“Truck’s here,” someone shouted from out in the main room. Truthfully, I’d had about enough of trucks. I could hear the overhead door rattle as it raised up, and the sound of a diesel engine as the truck pulled inside. The door closed and the choking smell of diesel exhaust filled the area.
James coughed.
I tried stretching my arms to see if there was any play with the rope. There was no feeling at all in my hands. I stretched again and thought maybe there was a slight easing of the tightness. Not enough to make a difference.
“Skip.”
I jumped.
“Skip?” James’ eyes were almost closed, droopy at best.
“James. Man, I’m glad you’re back.”
“Man, what’s happening?” His head still hung low, his chin resting on his chest.
“You took a pretty good beating.”
“You think I don’t know?”
“James, I tried to get out. Took two of them out with my pitching arm and a couple of oil cans, but they stopped me.”
He was quiet for a moment, still drawing short, raspy breaths. “You’re gonna have to pay for that oil, pard.”
“Vic is here. Alive.”
“No shit. They’ve got him too?”
“No. He’s got us. He’s one of them, Vic and all of his ten fingers.” I filled him in on the rest of the story. Half way through my CliffsNotes version his eyes closed and I thought I’d lost him. “James?”
“Yeah. I’m listening. Trying to block out the pain.”
When I finished, he lifted his head, looking at me with one eye open. “They were going to kill us?”
“Oh, I think they intend to kill us even now. But they’re loading the truck at the moment, and we’re not high priority.”
We could hear the sound of the forklift sliding under the boxes, then loading them into the truck.
“So if everyone is busy with the truck, now would be a good time to escape.” James even managed a weak smile.
“I agree. Let’s get out while we can.”
No plans, no chance of any escape.
“I think they may have cracked some ribs. My right side aches and when I breath it feels like something’s sticking me.”
“Man, I wish there was something I could have done.”
“You tried, amigo.”
I hadn’t heard them approach, but someone was turning the door handle. They shoved open the door and stepped inside and I got a glimpse of a shoe before I raised my head to see the rest. Heavy wax coating on a black shoe. I looked up. Buzz cut and open-collar shirt. Krueger from the CIA.
“Jesus, am I glad to see you.”
He smiled. “Told you boys to mind your own business. Remember I said it might come to this?”
I smiled back. “I should have listened. Mr. Krueger, I can’t tell you how glad I am. I believe James and I are on a list to be shot in the not too distant future.”
He laughed out loud. “Yes, I believe you are.” Someone walked in behind him wearing a shoulder holster with a wooden handled revolver inside. “Mr. Moore, Mr. Lessor, let me introduce you to Mark Spense. Mark’s with the Agency as well.”
“Thank God. Listen. James is in pretty bad shape. They beat him up and he thinks he may have some internal injuries. Can we get these ropes off and get some medical attention?”
Krueger laughed again. A jovial guy. “Mr. Moore, I’m afraid you’re mistaken about my reason for being here. Actually, there are several reasons, but right now my primary business is to attend to your death. And you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”