Charged (27 page)

“Hey, where you goin’?” I hear Chic as he works under the hood of a blue Dodge Cornet. 

“Non’ your fuckin’ business, but if you really care I’m going to take a shit.” I’ve never trusted him, as he’s a yes man of Jack’s. 

Strolling past the paint booth, to the back where Jack’s office and the lockers is a bit of a trek. If she isn’t with her car, which she wasn’t, then the only thing I can think is that she saw them, got spooked, and bolted for the rear. Which means she’s stuck in here. 

The back door is jammed with parts because we don’t open it anymore. The only way outta here will be through the side door Travis uses, that takes you to the wrecker yard. Once she walks through, she has to get past Mary and Mercy, our evil incarnate Rottweilers. She’ll be torn to shreds. 

Passing through I see one of the other guys working on a wiring. “Mitch,” I motion to him, calling him over. He’s one of the shy, nice kids that Jack just hired. He does his work, he’s married and he’s a damned good electrical guy. He doesn’t want any part of the illegal shit, so if there’s something going down he’ll tell me. 

“What’s goin’ down?” 

“It’s not my business. I told Jack that when he hired me.”

“What’s happening, Mitch?” I ask very sternly this time. 

“You know that girl that took our food orders the other day? She was here going through her car, Clit came in and I heard them arguing. Then he called his boys out before they went back to Jack’s office, draggin’ her behind ’em.” 

Now I’m furious. If fuckin’ Clit was back here and he has her, I’m going to put a fucking bullet in his head. I thank Mitch and tell him to clear out. I watch as he packs his stuff up and heads out while I grab my gun from the locker room. It’s a Springfield Armoury XD Mod subcompact. It’s small enough to wear on the bike without it getting in the way, but last night I didn’t want her frightened, so I left it here. 

Checking the clip, flicking the safety and grabbing extra ammo, I walk back to the office. Just out of the corner of my eye I see Carlo sneaking around the shop, trying — the operative word -- to look inconspicuous. Hard to do when he’s the size of a military tank in a toy store full of cars. The boys here are very suspicious of any intruders, so he better try harder. I ignore him, tuck my gun into the waist at the back and walk — like I fucking belong here. 

That’s when I hear it. Pop, pop, pop. I stop dead in my tracks. I know it’s not from me or Carlo as we both did a full stop. I still my beating heart so that I don’t look worried — well worried enough, then keep walking to the office. 

There, standing in the middle of the shop is Mario and Gianfranco. Below them is Hans, Jerry and Cletus with holes in the back of their skulls and they won’t be getting up. 

Good. Dirty pieces of trash. 

“Hey,” I say calmly. Greeting the two brothers while GF is wiping the prints off the gun, Mario kicks Clit in the side. 

“Hey. How is it, Ryk?” Mario asks nonchalantly, as if there aren’t corpses at his feet. Kicking Clit a couple more times for good measure, I smile. Fucker got what was coming. 

“It’s good, you?” 

“Yeah, good.” He lays the boots to Clit and the other two one or two more times, then wipes the back of his hand across his forehead to swipe at the sweat on his brow. “I saw the Bird out front. Nice work. She ready to hit the road?” 

Avoiding the elephant in the room tactic — I can do that. “Yeah, she’s good. Keys and pinks are in there though. Mind if I go get em?” I motion with a head nod. The papers and keys are tucked away in Jack’s office. He trusted none of these fucks near that car but me. As I step around the dead bodies — which seem to be piling up today, I’m stopped by Gianfranco’s outstretched hand gripping my forearm. 

“Just hang up a sec, would ya. Somethin’ of mine is in there, and I’d like it to come out first if’n ya’ don’t mind.” I nod and stand back out of the way. I have a feeling I know what he’s looking for and if it’s still breathing, I’ll thank every goddamn God known. 

“Georgia. Come out darlin’ no one will hurt you.” I see her peek out the door. She sees the dead men on the floor then pokes back into the room, retching her guts out. After all of today’s, last night’s and this morning’s activities, she hasn’t had much to eat. I’ll be amazed if anything other than alcohol comes up. 

I’m still ignoring the fact that Mario just shot and killed three men, including his own son, as they lay prone on the floor of the shop in broad daylight. I decide the best course of action is to act stupid. 

“Who’s Georgia?” 

I know she can hear me and hopefully it will give her a sense of ease, then again maybe not. We were both scared as fuck of rushing into the building to find either of these men and now she’s stuck in Jack’s office with no way out. 

“That’s my daughter in there. And darlin’, I’d like you to come out. They won’t hurt you again.” GF states loud enough that she can hear his intentions. I don’t believe him for a second. 

I turn to Mario and ask, “What does he mean by not hurt her again? I’m assuming that’s why your son and a couple of the guys are saturating the pavement.”

Mario comes in close so only I can hear and says, “Georgia was strapped to the desk with a ball-gag in her mouth. She ain’t gonna look too good when she comes out, seeing she had a busted up face and whip marks everywhere. I told her to dress.” 

Georgia pipes up between gagging her coffee and booze. “Fuck off! I’m not coming out. I’m not stupid enough to trust you.” 

“You sure she’s who you think, Mar’? You sure it was her?” Gianfranco asks his brother. He knows it’s her, otherwise he wouldn’t be making a fuss. He’s just confirming it. 

“Yeah, it’s Georgia. She looks exactly like Messina.”

Gianfranco sighs, blowing out a heavy breath. “I know it’s you, Georgia. Your uncle confirmed it. Come out and we’ll talk, nice like.”

“How stupid do you think I am? I’m not coming out. I haven’t been hiding for twenty years for me to just jump into your arms and cry like a baby because you want me. You left me for dead!” Georgia screams hoarsely from the other room. I bet she’s been screaming the whole time I was out with Carlo, and it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have left her alone. 

