I don't know how many times I can apoligize for taking so long. I like the story... I just still am unsure as to how to go about organizing it. I basically just write a part, put it up, think what to do next, write a part, put it up...... is anyone seeing the pattern here? Also, I've had such a chronic case of writer's block that has dogged me since the first day I was able to pick up a pencil. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews, and sorry about the Berto torture. I just like how angst and pain always equals to wonderful sweet and smarmy endings. And our man, Martinez deserves a sweet and smarmy ending, no? Anyway, on to the next chapter.
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"Looks deserted to me. Why would he come here?" Rachel looked around the empty lot, taking in the run down appearance of the old apartment buildings that made a circle around the red, cobblestone courtyard. On a small, dry fountain that sat in one of the corners, cracked and decaying from lack of use, there was printed, "The Square." Very original.
"Maybe because it's the perfect place for a bad guy to come and kidnap him without any witnesses." Max grumbled. He was in a foul mood. God knew what had happened to his friend and why. When he found out who was behind this... Max clenched his fists and counted to ten. No need to lose his temper when he didn't even have anyone to take it out on yet. A very foul mood, indeed.
"Well I suppose we should start looking for clues." Rachel sighed and chose a direction to explore. Either she was taking this very well, or she simply knew how to keep herself in check. Rachel was always the calm one, calculating and sometimes even a bit cold, but this was personal. It was some one she cared about that was at stake. But then... she always knew not to let emotions get control and take over when it concerned her job. Max was glad to have her along. It helped him keep his own behavior at a responsible level. He followed her example and scrutinized the apartment buildings around him.
"Hey..." There in a window, he saw movement. As he jogged closer, craning his neck to look up, a man appeared beyond the reflection of the glass, an old man with a creased brow. Max waved at him, and the man opened his window. "Excuse me, sir. Do you think we could ask you a few questions?" By then, Rachel joined his side.
Leaning out, he responded, "You're looking for that boy with the glasses, no? He spoke Spanish?"
Max felt his stomach jump ten feet. "Have you seen him?"
The old man's face was very serious. "Are you friends of his?"
Rachel's chest puffed up. "The seriously worried sick kind."
The wild-haired senior citizen nodded gravely. "Come up, then. Room 509."
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"The police came by too late. They'd taken off and gone. I didn't catch any names that I could give them. I heard their leader say that young man's name, your friend, but I have terrible short term memory, and all I could tell them was it could have been Cortez or Mendoza, or something of the sorts. Of course, the police can't go on no names. I'm supposed to contact them when something comes to me." Leonard sat across from his guests. One was a muscular young man with brown, neatly cropped hair and sharp blue eyes and bore into him with concern and hope and fear. The other was a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and glinting green eyes that looked out through a stony face of an absolutely strict and schooled expression. She sat up straight, tense and astute while her comrade leaned forward with eagerness and impatience.
"Martinez. Berto Martinez." Max sat on the edge of the sofa chair, curling his fingers tightly around his knees. "Did you get a look at the guys that took him?"
"He wasn't in any of the mug shots I was showed. Rather friendly looking if you were to run into him in the street: clean cut and fresh faced, maybe in his thirties. He had short blonde hair... kind of tall... there's not much else I could give you folks; I'm five stories up, you know. I really want to help you out; he looked like such a nice young boy, and no one deserves abduction. But there's really no more to it."
Rachel was very close to fidgeting. "Were the men wearing any uniforms, sir?"
Leonard pinched his face with thought. "Well they were all wearing black, and the clothes all looked pretty similar, though the one thing keeping me from saying yes is that there were no slogans or emblems on them. I've served the military in my time, and I would've recognized any signs of an organization."
Max heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep frustration from swallowing him up whole.
"Did you see which way they went? Did any of them say where they were going? Anything like that?" Rachel tried but the old man shook his head.
"They all took off in every which direction. The ones with your friend went off toward a back road, but that thing leads to a thousand different directions. I'm really sorry."
