At eight he showered, keeping his head under the icy water until the very last of the sluggishness got shaken from it. When he was done, he dried off and put on a pair of khaki camo overalls, a t-shirt, and a gray woolen sweater. Then he took out his weapons and tactical equipment from his pack, laid them out neatly on the bed, and sorted out what he needed.
When everything was ready, he strapped his web belt around his waist. Picking up the first Glock, he inserted a magazine into the pistol frame and chambered a round, then slid the gun into its holster and pulled down tight on the Velcro strap. He did the same with the second Glock, and slipped two extra magazines into the tactical pouches on his belt. With the element of surprise, he didn’t expect the encounter to turn into a firefight, but one never knew. Finally, he put on his boots, stuck his stag-handled boot knife into its sheath, and strapped it under his left pant leg. His just in case weapon.
He put on his rain slicker next, then went over and examined himself in the closet mirror. Nothing appeared too bulky under the slicker. It had rained on and off all day, and he wouldn’t look out of place wearing it.
At eight fifty-five p.m., he hit the light and headed for the door.
Downstairs in the lobby, there was no sign of Marlee. He sat down at a chair by the entrance, thankful Harold wasn’t around. He was in no mood for small talk. He could feel his stomach bunch up again, and he had to concentrate on his breathing to keep the muscles relaxed, staring across at the far wall, trying to think of nothing.
Finally, after twenty minutes, the lobby door flung open and he looked up to see Marlee standing in the entranceway, an easy, relaxed smile on her face. “Well, hey there, good looking,” she greeted him. “You all set to take me out on the town?”
Brogan breathed a sigh of relief. He had been worried Marlee might not show up, that there had never had been any Haiden Ritter, and that the whole thing had just been a ploy to make some money out of him. He certainly wouldn’t have put it past her.
Standing up quickly, he put his arm on her shoulder. Without a word, he wheeled her around and escorted her back out the door.
Marlee giggled. “Whoa, easy sport! No need to manhandle me like that.”
“Where are we going?” Brogan asked once they were out on the boardwalk. The muscles in his throat had contracted so tight, he could barely get the words out.
“This way,” she said, pointing west along the Drag. “We’re off to the wharves.”
“The wharves?” Brogan looked at her suspiciously. “You’re telling me Ritter is down by the lake?”
“That’s right, honey. He’s got a bar there. It’s for regulars, not tourists like you. The booze is cheap and it’s got a jukebox.” She smiled at him “I got to warn you though, it’s pretty rough. Lucky you’re with a girl who knows how to handle herself.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t have to stay long,” Brogan said, ignoring Marlee’s little joke.
“You brought the rest of my money, right?”
“Of course. Soon as you take me to Ritter, you’ll get it.”
They stepped off the boardwalk onto the muddy street. Marlee slipped her arm around his waist.
“Oh my,” she exclaimed, as she felt what was under his raincoat. “Looks like you really are going to surprise your friend!”
“You sure he doesn’t know I’m coming?”
“Of course not. It’s set up just the way you want it. How else am I going to get my money?”
They walked a few blocks, then Marlee crossed over to the far side of the Drag and took Brogan down a narrow, unlit street. It looked identical to the one he’d ridden up that evening when he first arrived in Two Jacks, with similar rundown shacks to either side of it.
The moon chose that moment to dip behind a heavy bank of clouds, and the street gave him the same uneasy feeling as last time. Even Marlee, her demeanor normally so confident, appeared tense, and she held onto Brogan’s arm tightly.
“Maybe we should have taken a moto taxi,” she whispered to him as they passed the first cross street.
“Too late now,” Brogan replied, peering warily to either side of him, then checked back over his shoulder. He thought he saw someone in the shadows a hundred yards behind them, and motioned for Marlee to stop. The last thing he wanted now was to get into some type of confrontation before he even got to meet Ritter. He opened the buttons of his raincoat and pulled back the strap from his right holster.
