*******************
Wow! Sorry I've taken so long, guys. I've finally come out of my writer's block box, sat my pootin down, and got to writing the stinkin' thing. I realized nothing was going to specify itself clearly until I actually started to put stuff down. I'd like to send out a million thanks to Andrea and Moondreamer for all their help; you guys are great!
And, now that I've finally come up with this clever little bit, I hope that there will be a lot of reviews because this was a really big challenge, and I just wanted to know whether my efforts had been in vane. Thanks to everyone for being patient, and I hope you enjoy.
*******************
On with the story!
*******************
Out of the cocoon of inky blackness, he felt someone moving his limbs, and the inside of his mind screamed hysterically for them to stop because it hurt beyond words. They were cleaning him up and putting on a fresh pair of clothes, routine every other day or so. In a few minutes he'd feel a bit of stale water scraping its way down his throat to rest uncomfortably in his belly. Since his whole body was in too much pain to respond to anything his head told it, Berto concentrated on forcing his eyes to open. Through a bleary veil of mist that hung over his eyes, he could just barely make out the form of... was this one Ander? Yes, there was his light colored hair. His back was turned as he folded something or other and stuck it in a small basket on the ground.
Finally! Berto had waited and waited for this chance. Usually he was unconscious during the ministrations, or he pretended to be if it was Finer or that tall, dark headed creep. The two or three times he had been awake, Berto would sneak peeks around to see what they brought in, hoping to find a first aid kit amongst the props brought in. To his delight, he found his luck to be better than he thought. They actually had a tray set up right next to the bed with various medical tools displayed across it in case they had to cauterize something that was hemorrhaging or let a festering wound bleed itself out or something.
Today - or tonight; he never knew the time - he would at least attempt to preserve his own life. No one had come so far. He was sure his friends had to have realized he was missing by now, but didn't they have any idea where to look? It had been too long, and he was almost starting to believe the things Franklin told him: "the way it looks, Martinez, they're probably convinced you're dead by now." Then, Berto thought, I will prove them wrong. It had been too long, and he'd finally given up hope that anyone would find him anytime soon. For all he knew, he would be stuck with the psychopathic fortune finder until he was pile of bones and torn up flesh. The only consolation in that was the fact that Mr. Finer would be right back at the beginning, where he started.
He closed his eyes as Ander turned toward him and then lifted up to a sitting position. The motion caused Berto to swoon and a wave of nausea overturned his stomach. His back was on fire, which really wasn't too far from the truth, there was still that uncomfortable buzzing in his joints, and his broken ribs poked at his lungs. Add to that the Guinness Book of World Records' worst headache, Berto had press his teeth together to keep from either moaning or throwing up. Ander was putting a long sleeve shirt tee shirt on him, and the fresh cotton aggravated the burns, at the same time keeping the stinging cold air from lashing at them. Berto grimaced. His bruised cheek rested gruffly against one of Ander's shoulders as the man lifted his arms into the sleeves. Every motion was torture. Finally, he was laid back down. He kept his eyes closed, but peeked through slits when he thought it was safe. Now, Berto thought wildly. Now was the time. As Ander turned away once again, Berto reached out, ever so silently, and plucked a scalpel from the table and slid it under the mattress right near the restraining strap, where his fingers could easily curl under and grab it later. Then he was still until Ander was finished and finally left.
Berto was tied back up now and left in the dark. He lay there, struggling not to fall back into a restless state of unconsciousness. He was sometimes able to determine when the hallway outside his little room was still and wouldn't be occupied for a while. Once he determined it was safe, he took out the little knife and slowly but surely began to cut the strap from his wrist. The process was excruciatingly cumbersome as his fingers wouldn't work exactly right, and he gave himself numerous little nicks on the arm, but the fear and exhilarence of what he was doing kept him from noticing. He finally freed his arm, and quickly unbuckled the other one despite his protesting muscles. Pulling himself up into a sitting position was more of a challenge than he expected, but after several tries, and a lot of piercing pain, he finally managed to accomplish the task, and sat there a moment or two, taking in slow, difficult breaths. Ugh, the shirt was already sticking to his back, and his hair, long since rebelliously falling wherever it pleased, was dampening and sticking to his forehead. He'd almost forgotten how long it had gotten.
