DISCLAIMER: I do not own either of the movies in the Hostel series or Star Wars, or anything related to them, nor am I affiliated with them in any manner whatsoever. This is just fanfiction.
Chapter 4: Car Ride, pt. 3
The car hummed steadily as it drove down the road. Deep in his reflections over the past couple of days, Jordan was abruptly returned to the present when the car hit a particularly deep pothole and jumped, causing his head to collide with the roof of the trunk. "Shit!" he exclaimed, immediately clapping both hands over his mouth.
He listened and could hear the conversation picking up in the car. It was faint, but he could make out someone saying "Did you just hear something?" Fuck! thought Jordan. I'm gonna get caught. Better get ready...
Fortunately, though, another voice replied "No, I heard nothing. Maybe it was just the car. It ran over a bump."
Jordan sighed in relief. I can't get caught. Now is not the time for a confrontation! Not that he was afraid, but he liked to keep confrontations to a minimum, for simplicity's sake. He had already had one before coming here to infiltrate the facility.
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During one of his frequent thinking sessions in the hostel lobby, Jordan realized something about the desk clerk's behavior. Every time someone checked in, the clerk would wait until the guests had disappeared to their rooms, then he would quickly look around, take a handful of passports with him, and disappear into a deserted hallway. How strange, Jordan thought. Why do I have a feeling this is somehow connected to Richard's disappearance? I need to find out what he's doing.
Jordan sat there for another hour until another set of guests appeared. After they were checked in and the desk clerk started to take out their passports, Jordan got up and made like he was about to go outside, but as soon as the desk clerk disappeared into the hallway, Jordan snuck behind him, slowly and silently, hiding as he turned a corner. He peeked around the corner to see the desk clerk disappear down a roped-off stairwell. What's that all about? he wondered.
He noticed a nook behind the stairwell. Now's my chance! Jordan dashed into the hallway, past the staircase, and towards the nook, tucking himself into it. Guess I'll wait here until he leaves and then see for myself what's going on.
He heard footsteps and took a quick look. The desk clerk was leaving the staircase and putting the rope back into place. Jordan disappeared behind the corner just as the clerk turned around. The clerk then left the area, and when Jordan was sure he was gone, he quickly padded over to the staircase, stepped over the rope, and crept down the stairs.
It looked like a quaint little basement office, with a window to let in some light from above. A bookshelf. A few tables. A closet. A desk with a computer and scanner. Seemingly, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Jordan instinctively walked over to the desk, turned the computer on, and started exploring the drawers. He opened the largest drawer and saw a stack of passports, opened and lying face down.
Jordan started removing passports from the stack, looking at the pictures and placing them aside. It was all young adults, mostly in their 20s, from various countries—most prominently the United States. He stopped when he came across his own (fake) passport, the Samuel Johnson one, but continued to flip through them. Suddenly, he came across one that looked familiar. "Richard Morris," it said, with a photo that Jordan recognized all too well. Of course he was here! I already knew that. He quickly tucked both his and Richard's passports into his bag.
He turned to look at the computer and saw something strange on the screen. It was a picture of a young man, with a name under his photo, "Michael Johnson," and a monetary value under the name, "$46,000." To the side, there was a field that said "Client: Jake Stanley." What the hell is this? Jordan asked himself. He saw an arrow button, moused over it, and clicked it. It was another similar page, only a different picture, name, dollar value, and "client" name. He started browsing the pages, which were filled with the same young men and women that he saw on the passport, with different dollar values up in the tens of thousands.
Eventually, Jordan came to his own page. It had his picture, with the name "Samuel Johnson" and a value of $57,000. He immediately recognized the client name: "Ron Jacobs." So, the guy wanted me for something and wanted it bad enough to pay 57-grand. And my roommates and the hostel were helping him. Not to mention lots of others like him. What did he want me for? He shook his head and continued to browse.
He took a step back when he saw Richard's page. Jordan muttered to himself, "Sixty-four thousand. Robert Parker." He stared intently at the computer screen as he tried to figure out what was going on here. What is this? Some kind of abduction ring for sex or slavery?
As Jordan pondered, he suddenly heard the faint sound of footsteps. He turned to his right in time to see the desk clerk standing there, with a metal candlestick held high above his head in his left hand, about to bring it down!
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Jordan could not help snickering to himself briefly. I knew there was a reason I didn't like that guy! Still, he was useful in his own way—more than one way, actually!
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Just as the candlestick was about to collide with his head, Jordan swiftly swept his right arm up and outward, blocking the blow and knocking the object from the desk clerk's hand. At the same time, he balled his left hand to a fist and thrust it forward into the clerk's solar plexus. As the clerk doubled over, breathless and stunned, Jordan drove his right fist into the guy's jaw, knocking him to the ground.