“What is it?” Marlee whispered nervously.
“There’s somebody back there,” Brogan replied. “Probably just a bum.”
After waiting a couple of moments they continued on their way, Brogan keeping careful watch behind him. As they got closer to the wharves, he could feel the wind from the lake blowing in his hair, its moistness on his lips. At the bottom of the street, where it intersected with the wharf road, an old neon sign hung over the doorway to a small, two-story building. As they got closer, he could make the sign out. It read: Paradise Lo.
Below its neon wash, two men stood in the doorway. Brogan could see the red glows from their cigarettes as they talked. Their body postures looked relaxed, and one cackled loudly at something the other one had just said.
“Paradise Low?” Brogan said. “Why, that would be hell, wouldn’t it?”
Marlee chuckled “The sign’s old. Actually, it’s called the Paradise Lounge. Ritter told me a guy hauled it all the way up from California along with a bunch of other stuff, then got himself killed in a brawl the very same night he arrived in town. Funny, right?”
Brogan wondered what the odds were that it had been Ritter who’d killed the man. Something else occurred to him.
“Ritter told you that?” he said as they approached the corner to a side road, more of an alley than a street. “When exactly did he do that?”
“Oh, a long time ago. In fact, I’m not even sure it was him that told me. I probably just picked it up from somewhere.”
Under the smoothness of her tone, Brogan detected a hint of tension. He was about to question her further when they reached the alley.
Marlee took her hand from off his elbow and stepped away from him. Brogan stared after her, then back toward the alleyway, and out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a blurry movement coming toward him. He jerked his head back, but it was too late. Something swung at him with great speed, smashing into the side of his skull. He staggered back, and his knees gave way as a series of explosions went off inside his head. In what seemed like slow motion, he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Struggling to remain conscious, Brogan heard men’s voices above him, then Marlee’s voice. She spoke in a normal tone as a man leaned over him and roughly pulled back the flaps of his coat.
In his confused state, the unconcerned tone of Marlee’s voice initially comforted him. As the waves of a dark ocean washed over him and his mind slipped into the blackness, some part of him realized there was something terribly wrong with that.
Chapter 31
Brogan awoke to a loud buzzing sound coming from somewhere close by. After some time, he realized the sound came from inside his own head. The pounding sensation above his left temple gave it away. Through the dizziness and pain, something else didn’t feel right. His body posture felt awkward and his head hung down, almost touching his chest.
Opening his eyes, he saw that he sat strapped to a metal chair, unable to move his arms or legs. A thick nylon rope had been looped several times across his chest and around the back of the chair, binding him so tight he found it difficult to breathe. Groggily, Brogan struggled to figure out what the hell had happened to him.
A memory floated into his head, of Marlee’s cool voice above him as he had lain on the muddy street by her feet, and it all came flooding back. He groaned and cursed his stupidity. In his desperation to find Ritter and the two brothers, he had allowed the girl to double-cross him and collect from both sides. If he could reach a hand into his pocket right now, he was quite sure his wallet was gone
and in Marlee’s possession. The bitch had delivered him right to the killers of his family, the very people he had been hunting. He was at their mercy now. A mercy he knew they didn’t possess.
It was hard to know how long he’d been out. He sensed it had been at least an hour. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he looked around to see he was in a medium-sized, musty-smelling room. There was a door at the far end, another to his right. Other than a wooden chair placed in one corner and several cardboard boxes stacked along a wall, the room was empty.
Through a side window he spotted the dull glint of moonlight reflecting off the lake, and from somewhere below he could hear the muffled sound of music. He heard voices too, one of them breaking into a raucous cackle, and he realized that he must be in a room at the top of the Paradise Lounge. It made the most sense.
He tried to free his hands and soon realized that as well as being bound, they had been placed in plasticuffs, almost impossible to break out of. Twisting his body from side to side, he’d just started to make some progress loosening the cords around his chest when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later, the door in front of him flung open and a bare light bulb switched on above his head.
