by Ethan Cross
Ackerman could see his old friend, Winston, approaching over Maggie’s shoulder. Apparently, Winston hadn’t made the cut to accompany Lash. Or perhaps Winston merely had a short amount of time left on his sentence.
The truth of the judicial system was that the participants in this little revolution would end up looking like victims. They would probably get by with no consequences. They may even receive cash settlements. Winston may have chosen to stay behind out of good financial sense. More likely, though, the large black man with the military bearing simply wasn’t worth bringing along to the ULF leader. Winston was expendable and easily replaceable, and he was moving toward them with anger in his eyes.
Maggie said, “Do something. We can’t let them just walk out of here.”
“What precisely did you expect? A Jedi mind trick? Do you want me to tell him that we’re not the droids he’s looking for?”
“You actually have seen Star Wars.”
“I told you that I read the novelizations.”
Winston stormed up and said, “No talking!”
Ackerman said, “Maggie, have you met my friend, Winston?”
“I said shut up!”
Ackerman gave a nod, and Winston was about to pass by, but then Ackerman leaned toward Maggie and said, “He doesn’t look like a Winston. I suppose I instantly picture Churchill, though. Isn’t it funny how some people and things penetrate the cultural zeitgeist like that.”
Winston kicked Ackerman hard in the chest, and he fell over and started convulsing. The electrical current pulsing through his body was invigorating. Ackerman had triggered it by imagining how he could respond to Winston’s attack. Ackerman held onto his aggression for a few seconds longer, riding the refreshing wave of electricity.
Winston started to walk away again, and Ackerman, still on the ground, said, “Where was I? Oh yes, the cultural zeitgeist. For example—”
Winston kicked him again.
And again Ackerman rode the wave.
Then he said, “And speaking of our new friend Winston being a clown and thinking of the cultural zeitgeist, are any of you afraid of clowns?”
He noticed that his words were starting to become a bit slurred from the kicks and convulsions. He continued anyway. “Mr. Powell? Maggie? I’ve found that there are a disproportionate number of people who are afraid of clowns. I’ve often wondered if that level of irrational anxiety has always manifested itself in regard to clowns, or did John Wayne Gacy, the infamous serial killer, who used to visit hospitals dressed as a clown and paint—”
Winston kicked him several times. Ackerman lost count of the number of blows. He savored the pain and let the flood gates of electricity wash over him.
When he was done with his tantrum, Winston stepped back and fought to catch his breath and control his temper.
Ackerman laughed as he spit some blood onto the concrete floor. Then he said, “So the question is: Were people always scared of clowns or did Gacy actually penetrate the fears of our society? But maybe there’s something much older causing that fear. Are people afraid of mice because of an association with their black-plague-spreading cousins, the rats? Are people afraid of snakes because of the Garden of Eden? All fascinating questions. Here’s what I think—”
This time, Winston, apparently smart enough to adapt with greater speed than Ackerman had anticipated, changed tactics. Instead of assaulting Ackerman, Winston backhanded Maggie so hard that she ended up flat on the concrete.
This time, Ackerman didn’t say another word.
Winston stood over him and said, “That’s what I thought.” Winston then grabbed Ackerman by the shoulders and easily placed him back on his knees. The big enforcer repeated the procedure with Maggie and stood over them like a silent stone sentry.
Ackerman had expected to get a couple more kicks out of Winston before things escalated, but he could probably still squeeze out another tantrum from the big man later with some well-placed insults. He was about to comment about Winston resembling a gargoyle when the door to the conference room opened.
Jerry Dunn had apparently finished his preparations. And more quickly than Ackerman had initially estimated.
Dunn set his sights on Maggie and then moved down the stairs toward them. The young man’s eyes were glassy but wide and hyper-alert and filled with the most basic of hungers.
Jerry reached them and didn’t speak for a moment. He just stood there, devouring Maggie with those filthy eyes. Dunn said, “Winston, please escort Agent Carlisle upstairs to the warden’s office for me.”
Winston looked conflicted. Ackerman could see that the big man had at least some moral compass. Winston didn’t like the idea of Dunn raping one of the hostages. Winston said, “Sir, I—”
“It’s a direct order.”
Winston considered that a moment and said, “Yes, sir.”
Ackerman watched as Winston hauled Maggie to her feet, and he said nothing. He didn’t argue or protest. He knew it would be a waste of breath.
Maggie looked genuinely afraid. She met his gaze and said, “Do something.”
He said nothing.
Winston pushed her forward and led her away. She glared at Ackerman over her shoulder.
Jerry bent his knees into a crouch, brought his face close to Ackerman’s, and said, “I’m not afraid of you.” Jerry traced his finger down the side of Ackerman’s face and added, “No big speech?”
Ackerman whispered, “I’m going to call our little game ‘A Lesson in Loss.’”
Jerry laughed. “Sounds like my life story.”
Ackerman said nothing.
“So what exactly are you going to teach me about loss that I don’t already know? Huh, Mr. Consultant? You’re nothing but a junkyard dog. And they’re not so scary when they’re on a leash.”