Max and Rachel tried a few more questions, and when nothing seemed to get them anywhere closer to finding the kidnappers, they took their leave, visibly discouraged. When they got into Max's car, he didn't start it right away. Where would they go?
"Well..." Max sighed, looking down at his lap. "That was fruitful."
"What I don't get is why they haven't called for ransom yet." Rachel was looking out the window with a look of sincere consternation.
"Maybe it was personal? I can't think of anyone who would have a grudge on him."
Rachel looked at him, startled. "I don't want to think that. That would mean that he is most likely dead, and I'm not ready to believe that he's dead yet. Besides, that Leonard man said that the guy had his men "sedate" him. Obviously, there was some kind of plan that had been established." Rachel turned back toward the window, quietly hating the weather for being so beautiful and light and sunny. It was the wrong setting. Softly, she asked, "Where are you, Berto?" Max turned on the engine, and pulled away, having nothing better to do than head back to N-Tek. Someone was going to have to call the Martinez family.
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Franklin drew in a long breath, hands clamped over his face, and let the air out loudly, trying to drown out the faint buzzing that was beginning to leave his ears ringing. He was beginning to annoy even himself, sounding like a broken record, asking the same questions over and over again. And Martinez hadn't said a thing yet. Franklin had been extremely lenient with the brass knuckles the day before, taking note of the fact that the prisoner may have already had a busted rib or two, and he'd even skipped the stretch rack for the same reasons. No one could say that Franklin Finer wasn't merciful.
"Okay..." He put his hands down. "How many is this, Chani?"
Chani, a tall, dark haired man, turned from the small power-box he was holding on the table in front of him, and consulted a chart that was crudely drawn with a sharpie pen. "Thirteen times on level three."
"Fine then. Seven more times, and then maybe we'll save level four for another time, okay? What do you think, Martinez?" No response. "Come on, now. This is an easy one. Do you think that it's a good idea? Yes or No?" But Martinez just lay there on the table, not even struggling against the clamps that held his wrists and ankles anymore. He just looked up at the ceiling with glassy eyes and a look of resignation. Franklin shrugged. "Okay, it's not important. Next question. You've heard this one before. You've had time to think it over, I'm sure, as you've seemed too preoccupied to answer any of the others. Now... Is Max Steel a pseudonym or alias for another man? Yes or No?" Franklin had taken to asking simple yes or no questions along time ago in order to hopefully induce the prisoner to even just give a murmur of an answer. No such luck. After a moment, he threw his eyes toward Chani as a signal. "All right, Dr. Martinez. Then you've won another round of level three. Number fourteen, Chani."
Chani turned a dial on the power-box and the buzzing noise grew louder, bringing one side of his mouth up in a half smile. The prisoner clamped his eyes shut as his body stiffened and his back arched up a little. Convulsive tremors racked his body and his fingers curled involuntarily around the edge of the table as bolt after bolt of level three electricity coursed through his limbs and made it near impossible to breath. It stopped as soon as it started but began again just as immediately. Round fourteen lasted approximately forty-three seconds, and then Chani turned the dial back down. He shook his head at the young man before him who was now coughing and violently gasping for air as he had done the last fifty-three times since level one, only now more desperately. He was still trembling from the after-effects, and compulsory tears traced down his temples and wetted his hair.
"I will remind you yet again, Dr. Martinez, that we could have skipped all this and been done days ago. You still have your chance, too. The minute you open your mouth and tell me something useful, I let you walk free." Franklin almost sounded exasperated as well as hopeful. He really did just want to end it, and he was even close to feeling bad for the poor kid... but not by much. Anything done in the name of exploration required patience, and Franklin had tons of it. Universe after universe of patience. It was a virtue he was pleased to possess; it made stress that much more easier to handle. "Okay, maybe we'll cut it down to three or four more. He looks like he's barely holding on to consciousness now. You can cry if you want to, Doctor. Heaven knows I certainly would. You're obviously no superhero, and who is? I mean, besides our friend Mr. Steel, anyway. You've been very brave this far, though. I've got to give you credit for that." Franklin jerked his fist in the air to punctuate. "Next question. What gives Max Steel his strength?"
