by L. J. Voss
“Actually, I was wondering if you could show me how you roast the coffee. I’ve never seen it done before and I’m really curious,” I hurry. I know I should be racing to get to Mr. Darcy and Cleo but I can’t help my desire to keep Rice here all to myself. “I mean, does it take a long time?”
“No, it doesn’t take a long time, maybe about an hour from start to finish. And I would love to show you around.” He sets the keys down on his desk and grabs the gun and does the same with it. Then he leads me out into the main warehouse. I didn’t get a good look when I first walked in but this place is massive. It could easily be split into two separate warehouses and each warehouse would have plenty of space.
We pass a small kitchen that is along the wall off to the right side. There are some shelves with different utensils, bowls, and things off to the left just past the door we entered from. We keep walking farther into the center of the room. All along the walls is exposed brick and the floor is a stained and sealed concrete. The roasting machines are against the wall on the right. To say they are huge would be an understatement. Way bigger than I had imagined them being. There are four of them and they are black and stainless steel. Separating the machines and the small kitchen are stacks of barrels. Off to the left are rows and rows of huge burlap bags filled with coffee beans. They are all stamped with the name “Finca De Café.” There are a couple trucks and a delivery van marked with Mezzanote Coffee Co. Farther past them it looks like another office and a few more rooms. I start to wonder if it really was two warehouses that they combined into one. There are a couple of garage doors where the trucks and vans can pull out. On the other side of the cars I can just make out what looks like stacks and rows of more coffee beans.
“Wow. I didn’t realize you guys were this big. I mean your coffee is the best but this, this is impressive.”
“Thanks, we’re growing every day. But we actually do more than just sell roasted coffee.”
“Oh, that’s right, like, illegal things?” I ask, half afraid of his answer.
“No,” he reminds me, “You’re dad is getting out of the illegal things remember? We supply other roasters with coffee beans from our farm. This place almost couldn’t be any more perfect. We get our beans come from Mexico and it’s almost a straight shot here to Louisiana. That’s what those are,” he says pointing to the stacks and stacks of bags of coffee beans on the other side of the cars, “We take and deliver and mail those to coffee roasting companies around the country. Then they roast them themselves, like Mezzanote. Mezzanote is doing really well, in fact your dad is looking into possibly opening a second roasting facility back in Boston. We weren’t planning on keeping this one down here long term but it’s becoming profitable, so he’ll probably keep it.” My hopes soar at the thought of him being here permanently. They are destroyed just as quickly when he continues, “Once things settle here I’ll go home to Boston and help get the facility up there put together.”
All I can manage is nodding my head up and down awkwardly. Unaware of my awkwardness he states, “Let’s roast some coffee. First we grab the bag of coffee beans.” He then goes over and grabs one of the bags from a pile and carries it over to the roasting machine farthest from the office. He sets the bag down and turns on the machine. Raising his voice over the hum of the machine he continues, “Then we dump them in up here. From there, they filter down into the drum. They’ll tumble around in there as they’re roasted. This is the part that takes anywhere from ten to twenty minutes. To save some time we’ll do a light roast. We just want to listen for the first crack and then the beans will dump out into the cooling bin. They’ll be rotated and constantly moved by these metal arms. Once they are cooled we package them and send them on their way.”
“I didn’t realize it was so quick. So you do this every morning, and then you go around and deliver the freshly roasted beans? Or do they sit here at all,” I yell over the sound of the beans tumbling.
“Yep, we deliver the beans right after we roast them. We also grind some up and sell pre-ground coffee.”
I start doing the awkward nodding again until my eyes fall on the barrels so I inquire, “What do you do with those? They look like wine and liquor barrels. Are you guys going to start a winery and a distillery too?”
