Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit aka Christine
Note; std disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts , or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
A special nod to Mo for her infinite patience with me, to Ellie and Marcie for sabotaging all of the ill-gotten villainous gains and plots that I have ever devised, to the vigilant Jeri (or should that be vigilante?), to the absent Lynn and to my long lost pally, Pamie.Where did you go, girlie?.C.)
Chapter 29
I stood in the corner and rubbed my arms, trying to figure out to whom Stone was speaking. Have you ever tried to eavesdrop on a one-sided phone conversation? Yeah, well, so you know why I didn't learn very much except for the fact that Stone seemed concerned when he hung up. And I got that much from his frown.
"Where's the television?" was the first thing out of his mouth. All in all, not exactly what I was expecting after our previous conversation. I stood dumbfounded as he grabbed my arm and led me from the room
"In the living room, but what…"I trailed off when I saw what he did next.
As soon as we entered the room, Stone spotted the TV remote in my dad's lap. He reached behind the newspaper my father had shielded himself with and picked up the remote.
"Pardon me, Mr. Plum."
Dad blinked as he pulled the newspaper down into his now empty lap. His brow was knotted up in confusion and then irritation. It was the most animation I had seen in him since my mother dropped the Thanksgiving turkey on the kitchen floor in '89.
The television screen lit up with images of an anchor newsperson prattling about a building fire in Hamilton Township. It wasn't until they showed the structure that I realized what had happened.
There, in vivid Technicolor, was my apartment building. My apartment was on fire. All my worldly belongings, gone. All of it up in flames. What were the odds that my apartment would burn down the very day I was served with an eviction notice? Don't answer that.
And then just when I thought it couldn't possibly get much worse, it did.
According to Tom Daily (how original) on Channel 12, apparently the flames originated on the second floor. Fire officials onsite were not commenting as to the exact nature of the blaze other than that it appeared to arson.
Oh sweet lord, please don't let him say a word about me. For all that's holy, please don't let him mention my name.
"…an anonymous source states the residence belonged to a recently evicted tenant, Stephanie 'Bombshell' Plum, a local bounty hunter. As some may recall, Ms. Plum has had numerous firebombing incidents at this residence in the past. Officials refuse to comment on this 'tenuous connection.' At this time no deaths have been attributed to the blaze and only minor injuries have been reported..."
I stood there in shock, jaw wagging in the breeze.
"Hot damn! Isn't that your apartment, Stephanie?" Grandma Mazur practically bounced around the room as she said it.
Stone and I exchanged a look.
"Hey! Don't look at me. I've been with you all afternoon. Well, the important parts anyway. You don't think that the cops will think that I had anything to do with this, do you?"
Stone just raised an eloquent eyebrow.
"So, who called you?" I sighed.
"Tank. He wants us to get back to the office A.S.A.P. He said he'd explain it all then," Stone bit the words off, shooting a meaningful look at my family.
Okay, obviously this was something we couldn't discuss here.
"Go get your stuff, all of it. We are leaving."
"What? I don't think so. I'm staying here. For your information this isn't the first time my apartment has burned down, buster."
Stone's mouth twitched at that comment.
In the background I heard my mother mumbling under her breath about the lack of fires and evictions at Carol Delgado's daughter's house. And then there was an unmistakable thump. We all turned around and looked. Mom laid spread-eagle on the floor, passed out and dead to the world. I ignored her.
"Jersey, trust me, we won't be coming back here later. Please, just trust me this time okay? I'll dish later." Stone had leaned into my ear to whisper the information to me so no one else would hear. Or so we thought.
"Now wait just one minute, Mister…whoever-you-are! If my daughter said she doesn't want to go, then she's not going anywhere with you!"
Great the one time Dad wakes up to participate in my life and I don't need the support.
"It's fine, Dad. I promise. Stone is my… friend," I consoled him and tried to smile to reinforce my words. It was a pitiful effort.
"A good friend Mr. Plum," Stone said and stuck out his had to shake my father's hand. Dad brushed it aside and the next thing I knew Stone and my father deep in argumentation. After I concluded they weren't going to exchange blows, I took the opportunity to sneak out and pack. By the time I came back downstairs everyone was gone except for my grandma. She must have seen the blatant questions on my face.
"Your mother is being melodramatic and is upstairs 'resting.' The other two are out front smoking those awful stogies. Your grandfather loved those things, too. I never saw the appeal. I just think they smell like rotten tuna and who wants to smoke a stinky fish? Not me, no siree."
With that she gave me a peck on the cheek, shoved something in my purse and went upstairs; probably to take a nip at her whiskey, (for medicinal purposes only of course).
I stumbled out the door kicking one of my bags and hauling the rest over my shoulders. Poor Rex probably thought he was at sea on the S.S. Upchuck again.
