Lampreys Page 2

  "Tomorrow?"

  Duke pointed at the pizza boxes. "What, you doing something tomorrow?"

  "I'm still not over the fact you guys are mercenaries or whatever."

  "We're not mercenaries on this trip," Henry said. "Hey, we've got a free plane ticket to Africa. It'd hate to see it go to waste because Gibbons broke his pelvis."

  "Africa? I-I don't know, guys."

  That judgmental grin spread on Duke's face. "See, Dad, I told you he didn't want his balls back. Arielle neutered him."

  "Fuck you." Conrad was going to push Duke off of his chair. Duke sidestepped him, and Conrad was slammed into the carpet. Duke had Conrad's arm pulled behind his back. Four pressure points delivered white hot pain into Conrad's body.

  "Say yes," Duke demanded. "Dad tried to ask the nice way. You're acting like a little bitch. You need to get over yourself. A trip to Africa will do you some good. Maybe if you do this, instead of reading stories, you'll actually have your own stories to tell. So quit bleeding out your ass and say yes. Help someone out for a change that is less fortunate than you."

  The pain was so intense, Conrad begged his brother to let him go. He said yes ten times before Duke finally released him.

  Henry helped Conrad up to his feet and sat him in the chair. "Why did you do that? He's your brother. You're not supposed to fight."

  Conrad had a question after rotating his arm a few times. "How come you guys never told me about these jobs before?"

  Henry shook his head. "You tell him, Duke."

  Duke picked up the novel The Grapes of Wrath from the floor and tossed it across the room like a Frisbee. "Because, brother, you're kind of a wimp."

  Chapter Three

  Conrad was alone in his apartment after being told he was going to board a plane the next morning at five. The destination, Africa. Henry told him the volunteer mission was located in a city in Chad called Faya-Largeau. The group would help build housing, work on creating a clean water source, deliver medical aide, and meet natives and promote peace.

  What kind of work did his family really do? They were so vague about that information. He pictured his family going to odd places smoking out war criminals, terrorists, and acting as hit men for the highest bidder. Maybe being out of the loop was for his benefit, he decided.

  Conrad spent the rest of the afternoon straightening up his apartment. Then he started searching for new jobs. He quit his teaching job at Texas University after the botched wedding and Arielle's public confession. He could look into the local community college for adjunct work, or perhaps a gig out of the city. Maybe a change in scenery would do him some good.

  His family was right.

  He needed to come up for air.

  The idea of going to Africa was starting to sink in, and he was starting to like it. Conrad was single, unemployed, and ready for whatever life had in store for him next. People did have it worse than him out there. He had easy access to running water, food, and he wasn't being shot at on a daily basis. Conrad remembered hearing stories about war criminals in Liberia hacking off people's hands up to the elbow with machetes. The term "short sleeves" used in the article mortified him. His family worked to take care of the scum responsible for crimes against humanity. Whether it was on the books or off the books, bad guys existed, and they needed cleaning up.

  So what if Arielle got plowed at their wedding and confessed her sins to everybody? The situation was miniscule against real world problems. Sure, it was bad. Fifteen people she'd slept with was the final count. Then she asked the crowd if sleeping with women counted because there wasn't any penetration. This all happened after Arielle had almost chugged an entire bottle of sparkling champagne by herself. The threat of monogamy was too much for her to handle.

  I'm a gypsy spirit, words from Arielle's speech. My parents had an open marriage. Why can't we, Conrad? It doesn't mean I don't love you. It means I love you even more. Every guy I slept with, it reminded me of how great you are. This is how I want to live my life. I want to have my cake and fuck it too.

  After that was said, Arielle slammed down a piece of their wedding cake between her legs. Then she vomited. Arielle's sister helped her into the bathroom, and that was the end of the wedding. They hadn't signed the official marriage certificate. The wedding was cancelled. After that, Conrad stayed in his apartment cooped up like a victim.

