Wicked Solutions

by Havan Fellows

  "Ouch, bit your tongue, didn'tcha? That's gotta hurt."

  Before Neer could get his bearings back on target, Wick took the two steps to stand next to him. He swung the bigger man around and into the chair situated in front of the desk as he dodged a limply thrown fist.

  "Now now, you wouldn't assault a cop, would you?"

  "You can't be a cop." The man leaned forward, probably to stand back up. Wick quickly twisted his torso and jerked his arm back. A distinct pop sounded as Neer's nose crumbled under his elbow.

  Wick tugged the cuff of his sleeve to straighten it. "Okay, you got me there." He reached into his jacket and removed his gun from the holster. "But I am one of the good guys." He glanced at the weapon he now pointed at Neer and shrugged. "Honest. Now, move the chair against the wall, facing it."

  Neer stared at the gun but didn't move.

  "Oh come on Cliffy, don't make me do the melodramatic thing and cock this or something."

  The man got up and moved the chair.

  "Good boy, now sit down." Wick stepped in the opposite direction of Neer, keeping the desk between them.

  As soon as Neer sat down, Wick stepped behind him and lifted his foot. He shoved the heel of his shoe into the back of the chair, moving it those extra inches so Neer grunted and his knees knocked the wall.

  "And you call yourself a good guy." Neer sneered.

  Wick sat at Neer's desk and very quietly set his gun down. "You're still breathing…for now. Anyway, good is such a relative term." He put on the latex gloves he had in his jacket pocket. "My mother thinks I'm a very good guy."

  "What is this all about? What do you want from me?"

  "What is your interest in Bailey's Inc.?" He tapped the space bar to remove the screen saver from Neer's computer. It quickly flashed to his open emails. "Does everyone live by emails nowadays? Sheesh…at least erase the incriminating ones."

  "Get the fuck off my computer!" Neer twisted around as he rose from the chair.

  Wick tsked at him, putting his hand over his gun again, "Back down, big boy, don't you think you've lost enough blood from our little meeting already?"

  Chapter Three

  Wick whistled while he worked, clicking on different files in Neer's computer and copy/saving them onto the brand new flash drive he had brought with him. Most of the files would end up being worthless, but he wouldn't chance missing the right one because he didn't want to transfer them all over.

  "Would you mind not whistling that shit?" Wick didn't even bother looking up, he could tell from his periphery vision that the big brute still sat proper in the chair.

  "Oh sorry, was that bothering you?" He licked his lips and when he blew between them the theme song for It's a Small World took flight.

  "Just kill me now."

  "I don't take requests. Now less talking please, I'm concentrating." He continued whistling his little ditty while he finished the last of the transfers.

  He reached into his pocket for his second flash drive when he noticed a link on the M drive that he could've sworn wasn't there before. He clicked on it…nothing. He moved the mouse over it again and double clicked…still nothing.

  "Say, Cliffy dah-ling. What's so special about the M drive?"

  "Go to hell, fuckwad."

  "Okay, that's a tad unwarranted." But it wasn't the words that got Wick's interest piqued. No, he already guessed Neer wasn't a poet. The way his back stiffened when asked about the M drive, now that interested Wick.

  He messed around trying to find a back door for this elusive drive, but no go. Finally he just put his pointer over it and clicked repeatedly out of frustration.

  It opened up to a password protected file.

  "Well fuck me, that really does work?" He chuckled as he searched the obvious places on the desk just in case Neer's denseness equaled Brad's. Unfortunately, Neer didn't leave a handy dandy sticky note with passwords stuck anywhere. Well, this was as far as he could go without asking for help. He curled his lip up to the right, he hated asking for help.

  "Hey Cliffy, wanna play a game?"

