Ensnared

by I N Foggarty

  Los sin techo, the homeless ones. The term Sergio had used to describe them back in Juarez and the banner under which he had drawn those that, like them, belonged nowhere and had nothing. Perhaps it was with the greatest irony that amongst the deprived and lost he soon would be an outcast. Once Sergio heard the news report, coupled with him having lost merchandise he would undoubtedly be cut loose and left to fend for himself… or worse.

  Turning the radio off Ramone fumbled in his pocket for another smoke. By the time it was lit, he had pulled up beside the curb and applied the parking brake. Glancing around outside he cautiously got out of the van. It would be best if he did not linger in the city for longer than necessary. By virtue of his ethnicity, he would become an automatic suspect for any cops he may encounter. Crossing the road, he stepped into an unremarkable coffee shop. Maria always came here on Wednesday and Thursdays before her shifts at the laundromat; her secondary occupation. The coffee sucked, however, one of her friends worked here and it served as a convenient way to tick her off the weekly gossip chain list.

  Over beside the window, he spotted the silky ringlets that were Maria’s ebony locks; the blonde streaks from last week now golden. Opposite her, mouth going twenty to the dozen sat Stephanie the waitress. For the moment he left them be and signalled the woman behind the counter for a beverage. When it came, he paid for it, turned and took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen a proper mirror in days but knew he looked far more the grovelling wretch than dashing gentleman hoping to win back fair ladies heart. When he approached, Stephanie looked up and snorted into her cup. Either he looked as bad he felt or she had an inclination to how Maria would react upon seeing him.

  “I better get back to work,” she hurriedly whispered. She stood up, smirked at him then bustled off.

  As Maria turned her head, he could see the look of confusion on her face for a split second before it turned thunderous. “What the hell are you doing here, Ramone?”

  Ramone stared into Maria’s deep walnut eyes. There had always been something tantalising about her when annoyed. Like a wooden dam in a storm, all she needed was the right provocation to unleash nature’s fury. Only in that moment would her emotions be laid bare and her deep seeded passion brought to the fore. He would challenge any man to resist her un-tempered wrath.

  A Molotov cocktail of feelings and memories washed over him and he struggled to recall parts of the multitude of pitches he had prepared while driving. Though she looked pissed as a hornet to see him he could not get over how much he had genuinely missed her. Their relationship had been fractious and at points violent; Maria had often given more than she had taken. Despite this, they still shared good times and at one stage a common hope for the future. If there were any flicker of hope they still could, he would sacrifice all morals and principles to make it so. He understood that now.

  “Maria,” he replied slowly, unsure of what else to say.

  She did not look impressed. “Is that all you got to say for yourself, Ramone. You march in here, disrupt my mornin’ coffee just to remind me of my name?” He opened his mouth to reply but was swiftly cut off. “Ut Uh, Ramone. I thought I already made myself clear. I am taking no more of your shit.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” It was not exactly the apology he had planned, rather an admission of guilt. Though it took two to tussle, it did not absolve him of his transgressions. However, Maria could take it whatever way she wanted. Knowing his luck it would probably be the wrong way.

  “No. You’re just going to stand there and make me smell it,” she wrinkled her nose. “What is the matter wit’ you, Ramone?”

  “It’s been a rough week,” he admitted and gave her a solemn look. “But it’s all about to change.”

  “I don’t care whether you shower, shave or change those dirty duds. I am done with you, Ramone.” She stood up. In flats, she barely scraped five foot five yet had the presence of someone twice her size. The scant other patrons had all forgone their conversations in favour of the live entertainment now on show. “Now get out’a my way. I am late for work cause of you.”

  When she moved to go around him he raised a hand and impeded her passage. “Listen. I’m working on a big score. In a day or two, we’ll have one-hundred-thousand dollars.” He’d thought about how to pitch this part too but had been unable to come up with anything that did not sound like the desperate words of an ill-fated mobster in any number of gangster movies.