The motherfuckers on the floor are the sickest. They feed on pain and suffering, relishing it. If what Mario said is true, she already looked like shit from what Jack inflicted. If Clit and Hans got ahold of her, she’s probably even worse off. 

“Look.” Gianfranco is fed up with the conversation, but he’s appeasing her, you can tell. “Georgia, I was only there to stop your mom and that cunt, your aunt. You were in the way. I thought you died along with them, so I burned the car to get rid of the evidence. I couldn’t have done a funeral for you, sweetheart. I couldn’t of bared the thought of seeing you in a casket.” Gianfranco is trying to seem fatherly, loving and caring, and it makes me sick inside. He’s the most twisted fuck of all. Hell, cartels are fearful of his wrath. If she was there and in the way when her mom betrayed him, well — she was just collateral damage. Nothing more nothing less.

“Georgia you have nowhere to go. I know you’re trapped in Jack’s office, so just come out. We’ll talk nice like.” Pulling on a chair, he sits down. “I’m just gonna sit here and wait you out. No one is going to hurt you. Right Mario? Right Ryker?” 

Mario pulls up another chair, pockets the gun in its holster at his chest, crosses his legs and rests back. He motions to me to grab a seat on his left. I pull out one of the rolling mechanic seats and wait to see what will unfold. 

Looking at them both, I see they have the patience of Jobe for this. They will wait her out until she’s passed out on the floor from exhaustion — which technically shouldn’t be too long. Seeing she’s been up most the night, beaten this morning, almost raped twice by the sounds of it, and starved half to death, there’s not much keeping her awake.

“So, where’s Jack, Ryk? I thought he’d be here today.” Poker face, play stupid.

“He got hung up.” Don’t allow them to ask questions you don’t plan on answering, and sure as shit don’t look them in the eye. These two are the masters of seeing through bullshit.  

Both of them say nothing. They just nod their understanding that Jack won’t be here today.

Georgia

“
G
eorgia, you have nowhere to go. I know you’re trapped in Jack’s office, so just come out. We’ll talk nice like.” Watching, I see GF pull out a chair and sit down. It scrapes across the floor like nails on a chalkboard in my soul. “I’m just gonna sit here and wait you out. No one is going to hurt you. Right Mario? Right Ryker?”

I send out a thank you to all the deities listening to my prayers. Ryker is here, and maybe, just maybe I have a way out of this. I need a weapon. 

Checking out the room for a way to save my ass, I see there isn’t much to use as Jack’s office is sparse. Other than the twisted and horrid desk with the manacles, there’s only a single empty bookshelf, a bar covered in various bottles of bourbon with differing levels of consumption, and a small fridge. I figure food is the best place to start so I head for it first. 

Inside, there’s a container of cloudy cherries, an empty bottle of ketchup, a box of protein bars — that’s empty, and a jar of pickled pigs feet. So nothing that would be nourishing or healthy. Instead, I might as well be drunk. Grabbing a crystal glass from the bar, wiping it down in the sink then drying it, I fill it to the brim with the best smelling bourbon I can find. I’m gonna get drunk on Jack’s stash. He fucking owes me.  

Walking back over to the desk, I push the manacles off the side. I don’t want to ever see those again. I toss the ball-gag as far out into the shop that it can soar. His chair is a high back distressed leather. It reclines when I sit back against the back to place my feet on the desk. No one is going to come in here and tell me otherwise, so why the hell not. 

Sorting through his drawers looking for anything of use, I open the first. It’s barely touched. There’s a pen, a small pad of paper, a pen knife and clips. The second is deeper and wider. It houses files on files of paperwork ranging from bills to delivery schedules and invoices for recently sold cars. Nothing lethal there either. 

The top middle drawer is locked and so are the two on the other side. I grab the pen knife and jam it into the edge, forcing the lock. After a bit of coaxing the drawer finally pops loose. 

“Alright Jack, let’s see your secrets.” 

I open the drawer and what I find is even more disgusting than I’ve already been subjected to. Quickly rising from the chair, I retch in the corner the measly gulps of whiskey and somehow corn, of all things. 

Wiping my mouth with the edge of Ryker’s tee shirt, I go back and try to stomach the gory details. There are stacks and stacks of Polaroid’s. Naked, abused, tortured souls, countless women strapped to this very desk. Some of the pictures are of the same woman over and over in varying positions. It seems she was a constant in his sick twisted world. I hope she can now be free of him and find peace in her life. 

Others look to be nothing more than college girls, maybe not, some could be teenagers. Thoroughly disgusted, I push all of them back in and try to wrench open the other drawers. I’m hoping that none of those hold the same gruesome discoveries. 

I force the top smaller drawer open and find more files, but these are different. These are about me, Ryker, Mario and GF. All of them have the seal of ATF on the front. I open the first file, which is mine. Inside is info about my life before, my life since WITSEC, and then some notations that are handwritten around the time I showed up here last week. 

‘Georgia pulled into the yard a few days ago. I thought we’d lost her. I guess we have an opportunity to pressure M and G again.’ 

‘She’s stranded, car broke down. Working at Carol’s. Told her to keep an eye on her.’ 

Carol? Hazel is undercover too? 

What the hell? How many people are in on this, and how did I just happen to fall into rural Miss where they all reside? 

Jack was working for ATF as an undercover agent. Why? Why wait twenty years, and why put Ryker though pain, treating him worse than a junkyard dog? 

And we killed him! Fuck. We killed an ATF agent and left him to rot at Ryker’s house. We’re so in shit. No wonder CJ said he’d take care of it.