Blinking in its harsh glare, Brogan saw a figure approach him. A hand reached down, grabbed him roughly under the chin and jerked his head up. He stared up to see a huge man with thick heavy stubble on his face and a dimple on his chin standing in front of him. He recognized him instantly as the younger of the two “Neanderthal Brothers”.
The man cocked his head to one side and gazed down at him like an inquisitive dog. “So finally you’re awake. We were getting worried about you,” he said with mock concern.
Brogan pulled his chin away from the man’s grip, noting then that the man was wearing his web belt. One of his Glocks was still holstered on it; his spare mags too. The second Glock was missing.
The man caught the direction of Brogan’s gaze, and his broad face broke out into an unpleasant smile.
“Appreciate the early Christmas present, amigo. Oh, my brother says thanks too.” He patted Brogan on the head. “Tell you what. You hang tight. I’ll go fetch him so he can tell you himself.”
With that, he turned and walked away. The light clicked off, the door slammed closed, and Brogan was in the dark once more. He didn’t have to wait long before the door opened again, the light came back on, and this time three people entered the room. A scrawny-looking man strode toward Brogan, flanked on either side by the two brothers.
It was the older brother who caught Brogan’s immediate attention. If the younger brother was big, then the eldest was a monster. He was about six foot six with huge, thick legs that completely filled out his tan cargo pants, and beneath his unbuttoned box leather jacket was the widest set of shoulders Brogan had ever seen.
Unlike his brother, his face did not contain even the slightest trace of humor, and his impassive face gazed down with cold indifference. Brogan’s second Glock hung from an olive-green leg holster strapped to the giant’s upper thigh, and on the other side of his waist, a twelve-inch black baton dangled from a ring off his belt, the business end of the stick old and scuffed. Brogan guessed it was the weapon which had connected with his head earlier.
Wedged between the two brothers, Haiden Ritter looked a little different than the photographs taken by the NIA drone. He had dyed his hair a bright orange-red now, styled in a spiky cut that accentuated his receding widow’s peak. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, but the acetylene-blue eyes and the natural curl of his right upper lip were instantly recognizable.
Ritter stood there looking down at Brogan for several seconds, then screwed up his face into a puzzled expression.
“I have absolutely no idea who the fuck this guy is,” he said finally, shaking his head. He glanced over to the younger brother, and motioned toward the corner of the room. “Fetch me the chair, Nooge, would ya? I think this might take a while.”
The younger brother turned away and returned a moment later with the chair dangling from his hand. He placed it down in front of Brogan.
Ritter sat and faced his captive. He leaned forward, his intense blue eyes staring at Brogan like they were trying to burrow inside his brain.
“This is unusual. I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a situation like this before,” he said finally. “We got a guy who shows up in Two Jacks, a stranger nobody knows from Adam’s second cousin. Nothing unusual in that, not around these parts. Except for one thing…” Ritter wagged a finger in Brogan’s face. “This stranger is running around town with the photograph of a certain individual he’s looking for. Somebody he’s never met before. And get this—he doesn’t even know the man’s name.”
Ritter leaned back in the chair, stroking the reddish-brown stubble of his chin reflectively, then turned to the brothers standing to either side of him. “Now see, I could be wrong but that strikes me as…unusual.”
He turned back to Brogan. “By the way, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, you chose the nastiest whore in Two Jacks to put your trust in,” he said with a throaty chuckle. “Marlee, she may have a pretty face, but that girl would pimp out her baby sister if she hadn’t already sold her to the slavers. What in hell’s name possessed you to choose her as your friend?”
It was a good question. If he had a good answer, Brogan might have spoken up.
Towering above him, the older brother leaned over the chair. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him, Haiden.” The giant grabbed Brogan roughly by the hair, turning his face up and peering down at him, their noses almost touching. “Like maybe he’s not right in the head.”
