The Cage (5 page)

“Hell, no.” Clint smiled in response, despite his clear discomfort. “I happen to know that in addition to your liver, you can’t get it up anymore. I don’t need those problems.”

“Who told you that?”

“Your wife.”

“Could we pry the fencing up?” Scott asked, interrupting their banter. “Maybe wedge something under it and lift a section far enough off the floor that Jared could crawl out?”

“W-why me?” Jared stammered, his eyes suddenly wide. “I don’t want to go out there with that guy on the loose. What if he catches me?”

“You’re the skinniest,” Scott explained. “I don’t think Jeff or I could fit underneath it, and there’s no way in hell that Clint or Roy would.”

“Thanks,” Roy said. “I appreciate that. Nothing like being told you’re fat right after your best friend tells everyone you can’t get it up, either.”

Scott motioned to the wire mesh. “You want to try it? Be my guest.”

“No thanks.” Roy shook his head. “It wouldn’t work, anyway. I mean, it’s a good plan, but we wouldn’t be able to bend or lift the wire high enough. There’s too much tension between the poles. That mesh is tighter than a Catholic school virgin. They manufacture it that way to prevent theft.”

“Too bad they didn’t manufacture it with an escape route, too,” Jeff said. “Didn’t they ever plan on people getting accidentally locked inside?”

“Watching the security camera,” he whispered. “And wondering if he’s watching us.”

The others paused.

“Oh shit,” Jeff said. “I forgot about that.”

“Fuck him,” Scott snarled. “I don’t care if he is watching. We can’t just sit here and wait. We’ve got to do something.”

He began rummaging through the box. After a moment, Jeff and Roy joined him. They searched through the miscellaneous junk—spare belts and bags for the store’s vacuum cleaner, remote controls for floor-model televisions that they no longer had in stock, assorted batteries, instruction manuals for various electronics, a black magic marker, paper clips, audio patch cords and cables, a pack of matches from the Odessa, and a camcorder charger for a model that had been discontinued years before. There was nothing useful—nothing that they could use as a tool or a weapon. Frustrated, they each stood up again.

Clint whimpered softly.

“Hang in there,” Roy told him again.

Scott sighed. “We’re fucked.”

“We’re not fucked,” Jeff said. “Don’t start thinking like that. We’ve got to stay positive.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because
that
will keep us safe.”

“Maybe he’s out there laughing at us,” Jared said, his gaze still focused on the camera. “Maybe this is how he gets his jollies. I hope Carlos is okay. I wonder what he’s doing with him?”

“Don’t think about it,” Jeff advised. “I know that sounds cold, but that’s how it is. There’s nothing we can do for Carlos until we figure a way out of here.”

If Jared heard him, he gave no indication. He continued staring straight ahead, and his voice was low, as if he was talking to himself. “I liked Carlos. He was nice. If a customer came in on my day off, and they’d been working with me before, and he rang up the sale, he always entered it in the computer under my name, so I’d get the commission. The rest of you never did that. You’d always ring it up as a split.”

“Jared,” Scott said, “we need to focus on more important things right now.”

Jared turned around. His shoulders were slumped and his expression was sullen.

Clint moaned again. His face was pale, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He clenched his jaw so hard that Jeff could hear his teeth grinding against each other.

“I’ve got an idea,” Roy said quietly. He bent over and rummaged through the junk box again until he found the matchbook. “These are probably mine. You guys remember when Sikes worked here?”

Jeff and Scott nodded. Jared frowned and then shook his head.

“You wouldn’t remember him, Jared. He was fired long before you got hired. Sikes was a real dirt bag. Bumble hired him during the Christmas rush one year. He dressed like a slob, came in drunk all the time or reeking of marijuana, had the manners and personality of a rock, and couldn’t sell shit to save his life. But that wasn’t why he got fired.”

“He was a thief,” Jeff said. “Used to steal people’s lunches right out of the fridge.”

