while little more than a burnt-out shell, still stood. There was a vacant parking lot behind the building where they’d have some privacy. Some winos or drug addicts might be camped out there, but if they were Willis would chase them away. As it turned out, there was no one else there. Just an empty lot littered with trash and broken bottles.

  Willis parked, got out of the car, opened the trunk, and slapped the man in the face until his eyes lost their glazed look and were able to focus on Willis. There was some defiance in them, as well as some pain, but also a good amount of fear. Willis left the gag in the man’s mouth.

  Willis removed the man’s driver’s license from his wallet and studied it. The man’s name was Paul Johnson. He lived in Saugus, which was only about ten miles north of Boston.

  “Paul Johnson of Saugus,” Willis said, keeping his voice flat. “This is going to go down one of two ways. You’re either going to walk away with only the injuries you have now, or it’s going to get ugly, and here’s how it will get ugly. I will drive you back to your home, carry you inside, and we’ll wait for your family. You might not have any family. It’s very likely given that you work for The Factory. That’s fine. But if you do, I will work on each of them in turn for hours. During this time they’ll be begging you to tell me what I want to know, and you might or might not break down and do that. It won’t matter. I won’t stop until I’m finished with them. After that I’ll work on you. You might be able to hold out, you might not. You might beg me to let you tell me what I want to know. It won’t change anything. Once I start I’m not stopping until I’m done.”

  Willis smiled slightly as he studied the man’s eyes. All the defiance was gone, and now there was only fear which meant the man did have a family and that he believed what Willis was saying, which made sense since Willis was saying only what he intended to do.

  “Paul, it’s important that you understand the next part. Not just for yourself, but for any family you might have. If you cooperate fully with me this will go the easy way. If you’re evasive, or you lie to me, or I believe you’re lying to me, or even if you so much as hesitate in answering me, or try to engage me in any sort of conversation, or simply answer any of my own questions with a question, then this is going to go the hard way. There will be no do-overs, no second chances. If I start down the path of the hard way, then I’ll be playing it out to its conclusion, and nothing you or your family members might say will stop me. Nod if you understand this.”

  The man nodded, his eyes showing the weakness of the defeated.

  “Good. I’m going to remove your gag now.”

  Willis removed the tape from Paul Johnson’s face and took Bowser’s rubber ball from his mouth. Johnson’s mouth puckered into a grimace over the taste of the bull terrier’s toy.

  “Are you going to cooperate?” Willis asked.

  Johnson nodded glumly.

  “No gestures. Words only.”

  “Yes,” Johnson forced out, his voice raspy and weak.

  “Good. Do you know where Barry is now?”

  Alarm showed in Johnson’s eyes, but not from the thought of giving up Barry. Instead it was because he didn’t recognize the name. Willis could see it plainly and so he believed Johnson when he claimed he didn’t know who Barry was.

  “He’s my handler at The Factory. He was the one who sent you to kill me.”

  “Tom Barron,” Johnson said. “That’s his name. Yes, he should be at the office now waiting for me to call him back.”

  “You’re doing well so far. You’re almost home free. Don’t screw this up now. Where’s the office?”

  Johnson gave him the address of a downtown Boston location only a few blocks from Chinatown.

  “What type of building is it?”

  “A high-rise. Fifteen floors.”

  “Underground parking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any armed security there?”

  There was a flicker in Johnson’s eyes, but that flicker died out almost instantly and he told Willis there was no security personnel maintained there, or any armed personnel.

  “I thought I saw a flicker in your eyes where you considered lying to me,” Willis said. “Since it might be the lighting around here and I might’ve only imagined what I thought I saw, and I want to be fair since you’ve been cooperating so far, I’ll flip a coin. Heads we continue the easy way, tails we change course and do it the hard way.”

  Willis dug a quarter from his pocket, flipped it, and showed Johnson that it was heads. Johnson’s face collapsed when he saw that. It was as if he bare
ly escaped suffering a major coronary. Of course, Willis didn’t bother telling him that he could flip a coin a hundred times and make it come out heads each time.

