by L. T. Ryan
The men at the bottom led me to a waiting sedan. It was long and black and the windows were tinted as dark as the night sky. They opened the back door. I climbed in one side. Chris on the other. They closed his door. Not mine. Chris looked past me and nodded.
“Sorry to do this,” he said.
A guard reached in with a black scarf.
“No you’re not,” I said.
“You’re right.” He smiled grimly. “Can’t have you knowing where we’re going, though.”
The guard wrapped the cloth around my head multiple times, covering my eyes. He adjusted it, then cinched it tight.
“So I’m getting out of there alive?” I said.
“How should I know? I have no clue what he’s going to do with you.”
Being unable to place his accent drove me crazy. Where was he from?
All four doors slammed shut. The driver dropped the shifter into gear and revved the engine. We lurched forward. I held onto the bag with both hands as my body tumbled back and left against the door.
We drove for twenty minutes, give or take. I lost track of time in the blackness. I was unable to focus on a single thing. My mind hopped between the past and the present, settling on nothing. I had hoped by this point I’d have a script down, ready with alternatives should something come up that I wasn’t prepared for. But the words never came. I’d have to wing it.
The car slowed to a stop. The men up front said something in Greek. I heard the sound of metal grating on metal interspersed with a clicking sound, like a chain on gears. The car pulled forward. The scarf was yanked off my head. I blinked a few times to adjust to the bright light shining in through the windows. We drove in an arc and pulled up next to a black SUV. The engine went silent.
“Wait.” Chris opened his door and stepped out. On my side were two men, dressed in black cargo pants and black t-shirts. They held rifles aimed at me.
No originality, I thought.
Chris looped around the back of the car and opened my door. One of the guards stood to his side and poked his rifle inside.
Chris said, “Get out.”
I obliged. My feet hit hard ground. The surface was loose, though, and one foot slid out a couple inches. I reached up with my left hand, grabbed the frame, and pulled myself out. I looked over the back of the car. The lights cast a glow for twenty feet then gave way to pitch black. In front, I saw a square structure. Stucco covering the walls. A door in the middle. A window on either side, blackened except for a knife of light down the middle where the curtains met. Light seeped out along the edges of the doorframe. There was a fragrance about the air. Almost perfume-like.
Lavender.
I looked for Isadora. Didn’t see her. As I was guided toward the door, I spotted the plants along the walk. Long stems and muted purple flowers.
The door opened and I was shoved into a square room that comprised the entire house. Four walls, a door on the opposite side. Stained glass lamps in each corner. An odd dark-blue shag carpet covered the floor. There were four couches, upholstered in velvet. One on the left, and right. Two against the back wall separated by the door. Two to four women sat or lay on each couch. None were completely clothed. At most, they had on a bra and panties. A few had one or the other. A couple were nude.
“The hell goes on here?” I said.
“Just move,” Chris said.
I crossed the room. Every woman in there stared at me, smiling, gesturing with some body part, inviting me to visit with them for the night. Or part of it, I supposed.
“Now I know why you blindfolded me,” I said. “Trying to keep this all to yourself.”
Chris shoved me again.
The back door opened outward before I reached it. There were a few men standing there. They backed away as I neared the opening. A covered walkway lit with string lights stretched out from the door. It curved to the right and disappeared behind the landscaping.
“We can spend a few more minutes inside,” I said. “Bag’s loaded with cash.”
“Shut up, wise ass,” Chris said.
“Suit yourself.” All I wanted was to plant the idea in his mind. Get him thinking about the women. Get him talking. Maybe break that fake neutral accent he maintained. Was it possible? I had no idea. But I was sore and weak and not up for a fight against a house full of armed men. Any advantage I could gain was welcomed.
A guard jumped out in front of me and led the way. Chris stayed next to me. Like a running back streaking down the sideline, I shifted the bag to the other arm, keeping it on the outside. Not that it mattered. We were here now. If he wanted to pry it from my hands, he would have. He didn’t because he knew it would be pointless. When the time came, I’d be a good little errand boy and hand it over.
It wouldn’t go quite like that, though.
Chapter 21
THE WALKWAY CURVED A COUPLE times. It was surrounded on both sides by high hedges that partially blocked the breeze. Though the night air was cool, humidity saturated it. The smells alternated between cheap cologne, body odor, flowers, and lavender. At some point it would be Isadora and not the herb.
We reached another building. Chris grabbed my arm and we stopped. The guard ahead of us went to the door, stopped, and leaned to his side, covering the security panel. I couldn’t tell if he entered a code or used an access card, but the lock disengaged with a click that was audible from twenty feet away. The sentry stepped to the side and allowed me into a narrow hallway wide enough for one guy at a time. The corridor stretched thirty feet or so. It was solid, no visible doors or arteries intersecting it.
“Which way?” I said.
“You really don’t want to get out of here do you?” Chris said.
“After seeing all those women?”
“I mean alive, asshole.”
“You never answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“Where are you from?”
“None of your business.”
“I can’t place your accent.”