Once he'd taken care of the ankle straps, he realized as he pulled his legs over the edge of the bed, that he was now at the point where he'd have to make his legs work on their own. It's okay, he told himself. Just take it one step at a time. Clutching the tiny scalpel in one hand, he slowly stood up, willed the room to stop spinning, and inched one bare foot across the cold floor. One. Was he tipping? He pushed the other foot forward. Two. The floor wasn't supposed to lean at that angle, was it? The door wasn't that far; it was only seven feet away... and there was the cart with the medical supplies right near it. But Berto's steps were ridiculously small ones, and he had to stop and gather his wits every few moments so he wouldn't pass out. He realized, with self-indignation, that he hadn't taken into account what he was going to do once he got out of the room. He didn't know where the hallway went, what floor he was on (if there was more than one) or even where in the world the building was. One step at a time, he reminded himself. First thing was first... get away and hide. After an eternity and a half, he finally reached the door and sank to his knees, resting his forehead against the cool wall. When he turned his head slightly, he could see the tray with it's instruments gleaming against the dim light. Syringes and small bottles ranked the front of the lines of clamps and scalpels. Perfect. Once he had regained his composure, he reached up his hand that held the scalpel; knuckles white, he began to pick the lock on the door. He would also need a few things from that tray.
*****************************************************************
"Come with me tomorrow night. Let Stan and Ander keep watch. Come on, Frank..." Chani elbowed Franklin in the ribs. "Ronny's is the best pub there is around here. You need to relax a little."
Franklin puckered his lips in thought. He was a bit at the point of supporting his last few nerves. Perhaps... He stopped dead in his tracks as they rounded the corner. Eyes wide in absolute amazement and horror, he took a moment to find his voice. "What the hell is going on here?" It came out low and husky.
There lay Ander, sprawled on the floor, flat on his face. A needle stuck out of his shoulder very near to his neck, saluting erectly at Franklin from its post. Next to him, the door to the prisoner's room sat wide open. Finally able to move his feet, which had suddenly become like cast iron weights, Franklin made his way to the door. His fear was confirmed when he saw the empty bed. Cigarette, he thought. I need a cigarette.
"Was somebody in here, boss?" Chani queried as he followed Franklin into the room. Franklin bent over the cot as if examining it.
"No. Looks like Martinez has pulled a Houdini on us. Cut the straps somehow." Franklin's voice would have sounded casual had it not been laced with unease. He straightened and looked and Chani. "He can't have gotten far, knowing the condition he's in. Search the place. Be careful though; he's a scientist and he's armed." The last statement was said with sarcasm and a sneer. He and Chani exited the room, stepped over the unconscious Ander, and split up, going separate ways down the corridor.
The search lasted all of three minutes. As Franklin backed out of a closet, Chani ambled up to him with an expression of disappointment on his face that looked like he'd just been told a really bad joke. "He's in your office, Frank." He stated flatly. Franklin's eyebrows lowered but his eyes widened.
"My office-" He darted past Chani and down the hall, rounding the corners in an almost animated fashion. "The computer!" Chani was calling after him to calm down; nothing was touched. As Franklin came into the small room, he was about to retort that Martinez could have contacted someone from there, but he came to a screeching halt, looking about curiously. There was Martinez, the little pitiful fox, propped up against the wall in a state of half-consciousness. It looked as though he'd come in, made it about two or three steps inside the door, then collapsed to the floor and gave up, scooting up to the wall or something. His face was flushed, and Franklin could hear him breathing shallowly and strenuously. Franklin came and crouched in front of him, looking into glassy eyes that looked like they were coated with water. The kid managed to look up at him with an irrated glance that also spoke of disappointment and frustration.
"What do you think you're doing in here, Martinez?" He asked tauntingly. Then he stood up and went to his computer, making a show of gesturing to it. "Is this what you wanted to use?" As an afterthought, Franklin made a mental note of checking it over anyways, after Martinez was put back into his room. "So sorry. This isn't for public use. Come on, Chani. Help me get him up. I'm going to keep watch myself the next couple of days since Ander has proven himself incompetent." Chani came over, and they each grabbed up an arm.
*************************************************************************
The police station was buzzing with people all over the place. Criminals led around with hands cuffed behind their backs, phones ringing, files being passed around, all kinds of noise to create an almost chaotic atmosphere. A few of the wandering people recognized Josh McGrath, N-Tek's extreme sports athlete, making his way to one of the offices at the back, flanked by his handler, Rachel Leeds, and his boss, Jefferson Smith. A secretary ushered them in to a large office with windows that let in the bright sunlight.