  He twirled the chair so he faced the back of Neer's head and propped his feet on the desk. "Go to hell, fuc—"

  Wick raised his voice over Neer's, "There are five main swear words that are frequently used in the English language to hurt people's feelings. When used with lesser cuss words, you can procure hundreds of derogatory names. When combined to make compound words, your options go into the thousands, even higher if you aren't particularly worried about the grammar Nazis. If you insist on insulting me, I'm going to have to ask that you change it up each time. It keeps our romance alive, keeps the spark in our relationship.

  "So now, about our game. I've got a silencer in my bag here. I'm about to equip it on my gun right here in my hand." He held up the gun. When Neer attempted to look, he stopped him. "What are you doing? No turning around. I really do have a silencer. You'll have to have a little faith in your dance partner on this one. Now, I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. If you answer them correctly, all is well. If you don't, I shoot. Let's say, oh I don't know…I'll begin about a foot away from you, but each time I don't get the answer I want, my aim will target a little closer…and yada yada yada. Get the gist of it?"

  He reached into his bag and quickly equipped the silencer on the gun.

  "Are we ready to play?"

  "Eat shit and die, asswipe."

  "Wrong answer, and very unoriginal might I add."

  A soft quick sound filled the room and a hole appeared to the right of Neer's foot. He jumped out of the chair, knocking it over in the process. "Holy shit, you fucking shot at me!"

  "I'm sorry; did I not say I was going to shoot at you?" He scratched his head with his empty hand. "I coulda sworn I mentioned it." He shrugged and pointed the gun over his propped feet, aiming at Neer. "Now sit back down on the count of three or I get to practice with a moving target."

  "What do you want from me?"

  Wick had to hand it to Neer, this couldn’t be an everyday occurrence for him, but he was holding up well. Of course it would've worked better for Wick if he crumpled to the floor begging to live and spewing all his secrets in one breath. Yeah, that would be sweet. But experience told him that almost never happened.

  He gestured to the toppled chair and raised his eyebrow. He really didn't want Neer facing him any longer than necessary. But if he made a big deal about it, the man would take more notice than he already did.

  Neer picked up the chair and slammed it down, slouching into it.

  "That's good, big boy. Okay, let's try this again. I want the password for the M drive."

  Those shoulders tensed again and Neer's head bobbed up in anticipation to speak.

  "Ah…ah…ah…you've used up a couple wrong answers with that rude remark. I'm thinking your pinky toe is next. And yes, yes I can hit it through your shoe. Want a demonstration?"

  Neer's shoulders slumped and he mumbled something under his breath.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

  Neer raised his voice and growled, "The M drive is the company share drive. The password is the alpha code that you're given when hired. That way they can track everything done on that drive back to the user."

  "Can anyone with an alpha code access this drive?"

  "Access it, yes. What type of access they get varies."

  Wick noticed his gracious host's fingers curl and uncurl, a sure sign he was getting antsy again. Time to wrap this up. He figured Neer might have access to a good amount, but he wanted the whole kit and caboodle. The fact that they used standard log-in measures to get in the share drive meant, with the right information, entry would be smooth sailing.

  "What's your alpha?"

  "N-E-E-R-C-A" Neer over-pronunciated.

  "Toss me your wallet." The folded leather zinged at him at top speed, too bad it was three feet too high and two feet to the right. Otherwise, it might have really done no damage what-soever.

  He opened the wal
let and pulled out Neer's driver's license. And there you have it…Clifford Adam Neer.

  Wick wanted to beat his head against the desk, it really couldn't be this easy. What type of dopes were employed here? He copy and saved the URL address for the company's main website that housed the M drive and popped out his newly stuffed flash drive just to replace it with the other one he brought with him.

  Tapping his fingers on the desk, he waited for the virus on the second flash drive to quickly download. Wick's hacker friend graced him with this nifty gift for his birthday. It completely wiped out the last two hours of the computer, whether it was a history of porn sites that you don't want your boss knowing about or files that were just illegally downloaded that you don't want anyone finding out about. It even erased the fact that a virus erased everything, leaving nothing but a void. Man, he loved when his friends gave him work-related presents.

  Between watching the bar on the screen and making sure Neer behaved accordingly, a movement caught his attention.

