Dead Man's Hand (18 page)

With
another breath, I started groping for any body heat that I could grab.  I
figured that it would be best to start with the ropes, it would be easier than
trying to alter the metal.  I soon found myself merely cursing Dempsey’s
ingenuity.  Despite the cold, I should have been able to alter something.
 Whatever was flowing into me through the IVs had to be what was keeping
me from using my gift.  I had nothing. Rather, all I had was the
information that Dempsey had experience dealing with people like me. I found
this anything but comforting.

Gritting
my teeth, I opened my eyes. I was going to make something positive happen no matter
what I needed to do.  Happily, I was blessed with mostly normal
sight.  Wasting no time I put my sight to its limited use.  It seemed
that the thugs assigned to keep watch over me were more interested in their
conversation than they were in me.  And I was hoping to keep it that way.
So, I kept my head down and, with as little movement as possible, began to scan
everything within sight.  The task was more aggravating than
rewarding.  Though I was able to confirm how I was bound and that I was in
a freezer.

Stymied
again, I closed my eyes and focused on the conversation that was hovering just
on the edge of my hearing. Though, I was quickly distracted by my desire to
escape.  I truly hoped I would be able to attain my freedom.  But the
fact that I was freezing, both from the IVs and the freezer, hazy from the
drugs, and not to mention, immobilized, painted quite the picture. Dempsey’s
familiarity with people like me was really getting annoying.  So far, he
and his thugs were doing a first rate job of keeping me contained.

Focusing
upon how bleak my prospects were growing, I picked up a single word from the
middle of a sentence.  “…fool…”  And for the first time I noticed why
I was having so much difficulty making out the words, they were being muffled,
as if the door leading into his improvised cell might be only slightly
ajar.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that difficult to figure out who they
were talking about.  After all, had I been in their place I would be
calling me a fool too.

It was
getting easier to hear the conversation so I gave it my full attention.  I
needed to hear something that would give me some hope and this conversation was
all I had.  But as I tried to listen I only grew more convinced that the
door was mostly sealed.  After all, I should’ve been able to make out more
of their words; as it was, I could only pick out a few here and there. “…don’t
know why…boss…with him…” Perhaps
wanted
was one of those missing words.
 
That couldn’t be right, Dempsey wouldn’t
want
anything from me,
would he
?
  If I kept having this kind of trouble following them I
would probably go insane long before they got around to killing me.

A
moment later I heard the second voice scream.  “Shut up…”  The terse
command was swiftly obeyed by the other goon, indicating who the superior of
the two was.

A
brief period of silence ensued before the first guard cautiously spoke a few
more words, “…guy…palmed…”
 
Did they really not know what I had
done
? 
If Dempsey knew enough to imprison me like this why would he
leave his men in the dark?

Either
way it sounded like goon number one thought I just somehow managed to palm the
ace into my last hand.  And with goon number one’s little slip I now had
some information.  First, I knew I was being guarded by at least one if
not two of thugs who hadn’t been at the tournament—if they had been there they
would have known about the fresh deck.  The second piece of information
was merely an assumption based upon the first, I didn’t think that I was still
in the warehouse.

That
meant they probably didn’t understand why I was being secured in this
fashion.  I now had a slight hope of being able to talk my way into a
source of heat, especially if they were supposed to be in the freezer with me. 
That was good, well, not the whole being secured and freezing thing, but the
fact that I might have a way out was good.  But despite the rising sense
of hope, a small part of my mind kept nagging me that it was not going to help
and that I was going to end up a dead man.  But every time that nasty
little thought crept into my mind I expunged it very quickly by reminding
myself that someone wanted to meet with me.  And if someone wanted to meet
with me why they go to all of this trouble just to kill me?  And every
time I refocused myself to search for my escape, slight as it was.

As I
returned my focus to the conversation I caught a few more words.  “…you
need to…you…watch…”  If I couldn’t start catching more of what they were
saying I was going to kill someone. About the only thing the piecemeal words
told me was that I had been correct with my assessment of goon number
two.  He was definitely the more traditional, “do as you are told without
question,” type of henchman.  He would be more difficult to sway. 
This left goon number one as my best chance of escape, he was a “curious”
henchman.

Speaking
of the devil, the curious goon spoke again.  “…know why… we… toss… end… to
the other.”  This was getting ridiculous. Did he want to toss me
around?  Could he toss me around the room
?
  He would have to
be built from solid muscle to do that.  My mind conjured a large and
muscular man beating me to a bloody pulp.  With a deep breath I forced the
rising lump back down my throat, chastised myself, and added “learning how to
fight” to the list of things I had to do after I managed to escape.  After
all, what good would it do for me to learn how to shield myself from
projectiles, but not be able to defend myself in a fist fight?  None, it
would do me no good whatsoever.

I
pulled my attention away from the conversation and focused on a more immediate
problem.  Now, while I had never studied to become a doctor, I had learned
a few things about the human body and the cold, specifically my body. 
Using my gift I knew a thing or two about freezing to death, or rather cooling
to death.  I’ve had to make enough trips to various emergency rooms to
know when I was in dire need of something warm.  And in that moment, I
knew I was teetering on the point of no return.  I needed something warm
and I needed it soon.  Maybe the part of my mind that was so sure that I
was going to die had been right.  I was going to die right here. 
Maybe I had heard the one goon wrong, and no one wanted to meet with me. 
Should
I risk
calling out to them
? 
What will they do to me
? 
Well there was only one way to find out and that just wasn’t going to happen
with me remaining silent.