As I approached my father and Stone, I blinked. My dad was laughing. Hell, they both were laughing. And they were slapping each other on the back as they did it. This must be one of those weird male-bonding rituals I always heard about. Funny, I had never seen my dad respond to any guy I brought home like this before. Not even the Dick as I recall. Although, how anyone could want to bond with that jackass was beyond me. Maybe one day I ask Joyce how she stomached it. Or I'll just stun gun the slut and run. Whichever option seemed more fun for all involved.
"A little help here, please," I grunted, happy to break up this Twilight Zone moment.
They both scrambled up the stairs and within minutes the Mercedes was packed. I noticed as I buckled Rex into the backseat (you can't be too careful), that my father was whispering to Stone. Okay, now this was just downright bizarre. Dad smiled shook Stone's hand and then he came around to my side as Stone got in the car.
"He's a keeper, Pumpkin. Be careful, okay?" With that Dad hugged me gruffly and went back inside the house.
Jesus. I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. I got in the car and studied Stone. What was it that everyone else was seeing that I wasn't?
"Question, Jersey?" Stone twinkled merrily as he started the engine and drove away. I silently watched my childhood home get smaller, disappearing into the distance in the side mirror and just shook my head.
It wasn't until we pulled through the Rangeman compound gates that I realized we hadn't spoken a single word during the entirety of the ride over. Shit, I had wanted to grill Stone a bit about the fire. He seemed to know more about it than I did.
"So someone bombed my apartment didn't they?"
Stone's mouth twitched.
"You are swift today, Jersey. What gave it away?"
"Ha-ha. You are a laugh riot, Sarcastro. So Tank called you and told you…?" I trailed off waiting for him to fill in the blank.
And he did. He told me that Rangeman underground contacts had let Tank know about the explosion immediately since it involved a Rangeman staff member. (I was staff? News to me. And here I thought I was the comic relief.) The arson report (that had yet to be filed officially), would describe a possible Molotov cocktail as the igniter of the blaze in my apartment. That fact kind of frightened me. Not the firebomb part, but the fact that Tank could get that kind of sensitive information so quickly. Remind me never to piss him off. I had a feeling my credit rating wouldn't survive. Not that I needed help in that department. Damn that Macy's.
"Okay, I get it. Someone doesn't like me. Big surprise. But what I don't get is why Tank called you to ask me to come back to the compound? Why not just call my parents' number? That would be the logical assumption." I narrowed my eyes at him in suspicion.
He had the decency to look guilty.
"Because I told them you were with me and I would take care of you. I had called to check in with headquarters on my way over to the police station to pick you up. Hey, don't look at me like that. Tank ordered me to take you to see him immediately. I told him to get bent and hung up. Then he called back several more times. Or I should say I assumed it was him calling. I didn't pick up to check and now it looks like I'm paying for it," Stone said as he parked and motioned with his head, indicating the large security detail waiting for us in the parking garage.
Uh-oh. I guessed Stone must have pissed Tank off a lot with that defiant comment and subsequent dismissal. As we got out of the car the guards walked over and relieved us of our weaponry. I didn't know a single soul. None of this was an encouraging sign. As we were escorted to the elevators I saw Hector approach. He looked pensive. That is until he saw my bruised face, and then he most definitely frowned.
Double Uh-oh.
Hector boarded the elevator and we all crammed in. When we reached the third floor the doors opened and Hector motioned to two of the faceless goons to exit with Stone in tow. When I tried to exit to stop them, Hector just shook his head mournfully and pulled me back on the car. I apologized to Stone with my eyes as the elevator doors slammed shut. Needless to say, the remaining ride was tense. Hector had never removed his hand from my arm and he used it to guide me when we exited the elevator at the sixth floor. I tried everything short of spitting and bodily harm to get across to Hector how upset I was with him for manhandling me in such a manner.
And he ignored me.
By time we reached the comm. control room I had given up all pretense of civility. I was practically dragging my feet. Why did they cart Stone off anyway? Why did they search us both for weapons? What the hell is going on around here? Damned if I knew, but I swore on all that was holy I was gonna find out soon or someone would pay dearly.
I was further surprised when our security escort stood guard outside the room as Hector led me to a chair in the empty room and proceeded to handcuff me to it. The chair was a steel ladder back monstrosity and appeared to be riveted into the concrete of the floor. Why do I think for some reason that I wasn't the first guest entertained here?
"What the hell do you think you are doing, Hector?" I gasped as I tested my bonds.
"I'm sorry, Steph. It has to be this way," he stated sadly as he turned and walked to the door. I heard a distinct locking sound after it shut.
"Uh, excuse me! What the hell is going on here?" I shouted to the empty room. The words echoed off the concrete walls. I knew someone was watching me. Someone out there could hear me, dammit and I wanted answers.
