by R Weir
“Disappointing to hear. I was flattered being asked. I’ve been single for many years now. When a lady approaches offering dinner, my hopes go sky high, especially when they aren’t a student.”
Athena smiled, finding it hard to believe any student would be interested in this man. But it was a strange world, and one never knows the type of people one might desire to get their motor running.
“Do you have a favorite restaurant in town where you like to eat?”
“Normally I pick up fast food and take it home. We could go to Dee’s Family Restaurant which is nearby. It’s basic American food, but it’s good eating. It should be fairly quiet in there right now.”
Athena stepped to one side and pointed. “Lead the way.”
Zorn picked up his bag, the two walking up the steps, his motion slow and painful, the upward movement difficult for him.
“This fifty-seven-year-old man has bad knees,” he stated once he reached the top. “Probably need a replacement on the right knee one of these days.”
“I’m in no hurry,” replied Athena. “I had knee surgery when I was nineteen. ACL injury on the left knee. It was a long rehab I didn’t enjoy.”
“Sports injury?” he asked.
“Yes. Played basketball in college. I wasn’t a great player and the ACL more or less concluded my playing days. At least with the elite players. I still shoot a hoop or two for fun.”
“As I’m sure you can tell by my body type, athletics weren’t for me. I was always the smart one. I’d get the nerdy girls, I guess you’d call them these days. Fortunately found one willing to marry me.”
“You mentioned being single. Am I to assume she didn’t stay with you?” Athena was probing for information.
“Oh, she did stay. Unfortunately died of cancer several years back.” Zorn paused, sorrow filling his tone. “Horrible thing to see happen to a loved one.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Athena sincerely.
He tried to compose himself. “One of the…worst days of my life. Not the last I must say.”
Once on the elevator, the two travelled to the first floor, the ride quiet. Athena thought over how to approach the situation, figuring one of those other bad days was his testifying against his brother-in-law and entering WITSEC. It couldn’t have been easy uprooting your whole life and changing every aspect of it.
“Have you lived here all your life?” wondered Athena.
“No. I grew up elsewhere. Why do you ask?” Zorn looked at her sideways.
“I noticed a little bit of an accent. Figured you didn’t grow up here.”
He had worked on removing the European tone of his voice, but it slipped back out from time to time. Especially when he was upset, like when talking about his deceased wife. He grew concerned about why this woman was here, with him, wanting to talk. It was flattering, but now he was nervous there’s more to it.
As they neared the lobby to head outside, he stopped worried about his safety.
“I’m sorry, but I forgot I had a meeting with a student,” he stated, a lie to keep from going outside. “Maybe we can talk another time.”
“It’s important we talk now, Adin,” said Athena, hoping using his god given name wouldn’t spook him.
His eyes lit up, a name he’d not heard in years. He stepped back, fear gripping him.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” declared Athena, sensing his nervousness. “A man is holding two people prisoner, threatening to kill them if I don’t find you. One is an eighteen-year-old woman another a man I work with.”
“Who wants you to find me?” His hand holding the satchel was shaking.
Athena thought about it for a minute and said the name slowly. “Conn Ives Reinbach.”
Adin was shocked to hear the name. “How can that be? He is dead.”
“No. He is alive. And willing to kill if I don’t find you.”
“And then what?”
She paused again. She didn’t want to leave any facts out, even if it meant the man would run, likely to call his handler letting them know that he’d been discovered. She softened her eyes, trying not to appear threatening.
“He wants me to bring you to him.”
Adin started to stumble backward, as if he was going to faint. Athena grabbed him, preventing him from falling. She guided him over to a couple of chairs in the lobby so he could sit down. Both hands were shaking, his expression showing sheer terror. He tried to talk, the words coming out slowly.
“He…hehe…will…killlll me. Oh my…what he’lllll…do to me.”
“You’re safe for now, no-one but me knows where you are. It would seem you know what he’s capable of.”
