Shot in the Dark, page 9
“Why have you told me so much about yourself if you think I’m a threat to you?”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, I know your name. You confirmed that you’re a smuggler, amongst other things. You even made a business call in front of me.”
“The little you know about me means nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I felt comfortable telling you the things you do know because one, you were already lookin’ me up online, so you knew my name, and two, dead men can’t talk. You were supposed to be deceased before it even mattered.” He shrugged. “Now, you can do something for me, something I need, and that will spare your life, and your friend’s life. I won’t have to worry about you sayin’ anything after this is all over, either, because you know if I am in prison, in heaven, or in hell, I will get you… I will find a way to make sure that your friend, and anyone else you at least like or admire is snuffed out. You know I’ll do it, that I’m not bluffing. Besides, if you lose sight of the plan or go off the grid, you know the consequences. You’ve got to have some skin in the game.”
Chasity…
He turned the radio down, but she could still hear the memory of the music as it vibrated the car at a lower volume.
“You ever kill anyone before?” He sounded as if he were asking her if she’d ever skydived, or gone skinny-dipping.
She scoffed and turned away. For a split second, she considered lying. That would perhaps give her some edge, something for him to be concerned about. She then thought better of it. He seemed pretty good at spotting a poker face. “Of course not.”
He snickered. “You say it like it’s beneath you or somethin’. It’s not.”
“Of course it is. My job is to try and safeguard, notify and help people by providing information and photos of current events. I am supposed to—”
“It’s an ego driven profession, and you’re full of shit if you say otherwise.” His jaw tightened and his expression drew taut. “You people aren’t doing this shit out of the kindness of your hearts. You go to school to get a degree, then you take that fucking piece of paper, jam it up the public’s asses, and destroy lives. You disrupt people’s trust and rupture their well-being. You skew facts. You manipulate. Toy with. Troll. Lie. Ask humiliating and private questions. Demand answers to shit that is none of your damn business. This is all driven by notoriety, greed, and money.”
“We dismantle misinformation, and as for me, I let my photos do the talking. We serve our community. Isn’t being a smuggler based on notoriety, greed, and money?”
His lips curled and he nodded. “Yes it is, minus the notoriety. It’s a shadow, underground, lonely profession, and the less attention we get, the more money we make. What I do is real. You can hold it. A glass bottle. The wrapping paper of a carton of Marlboro. What you do is an illusion. A cockeyed mirror image of the truth.”
“…Pictures tell no lies.”
“Pictures lie all the time, and you know it. No filter required. Pair it with an alarming headline like, ‘Government taxes the poor and gives benefits to the rich,’ then show a chow line. Under that picture, it can say, in the tiniest print, the smallest font available, that this is actually a line for motherfuckers waiting to get a pair of Adidas or the newest iPhone, but it’s just for illustration purposes.’” He sucked his teeth and laughed.
“That’s not what I do, and that’s not how this works. The picture of your example didn’t lie. The writer did, to try and incentivize an emotional response from the readers. You’ve twisted this in your mind. What you’ve described is disingenuous.”
“Your whole profession is disingenuous. I know you’ve heard the expression. Even a broken clock is correct twice a day. Tell two truths and ten lies. You get a piece of information and run with it. The hell with the families of the people whose privacy you invade. All you people care about is getting the latest story. Gossip. Being the first to drop a dime on someone.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. We’re not all like that. Some of us care.”
He scoffed and shook his head. She knew at that point that it didn’t matter what she said. He was determined to see her in a certain light. Where is this animosity coming from? He turned the music back up a touch as ‘Unloyal,’ by Summer Walker, started to play. She almost tapped her foot to the beat, forgetting where she was and what she was doing. All of it was surreal. Scary and strange.
Minutes passed. Silent, lonely minutes. She wanted to speak to him, hear his deep voice crack the silence and peace trickle out like the runny yolk of an egg. Why would I want to talk to him? If I keep him talking, we can start bonding. I can make him feel comfortable and then, I can get away.
I’m going crazy…Let me be the one to break the silence… push a button to make him talk and reveal things about himself.
“You asked me if I killed anyone before. I replied that no, I haven’t. I believe you have killed someone before. Did you ask me that question, knowing my answer in advance, all so you could brag about how you had done that and to ensure I remember who’s in control?”
“I asked you about killing anyone because you may have to for this assignment. It could be in self-defense.” He shrugged, “Don’t sit over there and act like you’re better than me… Killing is human nature—when one feels threatened, disrespected, or their life on the line. It’s as natural as sleeping and eating.”
“Don’t you have any morals?”
“Yes, but they’re not the same as yours. I don’t believe in other people’s rules and beliefs—I just believe in my own, so I don’t follow the same code of conduct as you. You motherfuckers kill people every day with your microphones jammed in people’s faces… ruin people… but you look down on people like me because I use a gun, a knife, or a bow and arrow instead of the click of a camera. At least I’m honest.”