"If you think this is funny guys, think again! I'm gonna beat you, Bobby, when I get my hands on you. And you too, Lester! Tell your fucking boss he better come unlock me now! You hear me, Tank? I'll beat you all senseless with the very shoe I'm wearing now."
Silence.
Okay this wasn't working.
Before I could think up another tactic, the lights dimmed and a closed circuit monitor popped on. I watched in open curiosity.
On the screen a video flashed of Stone and me standing in my parking lot of my apartment building. It looked like it was filmed this very afternoon when he was leaning to pull the luggage off my shoulder and whispering to me about 'helping.' Okay, why were they showing me this?
Then the images flashed to Stone alone in his bedroom. He was wearing different clothes talking on a cell phone. All of a sudden a woman walked out of the bathroom and Stone hung up the phone. Okay I remember this now. This was surveillance footage from two weeks ago.
"Still not understanding what you are getting at guys," I told the walls.
The footage jumped again, this time to a darkened room. I assumed it was nighttime from the way the security lights were illuminated. Bobby had told me once they only did that night when the main electrical grid was powered down in the evenings. I concluded I was viewing an image of the very comm. room I was sitting in. A shadow stirred in the murky twilight and a figure could be barely made out. The person appeared to be turning on a computer screen. After an undetermined period of time, the figure leaned down and loaded what looked like a disk into the hard drive. As the person leaned back the blue luminance of the computer screen caught on soft features.
A woman?
Her curly hair quickly shifted and covered her face from any further inspection. Wait a minute? What Rangeman employee has curly hair?
Oh, shit. I don't like this.
The screen changed yet again. Here was a scene of Stone and me removing all my clothes a la suitcase from my apartment before the bombing.
The monitor flickered once again. This time it showed a man and woman embracing in an elevator. 'Embracing' was a nice way of saying having a grope fest and rounding second base. Crap. This afternoon's shenanigans with Stone were caught on celluloid. As if everything else wasn't perplexing enough, now they were adding mortification to the emotional bag.
All that was forgotten with the sight of the last image on the monitor.
There in grainy visual glory was a man and woman in Rangeman parking garage. And I must say they very much resembled myself and Stone smuggling what looked like manila files and some type of electronics into a duffle bag. A duffle bag that looked very similar to the one I got at Macy's. Holy, shit. That never happened. Did it? I don't think I recall that. This was fucked up!
A bowling ball dropped into my stomach at the sight. I may be slow, but I'm not stupid. Can you believe it? I was being set up here to take a fall. Someone was trying to pin the recent computer espionage on me! Oh, and Stone too. But I was pretty much blown away but the implication of myself as a sophisticated computer hacker. Ha! Me, a criminal mastermind? Don't make me laugh…or in this case cry.
I blinked back tears while waiting for the next images. I didn't have to wait long. Though it did only serve to confuse me more.
Stone was shown exchanging the duffle bag from earlier with a third party in what looked like a deserted parking lot. The person (I say person because you couldn't tell if they were make or female) took the bag and disappeared back into the shadows.
Okay, many questions here. Was Stone the guilty party? But if he was, why implicate himself while fingering me? It didn't make sense. So, ergo, we were both being set up. But how did the mystery villain manage it? That was the part I couldn't figure out. Unless I had been sleepwalking, I knew I wasn't the one on that tape doing those horrible things. (And by horrible I meant the information theft and trafficking, not the Stone lust-bust. Although that was probably not good judgment on my part overall, considering how things were going down now.)
I sighed as the television mercifully went blank. The lights went completely out and I was immersed in inky darkness. Could this get anymore James Bond?
To be continued in chapter 30…
Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit a.k.a. Christine
Note; STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
(special thanks to Mo mild mannered editor by day, superb writing maverick by night and to my friend Ellie who came through in a pinch. And no, pat, she didn't pinch me. This time. And forever to my one and only Marcie: the one without whom I would go crazy. Hope you ladies enjoy the 4th of July as much as I will! C.)
Chapter 30
Two hours prior to the Rangeman capture of Stephanie and Stone
Interior of an office in an undisclosed location
In the dimly lit room, shadows clung to the figure sitting in the wing-backed chair as if they were drawn to the very primordial essence of his nature. As if even the darkness recognized the man as its child.
The man leaned forward to prop his elbows on the oversized mahogany desk and steepled his fingers against his mouth. Soon, he thought. Soon. A rap at the door intruded on his internal dialogue.
"Enter," the figure rasped.
The door opened and a bulky brunette man entered, moving towards the desk with a wealth of grace that belied his mammoth size.
"Ah, by your presence can I assume the latest logs are here?" The shadow man inquired with an uplifted brow, successfully intimidating the giant man before him with just that simple gesture.
