L.O.L.
— Whiskey
"Oh, Thomas. You're in a bad spot."
His name was not Thomas, and he was in trouble. I figured the best way to begin was by reminding him how he got into this predicament.
"You thought you were getting lucky last night, didn't cha? Yeah, about that. I tricked you into switching drinks, jackass. You drugged yourself."
That's a little something I learned back in Wanatah. Not at the Buckle. At The Other Place.
You put some lipstick on your finger and slide it along the top of the guy's glass when he's not looking, then tease him like he's drinking from yours. He'll see the lipstick and think he grabbed the wrong one. He'll switch 'em. If he didn't try to drug you, it's irrelevant. If he did, he's fucked.
Thomas did.
Thomas was fucked.
That's why he woke up in the middle of he had no idea where, gagged and tied to a metal barrel.
"Oh, Thomas. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. I like that name. It's a good, strong name. But here's the thing. It's not yours. I know this, because your driver's license says your name is Douglas Clark. And your business card says you're a concierge at a casino, which is... odd... since you told me you work for a financial firm in Chicago.
"Also, your truck had a gun in the glove box. That's right here," I said, as I walked over to a filthy milk crate, a few feet away, where I'd lined up his stuff. "Don't you worry. The gun's safe and sound, along with your phone, keys and wallet. I wouldn't want you to think any of it went missing. No, way. It's all right here."
I ran my fingers along the top of the gun for dramatic effect while the wind howled outside. When you're putting on a show, put on a show.
"You tried to drug me last night, Doug. Thought you'd slipped some roofies into my drink, eh? But now, you're waking up, tied up. I bet you want to talk about that. But you can't talk though, can ya?"
He tugged at the rope with enough force to make me wonder if it would hold, but it didn't budge.
"You're wasting your time, Doug, and you don't know it yet, but time is of the essence. You and me? We need to talk. But before I can take the gag out of your mouth, we're gonna come to an understanding."
I looked him in the eyes to make sure he knew I was serious.
"We're in an abandoned bricker outside of Lake Marlowe. Have you been there? Well, you're there now," I lied. There is no such place. We were in the abandoned warehouse where Steve got jumped. I couldn't think of anywhere else to take him, and it seemed convenient enough.
"This place has been abandoned for, God, I don't know... As long as I can remember. If you scream, nobody'll hear you. But if you scream, you'll piss me off, which brings me to the next thing. If you piss me off, you get shot."
I ran my fingers along the tip of his nose to emphasize the fact that I was wearing gloves. I wanted him to wonder why. It's all part of the show.
"Did you know, forty five percent of all gunshot victims are shot by their own gun? Don't become a statistic, Doug. 'Course, sixty three percent of all statistics are fake, but the gun's real, so..."
Doug was frozen in place, except for his eyes which darted around the room, but it was too dark to see anything beyond the sunlight shining through a sliver of a painted but busted window.
"Hey! Eyes over here, mister!" I didn't know if the gun was loaded, but he did. I was hoping he wouldn't call my bluff. I found a few bullet casings, just in case. They were in the corner, on the floor. Could he tell they were spent? Or that they weren't even from his gun? Hopefully not. Guns aren't my thing. I hate 'em.
"This part's important, Doug, so I need to have your full attention. Look at me. Do you see these?"
I held up a handful of what looked like large white pills.
"The street name for these is G.N.P. Shake your head if you're familiar. No? OK. Hang on. I'll show you."
And then, to add some flair.
"I'm gonna use your driver's license to chop one of these babies in half, so I can show you what's in it."
The wind outside made all of this feel so sinister, even to me. I was having almost too much fun, toying with him.
"Oh, yeah, there we go," I said, pretending to brush bits of stuff off my gloves. "Ignore the white coating on the pills, Doug. It's plastic. I mean, you shouldn't be eating plastic, but that won't matter because of the brown, almost black, gunk inside. See that?
"That's poison, Doug. I'm wearing gloves 'cause ain't no way I'm touchin' that shit. I made these just for you."
His eyes were wide as a pair of Linda's plates.
"So, listen. While you were passed out, I stuffed eight of these down your throat. That was around four in the morning. It's noon now, so... we're eight hours in, more or less. Clock's tickin', but we've got time before you start getting sick. We got a few hours, at least. And by tomorrow night you'll be dead. You can probably already feel your heart rate going up, but don't worry. You're fine. For now."
Obviously, his heart was racing. Wouldn't yours be? I wanted him to feel it.
"The best part is... The part I like the most, anyway... I found the bottle of roofies you tried to drug me with. It was in your truck, in the glove box with your gun. That'll probably make the coroner think you OD'd. Well done, Doug!"
He was frozen in silence as he watched me.
"We're a long ways from Gary. I'm guessing it'll be a few months before anybody finds you all the way out here, and when they do, your prints will be the only ones on the bottle, because... TaDA! Aren't gloves great? Gloves mean no DNA. I wiped down your truck too, with that rag, before I stuffed it in your mouth. Pills went in first though.
"So, Doug, that's your situation and how it's gonna play out. Or..."
And then, a pause, just to make sure he knew I was in no rush.
"Or... you can give me a reason to get you to a doctor. As long as you get your stomach pumped by the end of the day, you'll be fine. You'll feel like hell, but you'll make it. There's a town around twenty minutes away, but if it turns out you need to go to a hospital, that's at least an hour's drive. So like I said, clock's tickin', Doug. Let's not fuck around."
He hadn't even twitched since I mentioned DNA, which was great because I thought that part might be a little over the top.
"You following along? Nod if you understand."
He nodded, because of course he did.
"OK then. We've talked about your options. Now, you choose. Are you gonna scream and get shot? Shake your head yes or no. No? Good. Are you gonna piss me off and get left here to die? Also no. You're doing good so far. Final question. Are you gonna make it worth my while to haul your sorry ass to a doctor?"
He nodded again, sheepishly.
"Huh. I thought you'd be a bit more enthusiastic about living to see another day."
This time, he nodded vigorously.
"Alright, alright. I'm gonna take the gag out of your mouth now, so we can talk."
He cringed at the sound of a plink, plink, plink, as one of the pills fell to the floor. I hid one in my hand to make it look like it fell out of his mouth when I pulled out the gag. He shook as he realized what it was.
"Well how about that, Doug? I thought you swallowed all eight. Guess not. If you got any more of 'em in your mouth, you might as well spit 'em out. Do you?"
He shook his head, no.
"You sure? Swirl your tongue around to check, just in case."
"I...I...I... I don't.." He could barely speak.
"Good to know."
"Wwwhhh...who are you?"
"I'm a Russian agent, sent to Gary Indiana to recruit phony financial analysts for a top secret project."
"Www...what?"
"I'm a fucking chick you picked up at a bar last night, asshole. God damn. We met at The Bitter End and you tried to date rape me, remember? I swear to God if you make me fire this thing, the first bullet is going straight to your crotch."
I picked up the gun before laying it down on a few bullets.
"It www...w..."
"It what, Doug. Spit it out."
"It... wasn't... loaded."
"And now it is. How about that."
Good. He bought it, hook, line and sinker.
I knew Doug would be passed out for hours after he accidentally drugged himself last night, so I had time to drag him to the warehouse where Steve got jumped, go through his stuff, and get supplies. Just the essentials: rope, gloves, a rag to gag him with, and a box of Good & Plenty licorice candies that I easily convinced him were homemade poison.
God, men are gullible.
G.N.P.
L.O.L.