"Glad you could make it, folks." Said the large Asian woman who sat behind the desk. "I'm Chief Ming. And this is our Dr. Martinez's family. Anani Martinez, Jefferson Smith, your son's employer." Josh turned to see an elderly Spanish woman, lovely even through her obvious years. Her ebony colored hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore simple but nice looking clothes that fit a frame witch belied her age.
"Si. We know each other. And Mr. Smith is aware that my mother does not speak English." One of three younger women spoke from behind Mrs. Martinez as the small woman took Smith's hand with a sad smile of recognition. The younger lady was quite taller than her mother, as were her sisters, and all of them were stunning beauties. Each of them seemed to have their own look, and yet they were all somehow the same... perhaps it was their build and facial features that were remarkably alike. One had wild, unruly black curls that swept down her back, and she wore a lot of make-up. Another had a sleek bob cut and a very formal looking outfit, business attire. The youngest looking one looked a lot like a West Side Story Natalie Wood type: very clean cut and simple looking. The one who had spoken was the one with the short hair and suit. She introduced herself to Josh and Rachel. "I am Ena, Berto's sister. This is Carmen and Isabelle." She gestured first to the one in make up, and then the younger one. "Our other sister is away on business, I'm afraid, but she will be returning within a couple of days."
Formalities and introductions were finally established, and then Josh, haggard and weary from his restless night before, willed himself to make it through Chief Ming's questioning. Was Berto involved with anyone prior to the kidnapping, did he have any evident enemies, was he starting some kind of project that might have provoked curiosity or resentment from anyone? The Martinez daughter with the long, wild mane, Carmen, had a quick and sharp tongue; she spoke a lot, interrupting and growing easily aggravated. Apparently, she was very protective of her younger brother, inclined to jump to conclusions when asked if Berto did anything like experiments that were illegal. Isabelle, whose voice Josh recognized, mostly asked worried questions as to whether there had been any leads or what not. Between the two sisters, there was more questions asked to Chief Ming than Chief Ming could ask of anyone else, and it seemed a miracle at how well the calm and composed Ena could tame her sisters and keep them from overwhelming the situation. The mother didn't say much at all, popping in only every now and again with a short answer or question, which was translated through Ena. Josh had to admire the oldest daughter. Through everything, and despite the tired look within her eyes, she remained so stable. He wondered, briefly and with hidden embarrassment, whether she had cried at some point, the way he had. He was scared for a friend; he could only imagine if it were a family member.
The rest of the questioning session went by like a hazy dream. At some point, Isabelle had asked about Max and why he wasn't present. Josh couldn't even remember whether it was his dad or Rachel who mentioned something about a trip to Australia. But then Isabelle leaned toward him with a bitter frown.
"Berto always says such great things about him; if he's such a good friend, why isn't he here?" There was a teary note in her voice, laced with disappointment, and it struck a cord in Josh's heart. If only he could tell her that Max was there, that he was the friend Berto claimed him to be... Josh stopped himself. What kind of friend let a person they really cared about get snatched from right under their nose?
"Josh, are you all right?" His dad was touching his arm, speaking softly.
*********************************************************************
Hands in his pockets, Danny Pitts walked into the smoky bar, completely unnoticed by anyone, and that was how he liked it. To be a ghost was the preferred identity, especially when one was a double agent. Danny slid onto an empty bar stool and ordered a drink, assuming a casual position with his chin resting in one hand. The relaxed pose, really, was no show. After eight hours of computer hacking and driving, Danny Pitts was ready to take it easy a bit. He scooted a stray bowl of beer nuts toward himself and began to munch at them absently.
The guy on his left was humming softly to himself. Perhaps he had already had a few. Glancing over, Danny could see that his eyes were half way closed, and he stared sadly off into space... Heartbreak? Two seats to Danny's right found a guy talking animatedly to whoever was on the other side of him. He gestured openly and grinned widely despite his dark visage. Must be gay, Danny thought. At least the stupid haircut looked gay. Danny ignored the insufferable character and concentrated on organizing his thoughts.