To an onlooker, the idea that an eyebrow lift could be intimidating might seem ludicrous, but to the brunette man it was an accepted fact. He knew his worth to the man before him, officially known to him and his associates by the ridiculous name of Mr. Smythe Brown. Those who encountered 'Mr. Brown' knew that his more notorious moniker of 'Shadow' was better suited to him than the surname he surely must have affected long ago.
The brunette, who rarely became rattled, gathered his scattered wits and handed the stack of disks over to Brown.
"The latest entries are on the first disk. The footage you requested to be produced is on the second and the last disk contains the spliced material."
"Excellent. Proceed," Shadow intoned blankly.
The brunette knew what to do. They had performed this ritual numerous times over the last few months. He loaded the disk containing the original material into the player that was connected to the closed circuit television system located behind a secret panel in the wall. The brunette cued up the first image. He waited for the request that would inevitably come.
"Sound," the Shadow ordered.
The brunette nodded in earnest and muted the speakers. Every time it was the same dance of rites. He wondered who the subject was, exactly. Not that it mattered, he thought fatalistically. When the Shadow finished with her she would be lucky if she remained sane enough to recall the image of her own mother's face. He might have felt pity for the mystery woman if he had a conscience left in his possession. But that had fallen to the side years ago, a victim of the organization. He waited with a patience born of years of conditioned duty. He was not disappointed.
"Confounding, isn't it, Rudolfo?"
The brunette, Rudolfo, merely nodded his head once in acquiescence having learned long ago a true response was not expected of him. The Shadow didn't appear to notice because he never tore his eyes from the screen to spare Rudolfo a glance.
"Beyond comprehension…" the Shadow whispered and gave Rudolfo the silent dismissal he was accustomed to with a wave of his hand. Rudolfo left the room, barely stirring the air in his wake as he shut the door.
The Shadow paused the image that had been playing and strode across the room until he stood a foot from the screen studying her face. He wondered for the millionth time 'Why her?'
The television images reflected a spectrum of light across the man's face. The illumination was just strong enough to dispel the shadows hanging over him. The dark brown locks hanging over his brow shone and his normally dark eyes were rendered a nondescript range of gray hues.
After several minutes the Shadow returned to his chair to settle in with eager readiness before resuming the action on the screen. A feral smile tipped the corners of his mouth as the brunette woman on the screen turned in the distance, as if she were responding to someone calling her name, her blue eyes twinkling in merriment.
In retrospect, the Shadow realized that Stephanie Plum just might provide him some entertainment after all. He would enjoy breaking her. Not to mention framing and killing the man who, no doubt, was his greatest foe as surely as the earth was round.
He finished viewing all three disks and pushed a button on his intercom. Seconds later Rudolfo reentered.
"Send the splice to Mañoso and his underling along with the text I gave you earlier," the Shadow ordered. "Dismissed."
As Rudolfo exited for the second time he caught the expression on the Shadow's face and resisted the urge to reassuringly place his hand over the gun at his hip.
Interior of a mansion
Somewhere near MiamiFlorida
One hour prior to the Rangeman capture of Stephanie and Stone, a phone call was taking place.
"You are one secretive bastard, Ric."
"So you keep telling me, Tank," Ranger intoned blankly. "Just follow through with your part of the plan. I don't have to tell you how important it is to keep this quiet, do I? Or have you gotten that soft these last few months?"
"You're the only one involved in this conversation who has changed, asshole. You're completely heartless now."
The wall clock in Tank's office ticked painfully slow before Ranger responded.
"Fine, I'm heartless. It still doesn't affect the outcome of this situation."
"I know she would never do this to me," Tank ground out.
"To you, Tank?" Ranger inquired softly.
Ranger paused, letting seconds stretch out into a cloud of tension thick enough to slice.
"She wouldn't do this to you? Funny, I thought I was the one getting screwed over here. Besides I think I am a great judge of what Stephanie is capable of. Be careful or you are going to get caught in the same trap I did there, buddy."
"She's not a burden to be escaped, Ric. Maybe she was in your eyes, but not mine. I refuse to put up with you saying that about the woman I…"
Ranger's body went completely still with the exception of his churning stomach.
"The woman you what, Tank?"
"Never mind. It's nothing I want to discuss with you. That's something I would tell my best buddy since basic; not the cold, soulless being you've become."
"Enough, Tank. Just complete your part in this mission and you won't ever have to put up with my psychotically emotionless ways again. Understood?
"Yes, completely understood," Tank bit off. "And just for the record, I'm counting the days until I can tell you to fuck off."
Ranger gave a dismissive grunt and hung up the phone.
When had things become so unsalvageable with Tank? Hell, with his whole core team in Trenton? Ranger knew the answer to that question as surely as he knew his own name.
The day Stephanie Plum came into his life.
The one and only woman Ranger had loved since Lejune Brown. Ranger had thought no greater pain could be felt than the pain he experienced when the love of his life, Junie, had died.
