by Ethan Cross
“You know Marcus. He’s going to keep his cards close to his chest for as long as he can. Until we know for sure, we’re not going wide with that info.”
Spinelli said, “What are you guys talking about? What info? What lead?”
Stan said, “Drew, can I say it?”
“Say what?”
Ignoring Andrew’s question, Stan said, “That’s classified, pretty lady. Stan out!” He then exaggerated the motion of pressing a key on his keyboard to end the call’s transmission.
Spinelli stared at the screen a moment and then said, “He’s cute. But you bunch aren’t at all how I would imagine federal agents.”
Andrew’s mind wrestled for a response. He suspected that Ackerman would respond here with a quote from some famous historical figure while Marcus might make some witty but slightly snotty remark. But Andrew was usually the one they were responding to, and he had come to find that those responses annoyed the hell out of him. Still, he knew his response wouldn’t be any less agitating to Spinelli.
With a bobbing of his head, he replied, “We’re a special task force,” as if that explained everything.
Then he said, “Do we have a video feed from the site of the cargo container yet?” Spinelli frowned in response. For some reason, Andrew always noticed his Boston accent becoming more pronounced when he lied or changed the subject.
*
The yard at Foxbury was an octagon filled with basketball courts and free weights and running tracks. A set of bleachers rested against one end of the basketball courts. Leonard Lash sat in the middle of the bleachers with a sea of dark faces surrounding him. The others had him boxed in and watched the yard like a group of Secret Service agents.
Ackerman wondered why Lash was worried about having bodyguards when no one in the prison could touch him. Unless he knew there was more going on here, and he was being cautious.
Ackerman looked up to where Tower 3 had once been. In the briefing, Maggie and the Director had explained the attack and who the victims were. They explained Marcus’s suspicion that the men weren’t targeted randomly. As usual, his brother’s instincts were impeccable. Too bad he didn’t fully trust them more often. They would work on that together.
He walked along the edge of the basketball courts. The men playing stopped mid-game and started whispering. He knew they were talking about him. The first man to successfully strike another. The first convict to beat the system. They would remember his name. Too bad that name wasn’t his own, but merely some concocted alias.
He ignored them and made his way over to the bleachers. As he approached, two behemoths rose from their positions beside Lash and stepped in front of him. Ackerman smiled and said, “What are you going to do? Hit me?”
The behemoth on his right said, “You have no business here. And yes, if need be, we will stop you from getting anywhere close to Mr. Lash. Whatever it takes.”
“I admire your dedication,” Ackerman said, “but I just want to have a chat with your imperious leader.”
“Call his office and make an appointment.”
“Funny. Let him know that the man who put Spider on the ground would like a word.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him.” The big black man didn’t move or turn back toward Lash. After a few seconds, he said, “I checked. He’s not impressed or interested in chatting. Now step off.”
Ackerman moved closer. The behemoth didn’t budge but said, “What? Does that make you angry? What are you going to do?”
“Getting angry releases an enzyme called tryptophan hydroxylase that temporarily reduces intelligence. I don’t get angry and neither should you. At your level of brain power, a little bit of anger probably brings you down to the IQ of a giant Mr. Potatohead.”
The big man showed no reaction.
“I’m going to call you … Bozo, because you remind me of one those old children’s punching bags,” Ackerman said. “Now, Bozo, please step aside so that I may speak with Mr. Lash.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Fine. I’ll let you have a free pass for now, but you tell him that I’m going to keep coming back here to him and drawing attention every half hour until his busy schedule frees up. I may even try to fight my way past you goons and draw even more attention. I don’t think he wants that. I don’t think he went to all the trouble of killing those men in order for a fly in the ointment like myself to ruin all of his well-laid plans.”
Ackerman started to turn around, but Lash gave a nod to a different sentry who tapped Bozo on the shoulder. Bozo said, “Mr. Lash will see you now,” and stepped aside.
Ackerman walked up the bleachers and dropped down beside Lash. The supreme leader of the ULF was movie-star handsome. He reminded Ackerman of a prominent African-American actor he had seen on the Academy Awards once. Ackerman had just killed the couple watching the show. He had gotten them both without even knocking over their TV dinners. He supposed it was a bit sad that all of his cultural interactions involved murder in some fashion. He would have to work on making better memories. Regarding Lash, he supposed that good looks and charm didn’t hurt one bit when trying to form a Nazi-like hate group that called for uprising and murder against anyone with a different skin color.
Lash said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Alexei? Mr. Frank Alexei.”
Ackerman had almost forgotten his alias for this mission. He guessed that Maggie had chosen that name for him. A reminder of some friend of hers he had killed. Ackerman knew better than to tell her this, but he could barely even remember gutting the baker. He definitely didn’t remember the man’s face or his last words. He did, however, remember the smells of freshly baked rolls and the way the flour mixed with his blood. Memory was a funny thing.