  He sat up, trying to figure out what flagged him. The door was closed and locked, there were no windows in this inner floor office. The light under the door fluctuated again.

  There!

  Someone was standing on the other side of the door, but they hadn't tried the knob as of yet.

  He reached in his handy dandy satchel and pulled out the sealed baggie with a folded towel in it. It wasn't saturated in chloroform, not exactly, and with it being in the baggie instead of being applied to the towel fresh it wouldn't be as potent. He didn't want to knock the brute out for the whole night. Just a couple of hours would do.

  Long enough for him to peruse the top floor for some names and get the hell out of there. This building started to have a stench to him.

  He maneuvered around behind Neer's chair and eyed the towel. Why did he always have this overwhelming urge to sniff this stuff whenever he used it on someone? Like he was immune to the effects or something? One day he knew he would do it without realizing…that of course would be the last thing he ever did, he laughed quietly.

  Neer's knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his chair. "What? What are you doing?" He twisted to the left and right without actually turning around.

  Wick contemplated playing with him some, he did enjoy that part of his job. But the unknown factor on the other side of that door had him a bit off his game.

  So he simultaneously whipped his arm around Neer's head while taking that extra step forward. Neer tried to push his hand away, but Wick captured his head with the towel, cradling it against his stomach for stability. Neer's muscles weakened and he was out for the count.

  Working quickly, he shoved the towel back in the baggie and removed his gloves carefully, stashing those in the bag also. Before sealing the bag he grabbed a travel size container of baby wipes and cleaned Neer's mouth.

  With all his little extras stowed away and his gun back in its holster, he checked on the computer. Sure enough the virus finished loading. Carefully he removed his drive and pocketed it.

  Only a minute or two had passed from when he'd noted the light pattern under the door changed and he stood with his hand in his jacket pocket on the knob.

  He took a deep breath, situated his bag on his shoulder so it appeared more professional and opened the door.

  No one was on the other side waiting for him.

  He twisted his neck to the left then right and glimpsed a man hustle around the corner. What an odd way to scurry through the offices at this late hour. He stepped out of the office, letting the door swing closed with its own weight, and followed the white rabbit.

  When he got to the corner, he decided to forego the whole cloak and dagger routine, no one here knew him anyway. So with his head held high, he confidently took the turn and ran smack dab into—

  "Ned Harris?"

  Chapter Four

  Okay, so he didn’t technically run smack dab into Ned Harris. More like into the scene of the man messing with the lock on an office door.

  Biting his lip and kicking himself for his audible surprise, he quickly swung back around the corner and pressed against the wall. Because everyone knew if you were pressed against a wall no one would notice you. He rolled his eyes and darted across the hall and into the copier room, closing the door quietly. Wick squatted down and peeped through the door-length window next to it.

  Sure enough, Mr. Harris poked his head around the corner. After peering down an empty corridor, he turned and disappeared again.

  Wick counted to five then slid out of the copier room and peeked his head around the wall, much like the other man just did.

  The corridor appeared empty, but the office door that Harris had fiddled with swung open now.

  Wick straightened up and nonchalantly strolled past the office, risking a glance in as he did so. He didn't notice anything except a couple of chairs and the corner of a desk. Damn. Did he want to chance it and discover what Harris was up to?

  He really didn’t have a choice;Harris shouldn’t have been here in the best of situations. The fact that he worked for the competition and insider trading of secrets most certainly occurred meant this wasn’t the best of situations by any stretch of the imagination. If this man had something to do with the trumped up charges that hovered over Brad, he had to investigate.

  Wick hated attacking without a structured plan. He never enjoyed the spur of the moment moments. They were a nesting ground for shoddy work and real mistakes.

  But on the flip side, fun was fun.

  He stopped his forward momentum and stepped back two paces. Arching his spine and leaning to the right, he peered into the slightly open doorway. It didn’t benefit him any, though.