“Honest? Motherfucker please.” Her eyes widened as she took notice of that damn gun on his hip, and she was also shocked at her own words. She’d forgotten where she was for a split second. She was trying to play the role of a more subdued lady, but her mouth slipped. She braced herself for a slap. Or a grip to the back of her neck, slamming her head on the dashboard. Skin split open like a pea. Instead, he smirked as he picked up his cigar, inhaled, then exhaled hard enough for vapor to curl from both sides of his parted lips like a handlebar mustache. His mouth looked soft. But damn were his words and heart hard.
“Yeah, you’ve killed people, lady. There’s more than one way to slaughter someone, Honey. In your profession, you don’t even have to touch ’em. With me, they see it coming. With you, it’s a long, slow death. A digital demise, all in a day’s work.” His words got caught inside her chest like jagged ice that refused to melt. Instead, it got harder. Colder. More difficult to swallow and move. Something happened to him… he hates the press so badly. This isn’t his first time taking potshots. I wish I knew what it was. I could use it… “Here we are.” He pulled over to the side, in a rather mundane, industrial part of town. Where were they?
“All I see are closed buildings… and a few trees.”
“Look beyond that. To your right.”
She narrowed her gaze in the direction he was pointing.
“Is that a hospital?”
“It’s a clinic. Dr. Bannon.”
In the far distance was a three-story building with a few lights flickering. When she turned back around and faced him, he slipped a large, shiny black bow and arrow from under his seat and began messing with it… perhaps prepping it in some way.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Giving Lucy a goodnight kiss.” And then, he pressed his lips to the bow and did just that.
“…So it’s true. They call you Archer because of this bow? You really use that as a weapon? I thought it was a joke. Are you serious?”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?” He slipped it back beneath the seat.
“But why?” Her handcuffs rattled as she waved her arms about in confusion.
“I was just drawn to it. When I was a kid, I wanted to be the Indian, never the cowboy.” His mouth turned crooked with a toothy grin. “Something about having that perfect aim… feeling the pressure and pull… the energy… watching your prey. Being patient. Waiting. And then… Swoosh! In the air it goes while they run and scream. But you already know they’re a goner because you timed it just right. If they move to the left—dead. If they move to the right—dead. If they jump in the air—dead. If they fall to the ground—dead. You timed it just so… in a way that nothin’ short of a miracle is going to save them. And I don’t believe in miracles.”
“Well, what do you believe in?”
“I don’t believe in much at all but death. Death is as real as it gets. None of us are getting out of this shit called life alive. Get out.”
“Huh?”
Her body rocked as he opened his door, got out of the car, walked around to her side and opened the door to let her out. He jerked her by her good wrist, then leaned her up against the car. He got in her face, their noses nearly touching. Her entire form broke out in a cold sweat, and she could practically hear the thump of her heart, in full orchestra, vibrating against her eardrums.
“One day soon, after I get you up to speed, you’re going to get inside of Bannon’s operation. You’re going to take pictures. You’re going to get your story. You’re going to get your boss to publish it, and you’ll get all of the credit for busting up one of the largest smuggling rings in Denver. You get to go on fuckin’ up people’s lives, one picture at a time, and I remove a thorn in my side once and for all. To me, that’s a good deal.”
“Operation? You said his name is Dr. Bannon, and it’s a clinic.”
“He’s a plastic surgeon, but he keeps shorter business hours now. His main claim to fame is as a fucking smuggler. He has tried to undermine my work for years. He doesn’t have shit on me and wants me removed. I’m better than him, in every single way, and he hates it. I’m the competition. He has no concern for others, and would slit his own mother’s throat to get ahead. Over the years, he’s sent people to try and make me disappear. He’s sent moles and rats, but I saw through it every time and sent them back to him in a body bag. Now, no one will touch anything that has to do with him designating anything in my direction. They call it a death wish, so he’s resorted to far less, shall we say, fair practices in our line of work. He’s been sending out-of-towners who don’t know any better… and that is why I thought he’d gotten smarter and sent you.” Their eyes locked. “Looks like I gave him too much credit. He has had some of my men killed, stolen our goods, and tried to extort me. You name it, he’s tried it.”
“Is he like Plankton from SpongeBob?”
His nose wrinkled, and he cocked his head to the side.
“What in the… what the fuck are ya talkin’ about?”
“You know, Plankton. The little green guy? He’s always trying to get the secret crabby patty recipe from Mr. Crabs on the cartoon show, SpongeBob.” His facial expression remained the same: a gnarled-up ball of confusion. “You know the theme song, right? Ohhhhh! Who lives in pine-ap-ple un-der the sea?!”
“You’re either stupid or crazy. That man is responsible for shit you’ve only seen in the movies.” He pointed towards the building, but kept his eye on her. “And your life is on the line because I don’t give a fuck about you, your sick, worthless friend, your gotdamn family, or nothin’ you have anything to do with. You’re lucky I found somethin’ you can give me, or I would’ve gladly ended you on sight. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth. You’re in no position to be getting cheeky. You think you’re cuter than you actually are. You think you’re smarter than you actually are, too, and now you’re standing here talking to me about a stupid cartoon. Crackin’ jokes like you and I go way back… like we’re friends. I’m not your chum. Your buddy.”
