Butterfinger
Chapters Thirty-Six, Thirty-Seven, & Thirty-Eight
Mon/September/2008 07:00 AM Chapter 1/2Chapter
36/37/38
Chapter
36
So far so good.
He hadn’t seriously disabled himself or anyone else yet.
His worst injury was a jammed index finger on his left hand, and that wasn’t his trigger finger, so he was good. Luke and Gomez hadn’t even seen it happen, which was also good. No need to raise concerns on their part. It wasn’t like the same thing couldn’t happen to anyone. Hell, they’d just finished repelling down through the center of a nine story stairwell, and it hadn’t exactly been a clean drop! It was one of those setups where the space between the railings on either side was only about two feet apart, if that, arranged to discourage suicide attempts probably, maybe accidents, but most likely aimed at quashing the self-snuffing tendencies of students, particularly foreign students in the science programs, who were known to crack under the pressure of maintaining a 4.0 GPA in the study of mollusk formulations and the extraction of what, clam juice, for the betterment of society, dental health, and enamel durability. Something ridiculous like that. Who the hell would kill themselves over failed clam juice extraction? That’s what Brick was thinking to himself as he sailed down the center of the shaft, swinging ever so slightly from one side to the other, left to right, dodging the metal railings as he whispered down to the floor.
Course, then another thought had flashed into his head, the thought of that girl Morgan, the drop-dead knock out who was dating that kid inside.
Brick got an image of Morgan’s legs as she sat on the stoop outside, waiting for news on her beau.
Her beau.
Jesus! This jackass better be one smooth daddy-o, cause there are few people on earth worthy of a roll in the hay with a girl the likes of that Morgan chicky.
That was Ransom’s first mistake -- wistful thoughts of college sirens. One reminiscence of those sweet, perfect, supple legs, and he’d forgotten all about what he was doing at the moment -- repelling down nine stories in a two foot clearance area, between countless,undoubtedly merciless metal safety bars -- a feet which unfortunately required a bit of focus. He swung out just a bit too far as he got to the bottom, so much so that he didn’t quite make it back to the center of the shaft as he approached the first floor, and his hand paid the price. He twisted his body, trying to shift direction, but had only gotten about halfway through the corkscrew before he put out his left hand, and the force of his plummeting body did its best to drive flesh and bone through paint and steel. The flesh and bone was his finger, which got tweaked sharply to the side and in.
Holy shit!
Brick did his best to swallow the resulting scream of pain as he landed on the first floor and shuffled back and out of the way as Luke and Gomez came swooping in behind him.
Neither of them hit their hands on anything.
Goddammit.
Luke flipped open the printout of the building layout, looked around to get his bearings, then gave Brick a quick chin nod, and started for a side corridor. Gomez followed suit, the two of them pulling out their handguns as they approached the doorway. Brick massaged his left hand with his right, then reached over to his side and slipped his own gun from its holster. At least his shooting hand was all right.
Stop! He thought to himself. He needed to stay focused!
“Fuck it,” Ransom muttered.
Gomez turned to him questioningly.
“Let’s get in there and get this done.”
Gomez nodded his head, then leaned back and kicked open the door.
Chapter 37
You motherfuckers, Jeff thought to himself.
You miserable sons of bitches.
The world was filled with decent folks, just trying to get through their days, dealing with asshole bosses, impossible odds, and crooked governments, each hellbent on finagling them into work while fleecing them of their money and leaving them with only a few dollars for hooch and cable.
Why then did the big man upstairs feel it necessary to sprinkle around a handful of truly evil bastards to make things that much worse?
Maybe it wasn’t the man upstairs, maybe it was the other guy, if you bought into all that. The whole battle of the fates, struggle between good and evil. Now Jeff had seen a clear display of the evil. The rotten, miserable scum of the earth. He was willing to bet good odds that roughly of a quarter of the world’s shitheads were gathered in this room, and no, he didn’t mean researchers and medicinal chemists, though that would make for a good line. He meant Tim and Simon and their other miscreant fuckhead accomplices.