Just
as I decided to get their attention I heard number two say, “…witch…
him…”  With my head still a little hazy and the fact that I wasn’t in the
best position to hear the pair of goons I started a debate with myself over
what I thought I had heard.  I very much doubted that I had really heard
“witch,” as in flying broomstick and all.  I must have heard wrong, they
had said something else.

“…the
other witch…”  There is was again, but this time I had no idea who said it
as I was losing track of their different voices.  The surety that I had
embraced a moment ago was vanishing like ice thrown into a furnace.  And
as my assurance ebbed, a cold sense of dread began to grow.  I must have
heard right, those two goons were talking about a witch.  Without the
objections I would have expected to hear from men in their profession I was
left assuming that they really did believe in witches, or at least one of them
did.  If they truly believed in witchcraft, I was left to assume that they
had, at some point or another, witnessed real magic, or at least seen someone
like me.  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place as I realized that
Dempsey currently had someone like me on his payroll.

Unfortunately,
what I could do was often mistaken for magic, and in a way, I suppose that made
sense.  If I didn’t know about what I could do, I would consider it to be
magic.  If I had a dollar for every time that Matt called me a wizard, I
would be set for life. Never having ever met anyone like me, I had always
assumed that I was the only one with my special talents. I mean, I had read
stories about them, once you read between the lines a little you can see people
like me in the stories.  Now the question was, how did Dempsey manage to
have one on his payroll?  I began to wonder if this so called “witch” was
the one responsible for my confinement; after all, it made a certain amount of
sense.

But
why would this witch be interested in me?  Had she thought that she was
unique in this world like I had?  If she did was she jealous of her lost
uniqueness?  Would they hand me over to her? Would I become a living
experiment for her or Dempsey?
   My mind started
running through some pretty awful scenarios.  I was glad that I was
thinking about these things before meeting my captors.  It allowed me to
work out my fear before I actually saw anyone—to ready my poker face—at least
that was what I told myself.

Sitting
there in the dank, cold room I continued trying to connect the dots from
everything I had heard or experienced.  Dempsey either employed or had a
solid relationship with a female who shared my gift.  My guess was they
had a pretty solid relationship.  My bonds and the IV spoke to just how
entwined they were, there was no other explanation as to why I was so well
locked down.  And of course that brought up a question about
Dempsey. 
Was he a real believer in witchcraft or did he simply refer
to her as a witch to keep his men in line?
  Not that either was really
important to me at this juncture.  All that currently mattered was,
because of this woman—and I was just assuming it was a woman, I suppose it
could be a man—Dempsey, and by extension all of his goons, knew how to detain
me.

I had
to get out of here. Preferably in one piece. So I decided now was as good a
time as any to call out to my captors.  “Hey, anyone there?”  I
didn’t yell that loudly, but based on the cessation of their conversation, the
goons must have heard me.  Maybe there was a microphone in here so they
could stay nice and warm outside of the freezer

I was
beginning to wish that I had remained silent when I heard the freezer’s door
open, I had been right and it had been closed after all.  I heard
someone’s footfall as they made their way toward me, make that two
someones
.  Once they were probably within striking
distance, they stopped.  They just stood there behind me, waiting, which
of course prompted my fear to bubble up.  Despite being ready for someone
to make a move, I wasn’t ready for this particular one.  So, when my head
was grabbed from behind I just about had a heart attack.  Amazingly my
heart didn’t actually quit pumping blood throughout my body, which was helpful
since a massive dose of adrenaline went along for the ride.  As that
little gift was sent coursing through my veins I was forced to look up into the
fairly bright light in the ceiling.

I
guess the goon was waiting for the adrenaline to do its job because he simply
held me there for a moment or two.  He started speaking only when he saw
that my eyes had become truly alert.  “It looks like our guest of honor is
finally awake.”

I
could safely say that I really didn’t like the fact that number two was as
smart in person as he had seemed through the snatches of conversation I had
been able to catch.  I could now clearly hear the thickly layered accent
on the man.  He was definitely from overseas, at least, I could tell
French was his first language.  Okay, I was only guessing, but it seemed
like a good one given my circumstances.

A
chuckle issued from the other guard’s mouth.  “The boss will be happy to
hear that.” He replied.

Now
that I was being given a bit more of their attention I was beginning to have
second thoughts about calling out for it.  But since their focus was now
on me, I figured that blacking out, or at least pretending to black out, would
only make matters worse. I decided to risk asking for a source of warmth,
forcing my teeth to chatter just a little I tried to ask my question. 
“I’m freezing…”

But I
guess Dempsey had been very specific with the orders because the man who was
holding my head pulled just a little bit harder as he interrupted my attempted
request.  “You so much as utter the rest of that question…” To help
emphasis his words he pushed something cold and mostly round into the right
side of my head.  Great, a gun, this thug was shoving a gun into the side
of my head.  “…and I pull the trigger.”  He finished as he attempted
to bore the gun into my skull.  Call me crazy, but I got a feeling that my
earlier assumption about number one was going to end up being about as wrong as
possible.

As
soon as the gun was shoved into me, its pressure vanished as number two broke
in, “I’m sorry for my associate’s behavior,” he must have pulled the man’s gun
arm away from my head.  “But I’m afraid we have the strictest instructions
in how to deal with you.”  After a moment’s hesitation he added. 
“And unfortunately for you one of those instructions is to keep your body temperature
as low as we can without killing you.”

I had
started the chattering as a show, but I quickly found that once I had started,
I was simply unable to stop.  So through chattering teeth I offered a flat
comment.  “In other words, you’re freezing me to death.”