Break Free & Be Broken (13 page)

Chapter the Eighth

As soon as we begin driving, Sage pulls out his phone and makes a call. He's very excited during the first few rings, but when he gets no answer, a sullen mood settles over him. A few minutes later, he tries again with the same result. After that, the drive becomes painfully quiet.

My mind is full of questions, but with his sinister brooding, I dare not open my mouth to break words. It certainly makes me nervous about what's coming, but at the same time, it makes me alive.

After about two hours, patches of light begin to appear in the distance. Even from afar it's obvious we are approaching a podunk little town
.
The quality of the street lamps alone give full announcement that we are moving into a rundown place, and it's gotta be small because there doesn't seem to be a single building over two stories.

It's hard to see much clearly due to the fact that only about one in three street lights are working, but even a blind man could see what a sorry state this place is in. All the outlying houses and buildings are decrepit: rickety chain link fences, patchy, dead lawns, toys and garbage scattered throughout the yards... this place is shit. It reminds me of Griff's. I picture all the alternate versions of him behind the closed doors, living in a haze of drugs and filth. My figurative mouth begins to figuratively water. All the excitement these past few hours did a good job hiding how much I'm feening, but now that drugs are on my mind, they are all that I want. The beast is out and I want to be high!

My urge to speak grows to an uncomfortable level. I can sense that this is the place things are going to go down, and I want to know what my part is. I glance over at Sage. The cloud hanging over him is heavy enough to condense on my skin.

I can wait a little longer.

He takes out his phone and makes another call. Again there’s no answer. He tenses up. I think for sure he's going to hurl it at the windshield, but rather, he takes a deep breath. The inhale sucks up all the negativity, and by the time his exhale is complete, his mood has completely flipped.

"All right buddy, it's almost game time. You ready?"

My heart begins racing. "This is it? It's time?" I ask. "I don't even know what the plan is!"

He chuckles. "That's right, I forget to tell you. Basically, all you have to do is act like my prisoner. The little robbery I just committed, we are going to say it was you."

"Wait, what? Is that why those guys were trying to kill us? You robbed them?" My nerves kick in as an even more pressing issue arises. "And wait, are you taking me to the police!?"

"Yes, and no, of course not. Use your head. How would taking you to the police get you drugs? I promised you drugs, remember? We are going to the boss of the guys you just robbed."

"
You
just robbed." I correct.

"You’ve got to stop thinking like that! If it becomes known that I had anything to do with the robbery, we're both dead."

"So what is it that I'm doing exactly?"

"Like I said, just acting like a prisoner. All you are is my excuse to get inside. The guy we are going to visit is a knobby lowlife named Tink Rogers, and normally he wouldn't allow me within a hundred feet of him. My hope is that by showing up with you and a fake story, it will be a shocking enough distraction for him to drop his guard in favor of curiosity."

That sounds gnarly, but for whatever reason, I trust in this man, so I commit to do what must be done. And besides, who am I to question anything when there’s a giant pile of heroine waiting for me at the end?

Do it for the drugs, Chales. Do anything for the drugs.

"So what, we get inside and then what? And hold on," a discrepancy clicks in my mind, "how were you planning to get in without me? Was bringing me along part of the scheme the whole time?" It's unsettling to think I may have played directly into his hands.

"No. There was a different plan. This one is just better. It saves a dear friend of mine from having to do some unwholesome acts. Or at least... I hoped it would." A dusky look passes over his face, "But no matter. It's still better this way. I wish I would have thought of this to begin with."

It is obvious by his voice that it does matter. There's an anxious lump pressing visibly through his smooth exterior. I dunno if that should make me nervous or not, but eh, fuck it. At this point, all I'm thinking about is how far into space I’m gunna be able to get with a whole brick of my love.

Sage suddenly pulls over in front of some shop. "Is this the place?" I ask.

"No, we just need to get you looking more like a prisoner before we arrive." He hops out of the car without another word. Not sure if I should follow, I sit tight. He knocks on the car and I hear a muffled, "Get out." I do as he says.

It doesn't take long to go from a free man to a prisoner. All that it takes is a quick tie of the wrists and a bloody shirt thrown over the head and voila: a free man hath been transformed.

"Fuck man, get this thing off me." I say in protest to the shirt. He must have pulled it from one of the guys he killed. "Tie my tank around my head or something. I'm not wearing this!" I shake my head, trying to get the grody thing off, but my efforts only spread the dampness around. The small good thing about it is that the material is somewhat sheer and doesn't do much to hinder my vision, so at least I won't be heading into this totally blind.

Sage laughs. "You'll be fine, just don't get it in your mouth."

"Fuck you. I'm not doing it if I have to do it like this."

"Come on, don't be a bitch. Here." He repositions the shirt, moving the bloody area to the back of my head. "Happy?"

I'm not happy-not at all-but whatever. The answer I give is silence. He takes it like a giggling yes. "Wundabar! Fear not, the place we're going isn't far, and then your head can be freed. Oh, and one last thing." He reaches into the car, pulls out a sheathed knife, and sticks it into the back of my pants, making sure the handle stays above my waistline.

"What’s that for?"

"There's a bit more to this than I've told you." His tone is apprehensive. I don't like it. "First of all, Tink is going to have a lot of questions for you. Don't answer anything, all right? You
have
to hold your tongue, no matter what."

"Okay." That was fairly obvious.

"The reason I'm giving you the knife is because I might be searched when we get inside, but it isn't likely they will search you, and even if they do, it will be easier to explain why you're hiding a knife than me."

"Why do you need a knife? What are you planning to do?"

"It's just a precaution. I won't be able to make an exact plan until I see the situation, but just know that if I tap you on the lower back, it's time for action."

"What will I be doing?"