Lash must have mistaken his musing over old memories for concern because the ULF leader said, “That’s right. I may be in here same as you. But we’re not the same. I have resources beyond your imagining. You think you can’t be touched because of the cameras and all this metal jewelry. If someone gets on my bad side, there’s nothing that stops me. No prison. No guard. No fancy tech. You stand against me, you fall.”
Ackerman blinked several times and said, “I’m sorry. My mind started to wander about halfway through that. Did you make a point in there somewhere, or may I tell you why I wanted to speak with you?”
Lash laughed, but the reaction was superficial. It didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a funny guy. I hate funny guys who try to act tough around me. It shows me that they’re either too stupid to know who they’re dealing with or too crazy to care. Either way, it doesn’t sit well. What do you want?”
“I just want to be on the winning team. So I’m offering you my services.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t play games, and I’m not hiring.”
“True, while the invisible fences are up, you have ten times the muscle you need. But when the defenses go down. You may find me useful.”
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let me break it down for you. Someone forced a guard to target high-ranking members of every other major faction in this place. Every team in the game lost a player, except for you. Why might that be? It seems to me that you were establishing your dominance. And why establish dominance and make such an aggressive move when you’re under constant surveillance? It’s not like there’s an illegal underground or drug business to take over. You don’t need to send a message like that unless the walls are about to start crumbling down. And when they do, you want to make sure that you emerge from those ashes as the new king of Foxbury.”
Lash said, “Your file says that you’re in here for federal tax evasion. I have good accountants. I don’t need another.”
“Al Capone went to prison for tax-related offenses. That doesn’t mean that it defined his entire skill set.”
“And what skill set might you have that I would find useful?”
Ackerman shrugged. “A little of this. A little of that.
What was it you said … ‘You stand against me, you fall?’ It’s something like that. Plus, I want out of here. I think we can help each other.”
“Comments like that will get this conversation flagged. They monitor everything.” Lash pointed toward one of the many cameras mounted around the yard and added, “Saint Nick’s always watching. And you’ve got a big mouth. You remind me of this kid I knew back in the old neighborhood. Good kid, hell of a ball player. Loyal. His name was Deandre. He always talked too much, which is something I hate, but he was family. A member of my crew. I loved him like a brother. See he had this girlfriend who used to get him all drugged up and sexed up and get him talking. After all, he loved to talk. We didn’t know this at the time, but he would tell her everything. Even about jobs he did for me and our fledgling organization. Everything. And then she would run down to a local detective in narco and sell him that info in order to get her next fix.”
Ackerman said, “Loose lips sink ships.”
“Exactly. We found out about all that and, unfortunately, we had to remove Deandre from the organization. Even though he didn’t betray us on purpose. He just never knew when to keep his mouth shut, and that wouldn’t change. Point is that I loved him like a brother, and I don’t even know you. He was what you call a known quantity. He was a friend. You, on the other hand, are an unknown quantity. Which means I don’t have any past behavior to predict your future behavior. You are an undefined variable in our little equation. And I hate surprises.”
Ackerman said, “Surprises are the spice of life, my friend. Every surprise is a good surprise. Every new challenge is a new opportunity. When Jesus was tested in the wilderness, he didn’t complain about the surprise, that extra complication to his plight. No, he used those tests to display his strength and the path of righteousness. Surprises are good or bad depending on how we respond to them. Surprises are inevitabilities. You just need to choose to use that surprise in a way that furthers your ultimate goals. So, as I said, I’m here offering my services. That may have been an unexpected development. I may be an unknown quantity. But that’s not important now. Right now, you need to ask yourself how best to use that unknown quantity to accelerate you toward your destination.”
Ackerman stood and stepped down the bleachers. When he reached the ground, he looked back and said, “Think about it. Meet me in the laundry room or send one of your guys in an hour or so. Just have him give me a thumbs up if you want me on your team. Then, when the time is right, I’ll know who to fight for.”
*
Demon had been observing Frank Alexei since their arrival. Mr. Alexei was an enigma. A puzzle. And Demon liked puzzles. First, Alexei made a show of beating the security system on his first day. Then he was thrown into Ad Seg. When he was released from Ad Seg, he instantly provoked Lash. The man had either no fear or no damn sense at all.
But then there was the matter of Alexei’s scars. They had been mostly covered when he had arrived, but Alexei had come out of Ad Seg in a jumpsuit only with no thermal beneath it. This put his forearms on display. They were completely covered with scars. And those scars seemed familiar to Demon in some strange way that he had yet to explain.
Many of the Legion had been begging him to attack Alexei, but they were the same creatures who begged him to attack everyone in sight. He ignored them. If need be, he would deal with Alexei later. For now, he would stick with the plan and wait for the right moment to step in.
The horrific creatures he had been ignoring started to become angry. They called him names. They threatened him. They said horrible things to him. But he had dealt with similar outbursts from the Legion all of his life. Their desperate machinations and manipulations really didn’t bother him much anymore. Most of the time anyway. There were those days when the Legion struck a nerve, and all he wanted to do was die. He had gone as far as writing out the suicide notes. But then the next day, he would look back and realize what a fool he had been. Why would a man with such freedom and power commit suicide? Maybe it was a chemical thing. Maybe even some chemical thing related to his other conditions.