  Willis stuck the quarter back in his pocket. “That was your one and only break,” Willis said. “You understand that, right?”

  “Yes,” Johnson whispered, his color having turned chalk white.

  “How do I get into the garage?”

  “My badge will get you in. The gate is automated. You don’t have to show it to anyone.”

  “No voice prints or eye scans?”

  “No, just the badge.”

  “Tell me about the office itself. Any armed security.”

  “No, it’s only midlevel supervisors like Tom Barron. I’m considered support, but I only go in when I’m called, and I think that’s true of other support specialists.”

  “How many others like Barron are working there?”

  Willis could see Johnson start to panic as he desperately tried to count how many there were. “I think eight,” he said. “But I’m not sure.”

  “Give me their names.”

  There was more panic wetting his eyes as he thought Willis might think he was lying, “Other than Barron I only know two of them. That’s the way it’s organized. I’ve been assigned to support three of the supervisors. Barron, Allen Patterson, and Elliot Finder.”

  “Okay, Paul, we’re almost done. There was that one flicker which I still think I might’ve seen, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt on that. You’re almost home free.”

  Willis closed the trunk shut on Johnson and then got back behind the wheel. He was surprised the security would be so lax there. But maybe they needed to keep a low profile, and there would be field offices in every major city. He had no doubt that Johnson believed that only the badge was needed, but it was possible that they had other security measures Johnson wasn’t aware of. Possibly they used a face recognition system. As he drove to where Tom Barron worked, he considered the pros and cons of moving Johnson behind the wheel. He decided it would be better to leave things as they were, and it might even be to his benefit if they were using a face recognition system.

  When Willis got to the building, he found the underground garage and slid Johnson’s badge into a card reader. The gate opened up for him as Johnson had told him it would. He drove to the back where the elevators where located and parked illegally in a fire lane. Then he popped open the trunk, got out, and told Johnson what he was going to say when he called Barron on Johnson’s cell phone. Johnson repeated it word for word, and Willis dialed the number that Johnson gave him, which was a different number than he had for the man he knew as Barry. Once he heard Barron pick up, he held the cell phone close to Johnson’s mouth.

  “Willis overpowered me,” Johnson croaked into the phone. “He made me tell him where you are. He’s on his way up now to kill you. I lied to him, though. I convinced him that there are armed guards in the lobby, so he’s taking the fire stairs instead of the elevator. Get out of there now, Barron. You’ve only got a minute, if that!”

  Willis disconnected the call before Barron could respond. He closed the trunk on Johnson.

  Johnson’s cell phone rang back seconds later. Willis let it ring. Less than two minutes later a man who must’ve been Tom Barron emerged from the elevator. He was about fifty. A round man with an overall doughy look about him. His nose was a round knob of flesh and his jowls were thick and heavy and hid any chin he might’ve had. He wore a dark blue suit that hung poorly on him, and he looked more like he should’ve been a British TV comic than a man supervising the assassination of hundreds of people.

  Barron moved his fat chubby legs quickly as he headed to his car. He kept glancing around, but never saw Willis. He was opening the driver’s side door for a newer model Buick Regal when Willis grabbed him from behind with both hands and swung Barron to the ground.

  “If you think this is going to do you any good—” Barron started to shout, but before he could get another word out Willis had Bowser’s toy rubber ball shoved in his mouth, and then secured it with duct tape.

  Barron tried to struggle as he lay flat on his stomach, but it didn’t do him any good. His arms were yanked back and his wrists were secured together with duct tape. When he tried kicking with his legs, Willis punched him hard in the kidneys and that collapsed Barron long enough for Willis to wrap his ankles together with tape. Willis took his car keys, then searched his pockets and pulled out his wallet, cell phone, and Factory badge. He left the badge on the ground, then dragged Barron to the back of the Buick, opened the trunk, and heaved Barron into it. Barron’s face had purpled and his eyes were wide as he tried yelling through the gag, but little sound came out. Willis closed the trunk shut on him.