The desk clerk tried to push himself up off the ground, spitting out blood and a few broken teeth in the process. Jordan then bent over and pulled him the rest of the way up...right before throwing him against the bookcase really hard. The entire case rattled from the force of Jordan's attack, and several items fell to the floor. The desk clerk immediately slumped to the floor, and Jordan roughly grabbed his arm and turned him over so he was lying on the floor on his stomach.
Jordan then got on the ground as well and straddled the clerk's back; the clerk started to struggle but a swift punch to the back of the head immediately stopped that. Jordan reached underneath his shirt and pulled out a fairly large knife. The five-inch, well-sharpened blade gleamed brightly in the faint light from the window. Jordan then grabbed a handful of the guy's hair and pulled his head up and back, as far as he could without breaking his neck, and pressed the knife's blade against his throat. Jordan held the knife for a moment, in which both young men were silent, before pulling it slightly to the right.
It was not fatal, but the desk clerk felt the knife as it cut into his skin just enough to draw a stream of blood. He grunted in pain. Then, he asked Jordan, "Vat are you doing? Vat do you vant? Vat is going on here?"
"Ha!" exclaimed Jordan, his voice suddenly raspier and a few octaves deeper. "I could ask you the same thing, now couldn't I?" He chuckled in a very dark and intimidating manner. "What the fuck kind of operation are you running here? What are you doing with your guests? Who are these "clients" of yours, and what are they paying shitloads of money for?"
"I not tell you anything. Just go avay, please," the desk clerk pleaded.
Jordan growled at him. "Oh, you'll tell me, all right. You'll tell me everything you know, or I'll cut your fucking throat right here!" The clerk started to sob softly, and Jordan could feel his slight convulsions. What a pitiful, miserable little piece of shit! thought Jordan. Probably just some sleazy underling, willing to do anything for some profits. Probably never got laid in his life. When he's not working the desk, I'll bet anything he just sits in his room and beats off to a poster of Princess Leia from Star Wars. "I don't have all fucking day! Obviously, you were lying to me earlier because Richard WAS here. I found his passport over there, as well as his page on your computer. I don't know what you sons of bitches have done with him, but you're going to tell me everything I need to know to find him...if you want to live!"
"You vill have to kill me. I will not talk. Better I die than be caught by THEM!" The clerk sniffed. "They'll kill you and then come for me, and I rather be dead than that!"
Obviously, whoever he's working for, he's afraid of them. So afraid he'd rather die than piss them off, Jordan thought. I guess I'll just have to try alternative methods of persuasion. Jordan put his knife away, and grabbed the desk clerk's head with both hands. He pulled it back, and abruptly slammed the guy's face into the floor with all his strength--eliciting a cry of pain. Jordan slammed it into the floor a couple more times. "Ready to talk yet?"
"No." the voice softly muttered.
"Fine." Jordan reached over and grabbed the clerk's left hand, taking hold of the pinky with his other hand. "You're left-handed, right?" Jordan asked. He immediately jerked the finger backward until it snapped, and the clerk jerked and yelped in pain. "Now?" Still nothing, so Jordan grabbed the ring finger and broke it as well, eliciting more cries. And so on, with the other two fingers and, eventually, the thumb itself.
Not satisfied, Jordan got up and went to fetch the candlestick. He noticed the desk clerk trying to push himself up with his right hand, so Jordan kicked it out from under him and straddled his back once more. He raised the candlestick high and slammed it down onto the clerk's hand, shattering the bones in the hand and wrist.
"Aaaaaah!" he screamed. "I can't tell you anything. Please stop!"
Nonchalantly, Jordan got up, grabbed the injured hand, pulled the arm up, placed his foot against the elbow joint, and was about to snap it backwards, right before the desk clerk screamed "All right! I'll talk! Just no more please!"
Jordan immediately stepped back and rolled the guy over with his foot. "Okay. First, tell me what's going on here!"
The clerk grunted in pain. "Zis business, Elite Hunting, it gets young people like you for rich clients all over ze world. Ve get them at ze hostel, and I scan ze passports for ze clients to bid. Highest bid gets it. Zen zey take zem to zis facility and…"
Jordan was getting impatient. "Forget it! Just tell me how to get to this facility so I can find Richard!"
"Are you sure you vant to go zere?" asked the clerk. "No one vants to go zere but ze clients. You'd be better to just forget zis Richard and go back home!"
"Nice try, but I'm not convinced. I most definitely intend to go. Now, unless you want me to finishing fucking up your left arm, give me the damn directions!" Jordan snarled.
