Chapter 3

Gradually, awareness returned. His eyes fluttered open for a moment and then closed again. He felt his head lolling around uncomfortably. His whole face ached. He didn't appear to be lying down, either. That was not a good sign. It meant that he wasn't in a hospital or even just in his bed. He was sitting...probably with assistance. Should he open his eyes?

"Might have hit him too hard. He's been out for a while. Didn't even move the entire drive."

"Eh, he's still breathing and he's not bleeding anymore. He's fine. For now."

He decided he had better try to engage with whoever was in the room with him. They definitely didn't sound like concerned doctors. His head lolled back and he tried to get his eyes open. It took a couple of tries, but he finally made it. The first thing he saw was likely the reason why he was so woozy. He saw a hand with brass knuckles. He slowly followed that hand up to the face of the man he assumed was his captor. The man smiled, but it was not at all friendly.

"Awake, I see," he said.

Tim took a long slow breath and let his eyes close again. He sat there for a few seconds and then opened his eyes once more.

"Whadayou wan'?" he mumbled. His mouth didn't seem to be working right.

The man tossed a badge up into the air and caught it. "I want to know why a Navy cop was taking pictures of me."

"Huh?"

"Don't play dumb. I'm not in the mood."

"I... really... don' know wha yer talkin 'bou..."

"I don't believe that for a second. Why would a Navy cop be hanging around Sparrows Point and taking pictures of us?"

"Don' unnerstan..."

In spite of his best efforts, his eyes insisted on closing again and his head dropped forward this time. His face really hurt. How was he not bleeding?

"Maybe he needs more time to wake up."

"Shut up."

But silence fell and Tim was allowed to sit there, trying to get his brain in gear.

A phone rang in the silence. Tim tried to listen.

"Yeah, we've got him. He's a cop. Navy."

There was a pause and Tim thought he could hear the sound of pacing.

"Look, it wasn't in his place. We searched it. We searched him. As soon as we get what we want..."

That didn't bode well. They wanted something from him and once they had it, he was dead. Woozy or not, in pain or not, Tim could see that his best bet for surviving was to make a run for it if the opportunity presented itself. He took stock of his situation. He was tied to a chair. He cracked open his eyes again while he was staring at the floor. That was an unfamiliar floor. So he wasn't at home. There were two of them and one of him. He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who these people were or why they thought he was investigating them.

All in all, his situation pretty much sucked.

"What now?"

That voice was not very assertive. Of course, that voice was also the one that seemed to be showing some concern for their captive's state. Of course, it could also be a trick.

Then, there was a heavy stride toward him that warned Tim to brace himself.

He was suddenly being picked up.

With the chair.

That was a bad sign. Strong guy.

He opened his eyes.

"I want to know where those photos are and who you've told about them."

"What photos?" Tim asked, mostly to see how in control of himself this guy was. He seemed on edge, but how much was that really true?

The man slowly set him down on the floor and then pulled out a gun and pointed it at Tim's head.

"If you don't start talking, I might just decide to cut my losses," he said. "You ready to risk that?"

So not out of control. That was too bad.

Tim took a deep breath.

"I really don't understand what you're talking about."

The gun was now pressed against his forehead.

"Sparrows Point," the man said, slowly. "I'm running out of patience."

Tim's heart sank. Those people he'd seen in the distance when he took those pictures. Who were they? He had no idea. But at this point, letting him know that would only lead to a bullet in his brain. He took another deep breath.

"Oh. Those pictures."

"Where are they?"

"At work."

"Why?"

"I was looking through them there, but there's always someone in the building. It's never empty."

"Then, you'd better be willing to get them for me. Right now."

"I guess I can't say no."

"You can, but it would be the last thing you said."

"I figured." One more deep breath, trying to get himself prepared for an act of desperation should the opportunity present itself.

The man looked at the other man in the room who was much smaller and seemed almost mousy. Tim wouldn't depend on that being the case, but it sure seemed to be.

"Untie him."

The smaller man walked forward and cut the ties binding him to the chair.

"Get up."