There was a pool of drying blood in the center of the room, with a streak of red, like a brushstroke, pulling away from the pool and making an almost graceful arc towards the doorway. That was the way they’d dragged Michel Renoir’s body from the room. Just like that, in a flash, the old man was here, and then he was gone. All he’d ever said, all he’d ever done, the years in school, playing as a child, raising his own family, the talks with his grandchildren at the dining room table, talcum powder, shaving cream, the smell of aftershave. All that stuff. Everything that somehow collectively made a man, all of that had just been shot in the face for attempting a noble act of heroism. And now, where was that man? Pulled into a back corner, his still warm body trickling blood.
“Motherfuckers,”
Jeff looked at Tim, and felt his own blood shiver with resignation. Time for payback. Time to start turning the screws.
“Something bothering you, Mr. Pepper?” Tim asked suddenly.
Jeff stared at the man coldly. “What is this all about? Are you ever going to tell me that?”
“There’s no big ideal behind it. Not really.”
“Then why do it?”
Tim glanced at his watch. “Because someone needs to, and if I don’t step in and run this
operation my way, then someone else will come in and do it the wrong way.”
“So, you’re just a guy out there doing whatever it take for a paycheck?”
“Up to a point.” Tim responded.
“What point?!” Jeff spat. “You’re a goddamn terrorist.”
Tim shook his head as though pained by such a simple label.
“Look,” Jeff was feeling shaky. “I have money. I have a lot of fucking money. How much will it take to get us out of here?”
“You and I both know that no amount of money is getting me or any of my men out of here. You can sign a check, or wire us a payment, but if we want to get out of this building, we’re going to have to deal with the people outside who don’t want us to leave.”
“Then let me talk to them. I can get them to listen. I told you, I have a chopper on the roof, we can leave from there. If they know that I’m on board, they’ll let you take off, no question.”
“But how do I know they’ll let us land?”
Jeff’s upper lip curled. “Don’t you watch the news? I’m the third richest man in the world, the second wealthiest voter in the United States, that’s clout the government doesn’t mess with. If I say I need a tax cut, or I mention a way that sneaking illegal workers into the country could help the economy, I get my way. No questions asked. They’ll certainly listen if I make some demands about where my personal helicopter sets down.”
“I don’t want you on board. I go alone.”
“Then I can’t help you. My pilot only flies when I’m aboard. If he doesn’t see me there, he won’t go.”
“Then I go anyway- he’ll hand over the controls.”
“Yeah, and the military will shoot you down. Simple as that.”
A moment of pissed off, angry deliberation.
“And what do you want in return?” Tim’s voice was growing quieter.
“You’ve gotta let these people go.”
Tim cleared his throat, then nodded his head. “What do we need to do?”
“I’ll have to speak to the folks you’ve been chatting up outside. Make sure my pilot is at the controls and they won’t swat our little puddle jumper out of the sky.”
Tim pulled the handset from its cradle on the wall and handed it to Jeff. “Make the call.”
Chapter 38
Where were they?
It had been too long since they’d told him they were coming in, and Nick was starting to get that creeping feeling in his stomach again. There hadn’t been anymore gunfire of explosions. No more voices down the corridor. No more muffled exchanges between armed men in the halls. Just the sounds of a building where all was not right. The smell of burning wire hung in the air. Occasionally, he could heard a door somewhere in the building being kicked open or slammed shut, and he could tell from the directions of these noises that the people who’d taken over the building had moved everyone to the basement, down to Raj’s labs.
Wow. He’d taken this job for all the right reasons, or maybe the wrong ones: Medical, dental, steady pay, a decent work environment, and here he was, holed up in a basement, armed killers on the loose, breathing in smoke from a scorched building. He might as well have gone to L.A. and tried his hand on the misery of a film set, or enlisted in the army. He was pretty close to getting killed, he was certain about that now.
At least someone out there was probably thinking about him.
“Morgan.”
The name hovered in the air before him, then the sounds of shuffling feet outside the door caught his attention. Nick ducked back against the wall, holding his breath. “Jesus.”
Someone outside the door was whispering something. Nick heard a hand take hold of the doorknob on the other side. The door swung open slowly as the end of a gun barrel crept through the crack. Then it swung open all the way, and three men entered the room. The one in the lead lunged forward, weapon at the ready.