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"Looks deserted to me. Why would he come here?" Rachel looked around the empty lot, taking in the run down appearance of the old apartment buildings that made a circle around the red, cobblestone courtyard. On a small, dry fountain that sat in one of the corners, cracked and decaying from lack of use, there was printed, "The Square." Very original.
"Maybe because it's the perfect place for a bad guy to come and kidnap him without any witnesses." Max grumbled. He was in a foul mood. God knew what had happened to his friend and why. When he found out who was behind this... Max clenched his fists and counted to ten. No need to lose his temper when he didn't even have anyone to take it out on yet. A very foul mood, indeed.
"Well I suppose we should start looking for clues." Rachel sighed and chose a direction to explore. Either she was taking this very well, or she simply knew how to keep herself in check. Rachel was always the calm one, calculating and sometimes even a bit cold, but this was personal. It was some one she cared about that was at stake. But then... she always knew not to let emotions get control and take over when it concerned her job. Max was glad to have her along. It helped him keep his own behavior at a responsible level. He followed her example and scrutinized the apartment buildings around him.
"Hey..." There in a window, he saw movement. As he jogged closer, craning his neck to look up, a man appeared beyond the reflection of the glass, an old man with a creased brow. Max waved at him, and the man opened his window. "Excuse me, sir. Do you think we could ask you a few questions?" By then, Rachel joined his side.
Leaning out, he responded, "You're looking for that boy with the glasses, no? He spoke Spanish?"
Max felt his stomach jump ten feet. "Have you seen him?"
The old man's face was very serious. "Are you friends of his?"
Rachel's chest puffed up. "The seriously worried sick kind."
The wild-haired senior citizen nodded gravely. "Come up, then. Room 509."
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"The police came by too late. They'd taken off and gone. I didn't catch any names that I could give them. I heard their leader say that young man's name, your friend, but I have terrible short term memory, and all I could tell them was it could have been Cortez or Mendoza, or something of the sorts. Of course, the police can't go on no names. I'm supposed to contact them when something comes to me." Leonard sat across from his guests. One was a muscular young man with brown, neatly cropped hair and sharp blue eyes and bore into him with concern and hope and fear. The other was a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and glinting green eyes that looked out through a stony face of an absolutely strict and schooled expression. She sat up straight, tense and astute while her comrade leaned forward with eagerness and impatience.
"Martinez. Berto Martinez." Max sat on the edge of the sofa chair, curling his fingers tightly around his knees. "Did you get a look at the guys that took him?"
"He wasn't in any of the mug shots I was showed. Rather friendly looking if you were to run into him in the street: clean cut and fresh faced, maybe in his thirties. He had short blonde hair... kind of tall... there's not much else I could give you folks; I'm five stories up, you know. I really want to help you out; he looked like such a nice young boy, and no one deserves abduction. But there's really no more to it."
Rachel was very close to fidgeting. "Were the men wearing any uniforms, sir?"
Leonard pinched his face with thought. "Well they were all wearing black, and the clothes all looked pretty similar, though the one thing keeping me from saying yes is that there were no slogans or emblems on them. I've served the military in my time, and I would've recognized any signs of an organization."
Max heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep frustration from swallowing him up whole.
"Did you see which way they went? Did any of them say where they were going? Anything like that?" Rachel tried but the old man shook his head.
"They all took off in every which direction. The ones with your friend went off toward a back road, but that thing leads to a thousand different directions. I'm really sorry."
Max and Rachel tried a few more questions, and when nothing seemed to get them anywhere closer to finding the kidnappers, they took their leave, visibly discouraged. When they got into Max's car, he didn't start it right away. Where would they go?