"All right, all right!" The clerk was slowly getting himself up off the floor. "Next to ze old palace at the edge of town, zere is a deserted road leading off into ze distance. Eet goes to Bratislava, but no one ever goes on ze road but Elite Hunting and ze clients. If you follow it for fifteen kilometers, you vill see a large stone wall vith a metal gate. Zat is ze facility. But you vill not be able to enter. You need ze code and even I do not know it."
Jordan laughed. "Oh, I'll find a way in, all right. Don't you worry about that. But one more thing…" Jordan took his knife back out and pressed it against the desk clerk's throat again. "You had better not tell anyone about this, and I had better find Richard alive and relatively unharmed...or I will come back for you to finish what I started here!"
"Samuel," said the desk clerk. "Please go ahead and kill me now. I don't want them to come for me."
Jordan felt a microscopic touch of compassion. "Look, don't worry about them. If I'm successful, you'll be fine. Trust me." Then, he added, "Oh, and you might want to see a doctor about your hand! Not to mention all those cuts and bruises."
He turned around and headed to the door to leave the basement. Suddenly, he heard a gunshot and saw the mirror on the wall shatter. He turned around to see the desk clerk pointing a semi-automatic handgun at him—pointing badly, no doubt, because he had to use his right hand.
As the desk clerk tried to aim for another shot, Jordan instantly flipped the knife in his hand around so that he was holding the blade. Just as the clerk pulled the hammer back again, Jordan hurled the knife through the air and dropped to the floor, landing it in the clerk's forehead as the bullet hit the wall above him.
The clerk slumped to the floor, and Jordan got up and walked over to the body. He reached down and pulled his knife out of the guy's forehead, using the dead young man's shirttail to wipe the blood off. He also checked the pockets for any useful items and took a set of keys.
Shit! Now I have a body to deal with! What can I do with it? Jordan looked around the room and noticed a space behind the bookcase. No one will look there, surely! He walked over to the supply closet and opened it up. Perfect! He pulled out a large plastic tarp, some rope, and some duct tape.
He lay the tarp out on the ground and moved the body onto it. Next, he rolled up the tarp and tied each end off tightly with the rope. Then, he used the duct tape to seal off the edge of the tarp. That way, no one can smell it! Finally, he hefted the body and slid it into the space behind the bookcase. Or find it...at least for a while!
Jordan picked up the gun and removed the clip. He noticed that it had 16 more bullets. Ah, one of those illegal types! Wonderful! He then checked the drawers of the desk and noticed a box of bullets and put them and the gun into his backpack.
He then headed up the stairs and to his room. He quickly opened the safe, and put his stuff back into his suitcase, and started out the door, when Milena came in. "Oh, Samuel, are you leaving us so soon?"
Jordan smiled at her and said, "Yeah, I guess so. It's been fun, but I gotta run."
Milena pouted and tossed her hair. "Oh, that is too bad. I was hoping ve could get to know each other a leetle better, if you know vat I mean!"
Then, Jordan replied, "Okay, I guess so."
"Come!" She grabbed his hand and led him over to her bed. As they both sat down, they looked into each others eyes and smiled. Milena placed her hand on Jordan's thigh, and started to move it up toward his crotch.
Jordan took her face in both of his hand, moving them around and through her hair. He then moved his left hand to the top of her head and his right hand to her chin. He almost looked like a man in love...until his expression instantly turned hard. Before she could react, he gripped her head and chin tightly and...SNAP!
As she slumped over dead, Jordan got up from the bed and started to move the body around. When he was done, it looks as if she was doubled over sleeping. He then picked up his suitcase and went out the door, closing and locking it, and hanging up the "Do Not Disturb" sign.
He then went to the front desk and left the key on the counter. He walked outside of the hostel and around to the parking lot. He studied all the cars in the lot until he saw one with Star Wars memorabilia, including a bumper sticker that read "Jedi-In-Training." That must be his! He walked up to the car, put a key in the trunk lock, and turned it. Open Sesame!
Jordan placed his suitcase in the trunk and shut it. Then, he went around to the driver's side and opened the door. He got in, shut the door, and put on his seatbelt. He then placed another key in the ignition, turned it, and started the car up. Finally, Jordan pulled out of the lot and started toward the deserted road the desk clerk had told him about...
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Jordan really hoped he had hidden the car well in the bushes. Something told him he would need it once he and Richard got out of the Elite Hunting facility. Let's just get this shit over with, already!
All of a sudden, Jordan felt the car slow to a crawl, make a small 90-degree turn, and stop. He heard the door open, and a man—presumably the bald man—got out of the car and said "Just a moment."
Jordan smiled and said to himself, "It's go time!"
NOTE:I am completely opposed to violence against women, so Jordan's actions should not suggest that I condone it in any shape, form, or fashion. (Of course, to be fair, this particular woman WAS trying to hand Jordan over to Elite Hunting!)