His eyes bore into hers, memories flooding his mind. “Oh god…yes. I’ve seen it…the horrible ways he…tortures people.” He paused, his hands on his cheeks. “He will…blame me for it all. You can’t take me to him. You have no idea…the gross ways he inflicts pain…relishing every moment of it.”
“What if I told you I can protect you from him,” Athena said, trying to sound confident. “We can stop him. Put him away for good where he can’t hurt you.”
Adin shook his head. “No, no! He can’t be stopped in jail. He sent me photos and videos of what he’d do to me when I first went to the FBI. I was ready to cave to his threats, but they told me he would kill me, even if I didn’t testify.” He continued to rub his face with his hands. “I had no choice but to go into witness protection. I thought I was safe when I knew he was dead. But now…God, oh God. What am I going to do?”
Athena thought it over for a minute, deciding to make a bold statement. “What if we were to kill him for you?”
He looked up. Staring at her, wondering what she could possibly do.
“You?” he said, not buying it for a minute. “How can you kill him? You’re one woman against a gangster like him. I don’t believe you stand a chance.”
Athena put a hand on his forearm. “I’m not alone. I have a team of well trained—how should I put it—soldiers. If we can find him, we can put him down. You’ll never fear him again.” She paused knowing this was the part where she needed to convince him. “But I need you to lure him out in the open. Until that happens, he won’t stop looking for you.”
“Use me as bait?” he asked, still shaking. “I don’t know. I should call my handler. They’re going to want to move me elsewhere. If you found me…oh God…then he could as well.”
He started to reach for his phone, but Athena stopped him, taking it away before dropping it in her coat pocket. She then pulled out her own phone and brought up a picture of Olivia and showed it to him.
“See this beautiful young woman who just turned eighteen.” Athena shook the phone in front of his face, making sure he saw it. “Her whole life is ahead of her. Those horrible things you talked about; they’re going to do to her if you aren’t there by Monday evening. You’ve had fifty-seven years of life to live. Give her a chance to make it beyond eighteen. Give me and my team a chance to save her and put down this horrible man. Then you both can go on living.”
He looked at the picture, not certain what to do. Fear had consumed him; irrational were his thoughts. He knew in hiding he’d been safe for many years now. But now that he knew Reinbach was alive, he didn’t feel safe anymore. She sounded confident but was it enough to defeat this man. He’d pay any amount of money in the world for this to be over. Maybe this was the only real option he had.
“Come on professor,” urged Athena, standing up holding out a hand. “Man up and let’s go have dinner and discuss this. Maybe we can find a solution together to save you and the girl.”
Adin grabbed her hand and his satchel before standing up and nodding his head, even though he was scared to death. They walked out the front door, leading to her car. As they neared the parking lot two men stepped out in front of her, one she remembered from when she turned Hunter over to them in Montana. From behind the two men stepped Valerie, walking between them, a grim smile on her face.
Athena stepped in front of Adin, shielding him, sensing his fear growing. Thoughts of how they had found her running through her head. She cursed at herself about not having her gun with her, the three being armed. It would seem a fight was imminent. One she wasn’t equipped to win.
Chapter 61
Doing calisthenics and pushups was the only exercise Hunter was afforded. A treadmill would have come in handy, running in place not pushing his 6’3” 210-pound physique the way he wanted. He needed to keep his body pliable and ready for action. The days were getting away from them, the possibility of a brutal ending becoming more likely. He wasn’t about to let horrible things happen to Olivia that were promised by the man who reveled in his alter ego, Brushstroke. Desperate times called for desperate measures. And Hunter was on the verge of being a desperate man.