“Actually,” he face lights up with pride as he continues, “that is my baby. Since coffee beans can actually start to take on the taste of things around them if exposed for long amounts of time, I had an idea. What if we used that to infuse the coffee beans with flavors that we wanted? Your dad has some connections and was able to get a deal on the empty used barrels. We take the green coffee beans and then seal them in the dry barrels. It takes a couple of months for the beans to fully absorb the flavor from the barrels. Our first batch is scheduled to be done in the next couple weeks, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“That is incredible,” I trail off when I see he isn’t paying attention to me anymore. He is listening to the side of the machine and smelling the air. Then he presses a button and the coffee beans come pouring out into the big round cooling pan. The clicking of coffee beans hitting each other and the sound of the air being forced through the machinery to cool the beans is noisy.
The metal arms stir the beans around in the pan for a few minutes. Then the beans pour down into a clean bucket. He turns the machine off, “And that’s it, pretty easy and pretty easy to screw up. I did that a lot in the beginning. Now I do it mostly by smell, sound, and sight. Let’s go get Mr. Darcy.”
“What about the coffee beans? Don’t we need to do something with them? They won’t go bad sitting out like this?” I ask.
“No, they’ll be fine. I’ll come by later and deal with them,” smiling, he grabs my hand. “Oh,” he remembers, “I have to grab my keys.” He’s just picking up his keys when we both hear a noise come from somewhere in the warehouse.
All the blood rushes from my face when I see Bernie right next to us. I thought at first it was him who had made the noise but now that I know he’s here with us it couldn’t have been him. I know it is Michael. I can feel it in my bones. That feeling where you know something bad is going to happen, almost like that animalistic sixth sense. Worse is knowing I can’t do anything to stop it. Rice grabs the gun and puts it in my hand then he grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye as he insists, “Stay here. Lock the door after me. Keep the gun in your hand and chamber a bullet. Use it if you need to.” Then he turns to Bernie and goes down on one knee. Looking in his eyes, he says sternly, “Stay. Keep her safe.” Rice stands looks at me for a second before he pulls me into him and slams his mouth down on mine. He is out the door with a gun in his hands before I can even say anything.
I do as he told me to and lock the door. It seems like hours have gone by and I haven’t heard anything. Glancing at a clock I realize it has only been five minutes. I look at Bernie and murmur, “Do you think he is going to be okay?” I know he can’t really answer me but the silence is going to make me crazy. My mind is already coming up with a million different scenarios of how this is going to play out. “I mean I know I’m not the best back up but maybe the gun will help scare Michael away or maybe I can at the very least throw the gun at his face,” I ramble to him. “I know. I know he said to stay here. And yes, I know he will be mad at me for leaving. But I can’t leave him out there by himself. If he doesn’t come back in the next five minutes, I’m going after him.”
Bernie turns his head as he listens to me. I’m acutely aware of each click of the second hand on the clock. I’m focused on it that intensely. As soon as it hits the ten minute mark since Rice has been gone I fly up onto my feet. Turning to Bernie, I whisper, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
I unlock the door and tip toe out. The gun is hanging, loosely at my side in my hand. I bring it up in front of me and into my chest like I see in the movies. If I don’t know what I’m doing, at the very least I can look the part. When I get to the shelving on
the left side I put my back up against it and peek around the side. I don’t see anything so I use the next one as my cover as I peek around the corner of the shelf. There is no one and no sound in the warehouse other than the buzz from the lights and various appliances. Stepping around the second shelf, I tip-toe farther into the warehouse.
A tingle starts in my neck a few seconds before I feel the cold metal gun barrel pressed into it. His voice is like acid to my stomach. “It really isn’t nice to ditch your friends.”
Icy cold fear trickles down my spine and steals my breath. I take a breath to answer him but before I get any words out I hear a deep menacing growl and feel a slight breeze and then Bernie has his mouth wrapped around Michael’s arm.