“You could be right,” Ritter said thoughtfully. “But something tells me there’s something else going on here, we just got to figure it out.” He turned back to Brogan. “So how about it, mister? How about you let us in on your little secret? What in hell’s name is this all about?”
Brogan desperately tried to think what to say. He would do everything in his power not to tell Ritter the truth. He didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.
“The quiet type, huh?” Ritter pulled in his chair a little closer. “Okay, let’s start off with the basics then, shall we? Frank Brogan. That’s your name, right?”
“Yeah. That’s my name.”
“Oh! Finally, he speaks. I was afraid Brick hit you so hard you’d forgotten your own name.” Ritter turned to the older brother. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you, Brick?”
“Plenty of times. I can do it again if you want.”
“It might come to that, but seeing as I’m the guy this man’s been gunning for, why don’t you give me a chance to see if I can persuade him to talk,” Ritter said with a smirk. “So, who’s paying you, Brogan? ‘Cos that’s the only thing that makes sense here. What miserable motherfucker paid you to take me out?”
“Ritter, you piss so many people off, you really don’t know?” Brogan said, staring him in the face. “Guess the man was right. You really are lower than a snake’s belly.”
Ritter’s smirk got nastier. “Before the night’s out, I will extract those words from your mouth, one by one. But first, who is this man that speaks so highly of me, and how come he don’t even know my name?”
Brogan couldn’t think what to say. He just kept his gaze on Ritter.
Ritter threw his hands up in the air and laughed. “Oh man, you got me curious now. I mean, how much money did this guy pay you? And what use is it to you now anyway?”
“And where’re you keeping it?” Nooge cut in.
“Good question. We can work on that later. But first question, numero…uno…” Ritter jabbed a finger into Brogan’s chest repeatedly, “who the hell sent you here?”
Brogan shook his head. “For the life of me, I can’t remember. Seriously, I think Brick really did knock the sense out of me.” He stared up at the huge man standing beside him. “By the way…Brick? Who came up with that? It’s genius. Please don’t tell me it was
your mother.”
Brick scowled at him. “Hey asshole, how about I give you a clue?” He made a fist and hovered it under Brogan’s nose. Brogan looked down in shock. The hand was absolutely massive.
“Haiden,” he said to Ritter, “you really lucked out with this one. Just wind him up and point him in the right direction. Bet he’s cheap to run too. What do you feed him on—old bones and stale biscuits?”
Brick smiled for the first time. Not a smile that gave Brogan a warm feeling. “That’s funny, wiseass. Keep ‘em coming.”
They were going to kill him. Brogan knew that. However, he would play the game as long as he could. It was the way he was wired, and trained, too. The longer you stayed alive, the better chance you had of surviving, no matter how bad the odds looked.
Ritter stared at Brogan, a nasty sneer on his face. His upper lip had curled so high that a tooth bared. “Quit stalling, Brogan. There’s nobody coming to save you, so let’s get this over with.”
“Truly, I can’t remember. Tell you what. How about you rack your brains and give me the names of all the people you’ve ripped off—the ones you haven’t killed, that is. Maybe the name will come to me. I know, I know…this could take a while.”
Ritter stretched back in his chair. Interlocking the fingers of both hands, he placed them on the top of his head. He stared at Brogan. “Frank, it’s becoming obvious you’re just plain bad with names. No, we need to do this another way. Time to kick things up a gear, see if we can’t do something about that smartass behavior of yours while we’re at it. Nooge, the toolbox.”
The younger brother walked over and opened the near door on the right. Staring inside, Brogan saw that Ritter used it as an office. There was an old desk at the back. Behind it, an executive high-back chair. And running along the side of the wall, a gray metal filing cabinet. Nooge stepped out of sight behind the door. Moments later, he was back with a large toolbox. It made a heavy clanking sound as he placed it on the floor beside Ritter, who leaned over and threw open the lid. Inside were a variety of work tools.
Winter's Edge: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Outzone Drifter Series Book 1) Page 22