by Peter Parkin
*****
Fazal and Hamat walked confidently along Queen St. West, dressed in their Toronto Police Service uniforms. They were walking the beat, passing by the MetroCafe. They nodded at the Middle Eastern man sitting at a table on the patio with his Caucasian lunch partner. They continued on to the end of the block and turned right. They had already walked the other beat at the opposite end of the block and everything was in order there. This would be their last checkpoint.
Then they saw it—a black BMW with two men sitting in the front seat. They appeared to match the photos. Fazal and Hamat exchanged knowing glances and, without a word, crossed the street and headed straight toward the shiny black Bimmer.
*****
Troy and Jim sat in Jim's car, parked a block away from the MetroCafe. The receiver was sitting on the dashboard and working like a charm. The conversation between their boss and Samson was coming through loud and clear.
Troy was giving the thumbs up sign. "It's going well so far. Samson seems anxious to talk. This might be a breeze."
Jim nodded. "Yeah, we may not have to hang around here too long. If Mikey can just control himself this may be over soon."
Troy suddenly nudged Jim in the arm and pointed. "Shit, we have cops coming our way. Grab that receiver and stick it on the floor!"
Jim pulled the machine off the dash and put it on the floor beneath his feet. He hoped the cops hadn't seen him do it. He watched as they strode purposefully toward his car, two dark-skinned uniformed officers. Affirmative Action at work, he thought wryly.
Troy and Jim tried to look nonchalant as the officers approached. They were definitely coming to their car and looked as if they were on a mission. One came over to the driver's side window and the other to the passenger side.
*****
In their most official fashion, Fazal and Hamat rapped their knuckles on the windows just as they'd seen done in American movies at least a hundred times.
The stooges inside immediately cooperated, and hit the power window buttons.
The skinny guy in the driver's seat asked, "What's the problem, officer?" Fazal smiled. Then he lifted his right hand and fired a small pistol at the man's neck. The big guy in the other seat yelled in protest for half a second until he was cut off with a shot from Hamat's gun. Both men slumped forward instantly. The assailants pulled them back against their seats, and pushed the power seat buttons to lower them into prone positions. Fazal opened the driver's door and lifted the receiver off the floor, sticking it under his arm.
Before leaving, they pulled the darts out of the necks of the two men and closed their eyelids. Fazal left a note in the lap of the driver. Then the power windows were rolled up again, and the doors locked.
Fazal and Hamat looked back as they walked away. The two stooges looked just like a couple of fags having a peaceful autumn nap together, which was of course exactly what they were doing.
*****
Mike sipped his coffee and looked into the black eyes of the embezzler sitting across from him. Samson was smiling as he picked away at his salmon salad.
"Are you certain that you do not want something to eat, Michael? As I said, I changed my mind and decided to treat today, so choose anything you want."
Mike sucked up the willpower to be polite. "No. Thanks for your kind offer, but I'll just stick with coffee."
David shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and stuffed it under the salt shaker. "Okay, suit yourself. The food is very good, though."
Mike reached down at his side and pulled the briefcase up onto his lap. He opened it a crack and showed David the bills inside. "Let's get this over with. This is yours. We have an agreement, I believe?"
David's face showed no reaction. "And what is that agreement we have, Michael, and how much money is in that case?"
Mike started seething inside. "Christ, are you stupid? The agreement is that you will not press charges against me for the unfortunate incident in front of the church. And the case contains $35,000 per your agreement with Jim Belton."
"Oh, so this is a bribe, no?"
"Let's just call it a business deal. To promote harmony between us." The word 'harmony' dripped from Mike's mouth with undeniable sarcasm. He emphasized the word further by cracking his knuckles in frustration.
"Are you truly sorry? I have not heard you say that yet?"
