Fuchsia and I slept together that night, something I realized, in retrospect, was probably a mistake. We just slept though; nothing else happened.
Despite the parade of thoughts running through my mind, I had fallen asleep rather quickly, cuddled against Fuchsia, Gabe audibly snoring on the couch. It had actually been my intent to stay awake, at least for a little while, planning out what I would say to her in the morning as we ate eggs and toast. However, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. The events from earlier in the day must have left me understandably exhausted.
The sleep was not long-lived though.
I awoke suddenly, not sure what had stirred me, but startled nonetheless. I rolled over, realizing Fuchsia was still out cold, and checked the alarm clock resting on the floor next to the mattress we shared. There was no bed, just a mattress. Fuchsia wasn’t one for lavish furniture. The clock read 5:48 AM and I groaned, hoping to fall back to sleep easily.
And then I heard it again; a noise I couldn’t make out entirely, but still foreign. It didn’t belong. Something wasn’t right.
I threw the sheet off myself and stood from the mattress, trying to force my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. In the time since Gabe and I had been on the run, I had developed the habit of sleeping fully clothed, just in case we had to make a quick getaway. Gabe called it being paranoid, while I called it not having to make a run for it in my underwear.
I crept to Fuchsia’s bedroom door, being careful not to wake her, and slowly opened it in hopes it wouldn’t creak. Though I had no idea what was actually going on or why I was being so quiet, the last thing I wanted was to make myself known to possible intruders. Once out of the bedroom, I tiptoed down the hallway towards the living room where Gabe still snored, oblivious to anything going on around him.
I stood still in the middle of the room, moonlight casting a white glow over everything around me, and listened. A car backfired down the street, but other than that, I stood alone in nearly complete silence. Shaking my head, I found myself embarrassed at how paranoid I truly had become. It would have been one thing had I felt uncomfortable in Fuchsia’s house, but this had been a nightly occurrence for months. I would sleep a few hours, wake up, check the apartment and surf shop to make sure all the doors were locked and secure, and then go back to bed, not sleeping a wink until I repeated the same routine the next night. I’d been averaging three or four hours each night, and that number had been quickly shrinking.
I’d known for months the moment everything would fall apart had been coming, no matter how hard I’d try to deny it and pretend like everything was fine. And though I couldn’t have known Gabe’s brother would show up in California and quite literally blow our world to smithereens, I’d known something was coming, and I’d known there was absolutely nothing I could have done to stop it from happening.
Gabe stirred on the couch next to me, moaning gently and sitting up. He rubbed his eyes and leaned forward, trying to make out who I was in the moonlight.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked groggily.
I paused and turned towards him. “I couldn’t sleep. I guess I thought I heard a noise, but it was probably just you snoring,” I answered with a smirk.
“I don’t snore,” Gabe said, and I wondered if he actually believed this statement or if he was just trying to be funny. After a short pause and the realization I wasn’t going to joke back with him, Gabe motioned towards the seat on the couch next to him. “Something’s up. Sit down.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” I said.
As I turned to walk back towards Fuchsia’s room, I was surprised to see Gabe standing from the couch and following me. At first, I tried to ignore him, but was left unable as he grabbed me by the shoulder and stopped me. I was surprised by how firm his grip was. I didn’t turn back to face him as he spoke. “Talk to me,” he said, somewhat frustrated.
Standing silently, I wasn’t even sure what my problem was to begin with. I’d only started walking around the house because I was paranoid and thought I’d heard a noise. Was I having a minor freak-out concerning what my life had become? Yes, I was, but I was ninety-nine percent certain talking to Gabe about it would only make the situation worse, not better.
Letting out a sigh, I decided to humor Gabe. “There’s--“ I began, turning back to face him. “--a man with a gun behind you.”
Standing directly behind Gabe with a gun drawn and pointed at the back of his head was a tall, shadowed figure I could barely make out in the moonlight. For a brief second I thought it could have been my overactive imagination playing tricks on me, but as the man smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth within his sinister grin, I knew we were, once again, in real danger.
Gabe let go of my shoulder and quickly glanced over his, rolling his eyes as if to say, ‘You have got to be fucking kidding me,’ as his eyes once again met mine.
“Turn around slowly,” the shadow man instructed, not lowering his gun. He added a firm, “And raise your hands above your head.”
Both of us did as instructed, bringing our hands into the air. As Gabe spun around, faster than I was comfortable with, he said, “Do we even need to bother asking why you’re here?”