Until Stephanie.
Stephanie Plum: the girl who didn't judge him, who accepted him unconditionally, who gave him friendship, loyalty and most of all her trust. Meeting her sparked something in him he thought was long since dead. She made him want to truly live again. Every day was just another day to be with her: another opportunity to see her smile, hear her laugh.
Ranger emitted a shaky breath.
It had nearly killed him when he left all those months ago; to leave her behind while he paid back a debt to an old friend.
Stephanie Plum, the one woman who didn't have to die to destroy him. No, she broke Ranger when she slept with Bobby; the one man who hated him more than anyone else on the face of the planet.
Ranger slumped forward, head resting in his hands and rattled out a sigh. Jesus, what the hell was he going to do now? Things just got ten times more complicated. Contrary to what Tank thought, Ranger knew there was no way Stephanie was capable of such dishonesty. Hell, the woman couldn't fire her own gun without cringing; she was no criminal. She just wasn't capable of the levels of subtly and deviousness necessary for a crime of this caliber. She was about as straight and narrow as they came.
Now Stone on the other hand… that fucker was perfectly capable of screwing any and every person he ever met. He was scum. From the time they first met during a deep cover op Ranger knew it. Ranger had been working for the Colonel's organization full-time then.
Ranger sat back in his chair and covered his eyes with his palms. His headache worsened with the memories that now claimed him.
It had all begun when a splinter black ops group recruited him after his second tour in the Rangers. At first it was just a few jobs that his army commander farmed Ranger out on. Then eleven months later, without quite knowing how it happened, Ranger found himself in a third world hellhole living under an assumed name working for the infamous Colonel. It had gotten to the point where the job was his entire life. Hell, he was the fucking job. Although he loved the adrenaline rush like a two-bit, dime-bag junkie he knew he couldn't go on forever like that. He missed being able to have a name, his own name. He had no idea how to extract himself without being indebted to the organization… to the Colonel. And so he pretended to have the life he wanted.
One year later he was still pretending. And in that time he learned there wasn't much he wouldn't do. He had killed in combat, for country, and in the name of whatever cause the Colonel saw fit. The miniscule amount of jobs that the Colonel turned down went elsewhere. Sometimes they were given to rogue mercs and other times to countries with fewer scruples than the United States.
In fact, one day a new private organization, a very loose affiliate of the government, came into existence because of those rejected jobs. The company had no official name that Ranger was ever privy to. Everyone in his line of work who lived to tell the tale called it 'the Ring.' Perhaps in part due to the extremely adept nature of that organization's operatives.
Ranger moved his hands to the desktop and he picked up the first object that they encountered. He deftly twirled the letter opener in his fingers as a form of subconscious release.
It was on a mission to infiltrate a totalitarian government for intelligence purposes, that Ranger first encountered Stone. Unbeknownst to the Colonel, the Ring had been hired by the US government as a contingency plan to its own efforts. Mind you, this information came utterly too late and the entire operation had been botched. Several foreign dignitaries and officials had to be silenced to keep the fallout to a minimum. Ranger himself discovered the treachery as he witnessed a man take out the palace's whole security force.
Although that wasn't what had disgusted Ranger; it was finding that man, Stone, bent over the body of six year-old girl, his hands still wrapped around her slender throat. Stone had eliminated not just the dictator's security officers, but all of the innocent servants and family members as well. After several such encounters with Stone, one of the Ring's finest operatives, Ranger would have gladly killed Stone himself.
Ranger's left hand started to tingle and he realized the letter opener he had been grasping now bit into his fleshy palm. Blood had trickled down his elbow to the floor below. After tending the wound, Ranger sat back in the chair to try and think of a plan to solve his current problem.
After half an hour passed, he raised his head and stared at the email message on the laptop that started this current fiasco. The computer screen swam before Ranger's eyes. He attributed it to the lack of sleep and not emotional anguish.
He read the missive that had accompanied the file for the millionth time.
Dear Mr. Manoso,
Attached you will find some interesting surveillance footage that crossed my path. Upon viewing it I realized you might be interested to know whose identity your mole carries. Use as you see fit. I ask for nothing in return… at this time.
Sincerely,
The Watcher
The words never changed no matter how many times he read them or watched the footage attached. His world was still shattered.
Ranger knew of only one man who could confirm the names of this 'Watcher' and the hacker: the Colonel. Although Ranger recognized that it was a death sentence to request his help, but he knew no other way. He was obviously running out of time if this mystery person was already tightening the springs on his trap.
Ranger prepared to make the necessary arrangements to end his life. He picked up the phone and dialed.
To be continued in chapter 31…
Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit a.k.a. Christine
Note: STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON-PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
C.)