  “One-hundred-thousand dollars?” For the briefest of moments, he could hear the intrigue in her tone before she started to laugh. It was all he needed. Deep down he knew Maria, irrespective of her pride would be won over by money. “Sure, Ramone, whatever. You go out there and make a hundred-thousand dollars and I will come with you wherever.”

  Though her voice brimmed with sarcasm, he knew he had her. Money may have been a poor foundation for a relationship but it would at least give him a chance to build a better one. Slowly he lowered his hand to allow her to pass. “I’ll be back in a few days. Pack a bag.”

  Maria said nothing as she brushed passed him and strutted to the door. He watched her ass wiggle in her tight fitting skirt for a moment, then remembered about the espresso he’d paid for. Downing it, he slid the cup onto the table and made his own way out. While he waited for the traffic to clear, his phone rang. For a moment he thought it might be Maria; dissatisfied for not parting on a stronger insult. However, the gravely tone that spoke soon put pay to that.

  “Rae, we got’a problem.”

  Absentmindedly Ramone reached into his pocket for a smoke. Why was it never good news? “What is it, Roca?”

  “I think that red haired bitch is actually sick.”

  Bastard! He had been so preoccupied with the boy escaping that he had put no thought into the claim that the bitch was actually sick. This could bugger everything. “You sure? How bad is she?”

  “Well, she’s all hot and hasn’t budged an inch since we locked ‘em back up. That ginger one’s found her voice and been crying for a fucking doctor.”

  Crossing the road, he climbed into the van and slammed the door shut. If the bitch was actually sick the big wig might not even look at her. He could not afford to take that chance.

  “Scrape some ice out of that friggin ice box and have ginger cool her down for now. I’ll be back once I figure something out.”

  On the other end, he could hear Roca’s obligatory grumblings at having to exert some effort before he hung up. Only one logical solution to the problem existed. Regardless of the cost, Jasper would be the best bet at making sure the girl was well enough for the purpose. Shoving the van into first gear, he pulled out and joined a queue of traffic.

  ##

  It took until mid-morning for Ramone to travel downtown to where Jasper lived. Skirting around a hole in the stairs that had not been there on his last visit he straightened up on the porch and pressed the intercom button. He did not need to wait for the reply to know that the doc had already shut up for the night. It was fortunate then that money motivated the old sawbones in the same way it did Maria. He would not be able to resist the prospect of more profit, irrespective of how much he would complain.

  “I’m closed,” the doctor's sneering tone almost made Ramone jump. Though he would never admit it, part of him still retained that innate childhood fear of medical practitioners; a visit always ended with a shot.

  “It’s Ramone.”

  “Yes, I can see that,”

  Ramone looked at the intercom. For the first time, he saw the tiny camera lens he had clearly been oblivious to on prior visits. At least that explained why the doc always knew who he was about to see before they came in.

  “I’m still closed.”

  “I’ve got a job for you… It’ll pay well.”

  A pause followed Ramone’s words and he could tell that the doctor would be trying to diagnose him via the monitor. “You don’t look in serious need of my services. Come back when I open tonight.”

  “I’m
not the patient.”

  “Hmmm. Well unless you are hiding them in your pocket or they’ve fallen through that bloody hole your fat footed friend made, I see no one with you in need of my skills.”

  Ramone turned and gazed at the splintered rotten wood step. Fat footed friend. Was he referring to Sergio? If so, why had he been paying Jasper a personal visit…? Resisting the urge to ask he pushed the thought out of his mind.

  “The patient’s not here,” he eventually replied, turning his attention back to the intercom. “Think of it as a house call. I’ll pay for you to have a look and dish out the drugs, plus the inconvenience of having to travel.”

  He could hear Jasper mull the offer over on the other end. “Hmmm…”

  “I’ll personally give you cash once they’re well,” Ramone added. He knew the offer of cash up front and effective licence to slit his wallet would be enough to sway the doctor.

