Chapter Nine: Mind Games

Lee’s head was throbbing. The dull pain seemed to encompass his mind, reaching out and affecting his appendages. The effect of the strong drug was wearing off quickly but was leaving him with what felt like the worst headache he’d ever experienced. He opened his tired eyes and studied the thick darkness that crowded in around him. His head rested on the cold, dry cement floor of what seemed to be a room that was no larger than a broom closet. A musty smell mingled with blood lingered in the air. There was a very dull sliver of light coming from the corners of what Lee assumed was a door in front of him. He tried to lift himself up but the drug was still affecting his motor skills and he could barely wiggle his fingers, let alone lift himself up to his feet. He shifted his eyes around the small space, realizing that the pain he was feeling in his arms and legs was probably from being beaten. He could feel sharp cuts and the wetness of blood through his clothes.

Turning his attention to the sliver in the doorframe, Lee could hear heavy footfalls and terrified human screams in the distance. The consistent dripping of water was also heard coming from a small spout that dripped directly onto the floor and traveled towards a small drain in the middle of the room. Because of the damp and dark atmosphere, Lee suspected they were somewhere far beneath the Fantas house. Lee began to gain feeling in his arms and legs, but waited a moment before sitting up straight. He thought for a minute. The last thing he could remember was his Uncle Tash opening up the fireplace and being shot with a sedative. This had been a detour Lee had not anticipated and he was keen on getting Marten and himself out of here. But where was Marten? He imagined Marten’s lifeless body on the cement next to him, a puddle of blood beneath him.

Lee frowned at this imagery and shook his head. His uncle apparently didn’t take kindly to strangers or unwelcome visitors. Marten was probably dead somewhere down here and it was Lee’s fault. Tears started coming to his eyes but he fought them back with all his strength. He didn’t know that Marten was dead. What if they had only beaten Marten as badly as they had beaten Lee? He could still be alive, maybe in bad shape, but there was still hope. It was the only thing stopping him from giving up. Lee wasn’t fond of the chubby man, but he would never wish him any harm.

Lee was going to move his hands to wipe off the dust from his face, but found that he couldn’t. He felt around the floor and discovered that his hands were tied to a thick, round piece of rope that was connected to a metal ring protruding from the ground. He groaned loudly, and struggled for a minute to get free. The thing wasn’t going anywhere, and as long as it wasn’t, neither was he.

Lee stretched out his legs to their full extent and flexed his muscles, then relaxed for a moment. He had been in a cramped position for who knows how long in the stale darkness. He leaned back and rested his head against the wall behind him and stared into the abyss for awhile. He focused on his breathing for what seemed like an eternity. In and out, in and out; his heart seemed to pump with the rhythm of the dripping. Suddenly, from the other side of the door he could hear three men talking to each other. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but whatever it was he was about to find out.

After a few moments the door to the dark little cell swung open. The hinges seemed to scream out in protest as they conducted the action. Bright light poured into the room from the green cement hallway and collided with Lee’s dilated pupils. He winced and closed his eyes as his legs shifted on the ground uncomfortably. After a few moments of blindness, he could make out the image of a man standing in the doorway. He looked large, lean and very unpleasant.

“Well, look here,” said the silhouette, “He’s awake!”

Another voice spoke up from the hall, it sounded like his Uncle Tash.

“You look like crap, Lee. What have these gentlemen been doing to you?”

The light to the small room came on and two large men walked in, making the already cramped room feel like an overpopulated shoebox. Lee looked up at them and frowned profoundly, his soul felt like someone had tide a weight onto it and thrown it into the middle of the sea; he was drowning. He was a dead man breathing air. He stared at the men wondering if these would be his final moments.

“Have you enjoyed your stay here, Lee?” asked a deep voice coming from the man to his left. He was wearing dark aviator sunglasses. “We try to keep the beatings up to a five star standard here, but for you we made an exception. For you we are going to give you the VIP treatment.” He pulled out a black, eight-inch titanium knife from his suit coat pocket and smiled devilishly. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the blade firmly in his hands. He knelt down beside Lee. 

Lee’s heart started pounding wildly in his chest. He scooted away from the man with the knife and thought he probably looked like a coward, but this man seemed like he was going to enjoy killing him and he wasn’t going to do it quickly.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted. His limbs started to tremble with fear.

“I am going to gut you, boy!” said the bodyguard.

“Stop being stupid, Kaplen,” said Mr. Tash to the man in the aviator sunglasses. “Cut his ropes already. I don’t have time for fear tactics.”

Kaplen leaned over and cut his hands free. Lee felt his body go limp and weak from the emotional strain. Bitter stomach bile started to rise in his throat and coat his tongue. He wanted to be anywhere but here in this dungeon.

“Are you going to kill me?” Lee asked weakly. There was a knot forming in his throat now.

Mr. Tash smiled at this question.

“Well, that depends. Are you guilty of anything I should know about, Lee? Are you working for the police? Are you in league with the Rican family?”

“No, I’m clean!” said Lee promptly, sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.

Mr. Tash paused for a minute as if in thought. He rubbed the bottom of his chin slightly and narrowed his gaze; he looked like a shark ready to attack.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me to save your life?”

“I am not lying,” Lee said with all his strength. “I have come here to ask you for help… We need your help!” He could tell his uncle was enjoying his anxiety and pain. It was as if he were feeding on it like a vulture feeds on a dead buffalo carcass.

“We will soon find out if you’re lying or not,” said Kaplen firmly. “And I can’t say that it will help your fat friend any, either. You’re both in deep!” He grabbed Lee firmly by the shoulders and picked him up off the ground. Lee struggle to get free but found it futile; he was too weak to even stand on his own.

“Give me a hand over here, would you, Mark?” said Kaplen to the other bodyguard.