Michael screams and starts flailing and kicking. “Get off me, you stupid mutt!” I spin around and bring my gun up to point at him. There is no way I can take a shot. In the best case scenario there is only a slim chance I hit Michael. That slim chance isn’t worth the risk of hitting Bernie. If I did hit Bernie, I couldn’t live with myself. I do the only thing I can think of and throw the whole gun at Michael. I’ve never been very athletic and I prove that as I miss him by a mile. Right as the gun hits the floor, Michael gets a hard kick right into Bernie’s side. Bernie lets go of his arm and goes flying off and hits the edge of a shelf.
“No!” I bawl. I lunge for Bernie but Michael grabs me by my hair and yanks him to me. He spins me around in front of him and brings a gun up to my head just as Rice barrels around the delivery van. Rice’s face falls when he sees me.
Michael yells at him, “Drop the gun!” Rice continues to hold the gun pointed at Michael. Michael raises the gun over his head and pulls the trigger.
Throwing his hands up in surrender, Rice lowers and drops the gun to the floor and kicks it away with his foot. “Okay, okay, just don’t hurt her,” he pleads.
“That’s better. Oh and I’m not planning on hurting her.” Then he adds, “Yet.” He pushes the end of the gun into my temple.
I can barely hear what they are saying over the pounding of my heart in my ears. My vision is blurry from the tears that are streaming down my face. I’m locking eyes with Rice when he soothingly says, “Imogen. Look at my eyes. Everything is going to be okay.”
“Oh, shut up, you liar,” smirks Michael. “You know as well as I do that, first, I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to make sure your dog is dead. The stupid mangy mutt ruined my new jacket. Then I’m taking little miss precious here and turning her in for a lot of money.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Girl, you weren’t kidding about him. I could eat him up all day long. If he played on my team I might be able to forgive him for shooting me in the thigh.” A wave of nausea wracks my body at the feel of his breath on my neck. During his tirade he keeps leaning forward towards Rice, which is moving us closer to him. It isn’t nearly close enough but maybe if he keeps talking.
I haven’t been paying attention to anything except Rice’s eyes, but it looks like he’s been moving forward closer to us to. Michael must not have noticed because he hasn’t said or done anything. There is a throbbing in my side and above my knee and I know that my cuts from the other day have opened up again. Rice is still looking me in the eye which is why I see the small shift of his eyes and the almost imperceptible nod of his head.
Then he begs as he moves forward even more, “Just let her go. Then you can go. If you let her go I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Michael barks out a laugh. “You aren’t in a position to beg for anything. Although, I do like the thought of you in a different position begging me for something else.”
The next moments seem to happen in fast forward and slow motion all at the same time. There is a shout from behind us. “FBI, arms up.” My heart stops at the sound of his voice. At the same time Rice lunges forward and grabs and pulls me towards him. Michael turns towards the voice. As he turns, the hand that was holding the gun to my head lowers and the gun goes off. I feel a burning sensation tear across my right butt cheek. Rice pulls me down to the ground underneath him. There are more shots fired and then everything is silent except the ringing in my ears from the sound of the gunshots.
Rice rolls me over and takes my face in his hands. My voice morphs into a cringe when I hit where Michael’s bullet tore through my butt cheek. His face filled with worry, he runs his hands down my arms and legs while he scans my body for the source of the pain. He sighs in relief when he sees the only thing wrong with me is a few inches of missing fat. Tears fill my eyes as I look into his and whisper, “Bernie?” His head turns to his dog and I nod at his unasked question. Leaving me he goes over to Bernie.
Propping myself up on my elbow, I see his face buried into Bernie’s neck fur and I choke on a sob. I almost miss the little lift of Bernie’s head through my tear-filled eyes. My sobs turn from heartbroken to elated in seconds. I unsuccessfully try to avoid seeing Michael. When I heard those gunshots I knew what the outcome was going to be. His still body is lying just in front of me. Suddenly my view is blocked and Calder is there.
I’m wrapped in his strong arms and I grab onto his broad shoulders. The moment lasts less than a minute before the warehouse is full of people in FBI vests and paramedics are rushing in. The silence from a few seconds ago is now clamorous chaos. Calder reluctantly lets me go and stands up to talk to the people filling the warehouse. Two paramedics approach me and my eyes seek out Rice only he isn’t there. He’s vanished along with Bernie.
