by Richard Lee
“It was presented to me,” Telly said. “I own the first market transporter. Of course I’ve never used it. Too fucking dangerous.”
“Then why buy it?”
Telly shrugged.
“You just wanted the globe, right?”
“I’m still waiting, Samantha.”
“For what?”
Telly jumped to his feet. He moved very fast to the front of the desk. “Tell me what she said.” He kept his voice even as he leaned against his desk.
He was too close for comfort. Telly was unpredictable and that worried her. She hoped the emotion was well hidden. She didn’t like dealing with people like him. They were the ones that always hurt her. If only she had known, she would have always been prepared. It was her fault. Seeing Shelly’s face should have warned her, yet she had assumed he was only an abusive husband, using his wife to perfect a product.
Telly crossed his ankles and folded his arms.
“You used her.”
He smiled. “And it’s your job to kill me, I assume.”
There was a knock at the door. Without taking his eyes off Samantha, he said, “Denied entry.”
The knock came again, only this time it was different. Tap. Pause. Two taps. Pause. Three taps. A longer pause followed by a single tap.
“A secret code,” she whispered mysteriously. If looks could kill, Telly’s stare would’ve sent her straight to Hell.
He moved off the desk and walked slowly to the door, watching her with every step he took.
Samantha waited.
Telly turned and opened the door. Quickly Samantha got up and went to the globe. But on the desk, she spied something better. She turned to check on Telly. He had the door open just wide enough for his head to stick through. She could hear quiet mutterings drifting to her, but couldn’t make out any words.
Slowly, she reached across the desk and grabbed the letter opener. It had a thick blade, not very sharp but its point was perfect. This was easier to hide than the globe. The voices were still going as she sat down on the sofa in exactly the same place as before. Looking behind her at the door, she slipped the letter opener up her mini skirt. Her stockings weren’t full length and she put it, blade first, into the top of her left stocking and readjusted her skirt. A few seconds later, she heard the door close.
Telly stopped at the side of the sofa. His eyes went to the globe, then back to her. He squinted. “Did you move?”
“Nope. I was trying to listen to your conversation.”
He went back to the front edge of his desk and sighed loudly. “I have no idea what to do with you, lady.” Leaning heavily against it, he folded his arms.
“Let me go home.”
Telly laughed. “So you can get your weapon and take care of me? I think not.”
She shrugged her shoulders. It’s in my locker, you sick bastard, she thought, right under your damn nose. She smiled.
“Get up,” he said.
“Why?”
As fast as lightning, he shot off the desk and backhanded her across the face. Samantha fell onto her side. Her hand rubbed the reddening area. He kicked her legs as he leaned down and grabbed her shoulders.
“When I give an order,” he spat, “you’d better obey it.”
She looked up at him and spat blood in his face.
“You dirty bitch,” he hissed, releasing her shoulders. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled back. Samantha yelped. He pushed her onto her stomach and ground his knee into the small of her back. Her hands clawed at his as she tried to kick free. She couldn’t reach the letter opener but sure as hell felt it digging into her thigh.
Telly leaned forward until his mouth reached her ear.
The pressure on her back was enormous, making it hard to breathe, each expulsion of air was released by a long low groan of agony.
“The bitch didn’t lie to you,” he admitted.
Samantha couldn’t answer.
There was a knock at the door.
“Granted,” Telly called out. He looked up and said, “Steve, our waitress wants to try Mind-killer.”
She didn’t hear Steve reply.
Telly said, “I told you our waitress wants a Mind-killer. Now get one for her.”
Steve remained silent.
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you, but I ain’t doing it.”
“Steve,” Samantha managed. Her voice strained and clearly showing the amount of pain she was under.
“Boy, you will do as I say!”
“Not to her, boss.”
Silence.
The pressure eased, but only slightly.
Telly broke the silence. “Fuck off, you’re fired.”
“Closed circuit, boss. I can go, but you’ll still be paying me.”
She suddenly heard Steve gasp.
“Chuck him out,” Telly said.
“Sure thing, boss.” It was the voice of one of his goons. “Sorry, Steve, you gotta come with me.”
Samantha heard a short scuffle.
“Come back with a Mind-killer, Goose.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
The door closed with a thump.
They waited in silence.
Samantha tried to reach down again, but Telly’s free leg was in the way.
“You have a very nice body,” Telly said.
She flinched when his hand started massaging her shoulder. It moved down her back and slipped to the side and rubbed her left breast. He pushed his hand deeper and searched for the nipple. Finding it, he squeezed hard.
Samantha remained silent. She bit her lower lip to stop from screaming and wondered how Shelly lived with this man for so long. He was total scum. She was going to kill him. Fucked up on Mind-killer or not, Telly was a dead man.
She tried to push against him, but he was too heavy. She heard a knock at the door. It swung open before Telly answered.
“Ah, good,” he said, “bring it over here.”