Finnish. Frank Finnish couldn't have just run off. He had to be lurking around somewhere, probably under an alias. Danny had to give the guy a little credit; he was pretty fast... especially for a guy who was darting around a mere two cities from where he'd run from. Perhaps Danny would catch up to Finnish here. He had to shake his head. This Finnish guy was obviously just trying to get something out of working for Dread, and not just pay. Danny could tell from the first time he had met him that Frank had some kind of bigger plan in mind, one of those guys that had really big dreams and desires. But he was a fool for simply skipping out on Dread the way he had. Didn't Finnish have any patience?
Danny had been sticking it out with Dread for the past year and a half, trying to make his way up in the line, kissing up to anyone and everything until he thought he'd puke, and then he'd kiss up all the more. He hadn't gotten close enough to catch the old man, but he was hanging in there. God knew he was so close, close enough to taste Dread's very presence. This mission had to be the flag he would finally put on his sand castle of conquest. Then John Dread would be history. Once he brought in Frank Finnish, things would be a whole heck of a lot easier.
A high pitch beeping caught his ear. The homo two seats down had a pager and was frowning down at whatever message it was displaying. "Well, I have to call the boss man!" He said loudly to his companion then excused himself from the bar to go use the payphone. An absent glance out of mild curiosity showed the phone to be near the restrooms, and Danny suddenly realized he needed to use the facilities. He turned to finish his drink, though, so no one would take it while he was away. The guy on his left was now incorporating words into his incoherent warbling, and Danny thought he might have recognized the tune from somewhere.
Finally, he made his way over to the restrooms, finding a small line he had to wait in. So he stood there, looking invisible, not really noticing anyone or anything until the loud guy talking on the phone said the name, Frank. Cocking his head to the side, Danny found himself listening curiously. What were the odds... ? "What do you need me tonight for?" The guy was asking on the phone. "Is our little friend giving you trouble again? I told you, you should let me handle him... a store run?! But I... fine, all right. What do you need this time... okay... what else, some Camels? Marlborough? ...Okay. Just give me a half hour. I'm almost done here... okay, Frank, see you then." He hung up, and Danny suddenly didn't have to go anymore. The cigarettes had clinched it; he hadn't even made a cast, and now he had a bite.
***************************************
Yeah! You see it all coming together? Hee hee hee, I'm really excited now. Don't forget to review on your way out. Love to all!
Wow! Sorry I've taken so long, guys. I've finally come out of my writer's block box, sat my pootin down, and got to writing the stinkin' thing. I realized nothing was going to specify itself clearly until I actually started to put stuff down. I'd like to send out a million thanks to Andrea and Moondreamer for all their help; you guys are great!
And, now that I've finally come up with this clever little bit, I hope that there will be a lot of reviews because this was a really big challenge, and I just wanted to know whether my efforts had been in vane. Thanks to everyone for being patient, and I hope you enjoy.
*******************
On with the story!
*******************
Out of the cocoon of inky blackness, he felt someone moving his limbs, and the inside of his mind screamed hysterically for them to stop because it hurt beyond words. They were cleaning him up and putting on a fresh pair of clothes, routine every other day or so. In a few minutes he'd feel a bit of stale water scraping its way down his throat to rest uncomfortably in his belly. Since his whole body was in too much pain to respond to anything his head told it, Berto concentrated on forcing his eyes to open. Through a bleary veil of mist that hung over his eyes, he could just barely make out the form of... was this one Ander? Yes, there was his light colored hair. His back was turned as he folded something or other and stuck it in a small basket on the ground.
Finally! Berto had waited and waited for this chance. Usually he was unconscious during the ministrations, or he pretended to be if it was Finer or that tall, dark headed creep. The two or three times he had been awake, Berto would sneak peeks around to see what they brought in, hoping to find a first aid kit amongst the props brought in. To his delight, he found his luck to be better than he thought. They actually had a tray set up right next to the bed with various medical tools displayed across it in case they had to cauterize something that was hemorrhaging or let a festering wound bleed itself out or something.
Today - or tonight; he never knew the time - he would at least attempt to preserve his own life. No one had come so far. He was sure his friends had to have realized he was missing by now, but didn't they have any idea where to look? It had been too long, and he was almost starting to believe the things Franklin told him: "the way it looks, Martinez, they're probably convinced you're dead by now." Then, Berto thought, I will prove them wrong. It had been too long, and he'd finally given up hope that anyone would find him anytime soon. For all he knew, he would be stuck with the psychopathic fortune finder until he was pile of bones and torn up flesh. The only consolation in that was the fact that Mr. Finer would be right back at the beginning, where he started.