“I didn’t say—”
“SHUT UP. I don’t know you. I don’t care about you. I don’t give a shit about you, woman. We’re not related to one another.” He pointed to her, then to himself. “We’re not forming something special so you can wear me down and get over. You think I’m stupid? Some fool? I see right through you! You don’t think what you said was funny, but you were hoping that I would. You’re just some shallow, pretentious bitch who got in my way and now, I am using you before I toss you out.”
“I can guarantee you that I don’t think you’re stupid, and I can assure you that I’m not stupid, either.” Her voice cracked. “You, uh, you asked initially if I was stupid or crazy, and I just want to make it clear that I’m not imprudent. In case you actually wanted the answer, or maybe that was rhetorical. You probably don’t know what rhetorical means, but… Ahhhh… AHHH!” He gripped the back of her neck and pinched it.
“Honey, do you think this is a fuckin’ game?”
“No, I don’t think it is a game.” Her eyes sheened from the pain. He was now twisting her skin, making her regret every word she’d said in an effort to make him lower his defenses. Damn, did it backfire… “I was just trying to—”
“Am I a clown to you? A funny man? Big red nose? A comedian tellin’ jokes on a stage?”
A vein in the center of his forehead protruded and throbbed like an alien trying to break free so it could rip out her eyes. He pressed his chest into hers so hard, her wind was almost knocked from her core. Her back flattened against the cold steel of his car as he pushed his entire body against her, and she could feel his hard, metal gun slipping and sliding against her thigh like an iron cock. When he released her neck, she groaned and hated how the pain still radiated from the spot, leaving her in a state of growing heat and discomfort.
“Now, listen. This is the spot. I want you to look at it. Take it in. Soon, I am going to teach you how to get inside. Lay low. Get what you need and be right out. I can’t do it, but you can. He knows me. He knows my guys. He knows their look. He doesn’t know who you are, though. He won’t recognize you. You’re perfect. You’re going to do exactly what you did to me when you came onto my property, only better.”
“I’m not a spy. I could be killed!”
“You could live and go home if you do what I say, or you and your little charity case could be killed by me, for not obeying. The final choice is you could be killed by him and trust me, he’ll turn your death into a spectacle. Bannon is a sick surgeon who likes to experiment on pretty women. He’d loooove to get his hands on you.” …But he just said that I think I’m cuter than I really am. Nevermind. “He’s gruesome like that. You’ll have to choose your poison. The Archer, or the demented doctor. Either way, it’s going down.”
She took a deep breath and nodded in understanding.
Moments later, he had her back in the car. It appeared that their little field trip was over. She delighted in the smell of the fresh air, in feeling wind on her skin. The things she took for granted, she prayed for and craved while under his heavy thumb. Okay, so I found out he’s pretty perceptive. This guy has not skated by on good luck. He’s really in tune with the world around him, and people’s motivations. Regardless, I’m determined to get out of this.
I have to get away from him. I have to find a way to get far enough away and get on a plane back to California. …But he has my license. My purse. My passport. My credit cards. My everything. I have nothing but these clothes that don’t belong to me on my back. I have a cot, and a career that is fading away by the second. I have no guarantee that he’ll really let me leave after this is over. In fact, I know he’s not… he doesn’t trust the media at all, so why would he trust me to complete his task, keep my mouth closed, and go on about life as if none of this ever happened?
Chasity… That’s why…
She chewed on the slimy thoughts, salty ideas, and tough worries as Ro James’ ‘Already Knew’ played.
…He detests the media, the press. I already established that. He likes cigars, expensive cologne, and fast cars. That means he’s money driven and likes the finer things in life. Yes, that can be exploited, seen as a weakness if used the right way. Let’s see, he’s into his grooming for sure… He keeps his hair cut to perfection, he’s well-dressed but not too flashy. He likes R&B, Jazz, Rock, and Rap music… He’s strong. Ill-tempered. Has an axe to grind against this Bannon person, but I know he hasn’t told me completely as to why. Something is missing… I feel like he comes from a bad background, messed up childhood… doesn’t seem like a little rich boy trying to look or appear bad—this shit is genuine, and I feel like his riches are new. He doesn’t have many friends, on purpose… no wedding ring… Doesn’t respect women… Sees us as inferior. Probably stems from a bad relationship with his mother. His father was either not in his life at all, or died when he was a kid. He had to practically raise himself.
I am making a profile of this man in my mind. Just like the FBI does… I have to find the cracks and hot buttons within him. I have to dig inside of him and find the key to get out of this shit! I don’t want to do what he’s asking me to do, and yet, I have to be careful about angering him again. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead, but if I push him too far, he could turn on me. I saw it in his eyes. He is soulless… Just like I said a long time ago, and just like he said tonight, it would be no issue for him to end my life, but he believes he can use me. Use my eye, my art, my skills to tell a story… a story he can’t tell…
“I’m hungry.” She crossed her legs and squeezed. Her stomach was rumbling once again.
“We’re not far from my house. I’ll get you some food.”
“Do I still get to sleep in a real bed, in an actual bedroom tonight?”
“Yes. Why? You thought I was going to punish you because I’m sick of your shit? Don’t answer that… just be quiet. I want to listen to my music without you interrupting me.” He plucked his cigar from the ashtray and took a drag.