  Chapter 13

  Willis used Paul Johnson’s badge to leave the garage, and once he was outside of it, he tossed the badge out the window. He first drove past where he had left Bowser and his car. He wanted to make sure the location hadn’t attracted any police, and once he was sure it was safe, he circled back so he could pick up Bowser and his packed suitcases. As he expected, Bowser had chewed up part of the backseat. When he let the dog out of the car, Bowser let out a few of his angry pig-grunts, but also eyed Willis cautiously as if he were expecting a scolding. Willis didn’t bother with that. He understood the dog’s frustration at being abandoned there, and besides, he was finished with the car.

  Willis next drove to the empty house that The Factory had indicated would be available for surveillance of his most recently assigned target. It took an hour to drive there, and about twenty minutes into it, Barron began banging furiously from within the trunk. All he accomplished was causing Bowser to lift his bullet-shaped head with curiosity and to bring a thin smile to Willis’s lips.

  When Willis arrived at the abandoned house, he pulled into an attached garage, dumped Barron onto the floor and then dragged him into the house, leaving him in a small foyer. Bowser started barking angrily from inside the car. Willis removed the gag from Barron’s mouth, and went back to the garage to warn Bowser to be quiet. He tossed the rubber ball to Bowser so the dog could gnaw on it. “Give me ten minutes,” he warned the dog, who stared at him with his head cocked to one side. The dog grunted as if in acknowledgement.

  Barron had been left lying on his side. Willis pulled him back so he was against the wall, then lifted him into a sitting position. Willis remained standing, forcing Barron to crane his neck to look up at him.

  “You’re making a big mistake, Willis,” Barron forced out, his pasty face mottled purple with rage and shiny with perspiration. He paused before saying, “It’s not too late to rectify this. You were a good worker for us. Better than most, actually. We should be able to figure out a way to get you back on track.”

  “Shut up.”

  Barron smiled sickly. “Or what? You’ll kill me?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Look, Willis, you were hired for a job. An important one that’s needed to keep this country safe.”

  “Yeah, right. These were never insurgents you were having me kill.” Willis made a face as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. In a disgusted voice he added, “These were only poor saps who had the misfortune of being unemployed.”

  “They’re still insurgents. They’re still working to destroy this country. Even if they don’t realize it.”

  Willis felt the muscles around his mouth tighten. “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “Have you heard the latest figures for the unemployment rate? Twelve point six percent. Do you know what the rate would be without this initiative? At least fourteen percent. Do you have any idea what this high of an unemployment rate for this long a period does to the economy? To investments? Consumer confidence? Simply the morale of this country? It dooms us, Willis. The perception is we’re all going down the toilet and that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy as companies stop investing and people stop spending. The only way to stop this downward spiral to death is to change
the perception and get the unemployment rate back to a more manageable seven percent. And we’re on track to do this, Willis. Another four years and we’ll be there. And the men and women working to achieve that goal are all heroes, just as you were before this nonsense today.”

  For a long moment, all Willis could do was gape at Barron. Even though he had realized what was going on, hearing the man’s logic for the reason of it was like tumbling down a rabbit hole where black was white and up was down. He didn’t want to get into that kind of discussion with Barron, but he couldn’t keep himself from asking why they couldn’t be training these people for new jobs instead of solving the problem by killing them.

  “What new jobs would these be? It’s not just manufacturing that’s been decimated in this country, but corporations have been on a frenzy to outsource any industries and jobs they can, and whatever’s left, if it can be automated or moved online, it’s eliminated also. So if we train these people to be lawyers or accountants or engineers, what good is it going to do? Hell, Homeland Protection has created more jobs in this country over the last two years than all the Fortune 500 companies combined. Look Willis, studies don’t lie. If someone’s laid off and they don’t find another job within three months, they’re not going to. Ever.”