After his exercise, he worked with Olivia to try and sharpen and enhance her fighting skills. She wasn’t a small girl, at around 5’11” and 130 pounds but was little when compared to the men she might encounter. Hunter worked with her on punching and kicking. First with her attacking his open hands with a series of jabs and hooks, followed by front, side and roundhouse kicks. When her adroitness improved, his hands taking a beating, he held a pillow to strike, encouraging her to knock the stuffing out of it. With practice her skills became more refined, though working on taking a punch wasn’t practical to rehearse. A fact she’d likely encounter in a skirmish. The biggest question was if she could summon the will to fight in the heat of battle. Hunter preached to react and not think too much when going up against an opponent. These men wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.
Their meals, which had only come twice a day, had been getting smaller and smaller. The snack food in the cabinets dwindling down, bottled water running out, nothing getting restocked. It seemed they were being prepared for the worst, to weaken them, making resistance more difficult. Hunter made sure Olivia got the nourishment she needed. He possessed the build and stamina to soldier on. Hydration was foremost for them, with water still available. Though they were down to what was in the tap and it was a hard water in need of filtering and not the most pleasant tasting.
Dragging on, another day edged into late afternoon, until a knock came at the door. Two of the many men working the compound told Hunter and Olivia their presence was requested. He wasn’t sure what the crazy Brushstroke wanted them for, but he whispered to Olivia to be prepared to fight if necessary, remain tough and don’t let the crazy man intimidate her. The two walked out, down the hallway and out the front door, told to head to the main building, the two men with guns at the ready on their heels. Once inside the assistant Norvin guided them to the art studio, where Brushstroke sat in a leather office chair, staring out his picture glass window, gazing at the horizon. Three other folding chairs were setup, one occupied by Isiah Sellers, a stressed expression contouring his cheeks.
Brushstroke turned from the window, wearing a painter’s apron, a rainbow splash of colors covering much of the beige material. A red painter’s beret covered his long slicked down hair, his eyes surveying the room. A stern guise overwhelmed his face, the brutal man calling them together for reasons he was about to make apparent.
“It has come to my attention you’ve been working out with the young lady,” stated Brushstroke. “Preparing her for battle it would seem. Is this correct Hunter?”
Hunter scoffed at the words. “What do you expect us to do all day, repose and do nothing. We would become stiff as a corpse lying in bed all day. We’re simply exercising.”
“It leads me to believe you’re making futile plans to escape.” His eyes bored into them both.
It would have been true if Hunter had an inkling of an idea on a plan of escape. Though he was pleased the thought was worrying Brushstroke.
“Hard to make plans you wouldn’t know about with a camera on us twenty-four hours a day. And if they were futile, why would you be concerned?”
Brushstroke turned his attention to Olivia, ignoring Hunter’s question. “What do you say young lady?”
Olivia didn’t bat an eye. “Like Hunter says, we are weary from inactivity. We need to find an avenue to pass the time—relieve the stress. Better movies, a book or my phone would be helpful. I’m slowly dying of boredom not being able to hear my music and text my friends.”
“Yes, the younger generation and it’s technical devices they can’t survive without.” He dismissed the need with a handwave before gesturing at all his paintings. “Where I can sit here all day and paint. The time flying by.”
“Great. Then give me a paint brush, paint and a canvas,” replied Olivia with a smirk. “It would be better than doing nothing.”
Brushstroke laughed, pointing at the girl, admiring her moxy. He then turned his attention to Sellers.
“I understand you took a walk with Olivia,” he proclaimed, on his feet walking towards Sellers. “Even chided the guard to give you privacy. What did you talk about with your wonderful daughter?”
Olivia sneered. “I’m not his daughter. Please don’t call me that.”
Brushstroke glared back at Olivia with an eye raise. “It would seem the walk didn’t go as planned, did it Isiah?”
Sellers glanced down. “We talked, or at least I did.”
“About?”
“I wanted to try and make a connection. Explain why I had been gone for so long.” He stopped to shake his head. “But she wasn’t hearing it. Called me a coward.”
Brushstroke shook in mock fear. “The little lady shot you down. Such a cold assertion to make. How did that make you feel?”
Sellers looked over at Olivia, deciding not to answer.