Chapter 31
Meanwhile back in Trenton Area…
As I regained consciousness in the now motionless automobile, I came to some painful realizations. I just wasn't entirely certain whether that was due to the emotions involved or the general battered condition of my body.
Number One: I was now a wanted woman. And not in the good way, unless being suspected of arson and computer espionage could be defined as good.
Number Two: I didn't have a home in which to hide or friends and family to turn to for help. They would all rat me out, (unintentionally or not).
Number Three (and maybe the most disturbing): Tank had ordered me captured and interrogated. Ergo Tank didn't trust me. Ranger I could understand since he was a complete head case lately, but Tank? I had to assume he had done so at the behest of Ranger, Mr. Bats-in-the-belfry. My brain wouldn't sanely accept any other explanation.
And Number Four: The only person I could trust now was Stone, the new mysterious yet sensuous man in my complicated world. Could my life be anymore like a daytime soap opera?
I thought back to the events that took place a few hours after the lights had gone out in the comm. room. A strange man with a thick German accent had entered to grill me for what seemed like hours. Apparently my repeated answer of 'I don't know,' which deteriorated into whimpering and obscenities, didn't seem to impress Colonel Klink. Somehow I got that kooky impression when he zapped me unconscious with a stun gun at the conclusion of the 'interview.'
When I next awoke, I blinked through a haze of tears and managed to roll up into a sitting position in my new cell. It hadn't been easy due to the shackles on my wrists and ankles. With my back pressed against the wall for balance, I turned my head slowly and took in my surroundings. I was locked up in a plain, box-like room. It had white linoleum floors, a white concrete ceiling and cinder block walls coated in (you guessed it) white paint. There wasn't a solitary stick of furniture anywhere. It looked like a holding cell for lunatics about whose welfare no one cares. As a reassuring decor, it sucked.
All my attempts to think up an escape plan were fruitless. I wasn't able to free my hands to try to pick the lock (although it wasn't a skill I possessed anyhow). And even if I somehow managed the miracle of disabling the door's security locks, there was no way I would be able to escape the complex unseen with my limited skills. The last time I checked I wasn't a super spy. So unless a propeller shot out of my head a la Mister Gadget I was royally screwed.
Needless to say, I was severely pissed off by the time Hector and company entered the cell, dragging a prone Stone and tossing him on the floor next to me. Never once did Hector or the other minion acknowledge my presence or the questions I was screaming at them. Apparently it was a drive-by body dump.
I relayed my thoughts on Hector's behavior to Stone when he regained consciousness a few hours later. Believe it or not, Stone didn't have much to say on a topic for once…or on any other for that matter. We never once discussed the reasons why Tank and company put us in this cell. I know why I didn't; I refused to believe either of us was guilty. Now why he didn't ask me about it, I couldn't fathom. Anyway it worked to my advantage so I didn't complain. I wasn't in the mood to chat about it. Color me stupid, but discussing our currently interchangeable titles of traitor/prisoner was depressing.
I would have asked Stone how he planned on getting us out of here if he had remained conscious for more than five minutes at a time after that. I blamed the newly acquired goose egg on his forehead. I refused to think about the fact that it was probably one of my former friends who gave it to him.
Several semi-silent hours later, the door reopened and our current jailer walked into the room. I stared at his face for a full minute before I started cursing him.
"You son of a…" I snarled.
"Stephanie, you don't understand. This is my job. I have to do what they tell me to," Bobby paused and seemed to take in my battered appearance with a frown. "You know me; you should understand what's going on here."
I snorted at him as he walked towards Stone with a new set of leg shackles.
"You can't really believe that I did this, can you, Bobby?" I whispered.
Bobby's only response was to look toward the fish-eye camera lens situated in the ceiling corner. His face was completely shut down when his eyes returned to mine. I realized in that moment he didn't have any faith in me either. I decided to stop this before he could hurt me further.
"Shut up. Don't bother to answer. I don't want to hear any more crap from you, Brown. I don't know you," I managed to growl around the growing lump in my throat.
Bobby shot me a funny look, like he wanted to say something else, but a sudden blow to the head prevented him. I watched Bobby's limp body slump to the floor. Stunned didn't cover what I felt. I looked from Bobby's unconscious form to the suddenly freed Stone standing over him, the offending fist still clenched.
"What just happened here, Stone?"
Stone didn't reply until he had finished freeing his legs of his bonds and was crouched over my legs, which were still stretched out on the floor.
"Do you want to discuss it now or would you prefer to get the hell out of here before your bulldog friend comes back to check on us?"
"What do you think?" I gulped as I held out my hands for him to unlock my cuffs.
