by Estes, Danny
Randolph was cussing out the engineers who designed the unit to squeeze out every credit possible when a pounding on the side panel caused him to bang his head in alarm.
“Ow!” He winced, not able to rub his head. “What do you want?”
“The boss has a job for you, so pull your head out of your—”
“But I’m not finished,” Randolph interrupted the guard’s favorite repartee.
“Then you’ll just have it to do later. Now move it, rodent!”
Not having a choice, Randolph pulled out of the cramped evaporator, wiping his hands clean on a rag. “No one had better turn the unit on.”
Marrowny, the burly rule enforcer cut him off gruffly with, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a genius, shrimp. Now shut it and follow me.”
After Randolph obtained the ground, tall and ugly seized his neck, squeezing to notify him who was boss. “Hey, ow, come-on, Marrowny, that hurts!”
“Then mind me as you’re told and keep your trap shut, you hear?” Marrowny said with a mean smile, holding tight to Randolph’s neck the entire walk back to the offices, where Randolph soon found himself standing in front of the FBFC boys.
Marrowny gave Randolph one last malicious squeeze, causing Randolph to cringe as he looked on the two men in front of the foreman’s desk.
“There he is Special Agent Zimmer,” the foreman said evenly, “just as your wanted poster described. Though I’ll admit he’s not a very imposing figure, he sure knows a lot about electronics.”
Randolph fought down his first instinct to take flight, reasoning. Where would I go? There is nowhere to go but outside and even if I did manage to escape these two and the trigger-happy men still waiting out in the heat, I have miles under a frying sun to travel. Discarding those useless thoughts, Randolph stood his ground, and upon seeing the metal collar the younger one pulled out from his jacket, he grimaced.
“It’s true he doesn’t look like much,” that one admitted in a low voice to his senior partner while opening the neck restraint and snapping it in place around Randolph’s neck without incident. The senior agent made no comment to his partner’s remark but instead reached into his jacket pocket and passed over a credit card to the compound foreman. The man accepted the card and tapped the display screen, to which he smiled broadly.
It appears a bounty for my head has just been paid out, Randolph surmised, wondering with a small perverse side of himself just how much his head was worth as wrist restraints were also applied and locked into place.
The ride to the nearest Federal Building of Fair Commerce somewhere in the state of Indie, which at one time had been call Nevada, went by far too quickly. Only six hours compared to the ten hours it took going out to the pit in the desert, but then, who said the FBFC followed any rules other than their own.
The black car came to halt two levels below ground, where Randolph was prodded out, ushered through busy corridors, and settled in an interrogation room behind three ID check points, the last of which was only opened after the agents submitted to a retina scan. Seated in a small square room, looking around at the plain white walls and stainless steel table he sat behind, Randolph tried to recall all he knew about the FBFC for clues on how they would proceed. Let’s see, besides being a law unto themselves, with governmental backing, they are slaves to no district or state, which leaves me in deep kimchee. Randolph looked down on his hands, which had been locked into wrist restraints on the table top, and amended that to very deep kimchee. By their locking his hands so, Randolph was forced to look subservient to them every time he bowed his head to clear away the sweat rolling down his face, not all of it merely from the overheated room.
Once an hour of the silent treatment crawled by, according to his internal clock, the room began to alternate from hot to cold in seconds of time, during which Randolph received a numbing shock-wave through the restraints, forcing every muscle to clinch two or three times before the next weather change. This went on for roughly twenty minutes before his captors picked a temperature around ninety degrees. The room remained so till Randolph sat in a puddle of sweat.
“Now then, Mr. McCann,” an annoyed male voice questioned through a loud speaker behind Randolph’s head, “perhaps you might like to explain how you came to be in an executive office in the Global Rift Supply and Demand building in Bakersfield, instead of remaining in the cardboard box shoved into the city of Willing’s crematorium furnace?”
Randolph cleared his hearing with a shake of his head. “Before I do, could I have a glass of water?” he dared to ask.
“The atmosphere a bit over-warm for you? Here, let me see what can be done,” the malicious voice replied.
The temperature dropped till Randolph’s teeth were chattering from the cold. Randolph skipped useless obscenities and got right to the point of the matter. “Damn your eyes, you needn’t waste your time in torturing me. I’ll tell you whatever it is you wish to know! Just stop this crap and get me a glass of water or I will become difficult!”
An hour later, while he sipped at a light plastic cup of plain faucet water, ever so much wanting to throw it into their faces—cheap bastards—Randolph supplied the information about Mr. Bennett and his pet project.
