Chapter 19
It had once been a leather tannery, and not a very big one. Four huge metal vats lined a wall beyond the tanneries wide open doors. The tubs could probably hold 500 gallons a piece. They had been used to wash and cure the hides that passed through here. Now, spots of rust began a claim the vats and with slow persistence, would eventually cover them.
Old wooden flats that once covered the floor heaped with finished hides now lay bare and stacked haphazardly against a far wall. Down from the vats, in the back right corner of the building, Brad and Susan sat in two rickety old wooden chairs that looked as if they came with the building. Their hands were bound behind them. They both slouched, their heads hanging to one side. The only light in the room was a swivel neck lamp that was perched on a desk near the chairs. The beam from the lamp was directly in Brad's face, of which he was oblivious.
The little old man and well muscled helpers stood back in the shadows behind the lamp.
“Okay. Let's hit him with a little smelling salts and find out who he is.” ordered the older man. Brad jerked his head back as the salts brought him to consciousness.
“Good-evening, young man.” A voice came from the dark. Brad guessed it was the old man's voice who had tasered him at the park. Brad did not respond but tried to clear his head as quickly as possible, depending on the senses that he had heightened over the last twenty years. He knew there were other people in the room. He could hear them breathing, sense their presence – the two goons he had seen just before being knocked out. There was also the slight hint of leather in the air and metal. He looked at the floor around him, which showed years of washing. He knew where he was. He had been here as a kid. It was the tannery, about three miles out of town on a winding, narrow road through the forested foothills that eventually opened into old Highway 9 like a small insignificant vein. There were no other buildings around. The tannery stood back from the road about 200 feet next to a creek.
“Apparently, you don't feel like talking.” the voice said. “That's a bad way for us to start off because I want you to talk, and you will.
“Now, when I say something to you - ask you a question, you must respond. If you don't, as you just chose not to do, this is what will happen.” From the shadows a large body suddenly appeared and hit Brad with a right cross that brought stars to his eyes.
“Now, do you have something to say?”
“Yeah.” Brad said, spitting blood out of his mouth. “Your goon hits like a little girl.”
“You son-of-a -” Brad heard an angry voice say as he saw a man moving from the shadows towards him. This time he watched closely, sizing him up as he came into view, measuring the distance from where they stood to where he sat.
“Stop!” the older man commanded, and the man stopped in the light where Brad could see him clearly. He bent down in Brad's face and said, “You won't be saying that when I'm done with you.”
“That's enough.” the older man's voice said sternly. “I'll tell you when to hit him.
“By-the-way, Brad Wilson of Soquel Road, we have even better ways to convince you to talk if my colleague cannot convince you.”
“Found my wallet, huh?” Brad said, ignoring the threat.
“Yes, and I also found a non-duty military I.D. Card, which, if I'm not mistaking, gives you access to military bases.”
“That's right. You get good deals in the PX. It's a perk for ex G.I.'s.”
“I see. Well, you're doing quite well answering questions now.” said the old man. “What did you do in the military, Brad?”
“I was in charge of Battalion Commo for an artillery unit.”
“Fuckin wimp.” he heard one of the men say. “Sit around in some fucking commo shack drinking coffee all day.”
“That's right, butthead.” Brad responded. “And as bad as that coffee was I bet it tasted a lot better than the camel dung sand that you probably chewed on.”
“All right. Enough.” The older man commanded. Speaking directly to Brad again in a more friendly tone, he said “What's your affiliation with the young lady here.”, referring to Susan who still had not moved.
Brad looked over at Susan as if seeing her for the first time. “None, brother. I was just going to try to bum a dollar off of you and you zapped me with the electrical gadget. I don't know that woman.”
“So, you're saying you just happened to be in the deserted side of Main street where there's hardly any people, panhandling.”
“No, man.” Brad said, using the inflections of a Stoner. “I went down the street to smoke a joint, and on my way back to the village I saw you across the street and thought I'd hit you up for a buck.”
“Do you believe him, Mack?” the older man asked a shadow.
“No.” The other man moved forward and slammed a big fist into the side of Brad's head where the first man had hit him. He could feel swelling start.
“How did that feel, commo man?”
Brad turned to where the older man's voice had been coming from. “So, what's the deal here, Professor? Are you going to have these two girls beat me up for trying to bum a dollar off of you?”