“Because I worked hard at neutralizing it. Anywhere, Europe. That’s where I’m from.”
Hardly enough to build a profile on.
He tugged at the bag. I spun and pulled away and had my arm cocked.
“I know I only have a few more minutes with it,” I said, “but I’ll be the one delivering it. You try that again and I’m gonna turn that pretty little nose of yours into something matching your partner’s. Got it?”
The guy smiled wide. “I can get to you, can’t I?”
He was playing the same game I was. Only he did it better. The staring competition lasted all of five seconds. He smiled. I forced myself to do the same. Getting out meant going through him in some way or another. Don’t let him in, I told myself.
The door at the other end opened. A bald guy with a fat head adorned with a salt-and-pepper mustache leaned out. He said something in Greek and motioned us forward.
“After you,” Chris said.
I gripped the bag tight, turned, headed to the door. The bald guy took a step back, widening the opening. The room revealed itself a foot at a time. It was dim. The walls were dark wood paneling. The desk was overbearing and solid mahogany. Behind it, built-ins were lined with books. I caught a whiff of pipe tobacco, something similar to what my grandfather smoked in his favorite chair when I was a kid. An old guy stood, facing away. He was shuffling through a section of leather bound tomes.
“Boss,” Chris said. “He’s here with the money.”
The old guy already knew that, though. He took his time tracing each book’s spine with his finger, muttering something to himself.
I stood a foot inside the room, surrounded by five guys and couldn’t see anything to the left or right. But I knew Isadora was in there. Even amid the musky smell of the men, the lavender stood out.
The old guy pulled down a thick book and turned with it tucked under his arm. He adjusted his glasses as he made eye contact with me. He gave me a slight nod. I didn’t reciprocate
. An upturned smile formed on his lips. It was Kostas. He looked younger and thinner than Esau, although I knew he was older. It was obvious he kept himself in shape. His clothes were casual, but expensive looking. So were his shoes. Leather with thick soles, they probably cost more than his outfit. He set the book down and opened it to the middle. The pages were curled and brown. The top one lifted an inch or so. Underneath it looked black. He stared down at it.
“Name?” Kostas asked.
“Jack.”
“Jack what?”
I looked at Chris. My community was tight. There were people around the world who’d heard my name at one time or another. So I wanted to catch his reaction. He made no move either way when I answered.
“Noble,” I said.
“Fitting you show up in that coward Esau’s place then,” Kostas said.
“The way it was presented, I had no choice.”
“Everyone has a choice, Jack Noble. Don’t forget that.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “You could have easily said no. After all, other than being a resident of the cafe, you have no stake in this. Why risk your neck for him?”
I craned my neck and caught sight of Isadora’s exposed leg. It was smooth and shiny with oil. “It’s not for him.”
Kostas turned his head toward her. Smiled. Nodded. “I see.”
I don’t know why I exposed myself in that way. He had no leverage on me other than the threat of pain or death. I’d just handed him everything he needed to get me to cooperate. After all, I’d shown up with a paltry twenty thousand dollars. A fifth of what Esau originally owed. A lot less than what the old guy now demanded.
He pointed at the bag. “It’s all there?”
The guards stepped back and away from me. Only Chris remained. He put a hand on my back and shoved me forward. I resisted and threw an elbow his way and caught him on the arm.
“That’s enough,” Kostas said, both hands extended away from his body. “Let me have the bag.”
I crossed the room and set the bag on the desk, the zipper fly nearest me. The bag sent a puff of wind out in all directions. The loose page on the book rose and teetered and fell backward, exposing the next page. Only it wasn’t a page at all. The book had been hollowed out into a secret compartment, which held a gun. A small silver thing chambered maybe for a .22 caliber bullet.
I glanced up and saw the old guy smiling. What did it matter? The place was full of armed men. Any one of them could kill me with a single shot.
Unless the guy had other plans. With a .22 he could inflict a lot of pain without causing a mortal wound. I followed his gaze from me, to the gun, then across the room to where Isadora was.
She sat on the couch, legs outstretched, wearing blue running shorts and a white t-shirt with no bra underneath. A book was open on her lap. The title was in Greek. She had a scratch on her cheek like a road burn. Like she’d been shoved to the ground in that cellar and her face took the brunt of the fall. But she’d cleaned up since. Her face was expressionless. Her eyes met mine, and she blinked a couple times. She looked away, first at the old guy, then at nothing. Was she in shock over the whole thing? Had they made threats to her? Did she know I was a dead man walking?
Dead in Greece.
When no one other than Frank and Alik knew I was there. The old guy would have Alik taken care of. No doubt about that. And Frank would never tell anyone what had happened. The world was convinced I had already died in Black Dolphin. Why reveal the truth? Why mention the cover up? Hell, Frank would probably dance on my unmarked grave, happy to be done with me.
Kostas glared at me as he grabbed the bag and spun it on the table. It hit the book and knocked it off kilter. I watched as his spotted hand latched onto the zipper and slid it along the track. He peeled the sides of the bag open and reached in with both hands like he was freeing a breached calf. He pulled out a couple bricks of bills, set them on the table. Reached for a couple more while glancing at the top of the stacks. The next stack looked the same, as did the one following that.
