by Domino Finn
I bobbed my head as I tied the cable to his left foot. When the strongman saw what I was doing, he pushed against me with his leg. I tried to force his feet together, but his ankles were too wide to grip. He found the agility to sit up. Bound hands careened towards me. My arm blocked the shot but I was pushed back. The strongman lifted his massive frame off the table.
"You fucked up now," he warned.
I flicked my cigarette to the ground and ran straight at him. Instead of going for the gut again, I jumped over his lowered arms. My foot hit his chest, on the slope right on top of his belly. I pressed down hard and took my other foot to his shoulder, running up the large man like he was a mountain.
His arms clamped around my lower leg. It halted my momentum and I began to fall forward. My hands clasped onto the metal chandelier above us. Although my leg was caught, I rotated my body and wrapped my thighs around his neck. I ended up sitting on his shoulders, straddling his head. Good enough.
As he swiped up at me, I squeezed my legs together. I was trying to put pressure on the man's thick neck, but it wasn't easy. He was a strong guy—even his neck muscles were ripped. My legs had trouble finding a lock, and his metal jewelry didn't help.
Meanwhile, I was hanging on the chandelier with both arms, pulling my chest and head above it. Not only did I use it to keep from falling, but it worked as a shield against his prying fists. More than once, his knuckles banged hard into solid metal.
It was a bizarre scene. The pivoting chandelier threw spots of light across the walls. If I wasn't there, it would have looked as though the strongman was dancing, lurching with the high tempo beat blaring through the speakers. Adrenalin surged through me as I enjoyed the show.
The man was harried but far from defeated. He tried a new tactic: moving away from the chandelier. I used all of my upper body strength to try to counter his pull, twisting his head sideways. Then I saw my opening.
I swung backwards hard, jerking his shoulder down and shifting his balance over the table again. With his hands still tied, he failed to catch himself. The big man fell hard again. I was tugged down with him, and the chandelier with me. It pulled the plaster out of the ceiling before I released my hold. Then we crunched to the floor. We both yelled in pain. The dislodged light fixture above hung precariously on its electric cable, swaying chaotically in an out-of-control dance.
As the electronic music shifted into dubstep, I pulled another laptop cable free and wrapped it twice around the man's neck. He had part of his weight on top of me by now. I had to fight hard or be smothered by him. With his back on me, he kicked violently. His strong legs shoved the coffee table towards the door and gave us more room to wrestle on the floor.
I pulled desperately at the cable under his chin. His hands, side by side in a knot, heaved at his neck. I had finally gotten a hold. The strongman was in trouble.
And then, instead of being cooperative and passing out, the man lifted his head as high as he could and slammed it into mine.
I was hit with a boxer's blow. It was a move that was banned from MMA for being too destructive. One moment, I had the upper hand, the next I was waking up in a daze. I had been out, but it wasn't for long. Once, when I was younger, a guy had sucker punched me and the same thing happened. When I came to a split second later, I was still on my feet. To others, I must have just appeared hesitant. This moment must have been just as brief, because the Mexican strongman was only just removing the cable from his neck.
I grabbed the laptop on the floor next to me and shut it in the same motion. The man, still on the floor, turned to me. With both hands, I swung the computer and connected with the crown of his head.
As he fell back, I sprang to my feet and tried to run past him. Again, the big man grabbed my leg and caught me. I kicked at him as my hands clawed forward, trying to grab the table and pull myself away. It was no use. He was too powerful.
Instead, I gripped something else. The cable tied to his foot. As he tried to yank me back, I quickly tied the other end to the leg of the heavy wooden table.
Searing pain ripped into my calf. The man was biting me. I shoved his head away with my other foot and he twisted me around. Then I rolled in the opposite direction, towards his face but past it, over his head.
As my back hit the corner of the small room, the Mexican slid forward to protect his aching head from any more blows. We instinctively rolled away from each other like oil and water. We both retreated to safety.
