“That’s because it is,” Smoke said, taking a look around. “This is the floor where the Cartel takes up shop. It’s beyond the reach of standard officers and those who do come down here are more corrupt than anything else. A Cartel member could shoot an officer in front of an officer and they’d say they weren’t even on the fourth floor that day. They are just around for show. This place is more dangerous than you know. We need to get out of here as fast as we can.”
“Hold it,” a voice said from one of the few shadows the floor had to offer.
“Oh for fuck sake!” Smoke screamed. “Does everyone know where I’m going?”
A short, stalky man stepped from the shadows holding two revolving pistols. Smoke knew that firing those pistols even once would create one hell of a kick back; Reggae’s muscular arms would have been able to take the kick easily. “You know who we are. You know we have eyes everywhere. We know what you’re going to do before you do it.”
“Reggae, I can’t believe they have you picking up an old bastard like myself.”
Reggae narrowed his eyes, “We’re not taking any chances with you Smoke. We remember you. We remember what you’re capable of.”
“I bet you do,” Smoke said with a clear frown. “Let her go though. She has no part of this.”
“She seems valuable to you,” Reggae said, now showing his half-smile. “We’ll take her as well. Let’s call it insurance so we know you’re not going to do anything stupid.”
Smoke looked to Constance who had her hands on her hidden short blade, ready to draw and attack. She looked back at him, ready for him to give the order. If he did, he knew she’d cut through Reggae before he’d have a chance to react; his attention was focused on Smoke. Reggae also knew Smoke would have a revolving pistol of his own. Pistols were always the bigger threat than a blade.
The problem was what would happen after. If she cut Reggae to bits she’d have a mark on her head and she’d be dead before the next lift ride off the floor. He thought of several escape attempts before finally coming up with something great. It was a shot in the dark and relied heavily on everything falling into place and people acting as he expected. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He looked back to Constance. “Surrender,” Smoke said flatly.
“What?” Constance asked, dumbfounded.
“Surrender.”
Constance gave him a defiant look. “I can take him,” she whispered.
“I know you can. That’s the problem. Trust me, I have a plan.”
He could see the conflict in Constance’s eyes as she threw the blade to the ground. Smoke carefully pulled out his revolving pistol and placed it softly on the ground. “We’ll come without a fight,” Smoke said hanging his head.
“Good,” Reggae said with a relieved grin.
Something hit Smoke in the back of the head. He heard Constance scream and everything went black.
Smoke awoke in darkness. The back of his head ached where he had been hit. He could feel the fabric over his face preventing him from seeing what was going on around him. The ropes that bound his wrists and ankles dug into his flesh as he tried to move. He knew exactly where he was.
The room was hot, very hot. The coolant in this part of town had been tampered with just enough to make the natural heat nearly uncomfortable, though not so hot as to kill a person. Beads of sweat poured from Smoke’s forehead, soaking the bag. Every breath he took brought in his salty sweat into his mouth and into his lungs.
He sat in silence for a few long minutes before he heard Constance awake with a frightened gasp from right behind him. He felt some relief in knowing he wasn’t in the room alone, though Constance would be used as a sort of bargaining chip. He felt bad for what the men would end up doing to her if he didn’t comply with their demands. Her terrified gasps seemed to echo through the room.
He tried to visualize the room within his head. It was a place he had been in many times. It was the room they took people to interrogate them. The floors were made of a metal that prevented blood and any viscera that may get spread around from being absorbed, and they allowed for a quick cleanup.
“Constance,” he said trying to remain calm. It was true that her breathing had begun to send shivers down his spine and forced him to ask the question - if they would survive an escape. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
He could hear her swallow loudly, “Smoke, who are those men?”
“They’re members of the Cartel,” he said without hesitation. Now was the time. He had to tell her everything. “I have some confessions to make,” he said with a depressed tone.
“If you’re going to say that you grew up down here I already pieced that together,” she said without anger, but she maintained her panic. “I’ve known since the second below.”
“Well, that’s good,” he said trying to hide the smile from himself more than anyone else. “I’ve done some horrible things though.”
“Whatever you’ve done you can tell me later. I already figured you’d been a part of this lot. The way you looked at the narcs and weapons booths showed me all I needed to know about you. You despise this life and you’re ashamed of your past. You don’t have to tell me how you smuggled narcotics and weapons. You don’t have to tell me how you tortured and killed people who double-crossed you. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“There is still one thing I have to tell you - though I agree – it can wait until we’re out of here. But I do have to ask, what tipped you off.”
“Fulcrum,” she said with a smug voice, “the way he carried himself and the way you tried to shoo him off. It said a lot. My suspicions were confirmed when you said he agreed to keep us safe as we traveled downward. I don’t think you’re going to see the reward money for long dealing with him.”
Smoke let out a sharp singular, “heh,” and remained silent as the sweat began to run down his face.
“How long are they going to keep us like this?” Constance asked.
“Until we break,” Smoke replied after a moment of silence. “They know I’m not going to break quickly. They think it’ll be you. They’ll keep us here with these dark bags over our faces without any food or water until we break down and beg. That’s when they’ll begin the torture until we tell them what they want to hear.”