My singing voice may be off key but it isn’t my fault, I caught cold because the damn fools were having too much fun with the temperature gauge. Randolph sat in the now comfortable room with two agents and finished up his unrehearsed recital. The black-suited men queried Randolph on a couple of points, then pocketed their mini video recorders and left without a word about what was to become of him. I will say I was tempted to ask my fate, but in truth, seeing their smirking faces on the obvious outcome of my life would not in the best of times be very pleasant to see. Still chained to the table, Randolph gave a sigh of relief at their departure, coughed, and feeling beyond drained both physically and mentally, soon found himself escorted through the halls by grim-faced uniforms to a group holding cell where he was shoved inside.
Here Randolph saw for the men in black, business was good. As he’d not been offered a handkerchief by his rude captors for causing his ailment, Randolph was forced to wipe his nose on his sleeve. He walked unmolested with drooping eyes past the dregs of humanity, whether dressed in business clothes of the rich or simple attire for the everyday man. Once amidst the human garbage, Randolph spotted a lone bench against the far wall and headed for it, holding out no hope for a long prosperous future. Still wearing the restraints, Randolph coughed in both of his hands and took some pleasure in seeing the others wore the same jewelry as he, which meant no one would beat the crap out of him just to prove he was the biggest bully in the bunch. When Randolph settled on a bench, the two closest to him stood up and wandered off, whether that was because of his body odor or his apparent illness, he couldn’t say. But not one to pass up an opportunity, Randolph readjusted himself so he could curl up in misery on the bench and tried to sleep, hoping his dreams would take him to a better place for a short time.
Randolph was underground, unable to witness the passing day or night. Time became irrelevant save for meal time, when the prisoners were ordered to the bars and handed a plate which couldn’t be drawn in between the bars. As for bodily functions, a normal result of such activities, privacy was something he couldn’t even consider. While minutes passed into hours, Randolph’s misery and depression settled on his shoulders like a vulture waiting for him to pass on. Hell, he thought to himself, sitting with his hands between his legs one afternoon, I almost wish someone would activate the bomb in my head. At least that way, I wouldn’t have to go through being executed again. But he had to admit the possibility of that happening was about nil. He was sure the concussion grenade Jill dropped had scrambled the electronics, because if the device was still operational, Mel would have detonated the mini bomb long ago. So Randolph wallowed in his misery as time crawled by, marked only in the occasional removal or insertion of bodies, while the FBFC agents investigated his story, one he’d told
in complete detail with the one exception of any mention of Jill. Oh they asked about her, he reminisced, but on that subject I am unwilling to elaborate. Why did I refused? Perhaps I’m smitten with her playful side or perhaps what she did was not of her choice and therefore I give her the benefit of the doubt. As they didn’t peruse it by insisting with more torture, I figure they know all about her and set the subject aside to keep me talking on other matters they didn’t know fully or knew nothing about. Oh well, however I feel about her matters not at all. She’ll be captured with the rest of the group or slide away like she did when the FBFC charged in on us. Besides, either way we were both living on borrowed time, so I only hope she makes better time of it then I was able to.
After battling his cold for several days, Randolph was rousted from sleep by a heavy-handed guard. “Ow! Take it easy, man!” Randolph complained to having his head tapped with a night stick as if it were a drum.
“Then get your smelly ass up,” the guard growled as if Randolph had offended his family tree. Then he informed Randolph of his fate in a loud voice so everyone heard. “You can sleep all you want after your executed.”
As Randolph already understood his fate, the cruel verbal acknowledgment did nothing for his enthusiasm for obeying anyone. But rather then cause himself any more grief in what time remained of his life, Randolph numbly got to his feet and plodded along like a whipped puppy. After all, knowing all along I was headed to ‘the table’ yet again, I’m not very shocked to his heartless revelation. Moved through hallways and security check points to the parking structure, Randolph was pushed up none-too-gently against the wall at the last security check point and thumped once on the head for an “attitude adjustment,” before the necklace and wrist restraints were removed. Once this had been done, he was released into the custody of a surly looking local city officer; a rather fat fellow who applied new restraints on Randolph’s wrists then pushed him up against the same wall and growled into his ear.
“Listen, creep, as I’d rather deliver a corpse, you best not give me a reason to pull my gun, understand?” As it was healthier for Randolph to nod, he did so, at which point the officer jerked him away from the wall and shoved him bodily into the back seat of his squad car. Once the door slammed closed, Randolph heard the doors lock, and briefly wondered how he’d already gotten on the man’s bad side. Or is he always so chipper on duty? With a mental shrug, Randolph straightened himself on the seat without help from the rude city cop, who got in the driver’s side, causing the air cushion to adjust to his heavier frame. The cop gave Randolph a glare in the review mirror before starting the car and moving up to street level and their first intersection. He then looked both ways like any good driver would but somehow missed the fast-moving woman Randolph caught sight of just before she pulled a very nasty looking gun from out of her purse! Out of reflex, Randolph ducked and caught sight of a beam of light melting through the driver window and smelt meat frying near on top of each other. Randolph turned his face so he could at least see his executioner.
