Chapter Four: Purpose
The Louis Vuitton man, Red-Tie, and the fat man went back to the boardroom leaving John and Dodson lying in the floor still bound by their ankles and wrists. Dodson hadn't been alert in quite some time, and Reese worried that he was dead or near dead. Dragging himself over to Dodson, Reese lifted his hands to Avery's neck to try to find a pulse. "Dodson… Dodson," he whispered. He could feel Dodson's pulse and let out a relieved sigh that he hadn't yet failed his latest mission. It concerned him, though, because Dodson's pulse was weak and slow. "What the hell have they done to you?" Reese whispered.
Looking around the storage room, he needed to find something that he could use to cut through the Zip-Ties. For a store room, there was very little in storage. As he scooted around the floor, he heard footsteps coming toward the backroom then saw the light peering through the door as it opened. "Damn it," he mumbled under his breath.
It was alligator shoes, Reese noted.
"We're getting tired of waiting. I thought the culprit would give it up by now, but no one's taking responsibility for hiring you," the Louis Vuitton man said through gritted teeth.
Reese could tell that the Louis Vuitton man had lost his patience, which always put Reese at an advantage. He was much better on offense than defense.
"I'm growing a little tired myself," Reese responded.
It infuriated the Louis Vuitton man that this man they knew as John Hammond was so arrogant. "If none of the five of us hired you, then how the hell did you know that Dodson was in danger?" he yelled, grabbing Reese by his jacket and slamming him back to the floor.
The impact stung. Even though he was in pain, he was confident he could withstand any kind of beating these business men could dish out."I didn't say none of the five of you didn't hire me," Reese calmly stated, forcing a smile on his face. He knew he was successfully unnerving the man in the alligator shoes, strategizing that once the man lost his cool, he was like clay in Reese's hands.
Reese's smile angered the Loius Vuitton man even more. He pulled back his leg and kicked John in the gut.
John groaned in pain and sucked in choking gasps of air. After he caught his breath, he throatily said, "Better be careful or you'll scuff up those alligator shoes." He then smiled again, taking his eyes from the man's face to the black alligator Louis Vuitton shoes.
The Louis Vuitton man pulled Reese to his feet and pushed him backwards into a chair. Reese landed in the chair with a heavy thump. Without any hesitation, the Louis Vuitton man slammed his fist into Reese's gut. He then grabbed Reese and dragged him back to the boardroom where the other men were sitting at the table drinking wine.
With alcohol in their systems, they were probably getting sloppy, Reese thought. This was a good thing. He needed them defensive and sloppy.
"Start the party without me?" Reese smugly asked.
The Louis Vuitton man then pushed Reese into the chair at the head of the boardroom table. Of them all, he appeared to be the one most concerned at this point in finding the stoolie. "You think this is a game?" he yelled into Reese's face.
Reese remained calm and smiled, looking around at the other four men to size them up. He could tell that the other men were getting nervous about how their plan was unfolding. "It was supposed to be clean and easy, wasn't it?" Reese mocked. "Nothing's ever clean or easy where I'm concerned." He watched as the men looked around at one another. Apparently they didn't have a unified plan at this point as to what to do about the situation. Reese knew he could use that to his advantage.
Without saying anything, the bald man, who had up to this point interacted very little with the others, got up and left the boardroom. He returned a few minutes later carrying a bottle of The Macallan from Dodson's stash. "We're done with you. It's late, and honestly, I never quite trusted them completely anyway. So now it comes down to how do we get rid of you, too?"
"So we're going to have a drink together?" Reese asked.
The other men looked at one another, apparently not being privy to The Macallan man's plan.
The Macallan man said nothing in response to Reese as he pulled a chair close to him. He hadn't allowed himself to feel on the defensive. It was all about control, and he believed that he could maintain his until the end.
Reese looked at him, trying to figure out how The Macallan whiskey fit into the equation.
The Macallan man saw Reese trying to deduce what was about to happen.
"Death by alcohol?" Reese finally asked. "That's quite original. I've seen and experienced just about every scenario possible, but I've never been forced to drink myself to death." Reese almost let out a laugh.
"Do you find this amusing?" asked the Dennis Farina double.
"If you only knew," Reese answered. The irony did in fact amuse him. Reese had tried for several months prior to Finch finding him and giving him a job to take himself out with alcohol, but to no avail. Reese, now having a true sense of purpose and justice, honestly believed that Finch had saved his life. He had rarely needed or even wanted to consume alcohol so he could always be on the top of his game for when Finch would tell him that they had a new number.
"Your wife—if you even have one— will be told of your body being found after a night of partying too hard in New York City with prostitutes and crack dealers. Kinky sex can explain those marks on your wrists and the taser burns. Being thrown from a moving vehicle can explain the rest of your injuries. It won't be pretty when they discover your body."
None of that frightened Reese. "Gentlemen, you completely overestimate your abilities," he softly spoke. He had been trained to maintain his calm and get himself out of even the most challenging of situations. He had gotten out of some pretty grievous situations with some of the world's most dangerous assassins. Five business men shouldn't be this hard. Zip-Ties, however, had always proved themselves more complicated than regular handcuffs for him to slip out of. But, he was confident that he would eventually.