Mark walked over and grabbed Lee’s right arm and threw it over his shoulders. They both hauled him out of the closet. Tash stayed behind for a second and looked at the small cell that his nephew had been in. It looked so cold and dirty. Tash laughed to himself and then shut the door, turning to follow the guards. These next few hours was going to be a blast. 

 

*          *          *

The bright lights set into the floor seemed to be spinning around in circles like a dust devil, whirling and the green lining of the room blurred terribly in Marten’s mind like a hazy fog. It was as if he were looking into a kaleidoscope that wouldn’t stop turning.
His memories of the past few hours were fragmented and he couldn’t remember what had happened to him or how he had come to be here. He felt like he was going to be sick and all he could do to stop himself was breathe slowly. After a few minutes, the room stopped spinning and Marten could see normally again. He leaned back in the chair that he now noticed he was sitting in and observed his strange new environment. The room was very small, about the size of a standing close and on the wall in front of him rested a big silver mirror. Marten stared at his beaten and forlorn frame for a minute. He looked completely dirty and worn out and his white polyester suit was torn and frayed. 

How had he gotten here in such a shabby state?

 Marten looked up at the ceiling. Black metal pipes were jutting out of the walls around him and the cement ceiling above him like spikes. They looked like open mouths and from beyond their metal muzzles could be heard the sound of mice running and squeaking all over the place. The smell of cold, chlorinated water began to fill the room like a bad omen. Marten shivered uncontrollably at this. He looked behind him at the closed door. It appeared to be sealed tightly. He tried to stand up but found that he could not.

What is going on? He looked down at the chair to find he was fastened to it at the wrists, ankles and chest. He struggled to get free but found it completely useless. Whoever had trapped him in this small room had done a good job of it. Lee, if I ever get out of here alive I am going to ring your scrawny, little neck. I am going to pound you for even suggesting we go to this hellhole. I am going to… to …

Marten looked up and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“HELP!” He screamed, shifting in his seat wildly. “Can anyone hear me? I need help!” He looked up at the black pipes hanging ominously overhead. His heart started to pound more rapidly.

What did all this mean? Why was he her? And where did Lee get off too?

“LEE! ARE YOU THERE?” Silence was his only response.

Marten grimaced and looked at his face in the mirror again. He could tell that this was not going to end well.

*          *          *

Lee moaned and mumbled to himself as he was dragged down the green hallway to an undisclosed location. Kaplen and Mark whispered quietly to one another about something strange that had happened in the eastern wing a few nights before. Lee didn’t catch much but they mentioned something about a ghost with leering, red eyes. Their voices seemed to echo off the walls like phantoms running from the dim light. Mr. Tash followed closely behind the company and kept to himself for the moment.

Lee looked ahead at all the red doors that lined the walls in front of him. Some of the red doors they passed had interesting sounds coming from them. Clicking and light tapping was heard beyond the majority of them. Human shouts and moans tore through the air at random intervals and caused Lee’s skin to crawl and prickle.

The place was what Lee imagined the underbelly of hell must be like. This was the dungeon where human nightmares could thrive and survive. This was the place where monsters were created. Lee pictured in his head dark, distorted images of humans clawing at the cement wall of their cells; clawing for freedom and deliverance. A shudder ran down his spine as he considered the possibilities of him becoming just like them; distorted and sickly. Would he ever see the sun again? And would life be worth living if he succumbed to this monstrous state?

The company stopped at the end of the hall.

“Mark! Open the door,” said Mr. Tash.

 Mark let go of Lee’s arm and opened the door. Before them lay a wide stone staircase, it spiraled into the earth like a corkscrew. The smell of chlorinated water wafted up into Lee’s nose and burned his eyes. It was like he was staring into a bottomless abyss.

“I love that smell,” said Kaplen.

Mark grabbed Lee and they started to move down the stairs. Their footfalls echoed against the cold stones as they went.

Where are they taking me? What on earth is chlorinated water doing down here, thought Lee. Questions kept swarming his thoughts, stabbing at the back of his mind. He knew that he would be getting his answers shortly, and he knew that he wasn’t going to like them.

The stone stairs seemed to wind down forever. The length was amazing. The tops of Lee’s feet were beginning to throb with pain and heat. Every step felt like a kick to the foot. Lee was about to protest when they stopped. The company had finally reached the bottom. Before them lay another long hallway, but this hallway was different from the other one they had previously been in; this one had only two doors and both were resting at the other end; one blue, one black and both were inscribed with golden letters that Lee couldn’t make out.

“Come on, I don’t have all day,” said Mr. Tash from behind. “Get him through the door already!” He shoved Mark in the back. The bodyguard stumbled forward and straightened up. He looked back at his boss, a contemptuous look crossed his features.

“Give me a minute, would you? It’s not like I am moving a bag of feathers.” They started down the hall and when they finally reached the black door, Mark let Lee go and started fumbling through his pockets.

“Open the door already!” barked Kaplen.

“Give me a minute, cheese head; I have to find the key!”

Mr. Tash clinched his fists at this. He was getting tired of the setbacks.

“Mark, if you lost that key, I’ll–”   

“Found it!” said Mark as he held it up. “It was in the secret pocket.”

“I don’t care where it was, just open the bloody door!” yelled Tash. Kaplen shifted and gripped Lee more tightly. He was getting tired of carrying the man.

“Hold your horses.” Mark stuck the key into the door and turned it. It opened up smoothly and he turned to the others. “Tada… it’s open,” he said sarcastically. He grabbed Lee’s arm and was going to move forward when Tash smacked him in the back of the head.

“Stop being stupid!”

Mark grumbled and clinched his jaw with frustration. He hated it when little guys like Mr. Fantas pushed him around.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Tash.”

Kaplen laughed at this tone of voice, he could tell that Mark was pissed off. They walked into the room and set Lee down in a hard backed chair. The thing was bolted in the middle of the floor. Lee didn’t fight as they locked his legs and stomach into place. In front of him rested a table with a blue silken cloth resting over it.