Roy nodded. “And then we caught him trying to swipe a VCR out of the back. He’d put it in with the trash and hauled it outside, then hid it behind the dumpster. Clint happened to be sitting in his car at the time, hung over, and saw him do it.”

“Piece of shit,” Clint said. Scott grinned. “I remember that. Bill went fucking nuclear, man. He really did look like the Bumble from Rudolph when he hollered at Sikes.”

“I thought for sure he’d punch Sikes,” Jeff agreed. “Or have a heart attack restraining himself from punching him.”

“Clint and I had been hiding our cigarettes back here,” Roy said. “Remember, Bumble didn’t like us having them in our shirt pockets while we talked to customers? He thought it looked unprofessional. But we couldn’t just leave them lying around either, because Sikes would fucking steal them. So we hid them back here in the cage.”

Roy stared at the matchbook, and seemed lost in thought. A slight, sad smile crossed his face. Jeff put a hand on the older man’s shoulder and gently squeezed.

“You said you had an idea?”

Roy glanced up at him, and Jeff was surprised to see that his eyes glistened with tears. Sniffling, Roy smiled again and then stood up. His knees popped loud enough for the others to hear them.

“Yeah.” He pointed beyond the wire mesh, towards the ceiling. “I’ve got an idea. You guys see the sprinklers? What if we start a fire? It doesn’t have to be a big fire. Just enough to get some smoke up there around the ceiling. Then the sensors will detect it and the sprinklers will kick on.”

“Holy shit,” Scott gasped. “You’re right! The system will automatically alert the fire department when the sprinklers come on.”

“Exactly,” Roy said, holding the matchbook up triumphantly.

“It won’t work,” Clint said. He leaned against the shelves with his legs crossed. “Remember? Bumble told us that it was heat that set the system off. Not smoke. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been allowed to smoke cigarettes back here.”

“Shit,” Jeff and Scott said in unison.

Roy didn’t respond. He lowered the matchbook. His smile vanished. His expression crumpled. His bottom lip began to quiver. Then, he began to weep silently. Tears spread out around the crow’s feet next to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

“It will be okay,” Jeff said. “It was a good idea, Roy. Take it easy. We’ll think of something else.”

“What if we just made a fire big enough to produce some heat?” Scott asked. “The sensors will detect that, too. Right?”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. But it’s got to be really hot.”

“Well,” Scott continued, “we can do that. I mean, we’ve got all these iPod and cell phone boxes in here with us. We could use them as fuel. Wouldn’t that work?”

“We’re in a small, confined space,” Jeff reminded him. “We’d be toast before the fire got hot enough.

The ventilation system kicked on again. Jared, Clint and Roy jumped at the sudden sound. Clint yelped.

“Guys,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. I just can’t hold it anymore. I’ve
got
to piss…right now. My fucking bladder is going to explode if I don’t.”

Jeff sighed. “Do us one favor, okay?”

“What’s that?”

“Stick it out through the cage, at least? Piss out there, rather than in here.”

Nodding, Clint limped towards the wire mesh. He unzipped his fly and shuddered. The others turned away to give him privacy. Before he could begin, however, the door opened again and the killer walked back into the warehouse. All of them turned back around and stared at him in silence and fear. Clint gaped, his hands wrapped around his flaccid penis, the tip of which was still sticking through the mesh. Then he groaned, long and loud. The gunman glanced down at his penis and arched an eyebrow.

“You need to go that bad?”

Clint nodded dumbly.

“Okay.” The intruder shrugged. “Come on, then. Let’s get you taken care of.”

He raised the pistol and pointed it at them as he unlocked the cage.

“Each of you step to the back.”

They did as commanded. The hinges creaked as the door swung open. Jeff noticed that again, not only was the shotgun missing, but the machete was missing, as well. The killer was still armed only with the pistol.

“Come on,” the man in black urged Clint. “I don’t have all night. Things to do. Time is short. He’s waiting.”