  Using the tip of his shoe he pushed the door open a fraction more, wide enough for his head so he could peer inside the room.

  A blurred shape arced downward toward him and he quickly moved out of its trajectory pattern. Dropping to his knees he instinctively swung upward and his fist made contact with the meaty part of a man’s thigh.

  A shock of pain flaring at Wick's temple followed an oomph and thud.

  "Son of a bitch!" He gritted his teeth and tried to stand back up. His body had different ideas though. His eye burnt from the blood trickling into it and his legs wobbled under him.

  "I didn't actually mean to clock you one, but you tried to make me a eunuch. I lost my grip on the stapler."

  Sensing that the danger of the desk accessories had passed, Wick succumbed to his body's demands and fell the rest of the way to the floor, rolling on his side so he could keep Harris, who also was on the ground massaging his inner thigh, in his line of sight.

  "There is no way a simple stapler drew first blood. And the hell you didn't mean to hit me; you swung that bad boy tighter than the Babe." He blinked his eyes and fought the pain, "For the record, I was miles away from your family jewels."

  Wick nudged the heavy duty stapler that lay on the ground near him and cussed again. The thing was huge, the kind made of thick metal that could staple hundreds of pages in one fell swoop. "You took a swing at me with that monster? Jesus, I could file attempted murder charges on your ass."

  "Oh yeah, and while you're at it you can explain why you're here in the first place."

  Wick tentatively touched his temple and winced. "Damn that smarts. I'm here on business."

  Harris humphed at him, "I don't need to explain to a retired cop how that excuse won't fly at the precinct."

  Sitting up and leaning against the wall, Wick elbowed the door shut and crossed his ankles. "Oh pray tell. What do you know about me being a retired cop? You don't even know me."

  He smirked when Harris darted his gaze all around.

  "I'm waiting…" He let his voice trail off.

  "I have no idea what you are inferring to. I have to get going." He climbed to his feet.

  Wick also rose to his feet, ignoring the fact that the room suddenly spun and his stomach flipped over. "Ah ah ah…not so fast, my little plant. Why
haven't I noticed you at the station? Are you a transfer?I'm there almost every night…"

  "No, you're not."

  "Ah ha!" Wick pointed to Harris's chest and smirked. "Now that that is cleared up, what's your agenda?"

  Harris gave him a droll look, like Wick wasn't accustomed to that. "I don't have to answer any of your questions, Wink." Harris sneered.

  Wick couldn't hold in his laughter, "No need to be nasty, just because you've been caught en flagrante delicto. I'm just that much better than you,rookie. Ahh…but don't worry, you have promise."

  Harris leaned over and picked up the deadly stapler. "Did you catch me? Or did I catch you?"

  "Just because I'm not thirsty for blood like you doesn't mean you've got the upper hand."

  Harris rubbed the inner side of his thigh again. "No, you're just thirsty for bruises. This isn't the time or place for our who's-got-the-bigger-pecker dance. Let's get out of here and compare notes."

  Snorting, Wick turned and peeked out the door. "I'm not sharing a damn thing with the popo." He slid out of the room and closed the door, whispering through the crack right before it clicked, "And by the way, I'm hung like a fucking horse, dance over."

  *** Slipping passed the guards to exit Lexincorp turned out to be extremely easy. Wick spared no sympathy for idiocy.

  Within half an hour he entered his favorite bar, Chances Are. Nodding to Chance, the proprietor, who, as always, sat on the last stool at the bar, Wick picked up the two shots awaiting him. He headed for his table in the far corner, tucked away for privacy but positioned to observe the whole place. Chance seemed to know when he planned to visit and this table always waited for him.

  He pulled his netbook out of the messenger bag and booted up the tiny computer. This wasn't his go-to computer by any means, but the size made it a valuable asset at certain times.

  When Harris entered the bar, the first shot glass was already empty and the thumb drive already installed and open.

  "Son of a bitch." Wick whispered to himself. He knew that man couldn't have followed him here; he'd kept his senses on high alert.