Lee looked around to take in his environment. The walls around him were coated with a dark blue paint that seemed to sparkle and shimmer in the light and the floor was covered with a scarlet red carpet. The smell of chlorine was much stronger in here.

“Put your hands on the table,” demanded Kaplen.        

Lee looked over to the big bodyguard and then slowly placed his hands on the table. He could feel dome shaped lumps sticking up from the soft silk cloth.

“What is all this about? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Like I said, nephew,” Tash said walking over to the table and gripped the cloth resting on it. “We want to know if you’re lying to us.” He pulled the silk sheet away and revealed what was under it. Lee looked down and studied all the different buttons resting before him on the table. There must have been at least a hundred of them. They all had the same shape and size. The only thing that was different about them was their color. There were a lot of different colors. Some blue, some red, some green, and some brown.

Confusion set into his mind as he looked up at his Uncle Tash. The silver-haired man was now standing by a mirror on the far wall. Lee could see his beaten frame in it. He looked like the walking dead. Fear began to rise again.

“What’s going on?”

Tash smiled at the uneasiness detected in Lee’s voice. He walked over to the silver table.

“Well, Lee, I have methods of taking information from people; methods that I’m not proud of, but they get me the answers I seek.” He gave his nephew a hollow stare. He looked like a jackal. “I need you to play along.”

“I told you, I’m not bugged, I’m not working for the police and I am most definitely not lying!” Lee said, his temper rising.

Mr. Tash began to chuckle.  

“Oh, I know you’re not working for the police, Lee, I found that out when we searched your unconscious body.” He leaned over and looked at all the buttons on the table. “I just want to know why you are here, and for what reason you are bothering me.” Tash held up a hand and signaled to Kaplen. Kaplen reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a chrome revolver. He pointed it at Lee’s head.

Lee flinched at the motion. His stomach was churning with disgust and unease. He felt like he would be sick.

“Then let me tell you why I am here, Uncle! I only need–”

“No! Shut up,” yelled Mr. Tash. “Here is how things are going to go around here, and if you listen closely, you might have a chance at staying alive. You might even get out of here with that fat friend of yours. You hear me?”

Lee nodded his head.

Tash walked back over to the mirror resting on the far wall.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions and what you are going to do is press one of those little colorful buttons in front of you, and then give your response.” He turned and looked back at Lee. “Am I understood, nephew?”

Lee didn’t like where this was going, but he nodded his head and stared intensely at his uncle.

“Good,” said Tash. “The first question that I have for you is does your fat friend like to swim?” He flipped a switch on the wall and it lit up the mirror. Lee gazed in horror as Marten’s chubby frame came into view on the other side. He was trapped in some kind of holding tank. He looked tired and scared out of his wits. Lee’s mind started swirling around in circles. Everything seemed like a nightmare. He couldn’t hold his composure anymore. He bent over and threw up onto the table.

“Good,” said Tash coldly. “You’re grasping the gravity of your situation. Now, press a button or I’ll have Kaplen relieve you of your brain.” His words were demanding and heartless. His face was flat and emotionless. Lee could feel the barrel of the gun against his skull. He groaned and sat up. He looked down at the table at all the colorful buttons before him. They were covered in his vomit. He found a light green one that was clean and pressed it.

The sound of rushing water filled the room suddenly. The pipes above Lee’s head started to sing out and rush with water. The room grew dense with the odor of stale pool water. It was maddening to listen to.

“Here it comes!” shouted Mark.

Lee watched in horror as Marten’s cell started to fill up with water. The fat man was losing it; he looked frantic and cold. Gallons and gallons of cool blue water landed on his head and chest. After a few seconds it abruptly stopped.

“Wow, that was a good one,” said Mark. “You got it up to his shins.”

Lee looked at Marten. He was struggling to get free from the chair they had put him in. He looked like he was yelling for help. He had never particularly liked the man, but he would not wish this on even his worst enemy.

Tash laughed at the whole scene.

“Well, that was fun. Wasn’t it Lee?”

Lee looked at his uncle in horror. The man had built a tank and connected the pipes to the panel in front of him. It was obviously built for psychological torment and suddenly Lee realized how insane his uncle must be.

“Let me fill you in on the rest of the panel,” said Tash. “Two of those one-hundred colorful buttons will fill the death dank completely. Ten of the buttons will add fifty gallons of water to the cell. One will unlock the door, and one button will unlock your friend from his chair. Three buttons will drain the tank completely and the other eighty-three will keep adding twenty gallons to your friend’s life. So, choose carefully which button you push, nephew. It could mean life or death”

Lee frowned. He thought about the question he was asked.

“No.”

Tash looked confused at this response.

“What?”

“You asked me a question and I answered. No, he doesn’t like to swim. He’s afraid of water.”

“Oh, that was just a practice question, my boy,” Tash said as he walked over to the vomit ridden table. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it off.

“Now, let’s get started.”

Authors Note: So we didn't post last week due to Christmas, but we're getting back on track in time for the new year. Thanks for reading. We'll post again next Friday!

Chapter Eight: Taxi!

Tom’s jeans rubbed heavily against the rough leather seats of the yellow taxicab. He shut the door and held his nose as pungent odors wafted up from the old leather seats and the carpeted interior. It smelt of stale french-fries mixed with sanitation spray. The carpet under their feet had been recently vacuumed, but several frightening stains were scattered across it. Tom thought for a moment, that one of them looked like it might be blood. A little pine-shaped air freshener was hung up on the rearview mirror, like some sort of cruel joke; it would take at least a hundred of those things to drown out the odor of fast food hovering over their heads.

