The One With The Transporter

Chapter four

By: Jana~

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--She finally spoke, her meek voice cutting through the silence like a sharp knife cutting through skin, and just as surprising.

"I'm Monica."

To hear her voice was unexpected, and he glanced at her with raised eyebrows before turning his attention just as quickly back to the road before him. "I'm Chandler."

"I know," she told him. He had introduced himself before, along with a rambling brief history on his family and life. She knew more about him than some of her co-workers.

A slight smile and nod was his only response, waiting for her to make the next move. If she wanted to open a line of communication with him, she would venture further. If she didn't, her introduction would be the end of their conversation.

"It's an unusual name," she muttered, struggling to find a comfortable voice to speak with. She wanted to continue.

"I had unusual parents," he replied. Having heard similar comments for most of his life, his answer was second nature. "So," he changed the subject carefully, "What made you decide to trust me all of the sudden?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she answered honestly.

"Well, I'm glad you did. Decide to trust me," he added. "I think it'll help if we talk with each other. You know, talk through this, to figure out what to do. And up till now, I've pretty much just been talking to myself."

"Sorry," she apologized.

"No apology necessary," he assured her. "I was the one being a jerk, you were just scared."

She nodded, feeling awkward, unsure of how to respond to him. "Ok, so," she suggested, "Why don't you tell me your story, then- then I'll tell you mine."

"You mean, of how we got here?" he asked to confirm.

"Yeah."

"Well, I needed money. Bills were stacking up, landlord threatening to evict; I got desperate. I was telling a friend about my situation, and a few days later, he got me this job. The only thing I was told was to drive this car from point A to point B, with no questions asked. And the note said I couldn't open 'the package' or look in the trunk."

"The package?" she scowled. "Note?"

"You, were the package. The note's in there," he said as he pointed just below the passenger side dash, at the glove compartment, "If you wanna read it."

Pushing the release button, the compartment door popped open with a thud. Monica pulled the paper out and began to read, silently.

"It didn't strike you as odd?" she asked after reading the brief written instructions. "Or that it might be illegal?"

"It did," he admitted, "But I really needed the money. Joey kinda convinced me to just block it out of my mind and do the job, even with my reservations."

"Joey?" The name wasn't familiar, though why it would be, she didn't know.

He answered, "The friend who got me the job."

"Some friend," she quipped sarcastically. "Why didn't he take the job?"

"Had auditions all week."

"Auditions?" she asked. "He's like, an actor?"

"Yeah, like one," he answered with a short chuckle. "He's not very successful at it though."

"Ok," she veered back to the subject. "Who were you working for?" she asked. "With this I mean."

"I don't really know for sure," he told her truthfully. "I think it's a relative of Joey's, but they really didn't want their identities known."

"Now, see," she scoffed, "That's where it sounds illegal to me."

"I know," he replied, his tone self-critical. "I shoulda turned down the job as soon as the bells and whistles started going off in my head."

"I'm glad you didn't." Her voice was soft and sincere.

"You are?" he questioned, his expression showing curiosity.

"A less decent man," she explained her statement, "Might have left me locked up in the trunk, and delivered me anyway."

"I suppose," he hesitantly agreed. "Tell me your story now?" he asked after several moments.

Sighing, she gathered her thoughts. "I had just left work," she began, "And I was walking towards my apartment when someone grabbed me from behind. I tried to scream, but he put his hand over my mouth. I think he had a rag with something on it, cause next thing I know, I'm waking up in a room with nothing in it but me."

"At first," she continued, "I was real dizzy and groggy, from whatever they had drugged me with, so when this guy comes in, wearing a mask, I didn't have the strength to fight him. Or try to escape. He told me to go to the bathroom. He said I had a long road trip ahead of me. I was hoping to find a window I could climb out of or something, but there was nothing. When I got out of the bathroom, he grabbed me and drugged me again. I came to while in the trunk."

He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for the nightmare she had endured, or something, but he didn't know what to say. An apology seemed like such a weak gesture, after everything she had been through. So, instead of responding directly to her hellish tale, he decided to move on.

He cleared his throat. "You didn't catch any names? Or what anyone looked like?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Can you think of any reason why someone would do this?"

"No."

"You haven't, discovered some secret formula that will either kill or cure the world by any chance," he half-joked, "Have you?"

She snorted, "This isn't some cartoon or comic book."

"Feels like it is," he returned. "Rich parents? Jealous boyfriend?"

"My parents aren't wealthy, and I don't have a boyfriend."

"Witness a crime?" he pressed further.

Again, she shook her head, "If I did, I didn't realize."

"This makes no sense," he fussed. "There has to be a reason why someone would do this."

Failing to see the significance, she asked, "Does it really matter why?"

"Yeah," he insisted. "It could mean the difference between life and death."

Her brow creased at such a grave remark. "How so?"

"Well, like, if this is, say, a mob-type situation, even if we go to the police, and eventually go home and back to our lives, they will come after us and kill us! Because we know too much, or just simply because of the principal of the thing!"

"Someone has watched a few too many Godfather movies," she discarded the extreme viewpoint, for sanity's sake. It was too much to believe. It was all too much to believe.

"I wouldn't be so fast to dismiss this," he told her in all seriousness. "I know I for one don't want to end up at the bottom of the East River with cement shoes."

"Why on earth would the mob want me?" she begged an answer. "And what's more, why would they want you to transport me?"

"Well, maybe they hired me cause they didn't want any sort of connections back to them. I'm expendable," he added. "And, as for you, I don't know. Where do you work? Maybe it has to do with your job."

"I am a chef at Alessandros."

"Italian restaurant?" he asked, her answer feeding his suspicions. "It could be a front for mob activity! You might have inadvertently seen something, and now they have to get rid of you!"

His paranoia was infectious, and her mind strained to remember anything out of the ordinary at work in the days preceding her kidnapping.

"Come to think of it," she recalled, "The guy in the mask did have an Italian accent."

"Not to freak you out," he prefaced his bad news, "But I think we're in real trouble here."

She took in his words, the fear in his voice proof he believed what he was saying, and she placed her shaky hand to her mouth, her fingers tapping against her pursed lips nervously.

"Ok," she said through parted fingers. "Tell me what you're thinking happened."

"I think, you probably saw something at work, whether you're aware of it or not. I'm guessing, they think you know something, and therefore have to 'get rid of you'. They were probably expecting you to die in the trunk during the two-day road trip, or in the hours or days following me parking the car at point B. I think they were planning on letting me take the fall for it. My fingerprints would be all over the car when the police find your body in the trunk. When in jail, awaiting trial, I just happen to get 'accidentally' killed by a fellow inmate or something."

"Oh, God," she whispered, panic choking her voice away. "You really think that's possible?"

He nodded. "I think it's one of the possibilities, yes."

"So, what do we do now?" she asked worriedly.

"I have no idea," he answered distractedly, his mind trying to conclude that very question. "I have no idea."

TBC…

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