laughter, unable to take his eyes from the weapon.
The room’s lights came on and the lead soldier released Dane’s shoulder.
Dane fought the urge to rub it. He didn’t want to reveal his bracelet.
The sparks ceased and the leader laid the torture prod down on the floor. He pulled out a chair and casually sat down.
Dane ground his teeth together. It had been nothing but a joke. Fury clinched in his fists.
His friends sat in stunned silence.
The leader brought the ID keycard to his mouth. His tongue sprouted between dentures, licking the keycard.
Dane simply stared while the man treated the keycard like an ice cream cone. Next to him, Simone gagged.
Finally the man dropped it. His jittery eyes met Dane’s. “You can call me Sarge,” his voice grated with tobacco and alcohol.
Dane dug his fingernail into his wrist to keep from screaming.
“Which of you,” Sarge commanded, “can tell me why there’s a WWL agent recovering in my infirmary from a wound like nothing my team has ever seen?”
No one spoke. At least his friends had their bracelets concealed under the table. Dane kept his hand over his bracelet. He glanced at Collin with a quick raise of his eyebrows. No secret language needed, Collin gave him a sudden headshake. So Collin had never heard of WWL. If Collin didn’t know of the agency it had to be super top secret.
“How is she?” Penny asked, breaking the silence.
Smart of Penny not to use Baker’s name.
“Recovering,” Sarge said, caressing the keycard.
Dane shifted in his chair. If Sarge licked the card again he’d scream. In his peripheral, he checked if Simone was crying. She was deep in thought. She didn’t even appear to be aware of the terror. Maybe he should try that yoga meditation stuff after all.
Sarge’s eyes studied each of them. “I need someone to tell me who wounded that agent.”
“You’re not going to believe us,” Dane said, surprised he could speak.
Sarge leaned forward.
Dane could smell the man’s sweat oozing testosterone like gym locker stench.
“They’re like Men in Black meet Dracula,” Dane said. “Long black jackets. The one with blind eyes wears shades, even at night. The other one wears a wide hat like Zorro’s and has black eyes with red slits for pupils. They’re hideous.”
“Dear, God. They do exist.” Sarge’s bewilderment brought sanity back to his eyes. “Boy, you need to tell me how you’re still alive.”
Dane laughed, startling Sarge and his friends. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” He laughed even louder, sounding mad to his own ears. He quickly said, “P-man, ados, lots.”
“What did you say?” Sarge leaned in, mere inches from Dane.
The guy’s stink was palpable. Dane opened his mouth for some stupid made up reply—
“Excuse me, sir,” Paul said, waiving his hand, like he was in Mr. Thompson’s science class. Thankfully, he’d remembered to use his non-bracelet hand. “Can I have a soda? This one’s empty.”
Dane fought off a grin. Paul had understood. P-man, ados, slot meant: Paul, soda, lots.
“You see, Sir,” Paul said, his voice wavering, “it’s been a wild night…”
Paul rambled on something about how long since he’d eaten, smartly covering his bracelet when he stood. The two soldiers let him by.
“What does everyone want?” Paul shouted too forcefully.
Dane glanced back at Alex and then in the direction of Sarge.
Alex caught his meaning and asked, “So, what are these Modifiers anyway?”
“I’ll take an Orange Crush,” Penny said.
“Don’t have it.” Paul hit the logoed buttons. “I’ll just get one of each.”
Dane didn’t want a soda, but what he did want was the noise of the cans rumbling down the machine. While Sarge studied Alex, most likely contemplating how much information he should give them, Dane whispered to Simone, “Nophe. Em. Won.” Phone. Me. Now.
Sarge was saying something about real Men in Black.
“I’ll take a Mr. Pibb.” Dane stood. “You’ll probably need help.”
Paul tossed him a Mr. Pibb. Dane missed it. The can thudded and rolled toward their table.
“I’ll get that.” Simone stood and walked over.
“You guys want anything?” Paul asked distracting the soldiers. “It’s free.”
Simone knelt perfectly, blocking the Sarge’s sightline.
“I got it.” Dane knelt as well
Simone passed the phone into Dane’s open hand. He quickly tucked it into his pocket and grabbed the can with his other hand.
Simone whispered in his ear, “The gibberish Agent Baker said while looking at Sarge was naughty rust. She said it in our way.”
He and Simone stood in unison.
“What the hell!” Sarge shot from his chair.