  The time for mourning a failed marriage was over.

  Duke said he should stop bleeding out his ass, and Conrad agreed.

  Conrad stormed about the apartment taking down photos of him and Arielle together. It was over now and forever.

  "Forget the tramp," he said. "The bitch is done."

  After filling up a box of relationship mementos, he threw the oversized scrapbook on top of the pile.

  "No more wallowing. It's time to move on and clean the slate."

  Conrad left the apartment and headed straight for the garbage bin. It was a stand-alone bin in the corner of the parking lot. Conrad held the box in his hands for a moment, and then he tossed the box in the trash.

  He was freed from Arielle's curse.

  Conrad marched back to his apartment with a better disposition. Life wasn't going to conquer him; he was going to conquer life.

  The man sitting at his kitchen table pointing a 9mm at Conrad's chest quickly soured his good mood.

  Chapter Four

  The man aiming the 9mm at Conrad was named Amati. Amati was dressed in black pants and a brown aviation jacket. His black hair was slicked back, and his finely trimmed beard made him look like a cross between a military man and a mob goon.

  Amati's eyes were sharp and critical sizing up Conrad. "So you're Conrad Garfield?"

  Conrad stood there in the living room unsure of what to say. "Um, yes."

  "Duke and Henry can come out of the worst of situations on the field with a few scratches and bruises, but you; you're nothing more than an out-of-shape English professor. You sure swam out of a different end of the gene pool, my friend. This is going to work out nicely."

  "What do you want from me?" Conrad asked. "How do you know my family?"

  "You really know very little about what your family does. I've been keeping close watch over them during the past few days. It's fortunate that things are coming together like they are. You're going to make me a rich man. We've got a serious situation on our hands, and only Henry and his team can help."

  "You mean in Africa?"

  Amati's piercing eyes bored into Conrad. "They're not going to Africa. Sorry, unpack your bags, buddy. This other mission is much more important. You're my little piece of insurance to make sure Henry's team gets out there, they do their job, and they do it fast. If they can't do it, nobody else will. Twelve of the best teams have already been slaughtered where you're going. Trust me, I've seen the pictures. Messy shit, my friend, but those guys were amateurs compared to your father."

  Conrad felt the room grow hotter. "This is too much. I need to sit down."

  Amati pointed his gun at the couch. "Have a seat then."

  The man was having a good time watching Conrad have a small breakdown. Amati kept shaking his head and whispering things under his breath. "This guy." "Unbelievable."

  There was a stretch of silence. Conrad wanted to feel the guy out. Was he in immediate danger? "Are you making my family kill terrorists?"

  Amati's left eyebrow shifted inquisitively. "You really don't know anything about what your family does, do you? Let me learn you a few things, pal. Your father's in charge of assembling and training tactical teams. I'm in charge of getting those tactical teams jobs. Your father's teams have gone to Afghanistan, Pakistan, Istanbul," he laughed, "and that one incident in South Dakota. If only people knew! I almost got them onto the team that took out Osama Bin Laden. Your father helps me put together capable teams to take out high level threats. You can only image what we've accomplished."

  Conrad rubbed his aching head. "Why go through the trouble of taking me as hostage, if my family
works for you and all, right?"

  Amati was bored with talking. "It's simple. The people I work for didn't want to give your father a chance to say no to the mission. They should've picked him first, but our teams don't work for cheap. You get what you pay for, in my opinion."

  "I can't believe this."

  "Get over it," Amati said. "I got you a change of clothes. They're sitting on your bed."

  "For what?"

  "Don't worry. Go into your room and get dressed. Then we're going for a ride."

  Conrad couldn't feel his body. He was so nervous. There were things happening he didn't understand. Whatever his family did in secret, he was being pulled right in.

  The clothing on top of the bed was black boots, black pants, black shirt, and a pocket vest.

  Conrad was hesitant to undress.