With great willpower Mike stopped himself from diving across the table and punching the man again. "I'm not going to apologize to you. I still think you're a crook. You deserve more than that beating. I'm well aware of the stunt you pulled with my daughters. The handwriting on the birthday card matches the condolence card you sent me. You kidnapped my girls you piece of shit! Why did you do that?" Mike moved his hand up to his collar and felt ever so casually to satisfy himself that the microphone was still in its place.
"That is a strong accusation, Michael. Are you a handwriting expert now in addition to all of the other talents you think you possess?"
Mike leaned forward and smacked both palms down on David's side of the table. "Quit the bullshit, Samson! You've done more than just kidnap my girls. You also embezzled my company in cahoots with Gerry Upton. Admit it!"
Mike did a quick check to make sure they were still the only people sitting on the patio. He realized with some alarm that he was losing his temper again. He tried harder to focus on Jim's warnings—stay cool.
"Are you not full of crazy accusations today?" David smiled at him in that evil way that made Mike's skin crawl. "And when you beat me up in front of the church, you called me a murderer. What caused you to say such a thing?"
"That was just a burst of anger. I had no idea what I was saying." Mike looked away from the table and noticed two police officers walk by; one was carrying a black box. He felt like calling out to them and asking them to arrest this man right now. But for what, and what real proof did he have of anything? Samson seemed to be too smart to say something that would be useful in the recording. It was like he knew. Or, was Mike wrong? Was it possible that Samson was not Gerry's accomplice after all?
"So I will ask you again—before you hand over the money, are you going to apologize for hitting me?"
"No, I'm not. Just take the money, shut up, and stay the fuck away from me."
David smiled, and patted himself on his left shirt pocket. "Feel my chest, Michael."
Mike sat up straight in his chair, and sneered, "What are you, queer now? I'm not going to touch you!"
Suddenly, before Mike could react, David's left hand shot out and grabbed his right hand in an iron grip. At almost the same instant, Mike realized that his left wrist was immobilized by David's right hand. David was squeezing the wrist with his thumb, ever so slowly, ever so painfully.
David yanked the right hand back toward him and onto his chest. Mike tried to pull his hand back, but it wouldn't budge. The pressure on the hand was extreme. This man was strong. And his left hand was starting to throb as the blood flow was being cut off by the man's superhuman thumb.
"Now, Michael. Concentrate on what your right hand is feeling. What do you feel?"
Mike decided there was nothing he could do but answer. "A...pulse of some... kind," he said through gritting teeth.
"Very good, Michael. A vibration, no? That is a little detection device I have in my shirt pocket—very tiny, just like the device you're wearing, no? It tells me by vibration if I am near any type of radio transmitter. Clever, yes?"
Mike gulped. What was going to happen now?
"You should know that I too have a recording device, just a simple one in my jacket pocket—not as highly technical as yours. But it works. I now have a recording of you trying to bribe me to not press charges—which of course is 'obstruction of justice.' Remember, smart man, I am a lawyer."
David then forced Mike's hand down onto the table and gripped it on the wrist in the same way as he had his left hand. Then he applied pressure with his thumbs on both wrists. Mike was afraid he
was going to have to scream out, the pain was so bad.
"Where is your boxing ability now, Michael? It is considerably different when you are not the one taking the cheap shots, no?"
Mike could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes. The pain was bad, but his worst fear was letting this maniac see him cry.
"I will release the pressure if I hear you apologize to me. Apologize now, or I will squeeze even harder. I am skilled at putting my thumbs through wooden boards or wrists—both are of equal ease to me."
Mike believed him. "I'm...sorry...David."
The pressure was released almost immediately. Mike breathed easier. Then David let his hands free. Mike pulled them back on to his lap and rubbed his wrists. He could feel the comforting warmth of blood flowing back into his hands.
"Do you know what you are apologizing for, Michael?"
"Hitting you."
"You are too arrogant and superior in your elitist mind to realize that you have a lot more in your life to apologize for than just that. But, no matter, we will leave here now. Bend over please and look under the table."