“What do they want from us?”
Smoke hung his head in shame, “From you, nothing. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and showed you were too much of a threat to leave out in the street. They want me. I’m the one who left.”
“So they want you just for leaving?” Constance asked, surprised.
“This is supposed to be a lifetime job. I just got stuck with the rotten luck of being born into it.”
Smoke waited to hear any other signs of life. He listened for a second set of lungs, a slight scuff of a boot across the floor, voices in the distance, anything. He knew there would be someone watching though he couldn’t place them in the room. This was something he was familiar with, someone would sit and wait for the prisoners to begin talking and listen to anything they said.
“You may as well take the bags off our heads, the mind tactics won’t work on us,” Smoke shouted loudly.
He could hear the faint sound of a pair of boots hit the floor and slowly move towards him. As the body moved closer he began to hear his breath. He heard the sound of the man shuffling in his pockets and pulled something out. He heard more shuffling before the sound of an igniting match filled the room. Constance’s breathing became more rapid. The sound of small flecks of dried plant burning could be heard as well as the sucking motions of a man lighting a pipe. The smell of burning tobacco cascaded over the two of them as Constance coughed a little.
The bag was suddenly ripped from off his head. The man who had grabbed it had not taken care to avoid grabbing Smoke’s hair and took more than a few with his fist. Smoke managed to avoid yelping in pain but couldn’t hide the pained expression as he tried to let his eyes adjust to the light of the room, making his c
aptor laugh.
Smoke focused and saw Conrad Toomie standing before him. The short man standing just under four feet high continued to laugh at Smoke’s surprised expression. “Conrad?” Smoke asked, “You’re a part of this now?”
Conrad had been a nothing more than a kid when Smoke had left the fourth floor. Now here stood a strapping young man with a heavily pronounced jaw and a grin that could have won over any woman above the third floor. “That’s right Smoke,” he said in a deep voice that had formed while Smoke had been away. “I’m the prime inquisitor. Master of interrogation and the-”
“Patron of bullshit,” Smoke said with a grin. “Tell me, did you practice this little speech when you heard I’d been caught or do you try this little fear tactic on everyone you guard?”
Conrad gave a look of anger and surprise. Smoke had hit the mark in his assertion and it showed all over the kids face. Smoke looked over to Conrad as he tried to think of something to say back and he was taken back to the kid who used to tag alongside him when he’d be out and about shaking down small businesses for protection money. Conrad had never been permitted to go inside the building or touch any of the money. He had been too young and much too innocent. Smoke thought back to his last words to the kid, telling him to get out before his soul became as tainted as his own.
“Smoke, you taught me a lot during your best days here,” Conrad said.
“I didn’t teach you shit,” Smoke snapped back. “You were never permitted to take part in any of the dealings, you weren’t allowed to be where interrogations took place. You didn’t get to see or hear anything. The best you got was my presence, and that’s because I thought you’d be useful if anyone tried to shake me down.”
He knew Constance was listening and more than likely silently judging him through her black bag. He began to stare down Conrad, whose grin never left. This concerned Smoke. “Oh I know you didn’t let me in on anything. That doesn’t mean I didn’t find ways. Small holes in the wall to watch you interrogate someone, thin glass and walls to listen to what you said when you took money from people. I wanted to join you Smoke. I would have followed you anywhere and done anything you said.”
“You didn’t do the last thing I said for you to do,” Smoke said coldly, channeling his abilities.
Smoke’s words seemed to hit Conrad like a fist in the face. He gave Smoke an angry look before his features softened. “You’re right - I didn’t. But I couldn’t listen to someone who wanted to be weak. I couldn’t,” Conrad looked apologetic with those words.
“It’s not weakness to leave something toxic. It’s strength. Besides, last I saw of you, you were going to leave. What happened?”
“Cobble,” Conrad said with his head hung.
“He talked you into staying,” Smoke said as the pieces fell into place.
“He convinced me to hate you. I did a good job of hating you for leaving for such a long time. But now that I see you here, tied up to the chair, I can’t hate you either. I understand your leaving. It was-”
“Let’s not get into it,” Smoke said with a slight half smile.
Conrad nodded his head, “Okay,” he whispered.
“What I want you to do now is to take the black bag off Constance’s head and get the Boss. Tell him I want to talk to him.”
A wide toothy grin that almost seemed childish spread across Conrad’s face. He immediately took the bag off Constance’s head and ran off to get the man Smoke wanted to see least in this world, but needed to see if he had any intentions of progressing.
“That was easy,” Constance said in amazement.
“So, I’m sure you listened to all of that,” Smoke said trying to get a view of Constance.
“I did,” Constance said blankly. “I can’t say I’m surprised or disappointed. Remember, I knew you were from down here. I didn’t think you were giving money to the poor while you grew up. I knew you did some dark and deplorable things. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and face your past so you can accept it. You’ll live longer.”