  “Very well. Give me half an hour to get dressed and pack my supplies.”

  “You’ve got fifteen. I’ll be waiting for you in the white van across the street.” Before the doctor could argue, Ramone stepped away from the doorway and made his way down the steps.

  Back in the van, he did not have to wait long for Jasper to appear. Between his skeletal fingers, the doctor clutched an old-fashioned doctor's bag that looked more like it had been removed from a display shelve than a cupboard. It gave Ramone the creeps.

  “Let’s get this over with shall we. I would actually like to get some sleep before the riff-raff roll up to my door tonight.”

  Ramone ignored the doctor as he muscled his way out into the stream of traffic.

  ##

  Lunchtime was almost upon them when Ramone hauled the rusty shutter down, locked it then invited the doctor downstairs. One look at the man’s wrinkled nose being enough to tell him that he had similar thoughts to Monday’s visitor about the dwelling. In the living quarters they found Roca crashed out on one of the sofas; surrounded by crushed beer cans. Electing to leave him Ramone told Jasper to wait while he fetched the patient. It was subtle but on brushing passed the doctor he could detect a hint of relief that he would not have to treat the unconscious man.

  Moving next door into the cell room the overhead strip light struggled to flicker into life when he turned it on. As he approached the bars, the ginger-haired girl scampered away from the motionless figure of the other girl, a dirty looking cloth in her hand. She had been holding it against the other figure’s forehead.

  “Get back into the corner and stay there,” Ramone said opening the door, he cautiously moved towards the red-haired bitch. He frowned at her and placed the back of his fingers on her cheek. Though he could see how flushed she looked nothing could prepare him for just how hot her pale skin felt. Cursing internally, he scooped her up, locked the cell and headed back to the other room.

  Like locusts on a scrap of grain, the Doctor’s gaze fell upon them the second he appeared in the doorway. “Well now, what do we have here?” Jasper said as he approached and peered at the unconscious figure in Ramone’s arms.

  Ramone suppressed a shudder while the Doctor tisked, clicking his tongue for a few seconds then placed the back of his skeletal hand on the girl’s sweaty brow. Jasper tutted again, louder this time, then cast a gaze around the room clearly looking for somewhere to place the girl. The lower bunk seemed the best option Ramone thought and apparently, the old sawbones agreed, for he indicated that he place the girl down there.

  “Can you fix her?” Ramone asked, dreading the answer.

  The hollow chuckle that came from the doctor sent a chill down his spine. “You make her sound like a child’s plaything, Ramone.”

  Try an adult’s plaything Ramone thought before quickly regretting it. “I mean can you make her better?”

  “My dear fellow, do you think I have x-ray vision and can see all the nasty little viruses and infections that could potentially be riddling her body?” When he failed to reply Jasper shook his head and continued. “Give me some space to examine her and I shall give you my diagnosis.”

  The way the doctor said the word diagnosis immediately brought the word fee to his mind. Unable to do anything else Ramone sat down on the unoccupied sofa and procured a smoke from his pouch. He watched for a moment as the doctor removed a penlight from his jacket and shone it into the red-haired bitch’s eyes.

  When the doctor opened that creepy bag of his he looked away and puffed on his smoke. At present, he was already screwed. He just had to wait for the doc to tell him whether or not he was terminal.

  Hall of mirrors

  Darkness swirled around Anna as she hurtled through the endless void. Spiralling downwards ghostly images of objects, people and places randomly flashed at her. Out in the distance, a pinprick of light slowly manifested, morphing into an orb the closer she drew. Desperately she stretched out a flailing arm to grab it only to realise that it had grown many times larger than herself. Silently it enveloped her.

  The blinding light dissipated and Anna opened her eyes. Carefully she picked herself up off the floor. Well, that had certainly been… strange. One glance at her surroundings told her she was not inside the cell, or anywhere near it for that matter. Instead, she stood in what appeared to be a quaint yet elegant entrance hall. The wall mounted light fixings and discrete ceiling lights bathed the room in a warm, calming glow. Taking in the lush red carpet that ran along the centre of the wood panelled floor and up the double staircase Anna could not help but feel a sense of familiarity. Had she been here before?