“Let's just kill the prick.” the other man said.
“Calm down. Can't you see he's egging you on?” the old man said irritably, and then fell silent for a moment as if studying Brad.
“You're not exactly the frightened hippie that I would expect under these circumstances. Quite the contrary. You're more like a man who has had experience at this sort of thing.” Brad heard footsteps. The older man appeared in the dim edge of the light in front of Susan. “So, you don't really care what we do to her, since you don't know her.”
“Well, of course I do, man. She's a human being. But, under the circumstances, if you just untie me, I'll be on my way and forget this night ever happened, and the chick is all yours.”
“How commendable of you.” the old man said sarcastically.
“What do you want with her, anyway?” Brad asked innocently.
“That's none of your business.” the man said.
“Bring the girl around.” he ordered as he stepped back and a man came forward with a small bottle. He waved it under her nose, and she came too, twisting her head as if someone had waved a skunk in her face
“Good evening, Susan.” the older man said kindly from the shadows.
“Fuck you.” she responded groggily.
“Now, young lady, that's no way to talk to someone who is trying to help you.”
“Help me? You knock me out and I wake up tied to a chair in - “ she squinted into the darkness “What is this – an old warehouse?” Not waiting for a response she said, “So, you'll excuse me if I don't think you're trying to help me at all.”
“Of course, I can see that this doesn't look good, but we met under questionable circumstances, and precautions had to be taken to assure everybody’s safety.”
He appeared in the light of the lamp next to Brad and jabbed him with his cane as he asked, “Now, Susan, do you know this man?”
Susan looked over at Brad, their eyes meeting. Susan showed no expression on her face, but studied Brad's eyes, trying to read what he wanted her to say.
“No.” she finally said. “He's just some local freak. Why do you have him tied up and beaten?”
“We've just been having a little conversation with him. Isn't that right, Brad?”
“As the lady said, Fuck you.”
One of the men stepped forward and hit Brad with a left and then a right, then bent down and smiled in Brad's face. “That felt real good, commo man. Was it as good for you?”
“You do that one more time.” Brad said through his bleeding mouth, “and I'm going to kill you.”
The man laughed harshly. “That must be pretty good pot you're smoking. I don't think you're in any position to do much of anything, much less kill me.”
Brad smiled, but the smile was not friendly. It was cold and held menace. His eyes bore into the man like knives. The man stepped back into the shadows without another word.
Brad's eyes had adjusted to the contrast of light and darkness enough to make out the silhouettes of the men in front of him. In the far reaches of the ambient light he saw another shadow of movement. It made no sound as it quietly came up behind the two men and stopped.
“What shall we do, sir.” one of the men asked.
Instead of answering the old man said, “Have you heard from your brother, Susan?”
“No. He's dead.” she replied simply.
“Yes. Well, that's debatable.” He said. “Did he leave you anything before he allegedly died at sea?”
“We've had this discussion. I told you, no.”
“I know what he had, Susan. I was his handler and he made me aware of the contents.”
“Contents of what?” she asked.
“You may be telling the truth.” the man said. “But this fellow here, Brad Wilson, I find troubling. There's something about him that doesn't ring true. I've spent my entire life in this business, and it was my job to read people, and I don't like what I'm reading, Brad Wilson.” He said, turning to Brad.
“Now, Susan, since you don't know this man,” he said, still looking at Brad. “It wouldn't bother you if I cut off one of his fingers, would it?”
Susan looked at him with astonishment. “Of course it would, you moron. Just because I don't know him doesn't mean I don't care if you hurt him.”
“I won't do anything to him if you tell me the truth. As some philosopher once said, 'The truth will set you free.' Tell me the truth and we will set him free. Tell the truth and we will protect you from those who are hunting you.”
“I could almost see your halo as you said that, but your growing nose was too distracting. I don't believe you.”
“We are not people to trifle with, Susan. This man has become a bother in this situation and I want to prove to you our sincerity and determination.” He turned to the two in the shadows.
“Kill him.” he said. “And I give you permission to beat him to death, as I know you both want to do.” He turned back to Susan and moved her chair around with her in it so she was facing Brad. “And you get to watch, Susan. If at any time you have anything you would like to say, please speak up.”
“I have something that I'd like to say.” Brad put in.
“Ah! Finally. And what is that?” the old man asked.
“Recon. Attack!!”
All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.
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