Smoke hung his head. She was right, he had spent so long running from his past and trying to atone for actions no man could ever atone for - he had lost who he could have been. Even as a private detective he had been unable to do as much good as he wanted. People didn’t come to him for missing family members as often as he needed. They didn’t come to him hoping to find an unfaithful husband or to investigate an unscrupulous business. Instead they called on him to follow people for information, to track down concubines and slaves - the dirty work that nobody else would do and work he had no choice but to do.
They sat in silence for the remainder of the wait. Smoke heard the sound of the steel door creak as three men entered. The man on the left was someone Smoke only knew as Metal Jaw. He had a suit of metal armour he’d had welded around him to make himself a powerful bodyguard. He often smelled bad from the sweat and waste that would get caught in the metal, but he did his best to bathe regularly. The man on the right was Cobble Raw, the right-hand man of the Cartel’s boss; he was the only man Smoke considered smarter than himself. The only problem with Cobble was his ambition and his desire to be the Boss and he’d do it any way he could.
The man in the center stood over Smoke. He was an elderly man made from sinew and muscle. His face was covered in scars and cuts. Each one from a well fought battle against a rival leading to his eventual rule over the entire fourth below in that area. Each scar told a story that could never be spoken. Despite his age and scars, the old man held a level of handsomeness most men could only hope to maintain. He looked at Smoke tied to the chair and gave him a warm smile, “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said softly.
“Where’s Conrad?” Smoke asked in a way that said he demanded an answer.
“He’s asleep in my office. He had to be punished for leaving a prisoner unguarded; especially you. You must have really wanted to speak with me.”
“What makes you say that?” Smoke asked with a grin.
The Boss smiled, “We both know if you wanted you could have escaped from that chair a long time ago. After all, I’ve yet to see a prison that could hold the great Smoke Callahan.”
“It’s true,” Smoke said with a grin. “I also would have gotten away completely if I didn’t have Constance with me. One person could escape without being seen. Two, not so much and I’m not leaving without her.”
The Boss grinned, “So you care for this woman.”
“She’s in my care. Be assured, if anything happens to her I will rain hellfire upon you. You know I can and you know I will.”
The Boss showed a look of shocked amazement before bursting into a fit of laughter. “I know you could have back then. I don’t think you could these days. You have no skins as well as no influence down here.”
“No, but what I do have is the ability to be unnoticeable even when people are looking for me. That’s why I was such a great narc. That’s why I’m a great detective. Visibility and prisons mean nothing to me.”
“That is why I named you Smoke,” the Boss said with a grin.
“I know it is, and where there’s smoke there’s bound to be fire. If not at the moment there will be eventually.”
The Boss took a couple steps backward; his grin never left his face. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. In fact I plan to hire you. One last job and I’ll let you and your bonnie lass move freely through the fourth below as often as you like.”
“Take the job,” Constance said before Smoke had been given a chance to respond.
“Take it?” Smoke asked. “You don’t even know what it is?”
“I think someone’s desperate to get out of here,” the Boss said with a snide smile.
“Of course I am,” Constance said. Smoke couldn’t see her though he assumed she had a massive grin on her face, “but that’s not why.”
“I like her,” the Boss said with a grin. “She’s ballsy. Tell me, why should Smoke take the job?”
“Because it’s probably s
omething simple like a drop job,” Constance said. “Just dropping off a package whose contents we’ll never know. It’ll be quick and simple.”
“How can you be so sure?” the Boss asked.
“Because you would know enough to know Smoke wouldn’t do anything like an interrogation or an assassination. He would rather die and take me with him than kill someone else or torture them. Trust me, it’s not a fact I’m especially pleased about, but you and I and Smoke know it to be true.”
The Boss frowned in amusement, “seriously ballsy. Also right. Smoke, I want you to take a package to the fifth below and leave it in the waste basket beside the statue of Pedro Argos.”
Pedro Argos. That was a name Smoke hadn’t heard in a very long time.
“I’ll do it,” Smoke said, knowing he’d regret it later.
“Wonderful,” the Boss said happily. “I do have to note that your woman will have to stay here in our custody until we know you’ve dropped off the package.”
“How am I to prove that?” Smoke asked.
The Boss grinned, “I have an imager in my office you could use. Bring us back an image of the package in the bin with the statue of Pedro Argos and we’ll let her go. You’ll be free to come and go as you please and we’ll be square.”
“Should I ask what’s in the package?”
“I wouldn’t,” the Boss said somberly.
Smoke nodded in agreement. He didn’t really want to know what was in the package. “Well, are you going to let me out of this chair?” he asked impatiently.
The Boss nodded to Metal Jaw and signaled to allow Smoke to go free. He pulled out a knife and cut the ropes binding his wrists and legs. They had been good knots. The kind Smoke would have had difficulty getting out of. It wouldn’t have been impossible; in fact he would have been out of the ropes long before the Boss have arrived. The feeling of the ropes going slack and falling to the floor as Metal Jaw cut them felt incredible. He felt the rush of blood return to his fingertips; they had gone numb off and on while he had been tied up.
He stood and brushed off his jacket. There had not been any dirt or dust on it, but the compulsory action was almost automatic. He looked at the Boss and grinned, “Well, you going to take me to the package?”
The Engine What Runs the World Page 10