Clint glanced back at his friends. He blinked rapidly. Then he zipped up his pants and shuffled forward, wincing in pain and discomfort with each step. Their tormenter snickered at him. Clint’s cheeks turned red. He hung his head.

“You weren’t kidding,” the gunman said. “You really do need to go.”

“Yeah…”

He motioned Clint aside with the handgun. Then he locked the cage door again, and led Clint forward. Clint paused when they reached the restroom door, but the gunman poked him between the shoulder blades with the pistol’s barrel.

“Nope. Not here. Keep going out into the store.”

“But…I have to pee really bad.”

“I know. You can do it out in the store.”

He prodded him with the gun again, and Clint stumbled forward. Jeff, Roy, Jared and Scott watched them leave. The warehouse door swung shut. Silence returned. Scott summed up what they were all thinking. “Shit. What do we do now?”

“What else can we do?” Jeff replied. “We wait.”

“We should have rushed him when the cage was still open,” Jeff said. “Damn it!”

“So why didn’t you?” Jared mumbled.

“Because everything happened so quickly. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“He’d have shot us if we’d tried anything,” Roy said.

“Would he have? I don’t know, dude. I kept thinking about it when he first came into the store. If Alan or somebody had rushed him at the start, maybe we wouldn’t be in here right now.”

“Or maybe they’d still be dead and so would we,” Roy countered. “I much prefer being locked inside the cage.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jeff replied.

Roy arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re saying that you’d rather be dead than locked up?”

“No, I’m saying that I’d rather be the hell out of here. And did you guys notice? When he took Clint, he made mention of a partner again. He said somebody was waiting.”

“I think he meant Carlos,” Jared said.

Jeff and Roy glanced at each other, but neither of them replied.

“I hope they’re okay.” Jared sighed.

Jeff, Roy and Jared were seated on the cold concrete floor. Scott paced the cage in an endless loop, hands stuffed in his pockets, face pinched with concentration. Roy held out a hand and stopped him on his next pass.

“Why not sit down?” he asked. “You might as well save your strength. Walking in circles won’t do any good.”

“You don’t understand,” Scott said. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“And pacing back and forth is accomplishing what, exactly?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s keeping my mind busy, at least. I’ve been thinking about Amanda. When I saw her this morning, we only had a few minutes. I told her that I loved her and gave her a kiss—a peck on the cheek, but that was all. And I didn’t really mean it, you know? I told her that I loved her but I didn’t really think about the words. It’s just something you say—force of habit. I want her to know that I meant it.”

“You’ll get the chance,” Roy said. “Have faith.”

“I’m supposed to pick her up at eleven. Anybody know what time it is?”

“He took our watches,” Jeff reminded him, “but I’m guessing we’ve been in here at least an hour. Maybe longer.”

“No,” Roy said. “More like half an hour. Forty minutes, tops.”

“How can you tell?” Jeff asked.

Roy sighed. “By the strength of my nicotine fit. If I go more than half an hour without a cigarette, my mouth gets dry and I start to get really bad headaches right behind my eyes, and right now, it feels like somebody is shoving a knife into my forehead and my mouth feels like sandpaper.”

“Where were you meeting Amanda?” Jared asked Scott.

“I’m supposed to pick her up at the hospital when she gets done working. If I’m late, she’ll call my cell phone.”

“And when you don’t answer?” Jeff asked. “What will she do then?”

“I don’t know. She might call here looking for me, I guess.”

“Will she worry?” Roy asked. “If you’re not there to pick her up right away?”

Scott began pacing again. His shoes made scuffing sounds on the concrete floor. “Not immediately, no. But she’ll start freaking out if she can’t track me down. It’s her birthday, after all. She knows I wouldn’t stand her up.”

Roy pressed him. “So what do you think Amanda will do? Would she call the police or the hospitals? Call your friends?”

“Eventually,” Scott said. “She’d probably try my cell a few times. Then the store. Then our friends.”