"No way to know until we get there, but my hope is that you will use your best judgement and do whatever needs to be done."

I'm both honored and worried that he's placing so much trust in me. "Is that it?"

"Yep."

I move back toward the passenger seat. Sage stops me. "What prisoner gets to ride in front? To the back with you, scum!" He gives me a playful kick on the ass and pushes me into the back seat. His attitude is a bit too light hearted for the situation according to my taste.

Think of the drugs, Chales, nothing else. This will be over soon.

Sage climbs in, pausing when his eyes fall upon me. "Hey, and look, there's one more thing I need to tell you."

Oh joy.

"You're probably going to get roughed up a bit. I won't let anything bad happen to you, but you're almost definitely going to get hit a few times. That okay?"

I take this as an opportunity to show off some of my strength. "Yeah, that's fine. I figured things might get a little messy. It's no problem at all." I hope I know what I'm saying.

"Great. Then we're off." He puts the car in drive and pauses again. "Oh, and
last
last thing. If even for a second I get the feeling you're going to crack and sell me out, I'll snap your neck and that will be that."

"You've got nothing to worry about."

"Awesome. You're a champ, you know that?"

I take the compliment in silence, like a champ.

After driving about a minute, Sage turns to me, an impish look of delight glistening over his face.

"Can you see at all?" He asks.

"Somewhat."

"Good. Watch this." He yanks the wheel to the right, launching us up over the curb and into a chain link fence. The fence collapses-failing in its duty to protect the yard-and we end up posted in the middle of someone’s lawn.

"Jesus!" I spout.

Sage busts a gut. "It's wise to park close in case we need to make a quick getaway." He has to sneak the words through his laughter. Under the circumstances, I have a hard time finding it funny, but I can see the logic.

Multiple sets of eyes peer out at us through the window of the house we nearly invaded, but surprisingly, no one comes outside to investigate. Sage climbs from the car and comes around to get me out. When he opens the door, I start climbing out of my own accord and am knocked back by a solid fist to the chest. It wasn't nearly as hard as I know he can hit, but it still hurt.

"What the fuck?" I croak.

"You're a prisoner!" He hisses at me. "Start acting like it! You don't want to be here, remember?" I smack my forehead against his. He strikes me again, this time clipping me with a sharp knuckle to the ear. I can see he is smiling. "Better. Now let’s go."

He grabs me by the shirt and extracts me roughly from the vehicle, then locks a metal grip on the back of my neck and begins dragging me toward the door. I continue to be shocked at this man’s strength. It literally feels like I have an iron clamp sealed on my neck.

The door opens as we approach, and out steps a big hairy brother. Other than his massive beard and the sawed off shotgun in his hand, he actually looks pretty normal.

"Delivery for Tink Rogers." Sage says. It's merely a statement, yet it comes out like a command. The guy can only stare, clearly unsure what to do. "Are we just going to stand out here all night? Let's go, you damn ape. Take me to Tink." The authority in his voice is too much for the will of the man. He sheepishly complies and takes us inside. I've never met anyone like Sage. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him: the more I want to be him.

The inside of the house, just like the outside, is very similar to Griff's, from the unkempt condition of the place all the way down to the greasy vagabonds who reside in it. There are only three of them, including the one who brought us in, but my heart still drops when I see they are all holding guns. Add in the fact they’re all scared, on edge, and pissed off, and things get real. One flutter of any of their fingers and this whole thing would go to hell; and me-tied up and partially blind-will have little chance to escape should bullets start to fly.

The guy who led us in finds courage now that he's back in his nest. "So, what the fuck do you want?" He asks in a gruff voice, riding high on the swell of power he received through his posse. Sage delivers a sound backhand to his face in reply, putting him to sleep on the dirty carpet.

Fuck!

My eyes snap shut and my jaw clenches tight in preparation for the orchestra of gunfire that will surely be our demise, but it doesn't come. What comes is the demonic fury of Sage's voice.

"I am not here to answer your questions! I am here to see Tink!" He roars. "Where is he?" The two conscious men raise a finger toward the hallway on our right. Sage, pulling me along with a new sense of vigor, immediately leads us that way. It occurs to me that I should probably make a mental map of the house in case we need to get out in a hurry, but being dragged around as I am like a dog on a chain, it takes all my attention just to maintain my feet.

At the end of the hall, another man stands guarding a door. He's so big that his shoulders nearly stretch from wall to wall. And worse, he seems hardly concerned with us-not displaying any of the intimidation of the other three. All he does is stare at us as we approach.

"I represent The Gentleman," Sage says, "This young man thought he could pull off a glorious heist this evening. He failed, but questions have been raised. I need to get to the bottom of the issue. If Tink is in there, you need to open the door." The guard looks unimpressed. "Now."

He appraises us for a moment, sighs, then taps on the door. It opens only a crack, just enough to reveal another guard on the other side. Whispers are exchanged back and forth, and the door flies open. Sage shoves me, sending me toppling inside. With my hands tied behind my back, I'm unable to keep my balance and hit the ground with a thud.

"Well I'll be a monkey’s motha fuckin uncle. Not one piece of what I see before me makes a lick of sense. I don't know where to begin."

I'm pulled to my feet and get a look at the source of the strange, hillbilly voice. Sitting on a couch at the far end of the room is a small middle aged man with black hair and brown skin. It's hard to tell what he is exactly-maybe Middle Eastern, maybe Hispanic... he might even be Greek. His hair is greased up into a fohawk, giving wings to his bedazzled, button up shirt. He's got on faded jeans, and though I can't see the back pockets, I'd be willing to bet any amount of money they are covered with as many fake gems as his top. Duty compels me to report that he looks like a real bitch; though not just a regular bitch, one who is crazed: deranged. His shifty eyes won't stop flicking back and forth between me and Sage.