The man with the gun snarled. For someone with such perfect teeth, his face looked incredibly haggard, as if he’d lost a few too many fist fights in his life. And if he’d won, I’d hate to have seen the other guys’ faces. He had a shaved head and as the moonlight hit him just right, I realized several long, jagged scars running across his scalp and down his face. Maybe the lost fights had actually been with rabid wolverines instead. His suit, however, looked nicer than anything I’d ever owned, confirming my thoughts he was somehow in cahoots with Gabe’s brother and Harrison.
In a moment of pure confusion, two other suit-wearing and gun-wielding men entered the room from the kitchen and the hallway. How long had they been in the house without us knowing? How many more of them were there? I cringed yet again as one of them turned on the living room light, revealing herself to be a woman and not a man, though the mistake was easy to make. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her muscular build mixed with the suit she was wearing made her easily mistakable for the opposite gender.
‘This is how we die,’ I thought as the three of them closed in around us, as if we actually had somewhere to run to. The room was small, and the only doors to the house were the front door, blocked by one gunman, and the kitchen, blocked by the woman who had turned on the light. Gabe and I weren’t going anywhere, and would likely receive a bullet in the back of the head if we tried.
I suddenly found myself concerned for Fuchsia. She was fast asleep on the mattress in her room and had no idea what was going on. If she heard a noise, or even decided to get out of bed for a drink of water for that matter, she would walk into this situation and likely be shot.
“Should we take this outside?” I found myself asking, hoping we could leave the house before anything bad happened inside it.
The second gunman, not the woman and not the one with the scars on his head, chuckled at me. His gun was still raised at us when he replied with, “You’ve proven to be too much of a flight risk to step outside. We’re going to handle this right here, and right now.”
Gabe’s eyes widened a little as if he realized the code they were speaking in meant our immediate deaths. “Before we make any rash decisions, gentlemen… and lady, I want to remind you that Garrett Malvado is my brother,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Congratulations,” the woman laughed, obviously not caring at all who his brother was. We’d caused Garrett and Harrison enough trouble, and it likely wouldn’t have mattered if one of us was related to the Pope. We were about to die.
I glanced up and saw Fuchsia peeking through the doorframe of her bedroom, careful not to be noticed by the others in the room with us. Though I was confident they knew she was in the house, maybe if they thought she w
as asleep, they would leave without hurting her. It was wishful thinking, but I had to tell myself something to keep from passing out right then and there.
I subtly leaned my head to the right, as if to tell her to go back into the room and act like she wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure at first if she understood, but a moment later she was gone from sight, and I was feeling at least a little relieved.
Now that she was gone, I focused my gaze on the gunman closest to the door. “Just get it over with,” I said coldly.
All three of them laughed in unison. “As much as we would love to do that,” he answered, “We have been given strict orders to return you to Harrison alive. I’m guessing he wants to torture and kill you himself for all the trouble you’ve put him through in the last year.”
I tried to keep my eyes from widening at the thought of being tortured by a drug lord as the woman slowly walked across the room, passing me, and bringing her face in very close to Gabe’s. He stood in only his boxers.
She brought her hand to his face and stroked it gently. “I’ve heard Harrison can make dying a very, very slow process,” she said with a grin.
“I’ve heard this record before,” Gabe said angrily.
The woman pulled her face back, revealing a solemn expression, and before I could even react, raised her gun into the air and slammed the butt of it down onto Gabe’s head. His eyes twitched in an almost cartoon fashion, less than a second before he grunted and fell to the floor. I spun towards him, leaning forward in an attempt to make sure he was okay, but a solid arm wrapped itself around my chest, holding me back.
“You said Harrison wanted us alive!” I squealed, worried Gabe was already dead. He moaned weakly from the floor and rolled onto his back, clutching at his head.
“Alive, yes,” the woman stated. “In good health, not so much.” She quickly brought her foot back and connected it with Gabe’s head, sending him rolling onto his stomach yet again. This time, he made no sound and did not attempt to turn himself back over. He was out cold.
I waited nervously, not making a move or a sound. The three henchmen seemed almost confused by this, not sure what to do in the event I didn’t put up a fight. If I tried to defend myself, plead for mercy, or even tried to make an escape, the rules became simple for them; they were to knock me out and keep me from possibly messing up their master plan. But I stood, solemn, defeated, and only terrified on the inside. Causing confusion or not, I wasn’t about to do anything to put myself, Gabe, or Fuchsia in any more danger than we already were. Not that I had any idea what I would have done to save myself anyway.
The man with the scarred face, possibly the leader of the pack, spoke up, gesturing towards Gabe. “Load Malvado into the truck.”
At his command, the third man in a suit walked forward, bent down, and grabbed Gabe by the wrist of one arm and the ankle of a leg. He lifted Gabe up and heaved him over his shoulders, seemingly with ease. Moments later, the two were gone, vanished out the front door, into the night.