“I say anger was your reaction,” chimed Brushstroke. “Not a surprise given your past temperament.”
Hunter stood up, understanding where this might be leading. He knew of Sellers anger issues—his rage verbalized, at times boiling over into violence. He knew all the stories, having heard them from Paige.
“What game are you playing?” wondered Hunter, divulging his own threatening tone.
“Sit down,” said the voice behind him, one of the guards ready to stop Hunter if he made an aggressive move.
“Not until I know what old Brushstroke here is hoping to accomplish by stirring us up.”
“Come now Hunter,” chided Brushstroke. “Doesn’t the lovely Olivia deserve the truth about her natural father. Or does she already know what type of man he was.”
“She doesn’t need to know,” blurted Sellers, who was now standing too. “I’ve come a long way since those days. Her knowing does no good now, for it’s in the past.”
“Growing a spine are we Isiah,” declared Brushstroke, who walked forward in a threatening manner, index finger pointing, his voice rising. “You should mind your tone with me and sit the fuck down!”
Hunter was ready to act, but then felt an extended fighting baton tapping him on the shoulder as a warning. If the man behind him was skilled with the weapon, it could do a significant amount of damage. Hunter raised his hands in surrender and sat back down.
Brushstroke backed away, his red face returning to normal. He found his chair, sitting back down, fingers interlocked before him, trying to find calmness.
“All I wish to do is make the young woman understand that trusting the man who wants to be her father is a fool’s errand. It will only lead to heartache and physical pain, much like your mother endured.”
“He hurt…my mother?” inquired Olivia, trepidation in her voice.
Hunter could feel where this was going, his pulse rate rising, feeling his hands clenching.
“Oh…my…yes,” replied Brushstroke, seeming to find delight in exposing these facts. “Mentally and physically.”
“Is that true?” asked Olivia of Sellers.
He didn’t answer, his blank stare telling you all she needed to know.
Brushstroke sat back watching how it all played out before him, his eyes darting back and forth. If he picked up a brush and started painting, Hunter was going to scream. His fingers relaxed and he walked over to Olivia putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Olivia, your mother healed a long time ago about what happened,” explained Hunter. “She never forgave him and never will, which is why she’ll always block him from seeing you.” He looked back at Sellers, so he understood this fact. “Don’t get mired down in this evil man’s mind games. His intent is to keep you off kilter. He gets off on seeing your anger and fear. It’s a part of his psychotic personality.”
“Masterful, Hunter,” declared Brushstroke, lightly clapping his hands. “You’ve got me pegged. I guess my revealing to her that you were the one who pulled her mother through those dark times would further fuel your analogy of me.” His hands now cupped together, shaking in excitement. “Then being the great man you were, you broke her heart again when you couldn’t’ commit to a life with her and her toddler Olivia.”
Hunter knew it was true but wasn’t going to let the words distract him. He stepped over in front of Olivia, searching for the right words to tell her, which he soon found. Words he needed to reveal to himself.
“It had nothing to do with your mother or you. Both of you were wonderful. I cared for you both…deeply. It was all me and still is to this day, with all the other women who’ve come into my life. Don’t ever let this madman make you think any less of yourself. You’re important. As is your mother, father and brother. Where he isn’t.” Hunter pointed firmly at Brushstroke.
Olivia knew most of the story of her mother and Hunter. Maybe not the gory details, but still she knew there had been pain with the separation. It was hard for her to hate a man who was trying to build her up and to save her. She gave him a hug, never a doubt she would forgive him no matter his transgressions. Maybe rescuing her would be his salvation.
“Moving scene,” announced Brushstroke, clapping fully this time. “It would seem you believe this man will be your savior.” He stood up, pointing his finger. “Believe me when I tell you, he won’t be able to save you from the torture I have planned if his friends don’t bring me the man who destroyed my life and killed my sister!” His tone and anger increasing with each word. “And he’ll watch helplessly the whole time as my men strip your life and dignity away, piece…by…piece.”