He closed his eyes as Ander turned toward him and then lifted up to a sitting position. The motion caused Berto to swoon and a wave of nausea overturned his stomach. His back was on fire, which really wasn't too far from the truth, there was still that uncomfortable buzzing in his joints, and his broken ribs poked at his lungs. Add to that the Guinness Book of World Records' worst headache, Berto had press his teeth together to keep from either moaning or throwing up. Ander was putting a long sleeve shirt tee shirt on him, and the fresh cotton aggravated the burns, at the same time keeping the stinging cold air from lashing at them. Berto grimaced. His bruised cheek rested gruffly against one of Ander's shoulders as the man lifted his arms into the sleeves. Every motion was torture. Finally, he was laid back down. He kept his eyes closed, but peeked through slits when he thought it was safe. Now, Berto thought wildly. Now was the time. As Ander turned away once again, Berto reached out, ever so silently, and plucked a scalpel from the table and slid it under the mattress right near the restraining strap, where his fingers could easily curl under and grab it later. Then he was still until Ander was finished and finally left.
Berto was tied back up now and left in the dark. He lay there, struggling not to fall back into a restless state of unconsciousness. He was sometimes able to determine when the hallway outside his little room was still and wouldn't be occupied for a while. Once he determined it was safe, he took out the little knife and slowly but surely began to cut the strap from his wrist. The process was excruciatingly cumbersome as his fingers wouldn't work exactly right, and he gave himself numerous little nicks on the arm, but the fear and exhilarence of what he was doing kept him from noticing. He finally freed his arm, and quickly unbuckled the other one despite his protesting muscles. Pulling himself up into a sitting position was more of a challenge than he expected, but after several tries, and a lot of piercing pain, he finally managed to accomplish the task, and sat there a moment or two, taking in slow, difficult breaths. Ugh, the shirt was already sticking to his back, and his hair, long since rebelliously falling wherever it pleased, was dampening and sticking to his forehead. He'd almost forgotten how long it had gotten.
Once he'd taken care of the ankle straps, he realized as he pulled his legs over the edge of the bed, that he was now at the point where he'd have to make his legs work on their own. It's okay, he told himself. Just take it one step at a time. Clutching the tiny scalpel in one hand, he slowly stood up, willed the room to stop spinning, and inched one bare foot across the cold floor. One. Was he tipping? He pushed the other foot forward. Two. The floor wasn't supposed to lean at that angle, was it? The door wasn't that far; it was only seven feet away... and there was the cart with the medical supplies right near it. But Berto's steps were ridiculously small ones, and he had to stop and gather his wits every few moments so he wouldn't pass out. He realized, with self-indignation, that he hadn't taken into account what he was going to do once he got out of the room. He didn't know where the hallway went, what floor he was on (if there was more than one) or even where in the world the building was. One step at a time, he reminded himself. First thing was first... get away and hide. After an eternity and a half, he finally reached the door and sank to his knees, resting his forehead against the cool wall. When he turned his head slightly, he could see the tray with it's instruments gleaming against the dim light. Syringes and small bottles ranked the front of the lines of clamps and scalpels. Perfect. Once he had regained his composure, he reached up his hand that held the scalpel; knuckles white, he began to pick the lock on the door. He would also need a few things from that tray.
*****************************************************************
"Come with me tomorrow night. Let Stan and Ander keep watch. Come on, Frank..." Chani elbowed Franklin in the ribs. "Ronny's is the best pub there is around here. You need to relax a little."
Franklin puckered his lips in thought. He was a bit at the point of supporting his last few nerves. Perhaps... He stopped dead in his tracks as they rounded the corner. Eyes wide in absolute amazement and horror, he took a moment to find his voice. "What the hell is going on here?" It came out low and husky.
There lay Ander, sprawled on the floor, flat on his face. A needle stuck out of his shoulder very near to his neck, saluting erectly at Franklin from its post. Next to him, the door to the prisoner's room sat wide open. Finally able to move his feet, which had suddenly become like cast iron weights, Franklin made his way to the door. His fear was confirmed when he saw the empty bed. Cigarette, he thought. I need a cigarette.
"Was somebody in here, boss?" Chani queried as he followed Franklin into the room. Franklin bent over the cot as if examining it.