Dane’s muscles tightened. Crap-on-a-cone! Sarge had seen the pass off.
But Simone’s eyes told him it was much worse. She was staring at his wrist.
He had used his bracelet hand to pick up the can.
Sarge was on them in three strides. His liver-spotted hand clamped down on Dane’s forearm just below the bracelet.
The can fell, denting when it hit the floor.
“Stop trying to hide this!” Sarge’s face approached Red Skull’s shade. “You’re being foolish.” He yanked Dane’s arm up inspecting the bracelet. “Why does yours have a symbol?”
Dane couldn’t speak. A swell of embarrassment blurred his vision. Sarge had been toying with them. He’d seen his bracelet back in the van.
Sarge leaned in. He had a piece of earwax stuck in a plentiful amount of ear hair. He whispered so Simone couldn’t hear, “Why do you think I’ve overtaken the safe house closest to your living quarters? I already knew you had these.” His nails pinched into Dane’s arm.
Dane cried out, unable to stop himself.
“Stop it!” Alex yelled. “You’re hurting him!”
“Take it off.” Sarge released Dane’s wrist.
Dane rubbed his forearm. “I can’t.”
“I’m sure we can find a way.” Sarge smiled.
Dear, God! This mad man really was going to cut off their hands.
Sarge whirled around and pointed at Collin. “Take this one,” he swung his finger to Penny, “this one,” he swung back and looked at Dane, but finally nodded at Simone, “and this one above.”
“Don’t let them out of your sight.” Sarge glared at the soldiers. “I need to have a word with the scientist.”
One of the guards grabbed Simone so suddenly her glasses nearly fell off.
“Hey, easy!” Dane yelled.
“Three, dog tarts,” Simone whispered. “And naughty rust.”
Collin had been right. Sarge’s next move was torture. What demented ideas would he think of to remove their bracelets? What did these cursed things do?
32
Collin was thankful to step out of the claustrophobic elevator. It opened upstairs into, of all things, a hall closet. The two soldiers guided Simone, Penny and him with their machine guns down the hallway. With the lights off it was hard to say for sure but the photos on the wall appeared to be a family of three with a boy their age. They entered a living room and were shoved down onto what appeared to be a green couch. It was most likely a light blue. The cantaloupe colored streetlamp outside the large window provided the only light. The room was foreboding.
The soldiers walked over to the window. Collin had to look away from the fear on Simone’s face. He took in the room: to the left a kitchen. The refrigerator door was open slightly but its internal bulb wasn’t on. The hallway before the kitchen, where they’d entered, might be a possible escape. On the right was a fireplace with an andiron set, possible weapons. And an old tube television, even in the darkness, he could see its plug on the floor. Past the television, level with the soldiers, was a side door. It m
ost likely led to the garage. The easiest escape was directly across the room: the front door. How could they get past the soldiers?
The two men’s gear was military issue—from their all-terrain boots to their dangling earpieces—but it was their AR-15 assault rifles that gave Collin the most trouble. Sarge wouldn’t need them alive to take their bracelets. Also, those guns weren’t military grade. This was a rogue unit, possibly working for a shadow government agency or a private investor.
“Modifiers!” said the soldier on the right. “Can you believe it?”
The one on the left put a piece of gum in his mouth, dropping the wrapper on the floor. “Never heard of them.”
The whites of Mr. Right’s eyes reflected orange light. “They’re the original Men in Black.”
“Shut up,” Mr. Left said, chewing vigorously.
“Seriously,” Mr. Right said, “they were nicknamed Modifiers—something about modifying the balance of world order or something. Once they became a part of the Bureau—”
“The FBI?”
“Do you know another?” Mr. Right’s excitement made his words easier to decipher. “Once a handful of them joined the FBI, they were referred to as Modifiers In Bureau. In the 1940’s some conspirator…I think his name was Bender…saw the abbreviation MIB and made up Men in Black.” Mr. Right paused for dramatic effect.
On either side of Collin, Simone and Penny sat like slacked-jaw statues. He didn’t flex a muscle fiber either. He stared at the two haloed silhouettes, willing Mr. Right to continue spilling information.
Mr. Right didn’t lose his enthusiasm or volume. “Thing is they may wear black, maybe to fit with the folklore, some ode to the legend, who knows, but they definitely aren’t men.”
Smacking his gum, Mr. Left methodically chewed