I rubbed my leg and pulled up my jeans to see a bleeding wound. It wasn't that deep—my bone had prevented too much penetration—but it hurt like a bitch.
On his end, the big man placed his bear hands, now freed from the cable, on the low table and lifted himself up. He spun around and sat down on top of it for a minute, panting hard. He was exhausted. So was I.
We sat there, at opposite ends of the room, breathing heavily, staring hard at each other. It was like a boxing match when the bell has rung—we both respected the lull before round two began. No one made a move against the other. No one bothered to say anything. This fight had surprised us both, and neither were faring too well.
For a moment it seemed we were done. We would both recover, stand up, shake hands, and be on our way. But those paradoxical actions were common in fights between friends and brothers. Not this kind. Not with these people.
The strongman put his hands on his knees and lifted himself up with sheer will. I pressed my feet down and slid my back up along the wall. My left leg seared with pain.
"You're tough," he said.
I nodded to accept the compliment. "Listen," I rasped, "I'll tell you what. I'll lay off if you turn around and walk out of here right now."
He smiled. The door was behind him now. I was trapped in the room, and he had no intention of letting me go.
"What are you looking for?" he asked through his thick mustache.
My leg buckled as I put pressure on it. I almost fell but leaned back against the wall again. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He was standing, so I had to be too, no matter how hard that was. I didn't think anything was broken, but pain shot through the limb every time I used it.
"I'm serious," I warned. "Take this chance to get out of here."
The man's amusement came to an end. He reached down to his lower leg and pulled out a small machete from a zippered sheath. Was there such a thing as a small machete? Maybe it only looked puny in his massive hand.
"Seriously?" I asked, still gasping for air.
The Mexican struck swiftly. He took two bold steps towards me. On the third, his bound leg caught on the table and he tripped forward. As abruptly and wordlessly as he had intended to pounce on me, his head slammed into the floor.
I set my jaw and put my weight on my foot again. Ignoring the pulses of agony, I jumped up and grabbed onto the dangling chandelier. The strongman rose to his elbows as my weight came down and ripped the fixture from the ceiling. The heavy piece of metal landed with a solid thunk on the man's back and head.
I rolled away and knelt on the floor, watching him for some time. He didn't move again.
After some labored breaths, I lowered the volume so I could think. There was nothing in the room that could help me. The remaining video streams were standard security stuff. There were no documents or anything else to suggest who these men were. As far as I figured, I had just walked into the wrong room.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. This was crap.
The only thing to do was to move on. I left the big man sleeping and exited the room, closing the door softly. Unfortunately, it took only five paces to notice the man standing in the hallway, watching me.
"What the—" I exclaimed.
Approaching me was the Mexican strongman, wearing the same white wife beater and black leather pants and metal necklet.
I balled my hands into a fist but thought it might be better to run.
"How'd you do that?"
The silent man stopped in his tracks as the door beh
ind me nudged open. I turned and saw the same man I had just fought, beat up and bloodied, emerging from the room.
"Fucking twins," I said, shaking my head. One of them had been hard enough to beat. Now I had to fight two. And no matter which one I faced, the other was right behind me.
* * *
I regained consciousness on the floor of the makeshift office, on my stomach. My head hurt. I wondered how long I had been out. One of the strongmen was sitting in a chair that was pressed against me. His large foot rested on my back. I couldn't feel the second shadow within him, through the boot. The sole was probably thick enough.
From what I could see, the laptops had been set up again, barring one that was beyond repair. The bent chandelier sat discarded in a corner. The other three chairs were evenly spaced around the low table, set up for a conference of sorts. I had the feeling I was on the agenda.
My hands weren't tied or anything. And I was alone with the one man. For a second, I considered trying to fight again, but all that had done last time was piss the strongman off.
"Hey listen," I said, sounding as sincere as a half-assed liar could. "I'm sorry about the whole bringing-the-chandelier-down-on-your-head thing. It was a dirty trick."