Stone just shook his head and resumed picking the locks on my shackles. Within minutes we had escaped the complex through an air vent that originated in the hallway outside our cell and that had ended in an exterior wall of the building. Don't ask me how Stone even knew the duct system existed or how it was our best route of escape. Or how he seemed to know precisely which turns to make to bring us to the spot we had exited. I suppose a smarter woman might have asked why he seemed to possess this information, why he had memorized an emergency flight route out of the Rangeman complex.
As we ran through the dense woodland surrounding the final fence, I realized I wasn't smart and I didn't seem to give a shit. As long as Stone got me the hell away from Tank and whatever vengeance he was sure to reign down upon me for my alleged treachery, I could live with the IQ drop.
We ran for what seemed like miles through the trees. The pine branches that I had failed to dodge as artfully as Stone before me left me covered in scratches and sap. My legs ached and my lungs burned. My face stung from the surge of blood being pumped through my overworked, out-of-shape body. With each crunch of dry foliage beneath our feet I cringed. I was sure that every dead leaf we encountered would be the one that would give us away to our pursuers.
When I stumbled for the third consecutive time, Stone grabbed my arm and abruptly changed the direction in which we ran. I thought we were now traveling north from the position of the constellations in the night sky above us (Mind you, it was the North Star I was navigating by. It was one of the few I knew).
We scurried through the underbrush for several more minutes before my legs started to shake. I relayed this to Stone who just told me to keep up the pace and conserve my breath.
Huh, I guess that meant to shut up.
As we stumbled into a clearing complete with a late model gray Nissan, I came to a dumfounded standstill. Stone apparently had no such problem and had jump-started the engine before I managed to recover my wits. He lurched out of the car, dragged me to our unlikely get-away vehicle and shoved me inside. The car precariously crept along an off-road mud path before we reached an overgrown gravel road and picked up speed.
When we finally reached a paved roadway fifteen minutes later, I released the breath I suddenly realized I held and turned in the bucket seat to study Stone.
"Can you tell me what the fuck just happened back there?" I stuttered.
He shook his head and sighed. I waited patiently and when it became apparent this was the only answer he intended to give, I growled.
"So can you at least tell me where the fuck we are going?"
"Somewhere safe," he replied.
Thank you Captain Obvious, I thought and snorted loudly. At that moment Stone reached over my lap and I flinched in response. He hesitated before pulling the lever to recline my seat. He settled his hand on my cheek for a silent moment, his eyes unreadable.
"Stay down out of sight and try to get some sleep. We'll be there soon."
"We'll be where soon, Stone?" I asked, refusing to address my previous reaction.
He shook his head with a sigh and returned his hand and eyes to the operation of the car.
That led me back to the present: Groggily blinking my eyes at the sight of a loading dock door closing. I barely had a chance to make out a few details of the interior of the building in which the Nissan now sat before all the street light that streamed inside was extinguished.
Moments later the passenger door opened and I was hauled into strong arms. I barely managed to contain my squeal of surprise. I recognized the rough planes of the chest I was pressed against. Well that and the shiver of arousal that traveled through my traitorous body gave Stone's identity away. It sucked that he could elicit this response from me on a molecular level and didn't even seem to be completely aware of it. Blasted man.
He carried me through the darkness, expertly dodging whatever obstacles were in the abyss. The man must have sonar. Yet another trait he and Ranger shared. Damn, why did I have to think of him? Ugh.
Stone carried me up a set of steep stairs and through two doorways before he set me down on something soft. I concluded from my vast retail upholstery knowledge that it was a sofa. Well that and I had spent many a night couch surfing in college after a bout of binge drinking. Some tactile reasoning skills you never lose.
I blinked rapidly when a lamp turned on a few minutes later, trying to recover my vision after the sudden influx of light. When I did, I realized we appeared to be in a sparsely furnished loft/apartment on the upper level of an abandoned warehouse. The place, although clean, didn't look lived in at all.
This couldn't be one of the Rangeman safe houses because it lacked the simplistically decorated surroundings that normally accompanied such a dwelling. In short, this place just wasn't that tasteful. The loft had more of an air of bachelor about it. It was a combination of malodorous hops meets locker room; the international scent of all college dormitories gone awry. I turned toward Stone to ask him whose place we had just entered.
The question died on my lips and was replaced with a more pertinent one.
"Where the in hell did you manage to find night-vision goggles?" My voice raised an octave in surprise as I watched him remove the aforementioned tool and place it on a rickety end table. He sighed and ruffled his hair in an endearing gesture; it was totally subconscious of course.
"I always have a pair on me," he replied before moving towards a phone on the wall.
I almost asked him where he had managed to hide them but decided it was one of those things that it was best not to ponder. I didn't want to know.
Really, I didn't.
They obviously hadn't been hidden somewhere I could see with the naked eye, and that left some pretty imaginative places.
As I contemplated those possible places with a furrowed brow, Stone placed a phone call to some unknown party. I could only make out the word 'clear' before he hung up. This kept getting more and more curious. I stood up, crossed the room and whacked Stone in the well-developed chest.
