It's been a week, which feels like a really long time to me, so I'll recap the last bit of the previous chapter before starting with this one.
Leverage Quote of the Day (it's a long one):
Hardison: Yeah, but there's one thing you didn't count on.
Chaos: Oh, no.
Hardison: You forgot…
Chaos: No…
Hardison: About the true meaning…
Chaos: No, don't you say it!
Hardison: … of Christmas.
Chaos: My God, that barely applies here!
Hardison: Ho ho ho.
Awesome Quote of the Day: "Oh, you mean my pilot's license? That's out back in the Cessna. Or perhaps you're referring to my license to kill. Revoked. Trouble at the Kazakhstan border. I could give you the details but then I'd have to kill you, which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked." ~ Shawn Spencer from Psych
-O-
Chapter Seven
Disguised
There were several shocked gasps from pedestrians as Eliot collapsed on the sidewalk, unconscious.
As Sophie left the apartment later that night, the last one to finally leave, she noticed there was no sign of Eliot at the bar. He must have gone home, possibly hours ago. She wondered if she should have pursued him, tried to console him in some way.
She exited the pub to see an ambulance whisking away down the street, sirens screaming in its wake.
"Excuse me," she walked up to a teen who was staring after the ambulance in bewilderment. "What happened here?"
"Some dude, I dunno, fainted, over there, and then the ambulance came, like, two seconds later."
She wanted to ask what the "dude" looked like, but the teen had already turned her attention back to her phone.
Sophie pulled out her own cell phone, dialing Eliot's number with ease. He could take care of himself, certainly, and if it had been him in the ambulance, well, he wasn't the kind to wait around for the doctors to release him.
His phone went directly to voicemail. Which was strange, because he always left his phone on. Although, Sophie reflected as she shoved the phone into her back pocket, he was a bit upset at the moment. Maybe he just didn't feel like talking to anyone.
-O-
The air reeked of mildew and dust. Eliot could tell without opening his eyes, from the dank and chilly atmosphere of the room that he was somewhere underground. His whole body was stiff, his muscles screaming in protest as he tried to shift his weight – only to be stopped by the rough ropes constricting him to the wooden chair.
His eyes flew open – and even that hurt. The room was constructed of gray concrete, lined with dirt-caked fissures. A door was sealed into the far corner, knob-less and made of the same gray concrete as the rest of the room.
Eliot cursed the day he'd decided he didn't need to carry a knife. Up until now, his fists had been the only weapon he needed. Even if he had been carrying a knife, it would have been taken away from him.
The ropes were not that thick. Clearly whoever was responsible for his imprisonment did not know who he was, what he was capable of. What he would have been capable of, had it not been for the fierce ache raging through him, as good as paralyzing him where he sat.
He forced himself to relax in the chair. Years of experience told him that it would do no good to waste all of his fighting energy now, when he could do nothing. He knew what would happen. Whoever was responsible would wait for a little while, while letting Eliot become familiar with his bleak surroundings, and then he or she would come in, giving some little speech about what Eliot was doing here. And then there would either be a ransom call, or there wouldn't.
Several hours passed – at least, that's what it felt like. The bastards had taken his watch. Eliot had trained himself to be able to sit completely still in a rigid wooden chair for days without being uncomfortable if necessary, but the chair, combined with the coarse ropes digging into his skin and the drug still coursing through his system, and he was beginning to feel a bit fatigued. And on top of that, his leather jacket had been taken as well, revealing his bare arms, and chest covered only by a thin cloth t-shirt, to the bone-chilling air of the room – the cell.
As he sat there waiting, it dawned on him that the team probably had no idea that he was even gone. He'd left hours before any of them, and with the way he had stormed out, they'd probably expect him to not show up tomorrow. He'd just have to hope that his captors knew who to call, if they decided on ransom. The team were the only people close enough to him to care.
There was a hissing sound, and the door swung open, surprisingly quietly. Two darkly dressed figures strode in, followed by another, familiar-looking silhouette.
"Hughes," Eliot growled. I should have known.
The man brushed aside his two bodyguards, and walked over to Eliot. Strutted may have been a better word, what with the taunting smile on his face and the gloating motion of his strides.
"Hello, Harrison. I doubt that is your real name?"
Eliot said nothing.
"Hmph. Yes, let's get right down to business, shall we? You were rather rude the other day, stealing my hostage away from me without paying your dues. And that did not rest well with me, you see. So I had to find another way to get my money. Hence, this." he gestured at the chair and ropes.
So there was going to be a ransom. That was good news for Eliot, bad news for the team.
"You're wasting your time if you think that we're giving you anything," Eliot spat.
Hughes chuckled. "No, I think not. You see, I've noticed in passing that you all seem to have a much deeper… connection, shall we say, than most other conmen. Most just are there for one job, and one job only. You, on the other hand… Anyways, I do believe that your friends will do whatever is necessary to see your safe return."
Eliot shook his head, scoffing as Hughes pulled out a cell phone.
"All I need you to do now, is talk to them, show them you're still in one piece, and tell them my demands."
"What? You think I'm that stupid, just because I'm the muscle? There's no way in hell you're getting me to say anything."
Hughes sighed, reading in the hitter's expression that he was serious. He shrugged indifferently. "Fine. Makes no difference to me how long this takes, so long as I get my money."
He nodded to one of the bodyguards. The dark figure stepped forward, a menacing-looking syringe grasped tightly in his fist. Before Eliot could utter another word, the needle was slipping under his skin, injecting a murky liquid substance into his bloodstream.
The last thing he saw before the world disappeared was the grotesque needle pulling out of his arm.
-O-
Well, that was sort of a cliffhanger. Review?