"Well..." Max sighed, looking down at his lap. "That was fruitful."
"What I don't get is why they haven't called for ransom yet." Rachel was looking out the window with a look of sincere consternation.
"Maybe it was personal? I can't think of anyone who would have a grudge on him."
Rachel looked at him, startled. "I don't want to think that. That would mean that he is most likely dead, and I'm not ready to believe that he's dead yet. Besides, that Leonard man said that the guy had his men "sedate" him. Obviously, there was some kind of plan that had been established." Rachel turned back toward the window, quietly hating the weather for being so beautiful and light and sunny. It was the wrong setting. Softly, she asked, "Where are you, Berto?" Max turned on the engine, and pulled away, having nothing better to do than head back to N-Tek. Someone was going to have to call the Martinez family.
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Franklin drew in a long breath, hands clamped over his face, and let the air out loudly, trying to drown out the faint buzzing that was beginning to leave his ears ringing. He was beginning to annoy even himself, sounding like a broken record, asking the same questions over and over again. And Martinez hadn't said a thing yet. Franklin had been extremely lenient with the brass knuckles the day before, taking note of the fact that the prisoner may have already had a busted rib or two, and he'd even skipped the stretch rack for the same reasons. No one could say that Franklin Finer wasn't merciful.
"Okay..." He put his hands down. "How many is this, Chani?"
Chani, a tall, dark haired man, turned from the small power-box he was holding on the table in front of him, and consulted a chart that was crudely drawn with a sharpie pen. "Thirteen times on level three."
"Fine then. Seven more times, and then maybe we'll save level four for another time, okay? What do you think, Martinez?" No response. "Come on, now. This is an easy one. Do you think that it's a good idea? Yes or No?" But Martinez just lay there on the table, not even struggling against the clamps that held his wrists and ankles anymore. He just looked up at the ceiling with glassy eyes and a look of resignation. Franklin shrugged. "Okay, it's not important. Next question. You've heard this one before. You've had time to think it over, I'm sure, as you've seemed too preoccupied to answer any of the others. Now... Is Max Steel a pseudonym or alias for another man? Yes or No?" Franklin had taken to asking simple yes or no questions along time ago in order to hopefully induce the prisoner to even just give a murmur of an answer. No such luck. After a moment, he threw his eyes toward Chani as a signal. "All right, Dr. Martinez. Then you've won another round of level three. Number fourteen, Chani."
Chani turned a dial on the power-box and the buzzing noise grew louder, bringing one side of his mouth up in a half smile. The prisoner clamped his eyes shut as his body stiffened and his back arched up a little. Convulsive tremors racked his body and his fingers curled involuntarily around the edge of the table as bolt after bolt of level three electricity coursed through his limbs and made it near impossible to breath. It stopped as soon as it started but began again just as immediately. Round fourteen lasted approximately forty-three seconds, and then Chani turned the dial back down. He shook his head at the young man before him who was now coughing and violently gasping for air as he had done the last fifty-three times since level one, only now more desperately. He was still trembling from the after-effects, and compulsory tears traced down his temples and wetted his hair.
"I will remind you yet again, Dr. Martinez, that we could have skipped all this and been done days ago. You still have your chance, too. The minute you open your mouth and tell me something useful, I let you walk free." Franklin almost sounded exasperated as well as hopeful. He really did just want to end it, and he was even close to feeling bad for the poor kid... but not by much. Anything done in the name of exploration required patience, and Franklin had tons of it. Universe after universe of patience. It was a virtue he was pleased to possess; it made stress that much more easier to handle. "Okay, maybe we'll cut it down to three or four more. He looks like he's barely holding on to consciousness now. You can cry if you want to, Doctor. Heaven knows I certainly would. You're obviously no superhero, and who is? I mean, besides our friend Mr. Steel, anyway. You've been very brave this far, though. I've got to give you credit for that." Franklin jerked his fist in the air to punctuate. "Next question. What gives Max Steel his strength?"