I remained silent.
“I’ll escort Brewer out, and you get the girl,” Scarface ordered.
My muscles clenched and my mouth opened before I even realized completely what was happening. “The girl?”
The female goon smirked at my attempt of playing dumb. “You know, the one you were all cuddled up with a little while ago,” she said, turning towards the bedroom. She walked with purpose into the room as I waited for any sounds or signs of a struggle, but moments later returned with her hand around Fuchsia’s wrist. Her face showed defeat, but she hadn’t put up a fight, a fact I couldn’t label as good or bad at the time.
“Look,” I began. “Just take Gabe and me; leave her out of this. She doesn’t even know what’s going on.”
Scarface shook his head, annoyed. “I don’t think so, kid. Now let’s go. Walk slowly to the door, exit the house, and find your way to the truck parked out front. If you give us any trouble, I’ll shoot you in the kneecap and then shoot her in the head.” He gestured towards Fuchsia with his gun, saying his words so nonchalantly, it was as if he was explaining a very basic and simple process not involving guns, kidnapping, and possible murder.
“She doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I urged, stepping forward. I raised my hands to show I meant no harm, but Scarface raised his eyebrows questioningly. Though his face itself showed no true emotion, his eyebrows spoke volumes to me. He, in some way, saw me as a threat, and was ready to kill Fuchsia in an instant.
With sudden death looming, I began weighing any and all options, though they were few. I could make a break for it, but then what? Gabe was already being loaded into a truck out front, and the second I tried to run, Fuchsia was as good as dead. Even in the off chance I made it outside the house, the third thug would likely be waiting outside. Harrison had obviously ordered Gabe and I brought to him alive, but I also believed the thugs had been allowed the use of any means of torture to get us to our destination. I was no expert, but it seemed as if for every way of killing us, there were at least fifty more to make us suffer, but keep us alive.
The other options basically boiled down to fight and likely get my ass kicked, or comply with Scarface’s demands. I chose the least painful of the two.
“Alright, I’m going,” I said.
Both Scarface and the woman smirked at my choice, though neither of them seemed particularly happy or sad about it. I wouldn’t have been surprised had they wanted me to try to fight, just to have a reason to inflict some pain for the hell of it. Nevertheless, a couple of minutes later, I was loaded into the large, black Yukon parked on the curb, wondering how on Earth these mobsters drove around in such noticeable cars they claimed were so inconspicuous. Although, in their defense, never once before my life turned to shit did I see a big, black van, Escalade, Yukon, or any other vehicle and say to myself, ‘Hey, I bet gangsters are driving that!’ However, since that time, I had thought that about pretty much every car I’d seen.
Once all of us were in the car and headed out of town, my mind began to race with scenarios of what would happen once we met with Harrison in person, if we even would. All along, he had seemed like the type of drug lord nobody ever met; after all, Gabe and I had never dealt with him personally, because he had always sent his employees, or thugs, or whatever, to do dealings with us. Maybe since he had gone through so much trouble to abduct us, we might get to actually see the man’s face for once.
“Where are we going?” Fuchsia asked in an annoyed voice. I worried at first if Scarface and the others might not be too happy about her tone, but they only smiled and answered her question.
“We’re going to the airport,” Scarface stated flatly, not bothering to shift his gaze away from my face. I averted my eyes to the window in order to not stare directly into his. It was still fairly dark outside, though the sun was beginning to rise over the mountains to the east.
Fuchsia opened her mouth to speak again, but seemingly couldn’t think of words. She rolled her eyes and placed her head on my shoulder, staying that way for the duration of the trip, though it only lasted about fifteen minutes.
Before I knew it, the Yukon was pulling into the Weed Airport, a small, one-runway facility with only a few hangars and planes to be seen. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t even a control tower, meaning the flights in and out of this place had to be minimal.
“This is our stop,” the female thug said, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the passenger door. A second later, she was opening the back door of the Yukon, motioning for us to exit the vehicle.
As I stepped out, I realized we were parked directly on the runway, only about five hundred feet away from a small, personal jet, poised for takeoff. “You’ll be boarding Harrison’s jet, en route to Chicago. Try anything funny, and it’s a bullet in your ass.” She motioned for the three of us walk towards the jet as if this was all normal. I had only flown a couple of times in my life, but never before had I boarded a plane directly from t
he runway. As I looked around, there was not another person to be seen outside of our group. No baggage people, no air traffic controllers, no one.
I paused momentarily before stepping onto the small, metal staircase leading into the jet, but Gabe nudged me from behind and simply muttered, “Just go.” I couldn’t help but notice how small and defeated his voice sounded. I think it was at that moment I realized we likely only had a few hours to live.