“These seats are absolutely appalling,” said Runt with disgust as he began to buckle his seatbelt. “They’re sticky and worn out, for heaven’s sake. What kind of cab company doesn’t look after their taxis? This is bad business. I shall have to write these people a letter later describing the third world nature of their taxicabs.” He looked over to Tom whose eyes were watering. “Sorry about this. It shouldn’t take long.”

Tom took his hand off his nose and rested it on the door, he breathed slowly.

“It’s okay, Runt. It’s not like we have to live in this filthy thing.” He looked at the thick Plexiglas paneling in front of him that was separating them from the driver. Tom leaned forward and looked at the identification picture and name written on the dashboard of the cab. It read in a sloppy scrawl ‘Bob Morgan’. He looked over at the driver and observed his queer appearance. He was wearing a dark sports jacket with a white button up shirt. He’s hair was brown and his eyes were covered with a set of thick, black rimmed sunglasses. He smelled of government cheese and cleaning alcohol.

 “Where to, strangers?” asked the cab driver. His voice was cheery.

Runt leaned over.

“To Brown’s Insurance Agency on Fifth Street, Mr. Morgan. You know, the one by the fountain.”

“Yes sir, I know the place,” said Bob. He put the car in drive and stepped on the gas pedal. “I’ll have you there in no time.” The vehicle started forward. Runt sat back in his seat and looked out the window as his legs started to bounce up and down with anxiety. There was much to be done today. He needed to get to the Insurance Company on time and file his claim. He needed to call Marten and Lee and ask them if they had a chance to talk to Mr. Fantas. He just wanted everything to go smoothly. After a moment of thinking he looked over to Tom and studied him. The young school teacher looked nervous and tired. He was playing with the door handle.

“What’s the problem, Tom?” asked Runt. “You look pale.”

Tom’s brown eyes were wider than Runt had ever seen them.

“The doors locked, Runt. I can’t get it open. It won’t budge.”

Runt looked over to the door and studied it for a second then looked back at his companion.

“Why on earth were you trying to open the door whilst the car is in motion, Tom?” Runt asked as if Tom was crazy.

“I noticed they locked once we close them and thought it was a little suspicious with everything that has been going on.” Tom replied in a whisper. 

“Maybe it’s just a safety precaution built into the car so that the company doesn’t get sued. City cabs have been known to pop open now and again and expel the passenger,” he said reasonably. “Or maybe it’s just a glitch with the door.”

Tom shook his head. He looked over to the driver then back to Runt, he whispered.

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that this taxi was just waiting for us at the end of the boardwalk… that it was just there even after the explosion? Any normal man would have headed to the city or called the police.”

“I am sure it was just coincidence, Tom, nothing to get all worried about. Maybe he wanted to stay back and help us. He seems friendly enough.” Runt looked over to the driver. “Nothing unusual.”

“I didn’t think so either, at first, but why was he here?”

Runt was about to respond when the cab driver spoke up, his voice sounded concerned.

“Are you two okay back there? Is there a problem?” Tom and Runt could both see the man grip the steering wheel more tightly.

“Oh, no we’re just fine,” said Runt. “I was just talking to my friend here about how lucky we were to have found you at the dock.” Runt paused and thought carefully about his next words as he shifted in his seat. “What brought you to the docks today, by the way?”

Bob looked into his rearview mirror, sweat began to form on his forehead, his heart began to race.

“I was waiting for a rich client to show up. He said he would be waiting by the entrance, and he never came. Why? Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem,” said Runt. “We were just curious.”

Tom leaned over to Runt and nudged him with his elbow.

“What kind of rich person would order a street cab this dirty and forlorn? Something’s still not adding up, I don’t like being in this taxi.”

“Stop complaining, Tom. I am not going to walk twenty miles to get to the city. We just don’t have the time for that sort of thing right now. There was no other way for us to get to where we need to be.”

“Yes, there was,” Tom put a hand to his mouth and said quietly. “Marten would have given us a ride. He offered. We could have gone with him.”

Runt shook his head. He hated disagreements. Tom had to understand that this was more efficient than going in one car. This would get things done faster. He was about to answer when the taxi shifted directions and threw him up against the window. The cab driver had taken a sharp left into a wooded area. They were now barreling in an unknown direction, dust flying everywhere.

“This is the wrong way, Mr. Morgan!” yelled Runt over the accelerating engine. He gripped the seat in front of his firmly. “I believe the city is back that way.” He pointed to the back window with his thumb. The cab driver ignored him and continued to cruise through the underbrush, hitting everything in sight. Tom lunged forward a bit and looked out the front window. Through the thick trees he could see a bright sunny horizon and a blue ocean. This taxi was heading straight for a cliff face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” yelled Tom. He reached for the door handle and pulled up on it with enough force that it popped off and flew under the seat in front of him. Tom cursed and started fiddling with the locking mechanism. Nothing was working; the whole door was busted. He started pounding his elbow on the window.

“Stop the car this instant!” demanded Runt frantically. “I’ll have you fired Mr. Morgan if you don’t stop this car!” He smacked his palm against the Plexiglas divider. He was going to yell again when Tom reached over and grabbed his shoulder. Runt looked over to him.

“I don’t think this is a real cab driver, Runt!” He looked at the identification on the dashboard and it registered that the man in the picture and the man driving the car were not the same person. They suddenly hit a bump and jolted forward. “We need to get down! This thing is going over the cliff whether we like it or not!”

Both men squatted on the ground and covered their heads. Their hearts were pounding loudly in their ears and sweat started streaming from their foreheads. Time felt like it had shattered and they were in slow-motion. Every second felt like days in which they would never get to live.