The paramedics sit next to me and start taking my vitals and assessing my injuries. I’m trying to see around them to find Calder. He is talking with some man in a suit who, judging by his demeanor is probably his boss. I catch his eye for only a brief second before he is leading the suit guy around.
- Rice -
I can’t stand the fact that I left her in my office alone. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach that she isn’t going to stay put and that I might have just made another huge mistake. It’s too late now as I silently creep through the warehouse. I’m looking around corners and piles of coffee beans. Not seeing anything in this section, I move through the vehicles that are parked and after not finding anything again I move to the huge stacks of coffee beans on this side.
I’ve made it half way down the first stack when I hear a growl and then his voice starts yelling. My stomach drops as I turn and run back as fast as I can. Not getting to her isn’t an option. I’m holding out slight hope that maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t found her and that Bernie was protecting her. Rounding the corner, all hopes are dashed when I see him with his hands wrapped around her and a gun pointed at her temple. They are standing in front and to the side of some shelving.
I hear him yell at me to drop the gun. Glancing down I see I have my gun trained on him. I don’t even remember bringing it up and aiming it at him. I wasn’t fast enough for his liking because he raises the gun and takes a warning shot. My arms fly up and I set the gun on the ground and kick out of the way while pleading, “Okay, okay, just please don’t hurt her.”
He responds back to me, “That’s better. Oh and I’m not planning on hurting her.” He pauses, “Yet.”
I lock onto Imogen’s eyes, focus only on her and say, “Imogen. Look at my eyes. Everything is going to be okay.”
He scoffs at me, “Oh, shut up, you liar. You know as well as I do that, first, I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to make sure your dog is dead.” At the mention of Bernie, I notice his still form on the ground in front of the shelves. While he is talking, I’m slowly shuffling forward to get closer to them. “The stupid mangy mutt ruined my new jacket. Then I’m taking little miss precious here and turning her in for a lot of money.” He whispers something in Imogen’s ear and I can see the disgust on her face. I notice that during his little rant he has moved closer to me too.
A movement behind them catches my attention. I barely allow my eyes to flick to see what is
there since I don’t want to give anything away. Calder is coming up behind Michael with his gun raised. With an undetected nod of my head, I signal that I see him. I know I’m not quite close enough to grab her so I need to find a way to close the distance.
Going for begging, I say, “Just let her go. Then you can go. If you let her go, I promise I won’t hurt you.” In my head I add, because you can’t hurt when you’re dead. But he doesn’t know that.
He responds with a laugh, “You aren’t in a position to beg for anything. Although, I do like the thought of you in a different position, begging me for something else.”
Calder and I synchronize our attacks. He shouts, “FBI, arms up,” at the same time I lunge forward and manage to grab Imogen and pull her towards me. I hear a gun go off and I’m not sure which one it is. More shots are fired as our momentum drives us to the ground and I twist Imogen underneath me. Rolling her over I take her face in my hands and relief floods me. It’s in that moment that I know I love her. I don’t have a right to but I can’t help it. Her face fills with pain and panic once again floods me. I run my hands down her arms and legs checking for wounds. When I realize she was hit in the butt cheek and that it is more of a skimming I calm down.
Her eyes suddenly fill with tears and she whispers, “Bernie?” I turn to look at his body and when I look back at her she nods, answering the question I didn’t need to ask.
Leaving her, I’m full of trepidation as I walk over to Bernie and crouch down. I can see his chest rising and falling and my head falls into his neck fur. He lifts his head a little and lays it back down. Turning, I glance back at Imogen and see Calder take her into an intimate embrace. Pushing the sudden flood of jealousy aside, I gather Bernie into my arms and make my way to the door and to the car. I need to get Bernie to the vet to get checked out. I would stay and make sure Imogen is okay but she seems to be in more than capable hands.