Ackerman said nothing.
Jerry gave a smug little smile and followed after Maggie and Winston, up the spiral metal staircase to the privacy and comfort of the warden’s office.
*
While Andrew was transferred around by the sheriff’s department’s switchboard as he tried to reach someone at their automotive impound desk, Marcus reviewed the photos that had been removed from Jerry’s walls. He wanted to double check that they didn’t contain any evidence that Judas was wanting to erase. But he didn’t find anything incriminating. The photos weren’t even all of the same woman. They appeared to have simply been chosen at random.
But his search did turn up one clue. A receipt from a place called The Dive Shop was stuck to the back of one of the photos. The total was for several thousand dollars, but it didn’t give a description of what was purchased. It did specify that the bill was paid in cash.
Marcus snapped a photo of the receipt and texted it to Stan with the message: Find out all you can about this ASAP.
Then he carefully placed all the photos back into the ziplock freezer bag. As he did so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Something he was missing. Something that was there and shouldn’t be or something that should have been there but was now gone.
Andrew placed his phone into a pocket and said, “They’re ready for us at the garage.”
“How far is it?”
“About ten to fifteen minutes from here. Why?”
“I just want to get back.”
“Director just texted that nothing’s happening. The negotiator and FBI SWAT just arrived, and this thing could take days.”
Marcus said, “I don’t think so. We’re just in the eye of the storm right now. I want to get back.”
“I’m worried about her too, but we’re helping in the best way we can. And she does have Ackerman.”
“Strange how comforting that is.”
“She couldn’t have a better protector in there. Well, maybe Arnold from Terminator 2.”
“Except my brother’s not made of metal. No matter how he acts, Ackerman still bleeds like everyone else. And his lack of fear is going to end up getting him killed. Right now, he
’s in a very bad situation with some very bad people.”
Andrew said, “I’m more worried about what will happen to all those ‘very bad’ people being trapped in there with Ackerman.”
*
The warden’s office was a large, open space surrounded on all sides by viewing windows. This part of the building seemed like an add-on to Maggie. Like some former lord of Foxbury was compensating for something.
Jerry Dunn stood in front of the eastern set of viewing windows. His back was to her. She could easily take him down. She knew that she could, if given the opportunity. But if she tried now, she’d end up convulsing on the floor, courtesy of the wrist and ankle restraints that had been forced onto their group. And they had all stood by helplessly as Jerry had demonstrated the power he now wielded to Marcus.
Maggie waited for what felt like several moments before she said, “Are you just going to stand there looking out the window all creepy-like? You look like Dracula’s teenage son standing over there like that.”
Jerry said, “I’m watching the sunrise. Would Dracula be doing that?”
The sun was indeed rising in the distance behind Jerry. And it was beautiful. Maggie hadn’t noticed and didn’t care about the sunrise. Right now, her mind was focused on more important things. Like getting out of Powell’s office alive and unmolested.
She knew now that Jerry had become obsessed with her. According to Demon, Jerry was also a rapist. Presumably, he raped the women he obsessed over. Maggie had received a C+ in algebra, but she could still add this all up to mean that Jerry had more planned than watching sunrises.
He said, “Have a seat.”
She remained standing.
Jerry limped his way over to Powell’s desk, opened a bottom drawer, and removed a large decanter filled with brown liquid. He then pulled two glasses from the same drawer. He filled them both with two fingers of the dark liquid and limped his way over to her. He held out one of the glasses. She took the glass and downed the harsh liquid in one swig. It made her throat and chest feel like she had just drunk dragon piss. She immediately regretted it, although she was relatively certain that it made her look very badass.
Jerry sipped his drink and walked back toward the window. She rolled her eyes and joined him in front of the sunrise.
She tried to think of a way to beat the restraints. She considered what Ackerman had done in the yard. Although, he hadn’t really beaten it. He had merely confused it long enough to get a shot in. So even if she could repeat what he had done, she would only get one opportunity.
“I’m sorry that I deceived you,” Jerry said.
“You don’t seem sorry.”
“How so?”
“You recently had a man executed.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t a very nice man, and it was necessary.”
Maggie said, “I’ll say the same thing after I kill you.”
“That’s unkind of you to say.”
Maggie shrugged. “Did I hurt your feelings? Stop being a creepy asshole and people won’t treat you like one.”
Jerry laughed. “So much fire! I love it. When you walked in here and were standing over there watching me, what were you thinking about?”
“About pushing you out the window.”
“No, I meant what were you thinking about me?”
“That I’d like to see you fall out the window.”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter what you were thinking because whoever you were thinking it about isn’t the real me.”
“I’d prefer not to meet the real you.”
“This character I’ve been playing since meeting you isn’t really who I am. Jerry Dunn isn’t even my real name.”
“I don’t care.”
“There’s a connection between us.”
“Not so much.”
“I know you’ve felt it.”
“The only connection I ever felt toward you was that of a little brother, and even that was short lived and a lie.”
He slammed a fist against Powell’s desk. A picture of Debra fell over, and Maggie heard the glass break.