“Brace yourself for the impact,” Tom cried over the noise. The two men lay in little balls on the floor as the taxi continued to roar forward. They must have been only moments away from the plunge off of the rocky cliff face when something happened that the two men were not expecting. The car came to a screeching halt. Dirt and dust went flying everywhere and what had felt like the end of the world a moment before, with the acceleration of the engine and the pounding of their own hearts, was now calm; an anticlimax that had never been more welcomed. The sound of the powerful surf could be heard hitting hard against the rocks far below. Tom’s arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Runt looked over at him. They both stared with amazement at each other. They couldn’t believe what had just happened. The car door on the driver side opened and then closed. A moment later there was heard a knock on the back window. They both looked up to see Bob Morgan peering in at them. He looked happy.

“Did you enjoy the ride, Mr. Hoffman?” Bob asked sarcastically. He placed his hand on the trunk of the taxi and laughed. Tom looked past his black rimmed glasses into the eyes of the insane man.

“What are you talking about?”

“Let us out of here!” yelled Runt. He crawled up onto the leather seat and banged a fist against the back window.

“Calm down, Mr. Presto. There’s no need for violence here. If I were to let you guys go, my superiors would be upset. I would get fired… maybe worse!”

Runt felt furious at this. He was going to punch the window when Tom came up from behind and grabbed his arm.

“Who are your superiors?”

“There’s no need to have this conversation, Mr. Hoffman. You’re just going to die anyway,” chuckled Bob. He was having too much fun with them. The taxi ride had been his idea from the get go. He was savoring this moment.

“Who are you working for?” demanded Runt.

Bob smiled at him mockingly. The President of Scar Co. looked so helpless right now. He looked like a frightened mouse.

“For Ruler Tootles, who else would I be working for? He’s the only man I know that would go to these lengths to succeed.” Bob looked out over the ocean and studied the seagulls as they circled gracefully in the air. He breathed in a deep breath and then let it all out. “It’s a shame what happened to your boat, Mr. Presto.”

Runt’s face went red.

“It was you!” He started punching the window. “You’re the one that blew up my ship! If I ever get out of here I’ll flog you!”

“Yep, I am sure you will,” said Bob. “I was the one that blew up you’re little boat, but that’s okay.” He started to push the car forward toward the cliffs drop off point. “You’re about to join your little boat forever.”

“Why are you doing this?” asked Tom.

Bob stopped pushing the car.

“That’s a good question.” He stood up straight. He felt around his jacket pockets and pulling out a piece of paper he looked down a list that was scribbled there. His eyes slowly got bigger as he reached the bottom of the paper. He had forgotten one last thing. I don’t have the map. He looked over to the car it was now five feet from the cliff. Bob’s heart sank into his stomach. He ran over to the vehicle as it slowly trundled forward and started pulling on the trunk. The thing seemed unaffected.

“Get us out of here!” yelled Runt. “It’s still moving towards the cliff!”

Tom was pounding his fist on the window. The thing seemed unbreakable.

“Stop!” Bob yelled frantically to the taxi as it dragged him along. “I am not done with the list yet!” He lost his footing and fell flat on his back. The cab lurched forward. The front wheels dropped off of the cliffs surface suddenly. Sparks started flying everywhere as the frame started grinding against the hard sandstone.  Bob sat up in time to see the whole car topple over the cliff and vanish from sight.

His jaw dropped and his hands went limp at his sides. His mind filled with horror and unspeakable imagery of what his boss would do to him. His senses went numb and tingly as if all the blood had drained from his body. He was in big trouble. The star map was still on Tom, and Tom was now resting at the bottom of the ocean.

“What am I going to tell Ruler…” He paused and though bitterly. “I am dead…I am dead….”    

Authors Note: This is one of the shorter chapters and since Christmas is coming up, we want to get through as many as we can before next week so we decided to post early. Merry Christmas!

Chapter Seven: The Fantas Estate

          Greg Times and Fred Sullen sat in their quiet little squad car and waited patiently for their shift to end. They had been staking out the Fantas Estate for what seemed like an eternity. They both had drawn the short straw back at the police department and had gotten stuck with watching the massive manor for a week straight. Nothing of real importance seemed to ever happen; every hour was always the same old thing. They sat in the squad car, watched as white vans pulled up and unloaded large boxes and carried them into the backyard. Occasionally one of the men needed to take a bathroom break or get something to eat, so one would stay in the squad car while the other went to conduct his business. It was monotony at its finest, yet they could still find no hard hitting evidence to convict Mr. Fantas of his alleged crimes. The man was smoother than butter when it came to covering his tracks. The department had been after him for years, and it seemed that he would continue to elude them.

            “This man is like a fox,” grumbled Greg. “An absolute enigma! He’s always in the place, doing who knows what. He never comes out to smell the roses or even catch some sunlight. He doesn’t even come out to get the newspaper anymore. What does he do in there all day? How does he smuggle all these illegal goods without moving an inch? There has to be an explanation.”

            Fred didn’t seem to hear what his partner was complaining about, he was too busy beating his head against the passenger side window. His mind had been in and out of daydreams all day. His eyelids rolled up and down as he tried to keep from falling asleep due to the ongoing monotony. He hated stakeouts with a passion. He would much rather be doing drug busts and high speed chases on the interstate. That was where the real action was. Not here.

            “I bet all the good stuff is happening behind the mansion, in that huge, private backyard of his,” said Greg. “I bet he is hiding something big back there; something that we’re not seeing. Maybe there is a hidden dock back there.”

            Fred stopped beating his head against the window and looked at his partner. A hidden dock? It was well known that Mr. Tash had a private section of the docks in Aggerton City where everyone else did their shipping business. Why would he need a second, and very unnecessary dock, here? Fred rolled his eyes and put on a would-be intrigued voice.

            “Or maybe he’s hiding a secret torture chamber?” Fred said, but Greg obviously wasn’t listening because he continued to collaborate, rubbing his hands together as he thought.

“Maybe there are tunnels under the house leading to other parts of the city, and that’s why he hasn’t needed to leave his house?”

“Or maybe he has a portal to another world,” Fred added with more sarcasm.