A large black bodyguard came into view. He stood at the head of the sofa to her left. He carried a silver tray. On it was a syringe and a small bottle of ready-to-go Mind-killer.
Telly climbed off her and took the tray. He carried it over to the desk. Putting the tray down, he carefully pushed the needle into the lid and drew up eighty CCs of Mind-killer.
“Sit her up,” Telly ordered.
The bodyguard grabbed Samantha by the shoulders and easily lifted her. He dumped her in the centre of the sofa.
“Roll her sleeve up,” Telly said as he moved forward.
The bodyguard grabbed her left arm firmly and yanked up the sleeve, breaking off the cuff button as he did.
Samantha spat at him.
He turned away as the spittle flew past. He spun back to her faster, his arm raised. The back of his hand slammed across her face. The force of the blow knocked her sideways.
Lying on her side, Samantha grabbed her bleeding nose. She pulled her legs onto the sofa in an upright fetal position and deftly grabbed the letter opener.
The bodyguard grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her backwards. She went with the flow. Coming to a rest on the back of her calves, she withdrew the letter opener and drove it into the bodyguard’s stomach.
He grunted, stumbling backward and coming to a stop against Telly’s desk. Telly quickly moved to the side to avoid contact. The bodyguard stared at Samantha as he slowly pulled out the letter opener. He tightly gripped its handle and pointed it at her, blood rolled off the blade, leaving a red smear along its glittering edge. A large smile was on his face as he approached her.
Samantha was already on her feet.
The door crashed inward, breaking her concentration.
Steven rushed forward. “Duck!” he yelled and leapt over the sofa, crashing into the bodyguard. His fists flew fast as lightning, smashing into the bodyguard’s face. At the same time he moved into a kneeling position, pinning the arms under his knees. His fists didn’t stop pounding down.
Telly sw
ung a leg. His foot caught Steve under the chin, but it didn’t have much force behind it.
Samantha rushed to Steve’s aide. Telly cut her off. He punched the syringe into her stomach, depressed the plunger and twisted it until he felt the needle break. He was smiling at her. She smiled back and drew a knee into his groin.
Telly buckled. She held his shoulders to keep him as upright as possible. His face was twisted in agony. Samantha slammed her forehead into his nose. The blood exploded, showering his cheeks and mouth. Some of it splattered her.
She drew her fist back when suddenly she felt faint. Her vision was blurring and doubling. There were now two Tellys to aim for. She took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Her arm dropped to the side.
In a blurry haze she saw Telly fall to the floor. Steve was climbing off the bodyguard. Sweat ran down his face. He was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear any words.
Then she felt herself falling.
Suddenly Steve was next to her with his arms around her waist. He said something, brushed her hair away and carried her to the transporter.
The next thing she saw was the blurry parking lot. The lights hurt her eyes and she closed them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rachael started shaking the moment she stood up from the bleeding body of her old friend, Eric. Her hand shook so much that the dagger fell from her grip.
“No,” she muttered, “I didn’t...” Her voice trailed off.
Peter smiled at her. “Yes, you did.”
“No, I can’t do this sort of thing.”
Rachael stumbled sideways to escape the closeness of the body. Her leg caught the bench. She tripped and hit the floor on her rump. With her hands behind her back and knees drawn up, she scuttled backwards like a crab. She stopped with her back hard against the wall.
Peter stared at her wide confused eyes. She looked so vulnerable, like a lost child, and he suddenly realized why she had done what she did. But he couldn’t just tell her, could he? No, she had to come to the same conclusion by herself. If he told her outright, then maybe in the future she might blame him for her actions, over which he had no control, and he would lose her forever. That was a pain he did not want to risk.
Slowly he bent down and retrieved the dagger. Using Eric’s shirt, he wiped off the excess blood. He did not have the time to wait for the dagger to do its stuff. He put it between his belt and jeans at the small of his back. He pulled out his shirt so the tail would conceal it.
Suddenly the hilt swelled. He knew where the body was going and felt some comfort in that.
“You’ve been angry for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked.
Rachael stared at him wide-eyed. Her mouth fell open but no sound came. She shook her head in response.
“I think you mean yes,” Peter said.
“No,” she managed and with a strained voice added, “only the usual.”
Peter paced back and forth, pretending to be thinking heavily about the problem. “I find that hard to believe, Rachael, especially after watching your actions.” He pointed to the spot where Eric had been. The area was clean now as if nothing had ever happened.
“Well, it’s true,” she shouted, her face turning red.
“Are you telling me that you’ve never wanted to kick someone in the head when they’ve bumped into you? You’ve never wished a car or bus or whatever would crash into a person whose pushed past or cut you off? No angry thoughts like that at all? Not even at the end of a very bad day?”
Rachael was silent.
Peter smiled. “Aha,” he said.
Rachael looked down at her feet and hugged her knees.
“Recently?” Peter asked.
She nodded slowly.
“When?”
She raised her eyes to him and softly said, “Three or four months ago.”
“It was a radical change, wasn’t it?”
