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Mark moved his head and immediately regretted making any movement, as his head now felt ready to explode. He gave a slight moan, and opened his eyes slowly, looking around the room he found himself in. He was lying on a mattress on the floor, which was against the back wall of a fairly plain room. The two former windows of the room were boarded over from the inside; the light for the room was coming from a single bare bulb that hung from the center of the ceiling.
He quickly realized that his suit coat, tie, belt, shoes, socks, watch, wallet, and all the contents of his pockets were gone. He made the effort to roll from his back to his side; he then discovered that he was chained to the back wall by his right ankle. He swallowed hard as the alarm bells went full tilt, and the volcano in his stomach boiled over.
Oh God, this really doesn't look good. The last thing I remember was parking in the garage of the courthouse, and now I'm here, but where is here?
Of course if they wanted me dead, I would be already. So what do they want? And who is they?
He slowly and methodically explored the part of the room that the chain reached. There was absolutely nothing other than the mattress that he could access within the 10 feet that the chain allowed.
Actually, looking around the bare room, there was nothing other than the mattress in the entire room, besides, of course, himself. Off to the right side was a doorway, which appeared to be a small bathroom. Other than a former walk-in closet that now was no more than an alcove in the wall, the room was empty.
Well I guess I'm stuck here until someone decides to come get me. God, I hope Hardcase realizes something major is wrong since I didn't show up for court.
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"What do you mean, he never showed up for the jury selection?" Hardcastle practically screamed into the telephone.
"I'm sorry, sir, but he never showed for the jury selection and Judge Hamilton was more than a little angry. He issued a bench warrant for contempt of court for Mr. McCormick, but no one seems to be able to find him," explained Sandy, the clerk of courts for Judge Hamilton's office.
"And who looked for him? And where did they look?" asked Hardcase hurriedly.
"The bailiffs split up and searched different areas of the building looking for him. I don't think they wanted to see him get in trouble either. Andy Walsh, of Judge Wolfel's court, found Mr. McCormick's car parked in the parking garage where he usually parks, but he was nowhere to be found."
"So, I thought maybe I should get in contact with you. Judge Hamilton postponed the jury selection until next Thursday, but he was really angry. You had better tell Mr. McCormick that he should come in and apologize to the judge in open court, and maybe that will get him out of the contempt charge, because you know how Judge Hamilton's temper is," Sandy offered.
"Okay, I will make sure that Judge Hamilton gets his apology." . . . I'm gonna kill him, he had better have a REALLY good excuse for this one!
"This is definitely not like McCormick, though. Don't worry Sandy I'll take care of it. It will be okay. Can you tell Judge Hamilton, thank you for the new jury selection date? And thank you for calling and letting me know," Hardcastle said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.
But this really doesn't sound like Mark; he wouldn't skip an important court date like this without getting me or someone to fill in for him.
Something is wrong big time!
His next thought was to call Frank, and he promptly dialed the lieutenant's phone number. His gut instinct was warning him that something was seriously wrong.
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The only sound Mark heard in the room was made by the chain as it drug behind him across the wooden floor. Frustrated, Mark finally sat down on the mattress and pushed himself back against the wall. He brought his knees to his chest in an attempt to get comfortable. The cuff was already starting to rub and bite into his bare ankle from the small amount of pacing he had done. Despite trying to calm himself, he was starting to feel desperate.
I just gotta give Hardcase the time to figure who has me and where I am, and he'll be here to get me out.
Kemosabe to the rescue!
Come on, Hardcase, what's taking you so long?
Several hours had passed without any sounds from the rest of the house. He was beginning to think that he was left there alone. Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming down the hall and approaching the room in which he was being kept. He heard the lock disengage and two goons came into the room. They quickly were upon him, knocking him down on his stomach.
"Put you hands behind your back," one ordered.
Mark slowly and reluctantly complied with the request. Handcuffs snapped into place around both wrists, as his arms were jerked together. Next, a rolled handkerchief was brought around his head toward his mouth.
When Mark failed to immediately open his mouth to accept the gag, "Open . . . now," came another order. Mark obviously did not respond quickly enough, as the goon laid a hard punch to his kidneys, accentuating again the "now" part of the order. Mark opened his mouth and the gag was forced inside, and tied around the back of his head.
After several minutes, Mark attempted to shift his weight and roll onto his side. Another punch fell onto his kidneys, with a resounding, "Stay put, and don't make a sound, clear," the goon made the threat crystal clear.
Mark closed his eyes briefly and tried to relax under their intense observation. A few minutes later, Mark could hear the soft crunch of gravel under the weight of a vehicle approaching the house.
So, that's why all the rough treatment. They want to make sure that I can't yell out to anyone or possibly get loose and try to escape. Yeah right, chained fast to the wall, where the hell am I gonna go? Okay, Mark, just relax and go with the flow; maybe you can find something out here, because it sounds like they are getting company.
Several more minutes passed, Mark again opened his eyes as more footsteps were heard approaching the room. He could hear more than see, as one of the goons was blocking his line of sight, that more people had entered the room.