            Greg ignored his partner and looked at the driveway of the massive manor, studying all the white vans resting in front of the big house. People in orange jumpsuits were now moving boxes to the back of the estate. They had been coming in and out all morning; busy unloading their deliveries and taking them to the backyard. They were setting something up… something big. A stage, maybe?

            You can’t fool me, Mr. Fantas, thought Greg. I know there is something more to this than meets the eye. I know about your oversea trips and long distance phone calls. I know about the code name you operate under Mr. ‘Taskmaster’, Mr. ‘Ringleader’. I know those illegal gun boxes we found resting on the public pier four days ago were yours; they practically scream your name. You can’t fool me. I’m on to you. I will put a stop to all this trafficking.

            Greg looked quickly over to his new partner. A slight frown began to curl his lips as he studied the zombie-like behavior. Fred had gone back to beating his head on the passenger side window. A sense of regret and unease washed over Greg. It was like the chief had assigned him to babysit a little child. He straightened his back and tucked in his crumb ridden t-shirt. His companion was still young and new in the Aggerton City Police Department. He had little to no experience when it came to real police work. The kid thought that everything was like the movies, what with the wild car chases and the blazing gun fire. He was a rookie to the days.

Greg had usually flown solo on missions that the agency had given him, but this was different. In stakeouts one always needed a partner to back him up, and Greg had to do the best with what he was given, especially if what he was given was the low-grade, crappy stuff. He was going to teach this youthful copling the ropes. He was going to give him a crash course in police greatness. There was determination in his voice.

“I can’t wait until we nail this guy. Don’t you agree, Fred’o?”

            Fred stopped banging his head against the car window. He stretched his legs and looked over to his enthusiastic partner.

“What did you say?” he yawned.

            Greg shook his head at his partner’s unenthusiastic behavior. Fred might have been tired, but a cop always had to listen carefully when it came to police work. Sometimes all a cop had going for him was his ears and the cold hard steel of his gun. It was a cruel fact.

“I said I can’t wait until we nail this guy. How about you?”

            “Yep…” said Fred inattentively. He smiled a bit and then looked down at the floor of the car. He fiddled with his thumbs and let out a sigh. “I can’t wait either, Greg.”

He turned to the front window and stared out at the long unindustrious road before them. Sage brush and sand could be seen rolling all over the place. They were so close to the coast that seagulls could be seen circling overhead.

            “What’s the matter?” asked Greg. “You look out of it.”

            Fred smirked at this.

“Nothing… just bored. I wish the department would have assigned us to do something better than watch a big house out in the middle of nowhere. I need action.”

            “Well, you should keep your eyes on the Fantas Estate if you want action my boy. There is a lot of stuff going on in that house. We don’t know what could happen. Take a look at all those people in orange jumpsuits. They’re up to something; I personally want to know what’s in those boxes.”

            “You always think everyone is up to something, Greg. If the mailman were to come by and deliver a letter you would say that he’s up to something. Let’s face it… no one has ever caught Mr. Tash in the act of smuggling anything. No one has ever come out with any hard evidence about him. He was acquitted in every trial!”

            Greg grumbled at this.

“Well, I’m not giving up!” He looked back over to the house.         

            “Yep, I am sure you won’t, Greg, I am sure you won’t…” Fred paused at that moment, his eyes landed on two unusual figures walking down the sidewalk towards the Fantas Estate. He grabbed for his binoculars and held them up to his eyes. One man was wearing a white polyester suit and a black tie. He looked very sly and plump, like a used car salesman. The other guy was different, almost out of place with the scenery; he was wearing yellow pants with a dirty old wife beater on.

            “Now, what do you make of this?” asked Fred. He nudged his companion.

            Greg turned.

“What?”

            “Look.”

Greg watched closely as the two strangers approached the house.

“I don’t know, but they’re up to something that’s for sure,” he pointed out the window. “Look at the one with the white suit on, he looks sly and smooth, like one of those used car salesman. He has to be working for Tash. He looks rich! Those are always the dangerous types, especially if the Fantas family is involved!”

            “You’re right, that man looks dangerous,” Fred said as he looked the chubby man up and down. He had a slightly jovial spring in his step, despite the extra pounds weighing him down. “Should I call in some back up? A special task force? Maybe I should inform the national guard? I mean, this could get ugly, Greg.” He reached for the ham radio that was resting on the dashboard and gestured to it, looking expectantly at his partner.

            Greg stopped him.

“Quit fooling around! Let’s see where this goes. If anything, they will be shot dead for trespassing. The Fantas Estate is a hard place to get into… believe me; I’ve tried, kid. They have guards and dogs all over the place.”

            Fred nodded and put the ham radio back down on the dash. They both watched the odd couple as they passed by the bushes. Maybe this was going to be their big break… Maybe something good was about to happen!

*          *          *

Marten was amazed at how massive the Fantas house was. It must have been several thousand feet wide, and thousands of feet long. He stared in disbelief at all the columns and pillars under the eaves. His eyes shifted over to the many shrubs and short pines that ran along the building in elaborate patterns and designs. The strong smell of colorful snapdragons and daffodils were detected floating in the air just outside of the massive flowerbeds.  Elaborate cement cherubs rested around the front garden path, placed at odd intervals. Elegant green and gray vines curved and twisted their way up the gray brick walls to the rain gutters, finally reaching the forest green shingling that enveloped the roof of the large building. The architecture was beautiful. It looked grand and spacious, as if someone had plucked up a deserted castle and left it her by the coast.

Marten looked over to Lee, nudging him in a joking manner.

“And you say that this is your uncle’s house? You have got to be joking with me!” He almost didn’t believe it. The dock worker looked so forlorn and shabby, out of place, even, compared to his relatives’ rich and elaborate estate.