He looked up at me again, squinted.
I remained motionless.
He peeled the rubber bands off the bricks and slid the first few bills off. Then he picked up a stack and fanned it. His gaze shifted up as he performed mental calculations. He dug back into the bag again, pulling the bricks out at a furious pace. When all was said and done, half his desk was covered. He flipped each over so the top bill was facing up. Then he pulled the rubber bands off a few others. Peeled the first few bills back. Fanned a few more stacks.
Sweat formed on my brow. I used my thumb like a wiper blade and moved it into my hair.
The old guy looked at the money, then at me, then at the guy next to me. He opened his mouth, said nothing. Looked at the money again. Then at me. Then at the guy next to me.
“Take him out in the hallway. I want a guard at each door. Rest of you, help me count.”
Chris grabbed me by the collar and yanked back. I didn’t lose my balance. Instead I ducked and freed myself from his grasp and turned to the door.
“You’d better hope it’s all here, Jack Noble.”
Chapter 22
THERE WAS NO CIRCULATION IN the hallway when the doors at either end were both closed. The floor and ceiling were void of vents. The smell of mold saturated the air. I looked up and saw water damage along the edge of the ceiling on both sides. The carpet below my feet was thick and would soak dripping water right up, creating a breeding ground.
Chris sniffed and wiped his nose.
“Allergic?” I said.
“Shut up,” he said.
“Why aren’t you in there counting the money?”
He said nothing.
“I mean, seems like an important job. He doesn’t trust you?”
“Maybe your life is more valuable to him.” He paused a beat. “Don’t know why, though. You don’t seem to care about it.”
“How so?”
“First, you get in the middle of my guys when they’re working.”
“Didn’t like the way they looked.”
“Then you do it again.”
“If anything, I’m consistent.”
“Then you come out here.”
“Y’all asked nicely.”
“And you do it with way less money than you were supposed to bring.”
“I’m broke.”
The last part was a lie. But I figured by now, Frank had the majority of my assets frozen so that no one could access them. Not even me. But I always had a backup plan.
“You’re stupid,” the guy said. “He’s going to string you up by your nuts.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Then take target practice at you with that fancy pistol of his.”
“Do I get to spend the night with a couple of those girls out front first?”
“Are you really this arrogant?” Chris said. “I mean, you’re facing certain death and all you can do is think with your dick?”
His was exposed to me. Guard down. The sentries were positioned at either end of the hall. We were in the middle. I could take him out. Break his neck right there. They wouldn’t reach me in time.
But they would reach me.
And then it’d be over. I’d be shot or beaten, and certainly killed at some point. Isadora would remain the old guy’s guest for however much longer. I guess until he decided to kill her too. Or drug her up and make her part of his crew in the front house.
The guy smiled at me like he knew what I was thinking. He even tucked his hands behind his back and turned his face to offer me a better shot. I could see it in his eyes. Do it, he was saying. Take that first shot.
He had as much confidence as I did. But he wasn’t hurt or wounded or in danger of being strung up by his testicles and used for target practice. That bolstered his thoughts of himself.
The door to the room opened. Kostas stood there, silhouetted by the dim light.
“Get in here,” he said, turning toward his desk.
Chris extended his arm. The bald guard with the thick head and mustache held the door for me. By the time I entered, Kostas was behind his desk. But I wasn’t paying attention to him.
Isadora took one look at me then turned her head. I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not.
“Sit,” the old guy said.
I remained in place.
He shifted his glance to my right and nodded. A second later, my right leg was swept forward and a heavy set of hands slammed into my chest. I tried to twist and extend my arms to break my fall. Didn’t happen. I landed on my left side. The fall was hard, but the carpet was thick and soft and it almost felt like landing on a wrestling mat. Still, the jarring slam left me slightly winded.
Someone grabbed me by the hair and the back of my collar and dragged me up. They tossed me toward a chair. I hit the back of it with my face and it toppled over and so did I. This time the corner of the seat caught me just above the gut on one of my bruised or broken ribs.
The guy righted the chair and pulled me up and sat me in it. I fought to show no reaction to the pain in my midsection. Couldn’t. I leaned forward, to the side, hand on my ribcage. My breathing was rapid and shallow.
“Did you really think you could come in here with less than a quarter of the original debt and walk out alive?” Kostas said.
I felt a buzzing against my thigh. Heard it, too. The old guy glanced at my pocket, then back at me.
“What is that?” he said.
I shrugged.
He glanced to the side and made a motion with two fingers. Four hands descended on me. Yanked me up. Pulled my arms back. Someone went through my pockets. They reached into the cargo pocket and pulled out the cell phone.
The guy stepped into my field of view. The bald guy with the mustache. He set the phone on the desk. The old guy picked it up and stared at it for a moment. Then he set it to the side like it didn’t matter. Like someone couldn’t use it to track my location.