Jill opened the driver’s door and shoved the 275-pound dead weight with some effort over to the passenger side so she could take his place as if nothing had happened. In quick succession, the door closed and Jill moved them out into traffic. Unsure if she was there to kill him for his canary act, Randolph shrank within himself. She tilted her head back and said with humor, “Hello, partner. Miss me?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Jill! What? How?” Randolph stammered.
“Tsk, tsk, lover boy, did you really believe I wouldn’t try to rescue you?” Jill said, driving one handed. She turned her head a bit more to see while she padded down the dead officer. “I told you I didn’t want to train another partner.” When she uncovered the keys, she touched a button on the dash console and lowered the wire prisoner screen so she could toss him the keys. “Now if you don’t mind getting out of those tracking cuffs, I have a car waiting a few blocks over.”
“Did you have to kill the man?” Randolph admonished, though he was relieved to see her.
Without remorse, Jill eyed him in the mirror and said, “You do things your way and I’ll do them my way.”
“But your way is so permanent,” Randolph scolded, upset with how casual she sounded.
“Randolph, I’m sorry you feel that way about it, but in my experience, live people cause too many complications.” She slowed and turned into an alleyway and settled the squad car to Earth, then motioned for him to get out. Randolph moved ahead of Jill to a blue sports model as Jill pulled out a phase grenade and tossed it in the squad car. But before Randolph opened the passenger door, Jill ran up and threw her arms around him and squeezed with a very affectionate embrace before demanding a quick passionate kiss. Then disengaging, leaving Randolph slightly dazed, she ran around the front and jumped in the driver seat. “You and I have a lot to talk about.”
“I just bet we do,” Randolph acknowledged, clearing his head and sliding in.
He closed his door as Jill gunned the power and shot them up and over the squad car, and into traffic.
“For starters, where are we going?”
“We’re headed to a motel I’ve rented where you’re going to get cleaned up and properly dressed for a wedding.”
“A wedding? But…but Jill? Now wait just a dog gone minute. You just busted me out of jail—within an hour my face will be plastered all over the video channels. We don’t have time to witness a wedding!”
“True, but don’t worry, the church is on the outskirts of town.”
“Don’t tell me you planned our escape to incorporate this ceremony?” Randolph asked, unbelieving.
“Not at all. I planned to drop in on our way out of town.” She smiled.
“Hold it. I’ve never heard of a wedding waiting for guests to arrive,” Randolph asked puzzled.
“That’s true.” She patted his leg, “But we’re not guests.”
Thinking on that a moment, Randolph eyed her. “You’re not planning to kill someone?”
Jill passed him a scathing glare. “How could you even think I’d do such a thing? That would be sacrilege.”
“Well you don’t seem to hold to the Ten Commandments.”
Jill rolled her eyes. “I thought you were the atheist?”
“No, an atheist doesn’t believe in heaven and hell. I believe in both, I simply don’t believe either can influence people, places, or things.”
After a bit when Jill said no more, Randolph ventured, “Uh, Jill, who’s getting married?”
“I am.” She smiled. “Or should I say my other side is.” Jill caught Randolph’s puzzled face and explained. “My other self has fallen in love, and per our agreement before I entered the military, I’m going along with it. Besides, I like him too, though he can be irritating most of the time. But what man isn’t?” When Jill saw Randolph’s slack-jawed expression, she became more serious. “Come off it, Randolph. Can’t you believe I can fall in love?”
“Truthfully, I hadn’t considered the matter. Does the lucky groom know about your two sides?” Randolph tried to keep his tone neutral, lest she realize he had developed feelings for her.
“A relationship cannot last if you keep secrets from each other,” Jill admitted, pulling into a hotel parking lot and allowing the car to settle in a numbered slot. “Now come on, we both need to clean up before the trip and I need to do some calls while you’re in the bathroom.” Jill pulled the hotel door card out as she got out of the car and said over her shoulder, “I’ve some snacks inside to tide you over till after the wedding, then we’ll grab a bite before meeting the jet I have waiting.”
Randolph acknowledged her statement on a relationship, but felt a lump in his throat as he needed to tell her what he did. Jill could only kill him once, so Randolph swallowed and warned, “But using anything connected with the company may not be advisable, you see.” He spoke meekly, following her inside, thinking it might not be a good idea to have four walls surrounding him. “While
in custody, I spilled my guts—I told them everything I knew about the company.”
“Yes, I know,” she admitted, heading for the bathroom and tossing her pocket book on the bed where two suitcases laid open, filled with clothes for both sexes.
“You know?” Randolph sputtered, flabbergasted. “Then why did you get me out?”
“Because you told them nothing about me,” Jill answered with certainty, unzipping the body suit she was wearing, working her way out of it.
“But how do you know that?” Randolph pick up a waffle bar, absently watching her strip. She and this bar have a lot in common; you have to peel off the outer layer to get to the goodies within.