Tim did, but he stumbled, feeling very dizzy. He feigned it being worse than it actually was, but he really did feel off balance. He stood for a moment until things stopped spinning.

"Get moving."

Tim nodded once and stumbled forward. Then, as they reached the door, the smaller man moved around in front of Tim to unlock it and open it. As he did, Tim saw the instrument of his salvation. ...if it didn't get him killed.

The door was open and the mousy man was standing to the side.

...his gun poking out of his pocket in easy reach. No more deep breaths. Tim just steeled himself to start running. He stumbled forward, lurching a bit to the side. Then, he reached out, grabbed the mousy man by the arm while simultaneously grabbing the gun in his pocket. He wrenched the man around and shoved him hard into the other man. The gun went off but it didn't hit Tim, so he counted that as a bonus. Then, he plunged through the door and started running.

He was fortunate that he picked the right direction. There were stairs. He nearly fell down them but he kept on his feet and ran down the stairs of the building, searching desperately for an exit sign, something that would get him away from these two people that he knew were right behind him. One more flight and there was the exit! He darted out the door.

It was dark. He had no idea where he was, but he just started running down the street, looking for an alley where he could get out of sight.

A gunshot startled him, but it didn't come even close to hitting him. They were there, but he had some adrenaline on his side and they weren't quite keeping pace with him at the moment. He was going as fast as he could.

There was an alley.

He had to take the chance. Running down the street was too obvious.

He darted down the alley. It seemed pitch black.

He almost ran headlong into a wall, but he managed to stop in time. He looked around, disoriented and lost. The alley turned to the left. He ran left. He had no destination in mind except away. He just needed to get away.

The alley was ending, emptying out into the street once more, but Tim didn't want to be out in the open just yet. He looked around as he ran.

A large dumpster filled almost to the brim with trash. It would be absolutely disgusting, but that might work to his benefit. He ran to the dumpster. It reeked. The smell made him want to throw up, but he climbed inside, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose in an attempt to reduce the odor as much as possible. Then, he dug down into the piles of garbage and forced himself to stay absolutely still. He was armed. If they came this way, he could try to shoot his way out but he'd rather not do that if it wasn't necessary.

He lay there, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly that he couldn't believe it wasn't audible to anyone else.

They were running through the alley. He could hear them.

Coming toward him.

Getting closer and closer.

His heart rate increased until it was beating so loud and so fast that he thought it might beat right out of his chest. Still, he made himself remain motionless.

The footsteps slowed for a moment. Then, they kept going. Tim still didn't move. He wasn't going to trust that this had worked. He had to stay here in this rotting garbage for as long as possible...and hope that a garbage truck didn't come and dump him into the hopper which would likely kill him.

That did not help him calm down, but he still stayed where he was. The minutes ticked by and it was silent. The garbage smelled horrible. There was disgusting liquid soaking through his clothes. He hated where he was, but he didn't dare get out yet. The minutes continued to pass without any indication of a return of his pursuers.

Finally, Tim judged that it was safe to get out of the dumpster. He climbed out and onto the ground. His face really hurt. He felt dizzy. And now, he stank, too. He took a step and stumbled and then his legs gave out and he just kind of folded up into a heap on the ground. For a few minutes, he couldn't make himself move. Finally, he forced himself to stand up again and he reeled to and fro as he walked away from the dumpster. He wandered around the alleys, kind in a fuzz after his adrenaline rush. He needed a place to hide. He still had no idea where he was. He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know how long it had been although he guessed it was the same night, probably very early morning based on how few people were around that he could see.

At this point, he probably wasn't worth robbing, either. Perhaps someone might just beat him up for the fun of it, but they wouldn't get anything out of it since he had nothing and even his clothes were horrible.

He walked until he literally ran into a wall because the alley ended and he hadn't been paying attention. Finally, he decided he couldn't keep walking. There were some garbage cans lined up. Well, he couldn't possibly smell worse. He shifted them away from the wall slightly and then lay down behind them, hoping that he could stay safely out of sight. Then, his sheer exhaustion took over and in spite of the danger, he fell asleep.