“Yep, this is my Uncle Tash’s place. He walked around the big white vans resting in the driveway and headed for the doors. The men in the orange jumpsuits ignored them as they passed. “But don’t be fooled by its luxurious appearance. This manor is very old, and it has a lot of… secrets. The whole Fantas side of my family has a lot of secrets. It’s always followed them.”

“What do you mean?” asked Marten.

Lee stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked over to Marten. They were only a few feet from the front door now. Lee whispered.

“What I mean is that this house was built from blood money, and it was built a long time ago. Every Fantas that has lived in this house has made a living off the suffering of others.”

“What?” Marten yelled incredulously. “You didn’t tell Runt that information at the dock!”

Lee started walking to the door again.

“I didn’t need to.”

Marten grabbed Lee by the arm and spun him around. His face was getting red with anger and little beads of sweat were forming on his fat, bulging forehead. It took all his strength to keep from pounding the dock worker right there in front of the house.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this? I think the last thing Runt wants to do is make a deal with the Aggerton mafia!”

Lee pulled his arm away from Marten. He spoke calmly.

“My uncle isn’t in the mafia, Marten… he’s just different when it comes to rich people. He has a different taste in the way he likes things done. I think he has broken the chain of bad Fantas’. I think we can trust him.”

Marten looked over to the big black oak doors reluctantly. His heart was pounding in his chest at a hundred miles an hour. Sweat was collecting more heavily on his forehead and cheeks now. Marten had seen a special on the Nightly Fuzz, a late-night television show he watched rather frequently, that had dug into the lives of people that had made deals with the mafia in Aggerton. On the show people who got involved with these mafia families would disappeared without a trace. He looked back over to Lee nervously.

“How can you be sure that he’s not in the mafia? This place looks like a pretty big house, and you even say that it was built with blood money.”

“He’s not the mafia… trust me,” said Lee. He walked up to the door and was going to ring the doorbell when Marten grabbed his arm and pulled it away. He looked nervously at the dock worker.

“Maybe we should just go back and talk to Runt and Tom about this,” said Marten. “I don’t want to die today. You can never be too careful about these sorts of things, am I right?” He let out a nervous laugh as he let go of Lee and started to walk back the way they had come. Lee saw this and grabbed him by the shoulders. He swung the fat man around and looked him square in the face.

“Leaving now would be a very big mistake, Marten. A very big mistake!”

“Let go of me, you dirty sailor!” Marten wiggled out of Lee’s grip and stepped back.

Lee ignored the insult and pointed to the far end of the lot.

“You see that tower over there?” Marten turned slowly and looked at the south west side of the lot; in one of the corners stood a large grey tower with brickwork that matched that of the very large house to its right. The tower was tall with black windows.

“Tell me what you see in the top window there,” said Lee. “The one that’s facing us right now.”

Marten shifted his gaze to the top window just below the copper eaves. The barrel of a high powered rifle could be seen sticking out about halfway.

“My goodness,” whispered Marten. He turned back to Lee, his face looking flushed and full of anxiety; it looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “What have you done to us? We’re trapped here!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He started dabbing at his forehead and mouth.

Lee turned and walked back over to the door. Lee had visited his uncle’s house a few times when he was very young. His parents had come, needing a loan from the wealthy man. Lee had felt the same fear Marten was now experiencing as the grey tower had come to his attention. Lee remembered his father’s cold words. “Don’t be a sissy.” He had said pushing past the boy to knock on the door. He remembered his mother’s kind words that followed as she knelt down beside him, looking tired and forlorn. She had gently held him by the shoulders and spoke softly. “Your uncle just wants to intimidate us. Don’t be afraid, Lee.” He remembered the words and stood a little taller. “Everything should be all right. That is, if you let me do the talking. My uncle is a very strategic man. He doesn’t like weakness. It’s a trait you can find in all good business men. That’s why the tower is there.” He said, referring to the tower with the gun pointing towards them. “My uncle works with people’s fears, Marten. He wants to see what we’ll do.”

“Well this seems to be increasingly unsafe,” Marten huffed incredulously. “And let you do the talking? You’re talking is what got us into this mess!” Marten squeezed the cloth in his hands with frustration. He was under a lot of stress. “I don’t want to die today, Lee! I don’t want to die at all!”

Lee was going to press the intercom button when it lit up suddenly. Both men jumped as a harsh voice spoke up from the other end.

“Who the hell is causing a stir at my door at this hour? This had better be good… Are you bloody salesmen?”

Lee looked over to Marten with shock and horror. His uncle was not in the best of moods today. He looked back over to the speaker.

“Uh… hey there, Uncle Tash, it’s me, your nephew, Lee. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I would come and visit you.” He pulled away from the box and bit his bottom lip.

Marten smacked his forehead and groaned with disgust. Lee had sounded like a timid little girl. They were going to die for sure. He could see his life flashing before his eyes. There would be no more late nights watching the Nightly Fuzz for him anymore.

The intercom lit up again.

“Stop horsing around with me, nephew, and tell me why you’re really here. I know my family well enough to know that you’re not here for a visit. What happened? Do you owe money to that fat man there? He’s not a member of the Rican family, is he?” There was a long pause on the other end of the box. Whispering was heard. Lee couldn’t speak because the intercom light was still on. Finally the speaker cracked.

“Are you working for them, nephew? Did the police bribe you? You had better pray to Judas that that is not the case!”

Lee could hear the defensiveness in his uncle’s voice. He was confused. He shook his head.

 “What are you talking about, uncle? I didn’t see any police?”

“Don’t give me this clueless crap,” barked Mr. Fantas. “You and your fat homo friend there can shove off my front step for all I care. I know you’re bugged! I know this is a scheme to bring me in, and it won’t work!”

“Uncle Tash, I promise you we are not up to anything bad. Just let me talk to you and sort things out. After you hear us, then you can shoot us if you want, but I promise you, we’re clean! We are not bugged.”

