Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
C haz glanced up at the dark-haired man sporting a manicured goatee who stood dressed in a cream linen suit. Chaz sniffed and scrambled to sit beside Ezra. He was hurt and bleeding. The bespoke guy was the least of his concerns.
“Fine, whatever. But can you give me a napkin or paper towel so Ezra stops bleeding all over the ground? Or would you like to draw in the coyotes and other predators? Just because we’re in Ontario doesn’t mean we’re safe from beasts.” Chaz scooted closer and froze as more men appeared, their guns drawn. “I’m helping him, for Gods’ sake. Do I look like I have a gun?”
“You are an agent of SPAM. Who knows what abilities you have. I'm not willing to find out,” the man snapped. Chaz wracked his brain, trying to place him or what agency he worked for. His focus was shot. Everything was devoted to helping Ezra.
“Whatever. If you’ve been watching us this whole time, you’d know what I’m carrying.” Chaz dismissed the man’s claim. “Seriously, do you have a serviette? Can I get my backpack? Ezra’s just lying here because of you.”
“I concede the point. He does deserve some first aid.” The man jerked his head toward one of his people. “Bring Mr. Smith to the car. Have someone take care of his nose. Our fun is over for the moment.”
A man wearing black cargo pants lifted Ezra by one arm and shoved him. He never allowed Ezra to gain his balance, only pressed him forward until Ezra fell again. Chaz’s heart clenched at the cry of pain. Ezra needed him, and he was going to go to him. Fuck the consequences. The sudden appearance of a gun in the one man’s hand stopped Chaz. Sometimes prudence overrode the urge to play hero. He couldn’t save Ezra if he too was hurt, or worse, dead.
“Good boy. I knew you’d listen to reason. Stand up and walk slowly toward me with your hands out. If I see you make any sort of move, I will have Lance hurt your friend.”
Chaz nodded. Anything to keep Ezra safe. The poor guy didn’t need Chaz to go all half-cocked and get him killed.
“Who are you, exactly?” Chaz tried to place a name to this man and his mental registry of SPAM’s archrivals, but nothing came to mind.
“For the sake of brevity, you can call me Mr. Jones. Come now, we have lots to discuss. And I'd prefer not to talk here.” Mr. Jones waited for Chaz to move in front of him before leading him toward a large black SUV. Another SUV was parked behind them. Two unhappy men sat in the front seat. Chaz snarled. He had a feeling of who they were. “Ah, ah, not right now, Mr. Adams. You can extract your revenge once you’ve listened to what I have to say.”
“Those fuckers…”
“Language. I cannot bear to listen to such uncouth vocabulary from an estimable rival. You have a reputation as a worthy adversary.” Mr. Jones pushed Chaz into the rear of the first SUV before locking a black zip tie around his hands. Ezra was beside him, holding a large ice pack to his face. Lance drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his face blank as he waited.
“We’re in this mess because of Ricky and George. If they hadn’t called Ezra’s phone, we wouldn’t have discovered this plot from hell,” Chaz snapped. He examined Ezra as best he could. A bruise had formed around Ezra’s eyes, and he still seemed dazed.
“It’s so hard to find good help these days. They must have transposed a digit or something. Head to the complex, Lance. Go in the back way. We don’t want our guests to see our main attraction.”
“What is going on?” Chaz asked between gritted teeth. He managed to keep the cursing out, realizing Mr. Jones would punish him in some fashion if he swore.
“I’d like to keep you in suspense a smidge longer, if you don’t mind. The anticipation thrills me.” Mr. Jones shivered happily. “When we get to our destination, I’ll have a professional examine Mr. Smith and give you some nibbles. I imagine your fish and trail mix didn’t satisfy your hunger. We don’t want any tummy grumbles interrupting the great reveal.”
“How are you a real person?” Chaz attempted to lift his hands in frustration. He hissed as they didn’t budge, jerking his shoulders down.