  Amati smiled. "I won't look. The last thing I want to see is your naked lily-white ass. Now get on with it. We've got a schedule to keep."

  Conrad put on the clothes.

  "What's in this vest?"

  "A few things you might need on the field."

  "But I'm not a solider? I'm an English Professor."

  "It doesn't matter what you are. If something happens, you should have a fighting chance."

  Conrad was about to dig through the pockets when Amati pressed the gun to his chest. Seething mad, he growled, "You don't open any of those pockets until I tell you so. You follow my every instruction, or I kill you, then I kill your family. Your brother and your father might be a tall order, but I know where your mother lives. I can make the call and have someone shoot her where she stands. You want that?"

  "No, of course not!"

  "Good. I'm going to lead you outside to a vehicle. I can't walk in broad daylight flashing my gun, now can I? I need to know you're not going to cause any problems. You go where I say you go. Say nothing to nobody. Got it?"

  Conrad agreed. He was sweating profusely. Nerves he didn't know existed were amped up. Arielle and being unemployed were meaningless problems up against the Amati situation.

  Amati led him out the front door. A neighbor across the hall opened her door. It was Gertrude Smith. She was a sweet old lady who kept asking about "that pretty girl" who used to come over all the time.

  Gertrude said hello.

  Conrad did his best to play it cool.

  "Gertrude, good afternoon."

  "It's a nice day," Gertrude said. "Say, I haven't seen that pretty girl around lately. Is she okay? You've looked kind of down lately. A handsome young man like you should be soaking up sunshine and living life. You only live once, Conrad. You haven't done anything to lose that girl, have you?"

  You old biddy, can you drop the subject? I already told you we divorced, even though it's none of your business.

  "We're not together anymore, but she's doing fine," Conrad said. "My friend and I are about to go out. I'm late, for um, a lunch reservation. I'll talk to you later."

  Conrad imagined Amati whipping out that gun and plugging three rounds center masse into Gertrude's chest, then one in the head, to make sure she didn't tell anyone about the hostage situation.

  "I have to go, Gertrude. We'll talk later, okay? I promise."

  Gertrude kept smiling. "I'll hold you to it."

  They broke away from Gertrude.

  Amati was telling Conrad to walk away from the apartment complex and towards the parking lot. There wasn't very many people around at this time of the day. A white van pulled up. The sliding door came open. Conrad couldn't process the moment. The two goons, dressed in black combat gear, wrestled Conrad into the van. They had him on the floor. They used plastic twine to secure his hands together behind his back. Amati sat in the passenger seat, while a woman drove fast from the parking lot.

  "Keep your head down," one of the goons said. "Act like you're dead until we tell you you're not dead anymore."

  Conrad did as he was told and played dead.

  Chapter Five

  The van traveled many miles to an unknown destination. Nobody in the van was talking. There was a tension Conrad couldn't put his finger on. The way Amati talked about Duke and Henry, Amati respected them, and he also feared them. Amati had worked with Henry in the past. Would this hostage situation be enough to win his family's compliance in whatever mission, or did Amati fear retaliation?

  A dreadful thought slipped into Conrad's head.

  What if he was killed in the process of this transaction?

  He knew so little about Duke and Henry's special assignments. So many things could happen, and Conrad wouldn't see it coming.

  The van stopped. Two persons helped Conrad to his feet. Amati was already out of the van waiting. They were parked outside a cheap hotel at the edge of town. It was the kind of hotel that offered hourly rates. Two strip clubs were located to the left of the Sun Motel called Bazookas and The Rumpus Room. Conrad didn't want to ask them what they were doing here of all places. They were at least fifty miles from his apartment.

  Amati unlocked the door to Room 4. Two men and one woman stared at Amati awaiting his orders. Amati pointed at the wooden chair in the corner of the room. "Sit him down there. Fryer, you get your camera ready. Keyes, tie him to the chair. We don't want the motherfucker falling out of his chair."