Rachael nodded. “When I returned from your time,” she said.
They were both silent. Peter squatted down at her feet and gently placed both hands on her knees. In a quiet voice, he asked, “When?”
Her eyes met his.
“When?” he repeated a little louder.
Rachael shrugged.
He squeezed her knees, digging his fingers into her skin.
Rachael winced. “Peter, that hurts.”
He didn’t want to hurt her, but time was against them. Every minute counted. He needed two more bodies to reach full strength. Eric had been a bonus, but she had killed him. The dagger took the blood, but he felt little strength come from it. Already his stomach was cramping and he could feel his heart beating harder. His need was more important than her pain. After all, pain was good.
“When?” he demanded.
“Please, Peter. You’re hurting me.”
He wanted to say, And you’re killing me, but he couldn’t. Instead he whipped out the dagger from the back of his pants and placed the point below her left eye. He pushed the point against her skin but didn’t let it pierce through.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time. If you fail to remember...” He pointed his eyes at the dagger.
Rachael’s shaking stopped. Fear left her eyes and the muscles in her face relaxed, softening her appearance. She pushed the dagger with her fingers. Peter allowed it to be pushed away. She smiled and held out her hand. “Help me up,” she said.
Peter did.
Close to his ear, Rachael said, “When I cut myself on your fucking dagger.”
Quickly, Peter grabbed her hair and pushed her head back and to the side. He leaned forward and gently kissed her. She responded by grinding their lips together. He felt her mouth open and he slid his tongue in. Her hands went to his waist.
He broke the kiss suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Peter smiled. “Nothing’s wrong.” He put the dagger back between the belt and his pants. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out slowly.
“Are you all right?”
“I need to recap my energy. I’ve been out of business a long time.”
Rachael looked at the floor and bit her lower lip.
Peter knew she hadn’t fully accepted it yet, but he didn’t expect this reaction. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “From now on, let me handle the dagger,” he said. “After all, it does belong to me.”
Professor Dale Cotter was surprised. The video file was taking longer to download than he thought. His processor was too slow. He found himself watching the holographic downloading button. Little green squares slowly filling up an empty bar. He had watched them increase in number for the past two hours. The computer had stated one hour and twenty-seven something minutes to download, or something close to that. His mind wasn’t as sharp at recollection as it used to be.
“Computer,” he said, “how long until download is completed?”
“Unknown.”
“Why is that?”
“There was a breach in download.”
“Explain,” he said, rising from his chair.
“The download was halted due to attack.”
“A system hacker?” he inquired.
“The attempt was from an unused port. Opened end was closed.”
The professor frowned and rubbed his chin. Who used old style hacking these days?
“How much information was shared?” he asked.
“Forty seven gigabytes.”
“Not bad, computer.”
“Do not comprehend. Please rephrase.”
He frowned. Old computers were the strongest, but also the dumbest. “Is the file downloading now?”
“Yes, with security measures in place.”
“Remove firewalls and security measures.”
“This will open the computer to more attacks. Do you wish to continue?”
“Will it speed up download?”
“Dramatically.”
“Then, yes. I wish to continue. Estimated download time?”
&n
bsp; “Twenty two minutes.”
The professor nodded. “Good,” he said to himself and headed for the kitchen with his empty coffee cup.
In the kitchen he ordered another cup of coffee and a cheese and tomato sandwich. Both items arrived from the same spot in the counter. His available credit showed itself by digital numbers on the surface of the counter. He smiled at his healthy credit line and frowned when he thought about Kyle’s credit availability. But at a higher risk. Something the professor couldn’t imagine himself doing. His brother’s line of business was a little too exciting for him.
I’ve mellowed with age like a good wine, he thought. The risk taking younger days were well and truly dead.
“Three minutes to download,” the computer said, knocking him out of past memories. The years Kyle called, ‘the good old days.’
He carried his coffee cup and plate to his chair and placed both items on the small table in front.
“Computer, automatically restart firewalls and computer security once file has completed download, then open file.”
“Command understood.”
The professor picked up his coffee cup and sipped the hot beverage. Leaning back into the chair, he waited patiently for the computer to match the audio with the video. The computer would do this before resetting the security options. Dale Cotter wasn’t worried about any hackers, they could find out how much credit he had, but couldn’t touch it without his thumb print and voice print and as far as he knew, he didn’t have any personal or important or secret files he needed to keep hidden. A hacker would be wasting his time popping into his home computer.
The professor looked over at the laptop. Peter’s computer. He wanted to read the rest of the journal and check those other files that had no names except doc1 or doc2. He had discovered earlier those files were very large and took up most of the computer’s disk memory.
He briefly considered transferring the files to his home computer and then having them read to him in an alluring voice. Interesting idea, he thought. But not tonight, maybe tomorrow after he watched the digital video recording Rachael had given him earlier. Tomorrow’s schedule was light and gave him time to indulge in personal matters. Being a professor had its perks.
“File ready. Security options restarted.”