Chapter Six

Trapped

I was almost like a small child waiting for Christmas while I wasted the day away, waiting to get back in that church. All thoughts of the job had left my mind completely; I was focused on that priest in that confessional. There was nothing, it seemed, that could deter me from my goal of sitting back in that booth and laying everything on the line. I realized now that my head was so wrapped up in the shit I’ve been doing since my childhood, it was killing me from the inside. I’ve never been able to say this so freely before, to anyone. Not even to Lyndi or Reggie.

I was sitting in the diner, on my fourth cup of black coffee. Caffeine will kill you, stupid. I just absentmindedly stared out of the window adjoining my booth. But for how long, I’m not entirely sure. The Kenyan waitress was back and was also very diligent in keeping my mug as filled as often as possible. I commend such dedication.

“Is there anything else that you want sir?” she asked, poking me in my shoulder to remind me that I was still a part of the living world.

“No…no thank you, I’m fine,” I responded, taking another swig and the tapping the brim on my coffee mug as a hint for her to refill it again.

I must have been there over four hours. There was a time (which black coffee must have replaced my blood) that I was so wired I had to pay my bill and leave or I would have flipped out on that nice girl. I had a bill of almost twenty dollars in coffee; I left the waitress a twenty dollar bill as thanks for the reoccurring service. Of course the impressive attention to my needs only occurred because I was the only person in the diner that entire time. I didn’t care though.

As I walked back to the Row Fish, scuffing my heels along as I did so I had a strange feeling prickling in the back of my neck. It went beyond strange, like a centipede just crawling in circles around one area. That feeling I get when one of two events happen. One, I am very focused on my task at hand, that everything else in the world doesn’t matter. Or two, someone is watching me very intently. I walked across the parking lot of the Row Fish, where the car of the owner was parked. But then I stopped. I turned and noticed that that car, an old beat-up Shivet, was gone. The owner, a pasty, shifty-eyed, balding man, probably a native of Woodlawn, had his home on the premises, and he always ordered out for food. Over the last few days, I saw Dominoes and Chinese food delivery cars go in and out of this place on a three-meal basis.

There was nothing. He might have gone out and gotten some real groceries for once, but I don’t know. People always confuse me. I sat on the cement curb in front of my room’s door and closed my eyes. I wasn’t tired (especially after chugging so much coffee) but I was soaking in the last feeble rays of the sun as it slid behind the houses. It was Monday evening. No AA meetings or missals planned for that night. However I noticed two cars in the parking lot of the St. Matthew’s. One was the car, a midsized, mildly used Chevrolet, of the droning priest that frequented the altar during mass. The other was that of the other priest that had been taking my confession the past two nights. I never saw his face, but that car, a three year old Caprice, was the only one left when I left that church at night.

And, as I watched, a third car pulled into that same parking lot. It was a black Maserati, the kind you see on Miami Vice. The driver pulled into a parking spot, turned off the engine and opened his door. I knew it was a man. How? Because no woman would have that kind of a build. Six feet tall, with broad (but not muscular) shoulders and frosted golden blonde hair. The moment I noticed these features I knew, as anyone would. This was my target, Mr. X.

I scurried from my position on the curb and bolted inside my room. From my overnight duffel bag I pulled my gun case. Punching in the combination, I clicked it open, removed my Berretta, its silencer and two clips. I loaded one, cocked it and placed it in the back of my waistband. I placed the other clip in my front pocket of my pants. It was sloppy, messy, and other synonyms for being rushed. However, I might not get another chance and it may take weeks until Mr. X came back. I had to take this chance. This shot if you will. Cutting across Loch Raven at 7 in the evening is not an easy feat. But I managed across the crazed road with little personal damage. The left double door that led to the foyer was slightly ajar, so I slowly pryed it the rest of the way open and slid inside.

The inside was relatively dark than it usually was. The door closed behind me and a loud clank echoed across the hall. I turned around. It was locked. Mr. X must have had a key. These doors can only be opened from the inside if a key isn’t used. I pulled out my gun and thumbed back the hammer.

Okay Mr. X, where are you hiding? I stared around from the protection of the foyer and saw him. My blonde target entered one of the confessional booths. I found this rather odd, but I’ll take any chance I could get. I crept over, careful not to cause too much creaking on the wooden floorboards. And I pulled open the adjoining booth. It was empty. I guess the priest was away for a bit. But he’ll be back, he was like that Kenyan waitress, diligent and precise.

I don’t think the nice priest will mind if I use this booth for a bit. It was a little too Sin City for my taste, but I’ll take it. I slid inside the booth and shut the door quietly. Certain he couldn’t hear me; I raised my gun and unlocked the safety.

“Hello Malek.”

I froze.

“Did you think I couldn’t hear you when you came in the front door? I left it open for you, I hope you don’t mind.” His voice was calm and composed, the clear sign of a man who knows what he’s doing.

“Mr. X, I presume?” I asked, not lowering my gun.

“You can call me that if you like,” he responded. “I think it’s a childish name. I would think you think the same about your name, Mr. Black, yes?”

This guy’s done his homework.

“You can lower the gun Malek, you wouldn’t be able to get me with a shot anyway.”

“Are you so sure about that? These walls are pretty thin, and I have much more than one well placed bullet.”

“I am saying Malek, that if you pull that trigger, you’ll just get hit by a ricochet.”

“Why would you say that?” Now I was intrigued.

“You would have if the lights were on when you came near the booth. But I suppose I have to help you there as well. Hold on.” There was a loud crack and a flash blinded my eyes for a split second. When I blinked the shower of spots from my sight, I could see that the booth was illuminated by a florescent light that you might see underground in a military bunker. It was protected by a wired cage, and no wiring for the light was visible. However, I understood what X meant when he said I would get hit by a ricochet. The entire wall was covered in a huge pane of glass. Having been trained by Blackwater, I knew that it was bulletproof glass.

“Now we’re going to have a little chat before we part ways Mr. Lucullus.”

“And why would I do a thing like that. I’ll just come around and blast you from the hall.”

“You could try but it would be highly unadvisable.” There was another loud crack and then a clunk that followed.

I now saw wiring. There was wiring on the door that I hadn’t noticed in the dim evening light of the church’s hall. There was a large steel box attached to a dead bolt. What was more unnerving than that, is that the large steel box had a digital counter and it was counting down time from one hour.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a race Malek. A very simple racing game, which also has very simple rules. All you have to do is follow my directions.”

“And if I don’t?” I replied, looking over the huge tabngle of wired that webbed across the door’s face.

“If you attempt to open the door before I have deactivated the timer, it will automatically cause a chain reaction that leads to several Whitemen trip mines that are placed behind your back, and under your feet. It gives me a three minute start to leave you here to die. Also, it you haven’t played along, that timer will run out and the same effect will take place. It’s your choice.”

I didn’t respond.i could feel my breath coming in sharper and shorter. My head was starting to spin. My eyes were beginning to blur. If I wasn’t careful I was going to hyperventilate and pass out. But, because of that beeping timer, there was no chance of me falling asleep in church tonight.

“Let’s begin.”