"No. Looks like Martinez has pulled a Houdini on us. Cut the straps somehow." Franklin's voice would have sounded casual had it not been laced with unease. He straightened and looked and Chani. "He can't have gotten far, knowing the condition he's in. Search the place. Be careful though; he's a scientist and he's armed." The last statement was said with sarcasm and a sneer. He and Chani exited the room, stepped over the unconscious Ander, and split up, going separate ways down the corridor.
The search lasted all of three minutes. As Franklin backed out of a closet, Chani ambled up to him with an expression of disappointment on his face that looked like he'd just been told a really bad joke. "He's in your office, Frank." He stated flatly. Franklin's eyebrows lowered but his eyes widened.
"My office-" He darted past Chani and down the hall, rounding the corners in an almost animated fashion. "The computer!" Chani was calling after him to calm down; nothing was touched. As Franklin came into the small room, he was about to retort that Martinez could have contacted someone from there, but he came to a screeching halt, looking about curiously. There was Martinez, the little pitiful fox, propped up against the wall in a state of half-consciousness. It looked as though he'd come in, made it about two or three steps inside the door, then collapsed to the floor and gave up, scooting up to the wall or something. His face was flushed, and Franklin could hear him breathing shallowly and strenuously. Franklin came and crouched in front of him, looking into glassy eyes that looked like they were coated with water. The kid managed to look up at him with an irrated glance that also spoke of disappointment and frustration.
"What do you think you're doing in here, Martinez?" He asked tauntingly. Then he stood up and went to his computer, making a show of gesturing to it. "Is this what you wanted to use?" As an afterthought, Franklin made a mental note of checking it over anyways, after Martinez was put back into his room. "So sorry. This isn't for public use. Come on, Chani. Help me get him up. I'm going to keep watch myself the next couple of days since Ander has proven himself incompetent." Chani came over, and they each grabbed up an arm.
*************************************************************************
The police station was buzzing with people all over the place. Criminals led around with hands cuffed behind their backs, phones ringing, files being passed around, all kinds of noise to create an almost chaotic atmosphere. A few of the wandering people recognized Josh McGrath, N-Tek's extreme sports athlete, making his way to one of the offices at the back, flanked by his handler, Rachel Leeds, and his boss, Jefferson Smith. A secretary ushered them in to a large office with windows that let in the bright sunlight.
"Glad you could make it, folks." Said the large Asian woman who sat behind the desk. "I'm Chief Ming. And this is our Dr. Martinez's family. Anani Martinez, Jefferson Smith, your son's employer." Josh turned to see an elderly Spanish woman, lovely even through her obvious years. Her ebony colored hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore simple but nice looking clothes that fit a frame witch belied her age.
"Si. We know each other. And Mr. Smith is aware that my mother does not speak English." One of three younger women spoke from behind Mrs. Martinez as the small woman took Smith's hand with a sad smile of recognition. The younger lady was quite taller than her mother, as were her sisters, and all of them were stunning beauties. Each of them seemed to have their own look, and yet they were all somehow the same... perhaps it was their build and facial features that were remarkably alike. One had wild, unruly black curls that swept down her back, and she wore a lot of make-up. Another had a sleek bob cut and a very formal looking outfit, business attire. The youngest looking one looked a lot like a West Side Story Natalie Wood type: very clean cut and simple looking. The one who had spoken was the one with the short hair and suit. She introduced herself to Josh and Rachel. "I am Ena, Berto's sister. This is Carmen and Isabelle." She gestured first to the one in make up, and then the younger one. "Our other sister is away on business, I'm afraid, but she will be returning within a couple of days."
Formalities and introductions were finally established, and then Josh, haggard and weary from his restless night before, willed himself to make it through Chief Ming's questioning. Was Berto involved with anyone prior to the kidnapping, did he have any evident enemies, was he starting some kind of project that might have provoked curiosity or resentment from anyone? The Martinez daughter with the long, wild mane, Carmen, had a quick and sharp tongue; she spoke a lot, interrupting and growing easily aggravated. Apparently, she was very protective of her younger brother, inclined to jump to conclusions when asked if Berto did anything like experiments that were illegal. Isabelle, whose voice Josh recognized, mostly asked worried questions as to whether there had been any leads or what not. Between the two sisters, there was more questions asked to Chief Ming than Chief Ming could ask of anyone else, and it seemed a miracle at how well the calm and composed Ena could tame her sisters and keep them from overwhelming the situation. The mother didn't say much at all, popping in only every now and again with a short answer or question, which was translated through Ena. Josh had to admire the oldest daughter. Through everything, and despite the tired look within her eyes, she remained so stable. He wondered, briefly and with hidden embarrassment, whether she had cried at some point, the way he had. He was scared for a friend; he could only imagine if it were a family member.