"You better start explaining, Mister! Where are we?" I heard a male throat clear behind me and I whirled around to face source of the interruption.
It felt like my world was still spinning when I completed the turn.
"From your expression I can tell you weren't expecting to see me, were you, Stephanie?" the intruder chuckled.
To be continued in chapter 32…
Close Encounters of the Concrete Kind
By FlyingKit a.k.a. Christine
Note: STD disclaimers apply. I am a NON-PROFIT gal with no earthy thoughts, or heavenly for that matter, of making ANY kind of moola for this luverly little tale.
Special thanks to Mo and Ellie for the tech and plot support, respectively.C.)
Chapter 32
"You better start explaining, Mister! Where are we?" I heard a male throat clear behind me and I whirled around to face source of the interruption.
It felt like my world was still spinning when I completed the turn.
"From your expression I can tell you weren't expecting to see me, were you, Stephanie?" the intruder chuckled.
Can you say understatement of the year?
And Bobby's next sentence just infuriated me more.
"By the way, thanks for being so gentle with my melon, Stone," Bobby snorted. "Good to see you were as careful as you said you would be…"
Stone replied before I could.
"Yeah, well, I hate to be trite, but I must say the pleasure was all mine." And then he laughed. He fucking laughed! Ugh.
I volleyed my dumfounded glances between the newly arrived Bobby and his recently revealed accomplice, Stone.
"What? How? Weren't you…?" I trailed off after gesturing to Bobby's bruised face. In befuddled defeat I flopped down on the couch and held my throbbing head in my hands.
The deep rumble of Stone's voice interrupted my revere.
"Way to go Brown. She's speechless. A feat I thought only I could achieve," Stone chuckled as he sat next to me on the sofa. I jerked my head up to glare at him before returning my attention to Bobby.
The smug look on Stone's face combined with Bobby's self-assured attitude must have been the kick in the pants that I needed to regain control. And I demonstrated that by demanding answers.
And answers I received…
Three hours later as I lay in my thinking position atop Bobby's bed, I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into exactly. The world had completely flipped upside own. Apparently while I had been entertaining the German equivalent to Comedy Night at the Apollo, Bobby and Stone had been plotting.
After I witnessed Stone being hauled away, he was locked up somewhere in the bowels of the Rangeman building in an interrogation room. From his descriptions of it, I realized I had gotten the five star accommodations and he had the equivalent of the Ramada Inn… in Bosnia. He was questioned as thoroughly as I was, in fact more so. The bruises on his torso and limbs that he showed me went a long way to prove that point. I shivered as he did, grateful that someone hadn't gotten that far with me.
Meanwhile, Bobby had been held in a locked office during the bulk of the time we were being interrogated. Tank had ordered him 'detained for his own safety' when he found out about our impending capture. Apparently, Bobby had been branded as an 'unknown variable in the equation' (according to recollection of the ominous words by the man in question); Tank translation: 'We don't trust you to not fuck things up.' Ah, the mysteries of the male mind.
Anyway, four hours after our capture, Bobby was released after an intense briefing and a 'behavioral conditioning session' with the big cheese himself, Tank (It's amazing how a little torture goes a long way to patching up the trust in a relationship).
After the initial shock and blinding rage from Tank's explanation passed, Bobby got himself assigned on the next shift as Stone's guard. I guess you could say Bobby's natural aversion to Stone was overcome by the sheer absurdity of Tank's tale of my treachery and deceit.
It was during one such stolen moment of incarceration between jailor and jailee that a deal was struck. Bobby would assist Stone's escape only if Stone promised to take me with him. Bobby also made him swear an oath to protect me at all costs (That info I stumbled across unwittingly from a conversation I eavesdropped on).
Which brings us to the present: Stone and I, fugitives from justice (not to mention Tank), hiding out in a recently acquired property of one Mr. Marcus Stevenson. Who's that you ask? (I know I did.) That is the alias of Mr. Bobby Brown. I was livid when I found out he had a place to crash for several days and yet he had still been living, or in this case, leeching off me.
Where's the justice in this situation? My place burns to the ground and Bobby has a new pad, no muss no fuss. I literally ripped Bobby a new one. He just hugged me and informed me he always had every intention of moving us both to this new loft. He assured me had just wanted to fix it up first. Build me a bedroom, that sort of thing. I had a hard time maintaining any fury after that comment. It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for me; or attempted to do for me in this case. That was when he led me to his bedroom, ordered me to pack up my belongings and then get some rest.
And yet here I was hours later, still wide awake and memorizing the nuances of the steel girders above my head. Isn't that always the way? When you are supposed to sleep, you can't. I'd laugh if I didn't think it would trigger stress related tears.
To be continued in chapter 33…