I took a deep breath and boarded the jet, looking around to survey my surroundings. Everything seemed as normal as could be expected, aside from the fact I had never been inside a private jet, and was not expecting the cramped row-seating of a regular plane to be replaced by leather couches. At the rear of the jet, a small kitchen had been erected, complete with a full-size fridge, a dishwasher, and marble countertops. Near the cockpit, I could see individual reclining chairs, made from the same leather as the couches. In the furthest corner was a bar, stocked with any and every type of alcohol imaginable.
As Fuchsia and I took in our surroundings, Gabe threw himself onto one of the leather couches, putting his bare feet up onto the oak coffee table that had been bolted to the floor to keep it from tipping over mid-flight. He folded his hands behind his head, revealing several dark, painful-looking bruises on his torso where the woman had kicked him. He was good at hiding his pain though, never once wincing.
Scarface closed the doorway onto the jet, leaving the other two thugs outside, and casually walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a pitcher of water. “Beverage?” he asked, turning to one of the cabinets and removing several expensive-looking glasses.
“I’m good,” I said, shock evident in my voice.
Fuchsia simply shook her head, implying no.
Gabe did nothing.
Scarface shrugged his shoulders, pouring himself a glass of water and placing the other cups back into the cupboard. “Suit yourself, but I suggest you have a seat. We’ll be taking off soon, and we’re in for a long flight, about six hours, to be as exact as possible.”
‘Great,’ I thought. ‘We’re going to be trapped with this lunatic for six hours, waiting to die.’
Fuchsia and I took seats on the same couch as Gabe, buckling our safety belts, and a few minutes later, we were in the air, soaring higher and higher above California every second. My stomach churned as I realized everything I had worked towards in California was gone, and I would never see it again. Ford was dead. The surf shop was now a smoldering pile of rubble. And as for my life in Indiana, it had been gone for a long time, but now I was certain I would never get to see my parents, Kip, or Riley ever again. The thread of hope I’d been clinging to was thin, but it had existed up until now. This plane was going to land, the three of us would be taken to Harrison, killed, and, I don’t even know, dumped into Lake Michigan? We may even be dumped into an incinerator, that way no one would ever be able to find our bodies…
“Snap out of it,” Gabe said to me as I stared out the window. We’d stopped ascending and the plane had leveled out.
“I’m not snapped into anything,” I said.
“You are. You’re thinking about all the things you’ll never get to do again. Just stop it.” His voice was calm, but still defeated. He was now sitting with his elbows propped on his knees, holding his head in his hands.
“What about you?” I asked. “You seem pretty accepting of the fact we’re about to die.” Fuchsia gasped lightly as I spoke, but when I gestured towards her, trying to explain myself without words, she stood from the couch and walked quietly to one of the reclining chairs.
Gabe smirked at my question. “Look at it this way, Jamie, at least you’re not going to die in your underwear.” He pointed to his plaid boxers and laughed, something that seemed completely out of place given our current situation. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to get me to laugh or if he was pointing out an actual fact to ease my mind, even if only slightly.
I thought for a moment, looking around the jet as Scarface watched me intently. Gabe and I were speaking in hushed tones, but I couldn’t be sure whether he could hear us or not. “Maybe we can get out of this,” I suggested.
Gabe shook his head.
“No, listen. We outnumber him. We can use something as a weapon. We can take him out.”
“And then what?” Gabe asked. “The plane is still going to land in Chicago. Harrison is still going to kill us. Unless you plan on taking out the pilot and landing the plane yourself, I’d say our fates are pretty much sealed.”
I bit my lip in anger. “Since when do you give up this easily?”
“You call this giving up easily?” he asked me angrily. “We ran for over a year. We almost made it, but now we’re sitting ducks, thirty thousand feet in the sky. Tell me we have options.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut off by the cockpit door slowly sliding open. Before anyone could exit, Fuchsia rose from her reclining chair and made her way quickly back to the couch, taking my hand in her own.
The man who stepped out of the cockpit had blonde hair. It was slicked back, but was still a little longer than I expected it to be. In fact, his whole appearance was slightly off from what I had imagined. He wore a grey polo shirt and nice, probably designer, blue jeans. An expensive watch decorated his wrist and a pair of aviator sunglasses hung from the neck of his shirt. He looked to be about forty-years-old and wore a solid black ring on his left index finger, emblazoned with a silver letter ‘H.’
Harrison.
“Gabe,” he said with a smile and a heavy British accent. “It’s nice to see you again. Jamie, and Fuchsia, I’m told; It’s nice to meet you, finally. Now, if the three of you are ready, I’d like to sit down and discuss our futures.”
(Benjamin Bradley)