"Not me," he said gruffly. "That was my brother, Eladio. I'm Emilio."
"Of course. Well, I'm still sorry. We kinda started off on the wrong foot."
"That's Eladio. He's not as reasonable as me. He likes starting fights."
I smiled through my pain. This brother wasn't as intent on harming me, it seemed. I figured some favor with one of the two would help in my position, so I played along. I wasn't sure I could've done anything anyway.
"That's good to hear, Emilio. Really, this whole thing is a misunderstanding. That's what I was trying to explain when your brother jumped on me." Emilio sort of grunted. I wasn't sure if that conveyed understanding or if he had something caught in his throat, so I continued. "You and I, we can talk things out, right? We don't like to fight."
"Oh, I like to fight."
"You just said—"
"I said Eladio likes to start them. That's his thing. Picking fights. Then I'm inevitably drawn into them. And that's what I do."
"What's that?"
"Finish them."
Wow. He'd set that line up perfectly. I wondered how often he got the joke off that smoothly.
"You mind if I sit on one of the chairs?" I asked. "This is getting uncomfortable."
"You shut up," he commanded. Then he returned to vigilant silence.
"So much for being the reasonable one." I wiggled around awkwardly to get a hand to my side. "This is new," I whispered, reaching for the Hamilton watch—but it wasn't there. My pockets were empty. "Come on," I complained. "Where's my stuff?"
The man's boot pressed into my back. "Listen, are we gonna have a problem here?"
I sighed. This wasn't a problem. It was a mess. But I waited it out patiently, trying to keep Emilio in his happy place. It wasn't too long before his brother returned to the room. He was bloodied and beat up and shot me a hateful stare. Behind him was a small man in a cream-colored button-up vest.
I studied the man, hoping the new development was fortuitous. His black skin was a dark espresso. It complemented his metallic red oxford shirt, its stiff collar unfolded and worn high, hiding the man's neck. His pants and vest were off-white and had a meticulous cut to them. The man had wiry gray curls on his head that seemed to migrate down his cheeks and neck. All around, his hair was trimmed short, his nails were manicured, and—except for the absent tie—he was a display of modern chic.
"No, no, no," he muttered, carrying himself around the girth of his escort. "This won't do. Get this man up off the floor."
I didn't wait for the big man to remove his foot. I immediately pushed myself up. It annoyed him, but lying prostrate didn't do anything to ease my temper.
Eladio gave me a menacing glare. The man in the suit, however, looked at me with civil curiosity. He held up a hand and I leaned over the table to shake it. He did not reciprocate. I realized the motion was meant to tell me to sit down. I nodded and did so. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and paced behind the opposite chair. It was a cramped room but his small stature gave him enough space to be comfortable.
"Listen," I said, after nobody spoke. "I—"
"You are Dante Butcher," he said with his back to me. Only one arm was behind him now. He was studying something in his other hand. "You live on Fair Avenue, apartment 7405." He turned around and waved my ID in his hand. That's when I noticed that my money clip, keys, smokes, and cell phone were on the table, next to a party invitation and an antique pocket watch. He tossed my driver's license into the pile. "Butcher. That's a good working class name. A straightforward name. From a family that served its community."
I gave him a funny look. Was this some kind of interrogation technique? "Centuries ago, maybe. Trust me," I said, "I like a good steak. Meat and potatoes are my two main food groups. But I can't stomach it if I visualize the animal it came from."
"Men can do a lot of things they never thought possible when under duress."
"I don't know, dude. I'm pretty squeamish about medium-rare."
The short man smiled. "Well perhaps you have other surprising strengths. For instance, you gave Eladio a challenge, and you're only a third his size."
I almost provoked the man, made a joke about how he was small but obviously the strongman's boss, but I decided against it. I didn't know what to say so I just nodded.