  To her right, a wide solid wood reception desk ran along the wall. She glanced up, not surprised to see the well-dressed man, with a smile to match the width of the staircase, standing behind it. Such people always did try too hard she mused, paying him no heed. Though a stark improvement on where she had expected to find herself, Anna could not shake a feeling of unease. There was something else not right about this place she thought, cautiously taking a step down the lobby. Almost as if something lurked behind the finery, waiting for the right moment to rear its ugly head.

  “Welcome.”

  Anna sharply turned to her right where a woman had appeared out of seemingly thin air. She looked her up and down. Where had she materialised from? The pristine white power suit, sharp red nails and stilettos aside, the manner in which the woman carried herself told her instantly that she was in charge.

  “We’ve been expecting you.” The calm yet authoritative tone of the woman’s voice sent an involuntary chill down Anna’s spine as she gestured towards the stairs. “This way please.”

  Anna looked at her suspiciously for a moment. Something deep inside made her instinctively wary of the woman. However, a glance around the lobby revealed no alternative but to follow her upwards. Cautiously she allowed the woman to lead her up the left-hand side of the staircase. Unlike the reception, the upstairs hallway was surprisingly dark. However, a glance above her head revealed no lack of light fixtures. Through the darkness, she could make out several doors along each wall.

  “Here we are now,” the manager said, directing Anna to the first door on the left.

  The overhead light suddenly popped into life and revealed the numbers 4-6 on the door. Before Anna knew what was happening, the door opened and she found herself shepherded across the threshold.

  “Hey don’t I get the….” she paused in disbelief, “…key,” she finished slowly as her brain struggled to process the scene before her.

  In front of her lay a wide thicket of tall grass that reached up above her head. What on earth she thought, instinctively spinning around to reach for the door handle. Only both handle and door had vanished. Leaving her completely surrounded by thick green grass.

  Well, there was no sense in staying here she thought. Picking a direction Anna started weaving a path through the blades. The muddy ground squelched beneath her feet. She hadn’t gone far when a hacking sound filled the air. Spinning round to face the direction from which it had come, Anna peered t
hrough the thicket in an attempt to locate the source. Only the grass did not allow her any glimpse of what lay beyond. Her curiosity did not have to wait long. Almost out of nowhere something plastic shot towards her; almost poking her eye out. An arm soon followed along with the rest of its owner. It was a boy of a similar age to herself with short brown hair and mud all over his clothes.

  “Who are you?” they both asked in unison. The boy’s tone told her that the encounter had come as a surprise to them both.

  “I’m an explorer,” the boy replied proudly, waving the plastic object around.

  It was a sword Anna realised, a plastic sword.

  “I’m…” Anna began. She had intended to say the word confused, but for some reason, the word, “lost,” came out instead.

  “That’s ok,” the boy replied cheerily. “Explorers find lost things all the time.” Anna almost burst out laughing. Though faint she knew she had heard the exact same line before… a long time ago… “I guess you’ll just have to come with me.”

  Before she could reply, the boy set off into the grass, leaving Anna with little choice but to follow. It was a strange notion, being led off somewhere by a boy with a plastic sword, yet she couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. How long they wandered through the never-ending field of green Anna could not say. The boy kept taking turns at odd intervals and she could not shake the feeling that he had any more of an idea about where they were going than she did. Eventually, she decided to ask.

  “Do you know where we are?” she ventured in the nicest way possible, not wanting to offend him.

  Merrily he ineffectively hacked at some more grass with his sword. “Nope.”

  “What!” Anna exclaimed, unable to hide her annoyance. She had been afraid of that answer, almost expected it if truth be told, but that didn’t help soften the blow. “How could you not know where we are?”