Bad Break: A Novel

Chapter Sixty-One

For the second time in three days, I found myself waking in a dark haze – dark because I felt like I'd been hit by a car and dark because there was once again no light around me.

The difference between this time and the last? I came to, to the sound of a yodeling husky dog...or maybe it was the sound of a grown man weeping. Either way, it was an awful racket.

"Shut the hell up!"

I didn't know who or what I meant that for, but it felt good to say it. And before long I got a sniffled response.

"Y-, yo-, you shut up," a warbling Devante snapped.

Damn! Just when you think it's safe again to judge a book by its cover.

"Big man, why are you crying," I asked. "You are eight-feet-tall and four hundred pounds! Nothing should scare you!"

"I'm six-five, three-fifty-five, and I'm big-boned, man, but I ain't bulletproof, and these fools are gonna kill us!" I guess I did ask.

But he needn't have answered. Muffled groans on either side of me said we weren't alone. And I assumed our company was Jefferson, Calvin Ward, and Prof. Pogano. I also guessed they were gagged, or else they'd probably be yammering away too.

Devante and I were able to speak freely because our captors either forgot to gag us, ran out of time, or our gags simply fell out or off.

He didn't know where we were, but as Devante told the story, we had been jumped when exiting the storage building with Pogano. He assumed our attackers were rivals of Jefferson's because after knocking us unconscious –and assuming they'd knocked the gentle giant unconscious as well– they had taken our wallets and lifted watches and jewelry.

Poor guy. He thought this was about money and "assets." I didn't have the heart to tell him they probably took our stuff so that we wouldn't be as easily identified when our bodies were eventually discovered.

"How did we get here," I asked, hoping to take Devante's mind off of our predicament...and, truthfully, trying to distract from my own fear, as my mental wheels turned slowly and wobbly. "I mean, like, how did theY transport us, wherever 'here' is?'"

"Pickup truck."

"Not trying to be funny, big man, but y'all had already put me through the physical ringer. So, I'm a little groggy. I don't remember anything, other than you effing morons caused a major car accident, just so your boss could ask me questions. So please don't leave out any details."

I must've hurt his feelings because the bear of a bodyguard sounded sullen when he continued.

"Look, we got outside, and they came out of the shadows. I think they were masked, but I know better than to see faces! They made everyone get on their knees and bow their heads. I swore we were dead right then, but they didn't shoot. They just went down the line and pistol-whipped us. I faked being out, but they bought it and tied us up. I heard their voices when they were picking us up 'cause one of them kept cussin' when they were lifting us into the back of the truck. Think they had a little trouble with me, bruh, haha!"

The memory of our captors' hernia-worthy struggle seemed to cheer up my lone conscious companion because he wasn't exasperated when I asked if he recognized their voices.

"Nah, man," he said, dismissively. "They were doing that Batman thing, like where Bruce Wayne talks normal, but when he put on that mask, he gets all raspy like he got a sore throat."

And then there was silence. There was little else for us to say to one another. The others –assuming we were correct about them being in the darkened room with us– were either dead or still out cold, apparently.

I tried pulling my hands free, but quickly realized I was straining against handcuffs, not rope or zip ties. Metal doesn't give, so I gave, rather than break bones trying to get free.