She said, “What are you going to do, big man? You going to hit me?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s right. You love me.”
“Stop it.”
Maggie stepped closer to Jerry and tried to find something she could use to confuse the system like Ackerman had. Maybe something on Powell’s desk? She said, “What’s the matter, big man? You can’t get it up?”
“Don’t talk like that! I can’t stand a lady who speaks that way!”
Maggie yelled out a string of the most offensive phrases that came to mind. All of the things she said were vulgar and sexual in nature and, as she had hoped, Jerry Dunn hit her.
What she hadn’t expected was the type of blow. She had thought Jerry would start with a slap or a backhand. But he jerked his fist straight back and coiled up the muscle and then let that fist shoot out like it was blasted from a cannon. Maggie went limp and didn’t fight the blow. Pain erupted out from her left cheekbone as Jerry’s fist connected and drove her back. She tumbled over one of the high back chairs in front of Powell’s desk and landed face first on the tile floor. She tasted pennies in her mouth.
She didn’t move. She didn’t try to get up.
Jerry screamed, “See what you made me do? Why did you do that?”
She spit blood on the tile and flipped over onto her back. She felt blood coming from her nose, but she didn’t try to wipe it away. She just let it flow and stared at Jerry Dunn with hatred in her eyes. She spread her legs and said, “What’s the matter, Jerry? I thought this is what turned you on.”
He held her gaze a moment but then laughed. “Now I see what you’re doing. You think that I brought you up here to rape you, but I’m telling you that old man is a liar.”
“Maybe. I know one thing. You can’t rape me while that security system is on. Otherwise, you would be shocked too as I fought back. And I will fight back.”
“Listen to me for just one minute, Maggie. I’m going to make a lot of money off this job. Enough to go anywhere. Do anything. You could come with me. You could be part of that. You could have anything you want.”
“First of all, you can’t be making that much money off the small part you played on this little job. And second, even if someone is cashing in off this, that someone is not going to be little old you.”
Jerry walked around to the rear of Powell’s desk and typed some keys on the computer. Then he said, “Princess, that just shows how little you know about what’s going on here. We’re getting money from some people who want to see this place fail, and we’re getting a shit load of money from Lash. And second, I’m in charge here. This job doesn’t happen without me.”
“You mean you’re in charge now that Demon left?”
“That old man is a walking corpse.”
“He seemed pretty capable to me. And not that old.”
“Demon’s on the way out.”
Maggie laughed. “And you think you’re on the way in?”
“Maybe.”
“And I’m sure you actually planned all this. You’re the real Judas.”
“No, but—”
“They’re just using you!”
“Don’t yell at me!”
“What’s the plan, Jerry? You think you’re going to meet up with your buddies later. Face it. They left you behind. They abandoned you.”
Jerry reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt. He undid it all the way, pulled it off, and dropped it onto Powell’s desk. Then he did the same with his undershirt and dropped it onto the desk. He stood there in the light from the sunrise, and Maggie had to admit that Jerry, beneath the sloppy stoner exterior, had the body of a Greek god, albeit a kind of scrawny one.
Still, he was nothing but muscle. Every section of his torso was chiseled like stone.
He said, “You not only rudely reject me, but then you insult me by thinking that if I turned off the securi
ty system in this room that you would be able to overpower me. But like I said before, you don’t know the real me.”
Jerry stretched and then demonstrated some elaborate jump kicks. He said, “You think that because I’m small and have a limp, and all that is true about how my parents died by the way, but just because I have a slight limp, you think that means that I’m weak?”
“I don’t care about your exterior. Or your size or strength. No, I think that you’re weak and tiny on the inside, Jerry. Muscles don’t matter if you have an ugly soul.”
Jerry made a few clicks on the computer and said, “There. Security system is down for this room.”
Maggie smiled and pulled herself up to her feet.
Jerry said, “I should warn you that I’m considered an expert in seven types of martial arts.”
“Oh yeah, I know a couple types too. But the only form I’m going to use today is the ancient art of kicking your ass.”
She wiped away the blood from her nose and said, “Maybe you’ve heard of that one.”
He started to speak and, when he did, she tried to catch him off guard. She went for his right knee—a solid kick with enough force behind it to crush bone, if it had connected. But it didn’t connect. Jerry blocked it easily and then landed a kick to the side of her head that made her vision go dark.
*
The manager of the sheriff’s impound unit was a heavyset man with a big-brush-pile mustache that hung over his lips. Andrew greeted the manager first with an outstretched hand. “Mr. Finley?” Andrew said. Then, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, they went to work. And Finley was good at his job. Marcus could tell from his reports and his presentation of the findings. Finley ran through everything with a minimal amount of fuss, but it was also clear that his team had done a thorough job.
Finley said, “Unfortunately, the hair and fiber search didn’t reveal any smoking guns, but it’s all catalogued and filed. All ready for the trial.”
Marcus said, “Thanks, but we need something that will help us right now.”
Finley smiled. At least Marcus thought it was a smile. “I might have a couple of solid leads for you,” Finley said as he walked over to a rolling tool cart and held up an evidence bag.