“You Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“Brick Ransom.”
Brick shot out his hand for Nick to shake it. His grip was quick and hard.
“We’re gonna need your help on this part. Let’s get going. You know how to use one of these?” Ransom reached around his waist, pulling a handgun from a pocket on his lower back.
“No.”
“It’s pretty simple, you’ve seen the movies. Point, squeeze the trigger, and shoot, don’t let the little fucker jump out of your hands.”
Nick nodded his head and took the gun.
Ransom watched him warily, “You know, just for safety’s sake, keep that thing tucked away unless I tell you to use it.”
Nick slipped the gun into the pocket on his cargo pants.
Brick motioned towards his team members. “These guys are Agents-” he faltered. “Hell, they go by Luke and Gomez.”
“What’s up, kid?” Gomez nodded.
Luke shot Ransom a look.
“All right, enough chit chat,” Ransom continued. “We better get going. Any idea where they’ve taken everybody?”
“My guess is downstairs, Raj Gupta’s lab.”
“Can you take us there?” Luke asked him.
Nick stammered. “Oh, I uh, thought we were leaving.”
Ransom shook his head. “Not yet.”
Nick swallowed. “Okay then, yeah, I can get you there.”
Ransom stepped back and let Nick lead the way out into the corridor. The lights down the length of the hall had begun to flicker.
“Powers fucking up,” Gomez said.
“Not surprised,” Luke responded.
The four of them hurried through to the end of the hall, with Ransom stepping up the pace and walking alongside Nick. At the end of the hall, they reached a doorway which was propped open. Brick held up his hand for the group to stop, then he lifted his gun in his right hand, pressed his back against the wall, and reached out to the door with his left. A twist of his elbow and the door swung open. Ransom lunged around the corner, sweeping his firearm around the stairwell.
Gomez leaned forward, whispering in Nick’s ear, “Keep an eye on where he’s pointing that thing kid, he’s been known to have some accidents.”
Nick’s eyes darted to the side. He nodded. The group followed behind Ransom as he made his way down the concrete steps.
So far so good.
He hadn’t seriously disabled himself or anyone else yet.
His worst injury was a jammed index finger on his left hand, and that wasn’t his trigger finger, so he was good. Luke and Gomez hadn’t even seen it happen, which was also good. No need to raise concerns on their part. It wasn’t like the same thing couldn’t happen to anyone. Hell, they’d just finished repelling down through the center of a nine story stairwell, and it hadn’t exactly been a clean drop! It was one of those setups where the space between the railings on either side was only about two feet apart, if that, arranged to discourage suicide attempts probably, maybe accidents, but most likely aimed at quashing the self-snuffing tendencies of students, particularly foreign students in the science programs, who were known to crack under the pressure of maintaining a 4.0 GPA in the study of mollusk formulations and the extraction of what, clam juice, for the betterment of society, dental health, and enamel durability. Something ridiculous like that. Who the hell would kill themselves over failed clam juice extraction? That’s what Brick was thinking to himself as he sailed down the center of the shaft, swinging ever so slightly from one side to the other, left to right, dodging the metal railings as he whispered down to the floor.
Course, then another thought had flashed into his head, the thought of that girl Morgan, the drop-dead knock out who was dating that kid inside.
Brick got an image of Morgan’s legs as she sat on the stoop outside, waiting for news on her beau.
Her beau.
Jesus! This jackass better be one smooth daddy-o, cause there are few people on earth worthy of a roll in the hay with a girl the likes of that Morgan chicky.
That was Ransom’s first mistake -- wistful thoughts of college sirens. One reminiscence of those sweet, perfect, supple legs, and he’d forgotten all about what he was doing at the moment -- repelling down nine stories in a two foot clearance area, between countless,undoubtedly merciless metal safety bars -- a feet which unfortunately required a bit of focus. He swung out just a bit too far as he got to the bottom, so much so that he didn’t quite make it back to the center of the shaft as he approached the first floor, and his hand paid the price. He twisted his body, trying to shift direction, but had only gotten about halfway through the corkscrew before he put out his left hand, and the force of his plummeting body did its best to drive flesh and bone through paint and steel. The flesh and bone was his finger, which got tweaked sharply to the side and in.