Mike did as he was told. To his shock, he saw a gun with a silencer pointed at his crotch. He looked up. "What's that for? There's no need for this! Take your money and go!"
"I have no intention of taking that money. Get up from the table and walk down the street to your right, then turn right at the next street. And remember, this gun will be pointed right at your back. Take your fancy alligator leather briefcase with you."
Mike's legs felt like rubber as he made his way down the street, hearing the footsteps of Samson directly behind him. They turned right at the corner and he immediately saw Jim's black BMW parked across the street. He felt a rush of hope—his friends would see right away that he was in trouble, and they would have also heard the conversation over the receiver.
Samson instructed him to cross the street, right at the point where the BMW was. Mike thought—this was perfect. But then in the next thought he realized that neither of his friends was armed. He hoped now that they would just stay in the car and remain safe. There was nothing they could do to help him now.
As he got closer he noticed that something was wrong. Troy and Jim were reclined in their seats and appeared to be asleep—or dead.
"Look at your two incompetent friends. Sleeping on the job. It is so comforting to have friends who are concerned about you, no?"
They passed by the car and Mike could see that neither of them was moving. And based on what Samson had just said, he had known all along that they were there. He prayed to God that they were alive, and admonished the amateurish plan they had devised. What had they been thinking? They were in way over their heads with this guy. They had underestimated him by a country mile.
"Turn here." It was an alley with a barricade in front to block off traffic. Mike did as he was told, and his stomach did a flip as he noticed two police officers standing just inside the barricade. They looked like the same officers who had walked past the MetroCafe a few minutes ago. His hopes rose. David didn't seem to be the least bit concerned as Mike stared at the officers with his most convincing look of fear. He didn't have to act, he was indeed afraid. They looked back at him, expressionless. Mike then dove to the ground in front of the officers and yelled out, "He has a gun!"
To Mike's horror, both officers just laughed. Samson joined them. He then motioned with his gun for him to get up and keep walking. Mike thought, and hoped, that he was in a bad dream and would awaken at any second.
He got to his feet and continued walking until David told him to stop. He looked around. The alley was completely shrouded in tall trees on both sides. Through the trees he could see fences on both sides of the alley, separating it from the backyards of houses. They were stopped about halfway down the alley. There was nothing else there except for a metal dumpster up close to the trees. He could see the police officers at the end of the alley looking towards the street as if they were standing sentry. Mike was horrified—the police were within shouting distance. They had seen that he was in trouble, and had simply laughed at him.
"Take your clothes off."
"What?"
David yelled now. "Take your fucking clothes off!"
"No, I will not do that, you pervert!"
David took one step towards him and lashed out with a lightning kick to his groin. Down Mike went, grabbing at his crotch and screaming in pain. He looked up at Samson who now had the gun pointed at his head. "Take your clothes off now or you will have a hole in your head to match your ass."
Mike struggled to his feet and did as he was ordered. Slowly taking off each piece of clothing when what he really wanted to do was just wretch. His balls and groin area were throbbing as he lifted his legs up to remove his pants and underwear.
Now naked with the exception of wires and a device taped to his chest, and shivering more from fear than the temperature, he pleadingly looked one more time toward the two police officers at the end of the alley. One of them waved to him and laughed again.
Mike turned his head back toward Samson just in time to see a blur of movement, the spinning of a human figure in midair, and felt the impact of a powerful blow to his temple. He crumpled to the ground.
Mike slowly turned his head sideways and through his fading eyesight gazed helplessly down the length of his publicly naked body. For just an instant he experienced two unfamiliar and equally horrifying sensations: vulnerability and submissiveness.
His weary eyes glanced up and he saw the blurry figure of David Samson walking away from him, back in the direction of the police officers. Then Mike just closed his eyes, thinking that the blackness was more comforting than the light of day.
Chapter 24
Troy opened his eyes, yawned, and stretched his arms out, promptly hitting the lid of the glove compartment. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that he was lying in a recline position in a car. He looked to his left and saw Jim in the same state. Troy flicked the power button and raised himself into a seating position, trying to recall what he was doing here. Then it hit him—Mike!
