TAKING TO TASK
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Paperclips"
Joe groaned as he tried to roll over, a sharp pain shooting through his chest and abdomen as he attempted to move. The young man lay very still for a moment, breathing shallowly through his nose and mouth as he struggled for control over the pain and he mentally cursed Ras-Alman, the two goons and anyone else responsible for his current predicament.
You're going down, Marcius, Joe thought again. You're going down!
Joe shivered slightly as he felt a cold breeze from above wafting down on him and he opened one eye a crack to see a vent overhead. A small piece of string caught on the vent was blowing straight out as the room continued to fill with what was cold air and Joe shuddered reflexively.
Going to freeze me out, are you, Marcius?
Joe stayed still for a moment, staring up at the string until it managed to break loose of the vent and float straight down, landing nearby on the floor. Joe looked at it for a moment and closed his eyes.
Time to forget the pain and sit up, Hardy. Time to start doing something more than doing your impersonation of a rock. While entertaining, it's hardly productive.
Joe sat up very quickly and bit on his lower lip to keep from crying out as a more intense pain shot through his chest and lower ribs. He held his hands tightly to his waist, trying to quell the pain while he moved. Joe stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the wall behind him, keeping both hands over his injured, bruised, cracked or broken ribs.
At least I can still breathe but I had better be careful. If I have any broken ribs I could perforate a lung by moving too much. So let that be your warning, Joe old pal. Move slowly.
Joe opened his eyes again and looked around the small room. 8' by 8' maybe, with one door on one wall and nothing much of note beyond the vent on another wall, it was very high, maybe two stories tall. Except for Joe, it was otherwise empty and Joe saw nothing that offered much hope of an escape.
If I had stilts I might reach that vent overhead but I doubt it, not with the state of my ribs. Anyone have a set of wings handy I can borrow?
Joe hated the thought of what he had to do next. Standing sounded like the very last thing he wanted to attempt. The top of the list was laying back down and going back to sleep, waking up if and when Frank and Nancy rode to the rescue.
No rest for the weary though, he thought with a grumble. No time like the present to see if the legs still work. Yup. Any second now, Hardy. That's right, pal, just put those legs underneath and slide up the wall, not down.
His body refused to cooperate, at least for the moment. While his mind had all the will in the world, the body, as they said, was weak and in pain and wanted nothing of any idea that might cause more pain. His body was already plenty mad for his mind's obstinate refusal to give up Frank to Ras-Alman.
Then again, Ras-Alman never asked for Frank. He asked for James.
Sorry, Marcius. Don't know anyone by that name.
As satisfying as it had been to defy Ras-Alman and keep him from getting his hands on Frank, Joe wished there had been another way. He hated getting the crap beat out of him and when he got loose he was going to definitely make sure those two creeps out there paid big time for the damage.
With that warm and happy thought, Joe placed one hand firmly over his ribs, the other on the wall behind him and, holding his breath, he shifted.
The first try was a complete and total failure. He lay gasping on the ground, struggling to get his breath back again. He lay very still on the concrete floor beneath him and blinked back stars and tears and shifted again until he was sitting up again, ignoring the agony that flooded him from bow to stem.
Damnit that hurt, he thought bitterly. Bloody hell!
But, with that still cheery thought, he tried again and this time, he managed to stand. His ribs seemed to poke at him from inside but he managed to stay on his feet.
Good, Joe leaned against the wall behind him. I'm up. Look at that. Pretty soon I'll be running a marathon.
Joe stayed for a long while, leaning against the wall that supported him, breathing shallowly so as not to jar the ribs and thinking dark thoughts about what he was going to do to the goons as soon as he found them. Currently torn between hot oil and thumb screws, he made his legs move and he walked to the door, trying the knob when he got there.
Well, of course it's locked you idiot, Joe thought. You expect them to shove you in the closet and just walk away so you can escape?
It was a nice thought, really. Open the door, check outside, bash a goon's face in and get the hell out of here while the getting was good. That seemed a sound enough plan to him!
Of course, reality faced him with a locked door. Joe stared at it for a moment and then checked his pockets. No handy pocketknife, no writing pen, nothing he could use to jimmy the lock open.
Not one to be daunted, though, Joe looked around the room some more, praying for inspiration – anything that would help him MacGyver the lock open. He walked the edges of the room, looking into nooks and crannies and was rewarded when he found a paperclip laying on the floor.
On floor. All the way down there on the cold concrete floor when Joe was all the way up here, not on the concrete floor.
I am going to hate this, Joe thought with a groan as he prepared himself to crouch down on the floor. I am really, really going to hate this.
Joe bent slightly and then folded his legs until he was sitting on his heels. He reached a hand down and carefully swiped up the paperclip, holding it in a tight grip as he balanced.
How do I get up from here? Joe frowned as he placed the hand holding the paperclip over his ribs and his free hand on the wall behind him. Pushing up with calf and thigh muscles, he managed to achieve a standing position and he leaned against the wall for a moment, struggling to catch his breath again.
Finally able to breathe again, Joe made his way over to the door and stuck one of the ends of his paperclip into the lock, jimmying it back and forth until he found the locking mechanism.
Joe folded the paperclip around until he had both ends of the clip inside the lock and he adjusted each end carefully, twisting one end slightly and pulling up with the other end until the lock made a clunk, click sound and Joe was able to open the door.
Cautiously, he peered out into the hallway and saw that it was fortunately empty. Saying a quick prayer that something was going his way for a change he stepped out into the hallway, still holding the trusty, door-opening paperclip. The hallway was dim, almost dark from lack of a decent overhead lighting source but he saw a soft glow coming through the window at the end of the hall that gave him a direction to follow.
Joe walked slowly, keeping one hand on the wall, taking each step carefully so as not to make any additional noise. When he reached the end of the hall he found that he faced a set of stairs going up and not down and he grimaced at the thought of going up them.
You plan on stopping now and giving up? I didn't think so.
Joe took his first step cautiously, carefully feeling each step before putting his full weight on it, ascending slowly to the next floor. It was strange that there was no one else here. He knew that a man like Ras-Alman had to have more security and goons than the two Joe had seen; would any of them be waiting for him on the next floor? He hoped not.
Finally, however, he was on the next floor – the main floor of the building that led to the entrance.
Joe turned to go out the door when he heard a step behind him and he turned, biting on his lip to keep from crying out in pain as a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him forward.