"You'd be surprised at the things I know," he said. "I make it my business to know things. In fact, it is literally a business. Yet I don't know why you are here."
Emilio was sitting down and scrolling through my cell phone, probably looking at my contacts. I had Pam listed in there, not Soren. His brother, standing to my right, was sniffing my pack of cloves. He appeared bored with them and put the box down.
"I'm not going to bullshit you," I said. "I didn't just sneak in here to get the VIP treatment. I was looking for someone." The black man's eyes were active, flicking about from this to that as if he could see my story from all the angles. But while his face was expressive, his mouth was silent. "Well, I was hoping to find a Red Hat producer. You see, I'm a DJ. I spin old school breaks and hip hop, that kind of stuff. I thought, you know, I could sneak in, impress you, maybe get a job."
The man quietly studied me for a few moments. Eladio stood by the door and grumbled a bit while his twin just watched idly, tuned out of the conversation. The black man looked to the other two, then back to me, and then picked up the pocket watch. "This is a railroad piece," he said, opening the cover and studying the timing mechanism. "An antique in nice condition. Did you know that, Dante?" I just watched him. His statement wasn't all that revelatory. My fear was that he knew more about the watch than he was letting on. "I've always liked railroad men. They are a direct breed. They lack the time for anything else." He stepped back to the table and placed the Hamilton down gently. I tried not to show my relief. "Railroad men say what they do and do what they say."
The man sat down in the chair across from me and just waited. It was clear he didn't believe my story. Hell, it was clear that Eladio hadn't bought it. The truth was, I had no idea what to say to the man. I had been looking for Soren, nothing more. I didn't know if I had expected to find these men in the middle of a pagan ritual sacrifice, with Soren tied down to a stone altar, or what. But now I felt ridiculous. Woefully unprepared. I had wasted all week looking into Violet when the obvious threat was here. The invisible enemy may be more dangerous than the apparent one, but you still need to watch them both. I had failed to give proper attention to Red Hat.
If I was going to give him what he wanted, maybe I could make it a trade.
"Can I at least get my stuff back?"
After a brief thought, the man nodded curtly. I stood up and the strongmen flinched. They were ready for trouble. I took the watch back first, then put my other belongings in my pocket
s, including swiping my phone from the hands of Emilio.
I've seen this man before, with my father.
That was confirmation enough. I hadn't touched the man yet, but I would have been surprised if he wasn't a Royal. Perhaps even the owner of Red Hat Events.
Thing is, that was a long time ago, but he doesn't look much older.
"I was curious," I admitted aloud. "About different things. About Red Hat. I wanted to see how you did things. But I'm mostly here to watch over Soren... shit. I don't know his last name."
The lack of information didn't prevent the man's eyes from lighting up as soon as I had mentioned the name. It was clear I immediately captured his interest. "I know Soren. The last name isn't important. How do centuries of history reflect upon the individual? I'm sure a butcher who doesn't like the sight of blood would agree. I'm of the opinion that men should always know each other by their first names. Matters are more personable that way."
"Yet I still don't know yours."
He flashed his teeth in a smile, but said nothing. The man nodded and signaled to the door. "Excuse us." I wasn't sure what he meant but the security detail exited the room as quickly as their bulky frames allowed. When they closed the door, the man in the vest turned to me again. "Thank you for being truthful. That explains how you got an invite. Where is Soren?"
I started. "I was planning on meeting him here."
"Dante, don't squander what goodwill you've earned by lying again."
"It's the truth. I got tired of waiting for his set to start so I tried looking around. Are you saying he hasn't shown up yet?"
The man shot his jaw forward as he mulled over my question. "I'm saying that he missed his slot completely. I had to fit in someone to replace him. He hasn't returned my calls. I didn't know there was anyone else at the party who knew him."
"Isn't that the way you wanted it?" I asked. I wasn't sure why. I still didn't know how much I wanted to reveal to the mysterious man. His expression did not betray his feelings.