He shook Jim hard until his eyes opened. Jim jerked upright and looked over at Troy, mumbling, "What the fuck?"
"Yes, 'what the fuck' exactly. How did we both fall asleep?" Then Troy's eyes widened as his memory started returning. "The cops! I saw one of them shoot you!"
Jim opened his door and stumbled out. A little unsteady, he began walking back and forth on the road, rubbing the left side of his neck. Troy got out on his side of the car and began stretching his rubbery legs.
Leaning over the hood of the car and shaking the cobwebs from his head, Jim finally started recalling. "It's coming back to me now. There were two of them. I rolled down the window and asked him what was wrong, and...I remember seeing a pistol." Jim scratched at his neck again. "Jesus, there's a welt coming up. I think this is where the bastard shot me!"
Troy walked over to Jim and examined his neck. "Yep, it's a welt alright— but luckily no bullet hole." He reached up and felt the right side of his own neck. "I've got one too. Look."
Jim nodded. "They must have tranquilized us." He opened the car door again and looked inside. "Shit! They took the receiver!"
Suddenly Troy took off, ran to the end of the block and looked down Queen Street towards the MetroCafe, then rushed back to the car out of breath. "Mike's...gone! They're not...on the...patio!"
"We had better just get back to the office. Hopefully he's already there, waiting for us." Jim pulled out his car keys and slid in behind the wheel. Troy ran around to the other side and jumped in. Then he noticed something on the floor.
"Jim, what's that?" He pointed down at a piece of paper on the floor beneath Jim's feet.
Jim leaned down and picked it up, brushing off the dirt that his shoes had left. "It's a note." He read it aloud:
"Gentlemen. I hope you have enjoyed your nice nap. So sad that you had to miss all the excitement, but I do prefer to work without bystanders and
eavesdroppers. Your boss will probably now need your assistance. You will find him down in the alley just off the street where you have been catching some shut-eye."
Jim and Troy glanced up at each other for just a second, then bolted from the car at the same time and ran toward the alley just to the rear of the car. They ran around the barricade and skidded to a stop. About fifty yards down the alley a naked body could be seen lying on the ground near a dumpster.
Troy grabbed Jim's arm and pulled. "Let's go! That must be Mike!"
They ran down the alley looking from side to side as they went, wondering if anyone was lurking, waiting for them to come to Mike's rescue. Troy got there first, and immediately knelt down beside his friend. Jim joined him and together they lifted Mike's body and moved him over to the side of the alley, stuffing Troy's jacket underneath him. Jim rolled his own jacket up and used it as a pillow for Mike's head. They noticed a large bruise on his left temple, but otherwise he looked unharmed. No blood, pulse was strong, he was breathing fine.
Gently, Troy started slapping Mike's face. "Mike! Mike! Wake up, you're okay!"
After a few seconds he started to come around. His eyelids opened and he made eye contact with his two friends, glancing from one to the other. He looked puzzled. With a loud grunt, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Then he noticed he was naked. "Shit, give me some clothes!" Troy could see the embarrassment written all over Mike's face—an expression he couldn't ever remember seeing before.
Jim picked up his jacket that had been serving as a makeshift pillow, and draped it over Mike's front. "It's okay, Mike. It's just us. Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"
Mike put his hand up to his temple. "I'm fine—my head hurts where the prick kicked me, and my wrists are aching. I remember him doing some mumbo jumbo thing with his thumbs on them—God, did that hurt." Troy could tell that Mike was alert now, and aside from his embarrassment about being naked, no worse for the wear.
Mike struggled to his feet, and tied Jim's jacket around his waist. Troy picked up his own suit jacket and put it around Mike's shoulders. He could see Mike instantly relax now that he was pretty much covered up. Then he started looking around. "Where the fuck are my clothes? He must have taken them!"