“I’m not sure what you mean. Anyway, enough talking. You’re giving me a headache. Lance?” A privacy screen went up, leaving Chaz and Ezra alone in the back.
Mr. Jones would be listening from the front seat, so Chaz tried to keep their talks to something bland and inane. “Ez? How you doing? Are you alright?”
“Nose hurts. Head hurts. And I’m so confused. What just happened?” Ezra asked. His voice was nasally, and he had a greenish cast to his face. Chaz worried about the interior of the SUV, but stopped. It wasn’t his car. Mr. Jones could deal with detailing it once they were released.
“We were kidnapped again but by the boss this time. He has a plan of sorts, but he hasn’t said anything of import.” Chaz leaned against the plush leather seats and groaned at how they cushioned him. He didn’t want to compliment the guy on his luxury vehicle, but this was heaven.
“Oh. So, what do we do now?” The million-dollar question.
“Wait? I guess? We’re in no condition for a takedown. We have no information, no energy, and no backup.” Chaz’s nose itched, and he contorted to give himself a modicum of relief. The position cracked his back, and he felt loose and ready to fight.
“Gathering information, then?” Ezra’s wavering voice crawled along Chaz’s nerves. He wished he could help Ezra with his pain or do something else to offer him comfort.
“Potentially. Keep our listening ears open and see what falls in our lap.” Chaz dreaded having to remain silent and be patient. It wasn’t his schtick. He liked action and doing shit to get things done. Though, he had more to consider before jumping in feetfirst. He had to take precautions to ensure Ezra’s safety. God, he needed a moment to think.
The SUV stopped, and the dark tint on the windows didn’t give Chaz much of a clue as to where they were. Their doors opened. Lance helped Ezra, and a beefy guy yanked Chaz out. They were led around the side of a massive house to a small building. Inside were cells, and each had a bench and a toilet. Chaz was thrown in one, and Ezra remained outside the cells with his guard, Lance.
Mr. Jones came in smiling and clapping his hands. He was an odd one. “Great. We’re here. Mr. Smith, Dr. Black will look at your nose to make sure nothing truly broke. You can still breathe right? See? Just bruised then. Chaz, dear Chaz. May I call you that?”
Chaz grunted. Jones would use whatever name pleased him the most. He had the upper hand now.
“Hmm, I realize you seem to be in a cage. But only for a minute. While Ezra is being doctored, you and I will have a discussion about your future, and then we'll get you cleaned up.”
“I’m fine as I am.” Chaz refused to give an inch to this man. He needed more information from Mr. Jones other than a false name, a hint of his plan, and some first aid to Ezra. Everything else was a mystery. “We can chat in this dog kennel.”
“I refuse to do business with anyone wearing what you are and smelling as you do.” Mr. Jones sniffed. The face he made had Chaz smelling his pits and shrugging. The aroma was natural from hiking, campfire smoke, and exercises. “If you don’t comply, I will have someone come and hose you down. You won’t like it.”
“Do it. I dare you. You’re just a wannabe Dr. Evil in a better suit. I’m not sure what game you’re playing, but I’m not gonna participate.” Chaz braced himself for the backlash. He knew what a firehose would do to him as this wasn’t his first rodeo with rich bad guys. Though it was his first time in an evil complex.
Mr. Jones arched an eyebrow.
Chaz smiled. Calling bluffs was what he did best. Mr. Jones wouldn’t hurt him. He was too much of a gentleman. And Chaz had no more fucks to give. So, what could go wrong?
Mr. Jones whistled, and two burly men came over carrying ordinary garden hoses. The blankness of their faces and the way they each held their weapons caused some concern. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
“Mr. Adams, as much as I enjoy chatting and this was absolutely titillating, I have guests to prepare for.” He smiled briefly, but his eyes remained cold and steady. Mr. Jones whistled once more at his men, and they turned their hoses on and aimed the nozzles at Chaz. “You’re a terrible poker player. Don’t you know the house always wins?”