Marten stepped back at this. He looked absolutely appalled that Lee would actually suggest that they be shot.

“Have you gone mad, Lee?” He whispered in an angry, scathing voice. He felt like running away at that moment and hiding in the bushes. He was determined not to get shot.

“Don’t run, Marten,” whispered Lee, reading the fat man’s expression. “If you run, we don’t have a chance.”

Marten stood there, completely awestruck. Today was turning out to be a nightmare. Everything was falling apart.

The intercom lit up again.

“Okay, I’ll let you in, but you had better pray its good news. If I find out that this is about money, Lee… your dead, no questions asked. And that applies to the both of you!” The box went dead and the big black oak doors opened up slowly, revealing a long dark foyer. A cool breeze washed over the men.

“Do we have to go?” whispered Marten.  Anxiety was oozing from his lips. “I am sure if we run now, we can make it!” He paused. “Maybe I can wait outside.”

“No, we have to go,” said Lee as he stepped into the house. His footfalls echoed softly on the dark granite floors. The inside of the mansion looked spacious and clean like a museum. Marten followed closely behind Lee. His legs were shaking.

“I am sure we can make it if we–”

Marten was cut off abruptly when the big oak doors behind them closed. The foyer fell into a haunting and cold gloom. It was like they had entered into a forgotten tomb. Beautiful paintings and furniture lined the walls around them. Elegant red rugs extended in all directions complimenting the gothic fixtures that stuck out of the walls. Marten looked over to the massive spiral staircase to his right. It twirled upward until it vanished into the ceiling. He thought that the place practically reeked of mafia.

“This way,” said Lee as he started down a long corridor.

Marten followed.

“How do you know it’s this way?”

“I have been here once,” said Lee. “A long time ago, when I was a boy.”

They came to the end of the hallway and stepped into a spacious living room. Dark furnishings were placed in a symmetrical square in the middle of the chamber. A massive marble fireplace with dark molding protruded from the far wall. On top of it rested a clock and a few old books. Lee walked over and stood by one of the leather sofas. He folded his arms and whispered to Marten.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“This place looks so greasy,” said Marten. “Like one of those mafia movies.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself. We can’t afford to break anything.” 

Marten leaned over and gazed at all the pillows resting on the coaches. They looked amazing.

“Where do you think he gets these things from?” He walked over to a table resting behind one of the sofas. On top of it lay a polished gray box. He read the golden label on the top of it and whistled.

“He has pearl cigars… those things are expensive. I hear they only can be bought in one place.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

Marten waved his hand at Lee.

“Stop saying that. I am not a child!” He reached down and opened the box. The whole thing was full of thick round cigars. His fingers dance over them slowly. He smiled with delight.

“Stop messing with things,” barked Lee. He walked over to the gray box and closed it. Marten pulled his hand away quickly and grumbled.

“What’s your problem, Lee? I wasn’t going to take one. I was just looking.”

“You don’t need to take one to get shot around here, Marten.” His words hung in the air. Marten gave a contemptuous look as he drew away from the nice cigars. Lee was acting like a complete idiot. He was going to say something when the door on the far end of the room opened up. In the distance two gun shots could be heard echoing off the darkly lit halls. Shivers ran down Marten and Lee’s backs. A silver-haired man in a dark suit was now standing in the open threshold. He walked into the room and shut the doors behind him. He turned.

“Hello gentlemen,” said Mr. Tash. “I hope you have good news for me. I have already been disappointed once today, and took care of that problem moments ago. How I hate when people mess up... don’t you?”

Marten studied the man before them, he had one of those trustworthy face that you would find in a respected clergyman at your local church. His light blue eyes glowed with an intellect and comprehension that was almost disturbing. But Marten wasn’t fooled by his appearance; he knew very well that this was a dangerous man. The kind of guy that would smile at you while digging a knife into your back. The kind of guy you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

“Okay, let me get to the point,” said Lee. “We need you to–”

Lee was cut off sharply by Mr. Tash.

“No, Lee, you can get to the point later on. Right now I want you to follow me. I need to search you two and ask you a few questions.” He walked over to the fireplace and removed a book with green leather binding that was resting on the top of the mantle. He stepped back and waited as the whole hearth pulled away and disappeared into the floor. A cement staircase appeared at the base of the secret entrance. It wound down into the earth, like a giant, dark throat.

Marten and Lee both stared uneasily at the opening.

“Please, after you,” said Mr. Tash. He held up a hand to the dark opening. They thought they heard soft screams coming from the abyss, but weren’t sure it wasn’t their imaginations. Lee didn’t know much about religion, but this looked like the pit of hell. 

Marten shook his head no and stepped back. He was about to run when someone grabbed him from behind and held him in place. Marten yelled out at the sudden appearance of his captor. Lee looked over to him and was going to help when someone grabbed him from behind. Both men struggled to get free.

“Let me go!” yelled Marten. “I’ll sue!”

Lee looked over to his uncle Tash. Fear emanated from Lee’s features. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Why are you doing this to us? I thought you wanted to talk. I thought we could work things out!”

Tash was checking his watch, he looked over to Lee and smiled.

“I want to know that I can trust you, nephew.” He cleared his throat and took a step forward. “I have ways to see whether you are loyal or not.”

Another man came out from behind the bigger men. He was wearing a nice white suit and had a dark eye patch over his left eye. In his hands he held two syringes. Lee and Marten eyed the needles uneasily.

“Hold still,” said the man with the eye patch. “This won’t hurt a bit”

Marten screamed as he stabbed the long needle into his arm. After a second the man in the white suit pulled it out and watched as the fat man fell to the floor unconscious.

“Don’t do this, Uncle! Please, don’t do this!”

“I have to, nephew. It’s part of the rules…”

The man with the eye patch stabbed the second needle into Lee’s arm. Lee called out as his world went black. He hit the floor with a thud.