Holy shit!
Brick did his best to swallow the resulting scream of pain as he landed on the first floor and shuffled back and out of the way as Luke and Gomez came swooping in behind him.
Neither of them hit their hands on anything.
Goddammit.
Luke flipped open the printout of the building layout, looked around to get his bearings, then gave Brick a quick chin nod, and started for a side corridor. Gomez followed suit, the two of them pulling out their handguns as they approached the doorway. Brick massaged his left hand with his right, then reached over to his side and slipped his own gun from its holster. At least his shooting hand was all right.
Stop! He thought to himself. He needed to stay focused!
“Fuck it,” Ransom muttered.
Gomez turned to him questioningly.
“Let’s get in there and get this done.”
Gomez nodded his head, then leaned back and kicked open the door.
Chapter 37
You motherfuckers, Jeff thought to himself.
You miserable sons of bitches.
The world was filled with decent folks, just trying to get through their days, dealing with asshole bosses, impossible odds, and crooked governments, each hellbent on finagling them into work while fleecing them of their money and leaving them with only a few dollars for hooch and cable.
Why then did the big man upstairs feel it necessary to sprinkle around a handful of truly evil bastards to make things that much worse?
Maybe it wasn’t the man upstairs, maybe it was the other guy, if you bought into all that. The whole battle of the fates, struggle between good and evil. Now Jeff had seen a clear display of the evil. The rotten, miserable scum of the earth. He was willing to bet good odds that roughly of a quarter of the world’s shitheads were gathered in this room, and no, he didn’t mean researchers and medicinal chemists, though that would make for a good line. He meant Tim and Simon and their other miscreant fuckhead accomplices.
There was a pool of drying blood in the center of the room, with a streak of red, like a brushstroke, pulling away from the pool and making an almost graceful arc towards the doorway. That was the way they’d dragged Michel Renoir’s body from the room. Just like that, in a flash, the old man was here, and then he was gone. All he’d ever said, all he’d ever done, the years in school, playing as a child, raising his own family, the talks with his grandchildren at the dining room table, talcum powder, shaving cream, the smell of aftershave. All that stuff. Everything that somehow collectively made a man, all of that had just been shot in the face for attempting a noble act of heroism. And now, where was that man? Pulled into a back corner, his still warm body trickling blood.
“Motherfuckers,”
Jeff looked at Tim, and felt his own blood shiver with resignation. Time for payback. Time to start turning the screws.
“Something bothering you, Mr. Pepper?” Tim asked suddenly.
Jeff stared at the man coldly. “What is this all about? Are you ever going to tell me that?”
“There’s no big ideal behind it. Not really.”
“Then why do it?”
Tim glanced at his watch. “Because someone needs to, and if I don’t step in and run this
operation my way, then someone else will come in and do it the wrong way.”
“So, you’re just a guy out there doing whatever it take for a paycheck?”
“Up to a point.” Tim responded.
“What point?!” Jeff spat. “You’re a goddamn terrorist.”
Tim shook his head as though pained by such a simple label.
“Look,” Jeff was feeling shaky. “I have money. I have a lot of fucking money. How much will it take to get us out of here?”
“You and I both know that no amount of money is getting me or any of my men out of here. You can sign a check, or wire us a payment, but if we want to get out of this building, we’re going to have to deal with the people outside who don’t want us to leave.”
“Then let me talk to them. I can get them to listen. I told you, I have a chopper on the roof, we can leave from there. If they know that I’m on board, they’ll let you take off, no question.”
“But how do I know they’ll let us land?”
Jeff’s upper lip curled. “Don’t you watch the news? I’m the third richest man in the world, the second wealthiest voter in the United States, that’s clout the government doesn’t mess with. If I say I need a tax cut, or I mention a way that sneaking illegal workers into the country could help the economy, I get my way. No questions asked. They’ll certainly listen if I make some demands about where my personal helicopter sets down.”