Chaz screeched as the cold spray hit his body. The icy sharpness of the water slammed into his stomach, forcing Chaz to his knees, while the second blast burned his eyes with its chill. He swore vehemently as he tried to breathe under the assault.
“Ready to give up yet?” The first man sneered.
Chaz sucked in air and smiled. “Come on. Give it to me. I can handle it.”
Chaz stood his ground against the might of two garden hoses. Bruises would likely form in the morning from the watery assault. One asshole had taken a shot at his ribs with the initial blast. He prayed Ezra was being his natural self while receiving first aid. Ezra had the weird talent of wheedling information from others.
“I think he’s done. Pass him a towel and get some new clothes for him.”
The second man turned off the water and tossed a towel at Chaz. “Dry off completely. You don’t want to be wet for the next step.”
“Why? Will I disintegrate?” Chaz dabbed his face, grateful for the reprieve. He hadn’t known how much longer his bravado would hold out.
“Trust me, mate. You just don’t.” The first guy threw a pair of white underwear and a T-shirt at Chaz. “Put them on. Don’t worry about your willy. He’ll come back. Or maybe he won’t.”
“God, you’re juvenile.” Chaz itched to look down, but refrained. The assholes waited for him to peek, but he never did what anyone expected. He dressed in borrowed clothes and glared menacingly. “Where’s Ezra?”
“Oh? The tall guy? He’s fine. He has his own thing to do. Worry about yourself.” They pushed him to the back of the big house, where the view went on forever over Georgian Bay. The steel-blue water soothed some of Chaz’s nerves as it always did. He could do this. He could get Ezra out of this mess without asking for help or hurting anyone unduly.
“I’d like to see him.”
“Boss said to keep you separated. He also said you could have some food. So here. This is where your meal awaits.” The goon shoved him into a small shed overlooking the water. Inside were two tables laden with finger food and fresh fruits. A small notecard had been placed in the centre of the spread.
Mr. Adams,
Thank you for agreeing to play our game today. It takes a strong man to do what you did. Today’s adventure will require that same resilience and more physical labour. So, eat hearty, and welcome to the Cryptid show!
Once you are finished with your meal, you will dress in the suit I have provided. Now no peeking! I don’t want you to see your present before you’re done! Please note, if you do peek, Mr. Smith’s life will be forfeit.
Happy eating!
Mr. Jones
Chaz picked up a slice of melon as he read the note. He glanced at the door and shrugged. Not yet. Free food was free food. He wasn’t going to waste his chance to satisfy his hunger by being stupid. He sat on a chair and nibbled his way through an entire fruit plate, as well as the mini croissants. The coffee was French roast and made to his taste. How did Mr. Jones know his preferences so well?
Chaz’s mind cleared as his hunger faded. He considered what Mr. Jones had planned for him and what he could do to save himself and Ezra. He could walk out. The bay was a part of him. He could swim along the shore and find a safe place to exit and get the cops. But Ezra would bear the brunt of his punishment, and he’d be abandoning Ezra. So… that wasn’t gonna happen.
He could follow through with Mr. Jones’s request and see what the fuss was, and then escape. Or he could say no. Just flat out refuse to play Mr. Jones’s game. That was a terrible choice and very likely would get him killed.
Option two it was. Play the game to see where it leads. Hopefully back to Ezra. Being away from him was tearing Chaz apart. The only reason he’d been behaving was because Ezra’s life was in his hands and he’d rather Mr. Jones punish him instead. He could take it. Ezra was… still green in the ways of bad guys and good guys.
Chaz drew in a calming breath and one last sip of the sumptuous coffee before going to the closet where his suit was. He was a hero, paltry at best, but he still had the little card in his wallet declaring him one. His senses tingled as he approached the double doors. How much would he bet that inside this space was a brown Bigfoot costume?