Still, he refused to submit to medications. All any drug did was take away from who you really were. And he was the Legion, and the Legion was he.
Demon watched as Alexei made a show of his confrontation with Lash, and then the strange, fearless man headed back toward the main residence hall.
Out of the corner of Demon’s eye, the dark man shot forward as a wisp of smoke and shadow and took up step behind Mr. Alexei. Demon didn’t ask questions. He followed and caught up to Alexei just as he was approaching the brick facade of the main building and the brown metal doors leading inside.
Demon called out, “Hey, you! Frank Alexei!”
The scarred man turned around and said, “I don’t remember giving you my name.”
“I asked around about you. You’ve been after drawing a lot of attention to yourself since you arrived. And now you’ve went way the hell out of your way to provoke the richest and most powerful man in Foxbury.”
Alexei cocked his head and said, “All statements of fact. Is there a point?”
The dark man took another step toward Alexei, and Demon mirrored the movements. He was the dark man, and the dark man was he.
Demon said, “What’s your game, Alexei?”
The scarred man laughed. Demon wasn’t used to hearing laughter in his presence. He scared most people. Something about the intensity in his eyes. And a face ravaged by scar tissue. But this Frank Alexei seemed to have no fear of him at all.
Alexei said, “I do enjoy a good game. But I don’t remember asking you to play, Mr? What was your name again?”
“Demon.”
“Mr. Demon. Well, this has been fun. But I have to run. I have some preparations to make, but I would love to get a rain check on the story of how you received that Glasgow smile. Maybe get some pointers from you on that.”
“What you’re doing doesn’t make any sense, mate? You don’t smell like a cop. Yet, you seem to be messing about with matters which don’t pertain to you.”
“So where do you fit in then, Mr. Demon? How do such matters pertain to you?”
“I’m just offering some friendly advice. Lash is going to come for you.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And that’s what I’m talking about. The moves you’re making don’t make any sense.”
“I suppose you just have to see and know the bigger picture to understand. I work in mysterious ways. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Demon said, “Tell me about the second time you took a person’s life. I don’t need the police report. Just tell me how it made you feel.”
Alexei smiled and said, “When I was a boy, I never formed memories of carnivals or amusement parks. But to put it into a bit of a parable which could be better understood by someone with more typical memories and social correlations. For me, my second murder made me feel like a little boy who had just got to ride the rollercoaster for the second time in a row with no lines. I could hardly believe that I had a second opportunity to ride again. To experience that rush, that feeling of being alive and free, again. I’m an opportunist, Mr. Demon. And right now, I see an opportunity to serve my own needs by harnessing the power of the storm brewing here at Foxbury.”
The dark man accepted that answer. At least for now.
The shadowy form of the dark man now stood beside Alexei, no longer in complete control of Demon’s body and actions. Demon found this Alexei to be more and more interesting and perplexing by the moment.
And Demon would have some positions on his own management team opening up soon …
Demon said, “I won’t keep you any longer then. But we’ll speak again shortly. I’ll have my people call your people.”
*
The door of the intermodal container groaned and screeched in protest as Marcus pulled it open. Something on the inside of the container clicked, and fluorescent lighting hummed to life and filled the space with a pale g
low. The interior was lined with black padded material that resembled flipped over egg cartons. Soundproofing. Which meant the sheriff wouldn’t come running if they screamed for help.
A voice from inside said, “Close the door.”
Marcus recognized the same distorted voice from the video.
The voice added, “And have a seat.”
The cargo container had been divided in half by a partition of what appeared to be some type of polycarbonate. It looked like glass but was thicker and had the shine of the materials often used as partitions in police cruisers. There was a door made of the same material mounted in the righthand section of the dividing wall. On each side of the barrier, metal chair had been welded in place. Sitting beside each chair was a set of small metal tables. There appeared to be a few panels recently welded onto the container’s ceiling, but there was nowhere else a living, breathing person could hide.
Judas said, “Mr. Powell, please take the chair on the opposite side of the barrier. The door is unlocked.”
Marcus guessed that Judas was speaking to them through a live cellular connection or something of the like. He nodded to Powell, knowing they had little choice but to play along. He checked the metal chair closest to him. There didn’t appear to be any tricks to the seat itself. No wires or places for bombs or hidden blades. No restraints ready to clamp down. He sat in the chair and looked through the glass at Powell, who had taken his place on the opposite side of the clear barrier.
“Put on the jewelry sitting atop each of your tables. You may recognize them.”
Marcus had noticed the devices sitting beside the chairs. A pair of the same restraints used on inmates at Foxbury. The kind designed to monitor vitals and issue electric shocks.
He picked up the restraints and examined them. They were about what he expected; some kind of tempered aluminum or other lightweight metal. A small speaker on one wrist. A few LED lights. Silver contacts running along the inside of the bands.