"Gerard, get his head," The Macallan man said.
Red-Tie got up from the table and went behind Reese. Grabbing his head, Red-Tie held it steadily back for The Macallan man to pour the whiskey down Reese's throat.
Reese tried to make eye contact with Red-Tie. Of all the men, he believed Red-Tie was the best possibility of being cracked. Reese saw Red-Tie looking at the floor, unable to look at the man he was holding down to be poisoned with alcohol. "You don't have to do this," Reese softly spoke. "There's hope for you."
"Shut up!" The Macallan man shouted as he kicked Reese in his legs.
Red-Tie continued to stare down at the floor.
As The Macallan man began pouring the whiskey into Reese's mouth, he closed his throat. Choking and gagging, Reese coughed and spit until he could catch his breath.
The Macallan man punched Reese in the stomach until he gasped for air. "Swallow the next round!" he commanded. He looked at Gerard as a queue for him to lean Reese's head back some more.
Red-Tie's facial expression had changed to alarm. His face had lost most of its coloring. "I can't do this," he announced, letting loose of Reese's head.
Reese caught his eyes for a split second.
"Move out of the way you coward!" the Dennis Farina double screamed as he used his body to literally push Red-Tie away from Reese. With agitation, the Dennis Farina double roughly pulled Reese's head back.
Reese could see Red-Tie slithering backwards to the table where the other men were still seated.
The Macallan man poured another mouthful of whiskey into the back of Reese's mouth then reached up to pinch his nose to prevent Reese from trying to hold his breath. The Scotch, while smooth going down his throat, burned his empty stomach. The two men continued pouring the whiskey into Reese, stopping only to wait for the alcohol to drain down Reese's throat.
As his mind began slipping into intoxication, Reese remembered the Jessie-look-a-like from their previous case. He felt confident he had done the right thing by buying her a Greyhound ticket to flee the city even though Finch had not. He thought about the ex-husband he had beaten up who swore he would never touch or come near his ex-wife again. Reese felt that justice had been served. Finch believed that the ex-wife, who had schemed to have her ex-husband killed, shouldn't be let off the hook that easily. Finch, however, dropped the subject when Reese told him to.
Then Reese's mind flipped to Finch. He had never had a friend as good and kind as Harold Finch. Then there was Joss. She was righteous and caring. He loved them both. They had done more for him in the year and a half he knew them than anyone else in his life. He hated failing them, and his escape was beginning to look less and less possible. He knew now that he truly needed their help. He had never had to rely on other people so much to help him, but with Harold and Joss, that's just what they did for one another.
Trusting that they would find a way to save him, Reese let go of his struggle against intoxication. He knew Finch well enough to believe that the grey thread would be apparent to him. He believed that Finch, above all people, would know he was being held captive in there and would devise a way to get him out of there alive. He believed Joss wouldn't give up on him until he had been saved. Those were his last thoughts before the grey in his mind turned to black.
Out in the police cruiser, Harold had made contact with Cynthia. "Mrs. Greenfield? I am sorry to have awakened you," Finch said into his cell phone as they drove to her home.
"Who is this?" Cynthia asked, trying to shake herself awake.
"You don't know me, but I am friends with John Hammond, the man you met today."
"Mr. Hammond…yes…the gentleman who had the 2:30 with Mr. Dodson today. What's this about?"
"He hasn't returned home, and his family is worried about him. We believe that he is still in the building—along with Mr. Dodson, and we believe they are both in grave danger."
"What?"
"We have good reason to believe that the shareholders who were meeting this evening were planning to kill Mr. Dodson, and John must have gotten in their way."
"Oh my God," Cynthia responded, her heart beginning to race. "What do you need for me to do?"
"We're on our way over to your place. Do you have keys?"
"Uh, yes…yes…I have keys to the front and back. How do you know where I live?"
"Facebook," Finch causally answered.
"Oh," Cynthia said in a somewhat confused tone.
"We need to get into the building as quietly as possible so we can sneak up on the men and save John and Mr. Dodson."
"Oh, okay…certainly. Should I call the police?"
"No, I'm with the police. Please trust me that this is the only way to save John and your boss."
"Okay," Cynthia said quietly.
"We'll be there shortly," Finch said as he hung up his phone.
It was nearing midnight, and Finch realized that John had been held by the men for over seven hours now. Finch listened as Carter and Fusco discussed how they should enter the building to retrieve John and Avery Dodson. They prepared themselves for an ensuing gun battle, and neither one was wearing a vest. Finch hated violence and guns but wanted to be included in their rescue plans. As they talked, Finch thought about Reese and how much he had changed during this past year and a half. At first, Reese hardly ever smiled. Now, Reese seemed settled and happy. Finch hadn't had a friend since Nathan, and he wasn't ready to lose Reese. Looking up, he saw Carter looking into her rearview mirror.
"We'll get him back, Harold," Carter said.
"I know, Joss," Finch answered, shaking his head up and down.
Carter sped toward Cynthia Greenfield's home. The rest of their journey was silent.
TBC