"Get him up, I want to see him," came an order by someone who appeared to be in charge.
Mark was jerked to his knees between the two goons, who held onto his arms tightly.
He was studied by four mafia types who had entered the room. Three were dressed in business attire, one had stepped forward to look at him closer. The fourth was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and also stepped forward but stood off to the side. Mark held their gaze. With a motion of his hand, the man in the center indicated that he wanted the gag removed from Mark's mouth.
Okay, Mark, these are definitely the higher ups. Just stay calm and think. Don't cause these guys any problems or they're gonna take it out on your hide.
Mark coughed slightly and dipped his head forward as the gag was untied and came loose. Another motion from this man, and one of the goons grabbed a handful of Mark's curly locks and jerked his head up.
Easy, easy don't fight it. Let them show their bosses that they have control over you.
This man nodded looking over at the flannel shirted man and verified, "It's him all right, make sure you keep him alive and healthy, I'll be in contact when I want him moved."
Yep, I definitely like the alive and healthy part. But move me where and why?
He then returned his gaze and addressed Mark, "Mr. McCormick, you will be well taken care of, you just need to sit back and be patient and you will be out of here shortly, no harm will come to you." The man turned and strolled from the room; the other two followed him out.
The man dressed in the flannel shirt stepped closer and bent down to Mark's level.
"I hope you like soup and sandwiches, cause that's what you're gonna have," he added softly. He motioned for the other two goons to release him and take off the handcuffs. He left the room.
Later when he returned, Mark was now sitting on the mattress, rubbing circulation back into his wrists. He sat a tray down next to the mattress with the promised soup, sandwich, and a can of soda.
Finally Mark spoke, "Can I ask what I'm doing here?"
One of the goons inched closer, while he looked up at his boss for direction, probably to render a punishment if the boss deemed it was necessary. This was the one who had been landing the kidney punches Mark surmised, as he felt the goon's body weight shift. He flicked a sideways glance toward the goon. Mark allowed his head to fall forward with a sigh, he then slowly raised his head and looked again into the man's eyes.
"Look, I've been kidnapped, drugged, chained up like an animal. I think you could at least tell me what the hell is going on, and why I'm here?" Mark repeated his question softly.
"Just be good and do as you're told and you'll be outta here soon, that's all I can tell you," the man responded. He then motioned the other two goons to follow him from the room.
Sure, just be good, up to the point where they have you on your knees in a garbage dump in the middle of some swamp and a gun to the back of your head. . . Patience, Mark, just wait for your chance here.
Mark ate the soup and sandwich. He was savoring the last of the soda when one of the goons entered to retrieve the tray.
"Hey, I don't mean to be a pain here, but this chain doesn't allow me enough, to get into the head." Mark motioned toward the bathroom.
The goon frowned, looked over at the bathroom and then back at Mark. "I'll see what I can do," he said as he motioned for Mark to return the soda can to the tray. He picked up the tray and promptly left the room.
Mark smiled at he looked down at the pilfered soda tab in his hand. He almost pocketed it, when he decided to hide it underneath the mattress against the back wall of the room.
Okay, Mark, keep calm and use your head. You need to gain the trust of these goons and look for a weakness.
What the heck are you gonna do with a soda tab anyway? It certainly won't help you get outta here . . . Play it super cooperative for now. Let them loosen up a bit. Use the famous McCormick charm and get them on your side. I definitely want to gain some sort of mutual respect here, if they decide that I'm no longer useful to them.
Come on, Hardcase, what's taking you so long?
The guy with the flannel shirt again entered the room, followed by the other two.
"Hey, can I go to the bathroom?" Mark again asked, smirking. "I'll be good, dad, I promise." The guy with the flannel shirt, who seemed to be in charge of the other two, leaned forward, pulling the keys to the cuff out of his pocket, and unlocked Mark's ankle, which was starting to show the wear and tear of it's confinement and friction from the cuff. Mark slowly got up and took a step toward the bathroom. The man's hand grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.
"Search him, and then again when he comes out," he said to the other goons, then to Mark he added, "And the door stays open, so they can see you."
Mark nodded, raised his arms to allow the rough frisk, and shrugged, adding in his famous joking tone with a grin, "What do you think, I found an uzi since I've been here?"
The man actually chuckled, "They said you had a mouth on you," although he never elaborated on who 'they' were.
Mark acknowledged the comment with another grin, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, I always say."
Mark entered the small bathroom, leaving the door open as requested, completed his business and then returned to the room. He raised his hands, as he approached the two goons to again submit to the frisking.
When one of the goons bent down to retrieve the cuff for his ankle,
Mark spoke up, frowning, "Hey, can we lose the jewelry?" indicating the ankle cuff and chain. "It's really starting to chew into the ankle," he complained.
"Sorry, champ, the anklet stays," as he patted Mark on the cheek. The goon then snapped the cuff back into place. "Try not to move around too much," suggested the guy.
"Yeah, sounds good, you try it," Mark whined, he flopped back down onto the mattress as they left the room.
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