  "Wait, before you gag him," Amati said. "Have you eaten anything in the past few hours?"

  Conrad cleared his dry throat. "No, I haven't had anything to eat today."

  "When was your last bowel movement?"

  "What?"

  "When did you last take a shit?" Keyes reiterated. "Answer the man."

  "This morning."

  "Bavardi, get ready to take care of Conrad. Fryer, gag him, and make sure it's in right. I don't want this asshole choking to death. If he's dead, this mission is ruined. Consider yourselves terminated. Henry will scour the earth for our heads."

  Bavardi was the biggest of the group. Conrad imagined if Sylvester Stallone and Ed Gein had somehow morphed into one body builder sociopath, you would have Bavardi.

  Fryer was the tall and lanky one in the group. Keyes, the woman, grabbed Bavardi by his thick bicep. "Now don't go too crazy. You don't want to kill him. You know what happened last time we tied somebody up and worked them over. It took over an hour to clean up after you."

  Fryer stuffed folded up socks into Conrad's mouth and covered his lips with a swatch of duct tape. "Just pace yourself. I'm not cleaning up a bunch of blood this time. I shouldn't need more than one towel, you got me?"

  Bavardi huffed before slipping on a pair of black gloves. He flexed his fists and studied Conrad. "Stop worrying, Fryer. I know what I'm doing."

  "This is going to hurt, my friend," Bavardi said to Conrad with a sly grin. "I'm not going to lie. Whenever you have bad dreams, you'll see this room, you’ll see me, and you'll be feeling this all over again. I will be your recurring nightmare."

  Fryer was recording Conrad in the chair with a video camera in his hands. Amati was making calls on his cell phone. Keyes watched Bavardi as if she was ready to hold the man back at a moment's notice.

  Conrad's body swelled with terror. He knew what was coming, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

  He couldn't even call out for help.

  Chapter Six

  Bavardi went outside for air. The man was in a rage. Fryer and Amati had to restrain him moments ago. Bavardi wanted to keep pummeling Conrad with his fists. The man went all-out psychotic. Conrad thought the man was going to kill him. The fists just kept coming. Now that the situation had calmed, Fryer stopped recording and started taking pictures of Conrad's ugly face. Five punches Bavardi had inflicted up on him. They were mean, thundering blows. Conrad knew this because Bavardi counted out loud. Each count was a thrilling declaration.

  Fryer finished taking pictures of Conrad. Keyes knelt down next to Conrad. She looked at him with her pretty green eyes and sympathetic face. "Your nose is probably broken. Your left eye might swell shut. Your bottom lip is split and ble
eding. You probably feel like you got hit by a freight train. Just know it's over. Your part of it's done."

  Conrad would later learn that was a big lie.

  Keyes removed the gag. Conrad involuntarily spit blood down his chin. He'd ready many novels where people get interrogated by cheesy detectives, cleaned up by mobsters, or robbed at gunpoint. Words couldn't describe what it was like to have the blood beaten out of your face.

  Amati and Fryer were working together with a cell phone and a camera. Keyes had gone into the bathroom to gather up a few towels. She winced looking at Conrad's face as she dabbed the blood from his face.

  "If it's any consolation, you took it pretty damn well. You might look like a huge pansy, but your father would be proud."

  It slipped out of Conrad's mouth, "Fuck you."

  Amati laughed. "He's his father's son."

  "We just sent the pictures and video to Henry," Amati said. "Now we know everybody on Henry's team has met up at a Holiday Inn. They're lunching and talking about the upcoming trip to Africa. The timing's perfect. They're all together in one place when they'll see Conrad's busted face. Once they get this picture of Conrad's ugly mug, we could be in for some trouble. Henry could agree to our terms once he calls, or he could come after us and retaliate. Remember, we set the terms. We maintain control of the situation. We get Henry's team to the installation, and we're home free. Easy money."