The rest of the questioning session went by like a hazy dream. At some point, Isabelle had asked about Max and why he wasn't present. Josh couldn't even remember whether it was his dad or Rachel who mentioned something about a trip to Australia. But then Isabelle leaned toward him with a bitter frown.
"Berto always says such great things about him; if he's such a good friend, why isn't he here?" There was a teary note in her voice, laced with disappointment, and it struck a cord in Josh's heart. If only he could tell her that Max was there, that he was the friend Berto claimed him to be... Josh stopped himself. What kind of friend let a person they really cared about get snatched from right under their nose?
"Josh, are you all right?" His dad was touching his arm, speaking softly.
*********************************************************************
Hands in his pockets, Danny Pitts walked into the smoky bar, completely unnoticed by anyone, and that was how he liked it. To be a ghost was the preferred identity, especially when one was a double agent. Danny slid onto an empty bar stool and ordered a drink, assuming a casual position with his chin resting in one hand. The relaxed pose, really, was no show. After eight hours of computer hacking and driving, Danny Pitts was ready to take it easy a bit. He scooted a stray bowl of beer nuts toward himself and began to munch at them absently.
The guy on his left was humming softly to himself. Perhaps he had already had a few. Glancing over, Danny could see that his eyes were half way closed, and he stared sadly off into space... Heartbreak? Two seats to Danny's right found a guy talking animatedly to whoever was on the other side of him. He gestured openly and grinned widely despite his dark visage. Must be gay, Danny thought. At least the stupid haircut looked gay. Danny ignored the insufferable character and concentrated on organizing his thoughts.
Finnish. Frank Finnish couldn't have just run off. He had to be lurking around somewhere, probably under an alias. Danny had to give the guy a little credit; he was pretty fast... especially for a guy who was darting around a mere two cities from where he'd run from. Perhaps Danny would catch up to Finnish here. He had to shake his head. This Finnish guy was obviously just trying to get something out of working for Dread, and not just pay. Danny could tell from the first time he had met him that Frank had some kind of bigger plan in mind, one of those guys that had really big dreams and desires. But he was a fool for simply skipping out on Dread the way he had. Didn't Finnish have any patience?
Danny had been sticking it out with Dread for the past year and a half, trying to make his way up in the line, kissing up to anyone and everything until he thought he'd puke, and then he'd kiss up all the more. He hadn't gotten close enough to catch the old man, but he was hanging in there. God knew he was so close, close enough to taste Dread's very presence. This mission had to be the flag he would finally put on his sand castle of conquest. Then John Dread would be history. Once he brought in Frank Finnish, things would be a whole heck of a lot easier.
A high pitch beeping caught his ear. The homo two seats down had a pager and was frowning down at whatever message it was displaying. "Well, I have to call the boss man!" He said loudly to his companion then excused himself from the bar to go use the payphone. An absent glance out of mild curiosity showed the phone to be near the restrooms, and Danny suddenly realized he needed to use the facilities. He turned to finish his drink, though, so no one would take it while he was away. The guy on his left was now incorporating words into his incoherent warbling, and Danny thought he might have recognized the tune from somewhere.
Finally, he made his way over to the restrooms, finding a small line he had to wait in. So he stood there, looking invisible, not really noticing anyone or anything until the loud guy talking on the phone said the name, Frank. Cocking his head to the side, Danny found himself listening curiously. What were the odds... ? "What do you need me tonight for?" The guy was asking on the phone. "Is our little friend giving you trouble again? I told you, you should let me handle him... a store run?! But I... fine, all right. What do you need this time... okay... what else, some Camels? Marlborough? ...Okay. Just give me a half hour. I'm almost done here... okay, Frank, see you then." He hung up, and Danny suddenly didn't have to go anymore. The cigarettes had clinched it; he hadn't even made a cast, and now he had a bite.
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Yeah! You see it all coming together? Hee hee hee, I'm really excited now. Don't forget to review on your way out. Love to all!