“I don’t want you on board. I go alone.”
“Then I can’t help you. My pilot only flies when I’m aboard. If he doesn’t see me there, he won’t go.”
“Then I go anyway- he’ll hand over the controls.”
“Yeah, and the military will shoot you down. Simple as that.”
A moment of pissed off, angry deliberation.
“And what do you want in return?” Tim’s voice was growing quieter.
“You’ve gotta let these people go.”
Tim cleared his throat, then nodded his head. “What do we need to do?”
“I’ll have to speak to the folks you’ve been chatting up outside. Make sure my pilot is at the controls and they won’t swat our little puddle jumper out of the sky.”
Tim pulled the handset from its cradle on the wall and handed it to Jeff. “Make the call.”
Chapter 38
Where were they?
It had been too long since they’d told him they were coming in, and Nick was starting to get that creeping feeling in his stomach again. There hadn’t been anymore gunfire of explosions. No more voices down the corridor. No more muffled exchanges between armed men in the halls. Just the sounds of a building where all was not right. The smell of burning wire hung in the air. Occasionally, he could heard a door somewhere in the building being kicked open or slammed shut, and he could tell from the directions of these noises that the people who’d taken over the building had moved everyone to the basement, down to Raj’s labs.
Wow. He’d taken this job for all the right reasons, or maybe the wrong ones: Medical, dental, steady pay, a decent work environment, and here he was, holed up in a basement, armed killers on the loose, breathing in smoke from a scorched building. He might as well have gone to L.A. and tried his hand on the misery of a film set, or enlisted in the army. He was pretty close to getting killed, he was certain about that now.
At least someone out there was probably thinking about him.
“Morgan.”
The name hovered in the air before him, then the sounds of shuffling feet outside the door caught his attention. Nick ducked back against the wall, holding his breath. “Jesus.”
Someone outside the door was whispering something. Nick heard a hand take hold of the doorknob on the other side. The door swung open slowly as the end of a gun barrel crept through the crack. Then it swung open all the way, and three men entered the room. The one in the lead lunged forward, weapon at the ready.
“You Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“Brick Ransom.”
Brick shot out his hand for Nick to shake it. His grip was quick and hard.
“We’re gonna need your help on this part. Let’s get going. You know how to use one of these?” Ransom reached around his waist, pulling a handgun from a pocket on his lower back.
“No.”
“It’s pretty simple, you’ve seen the movies. Point, squeeze the trigger, and shoot, don’t let the little fucker jump out of your hands.”
Nick nodded his head and took the gun.
Ransom watched him warily, “You know, just for safety’s sake, keep that thing tucked away unless I tell you to use it.”
Nick slipped the gun into the pocket on his cargo pants.
Brick motioned towards his team members. “These guys are Agents-” he faltered. “Hell, they go by Luke and Gomez.”
“What’s up, kid?” Gomez nodded.
Luke shot Ransom a look.
“All right, enough chit chat,” Ransom continued. “We better get going. Any idea where they’ve taken everybody?”
“My guess is downstairs, Raj Gupta’s lab.”
“Can you take us there?” Luke asked him.
Nick stammered. “Oh, I uh, thought we were leaving.”
Ransom shook his head. “Not yet.”
Nick swallowed. “Okay then, yeah, I can get you there.”
Ransom stepped back and let Nick lead the way out into the corridor. The lights down the length of the hall had begun to flicker.
“Powers fucking up,” Gomez said.
“Not surprised,” Luke responded.
The four of them hurried through to the end of the hall, with Ransom stepping up the pace and walking alongside Nick. At the end of the hall, they reached a doorway which was propped open. Brick held up his hand for the group to stop, then he lifted his gun in his right hand, pressed his back against the wall, and reached out to the door with his left. A twist of his elbow and the door swung open. Ransom lunged around the corner, sweeping his firearm around the stairwell.
Gomez leaned forward, whispering in Nick’s ear, “Keep an eye on where he’s pointing that thing kid, he’s been known to have some accidents.”
Nick’s eyes darted to the side. He nodded. The group followed behind Ransom as he made his way down the concrete steps.