Try Harder

8:45pm

The elevator made a tiny ding as it reached the main floor. The doors opened, and Buff walked out into the empty lobby.

It was eerily quiet. A warm, gentle breeze wafted in through the hole in the front door. The mess of broken glass had been neatly swept up. There was no sign of Big Frank anywhere.

Buff called out his name a few times, but there was no answer.

He checked his watch and cursed under his breath. This was the last thing he needed right now. He was running out of time and patience. He had to find Big Frank and get those explosives planted right away.

He unclipped the radio from his belt and thumbed the transmit button.

"Hey, Big Frank," he said. "Where are you?"

There was a long pause before the reply, but the voice that answered didn't belong to Big Frank. It was Harry's.

"Hey there buddy!" the old lawyer said, with the inflection of a taunt. "How are things going? Having trouble keeping track of your team?"

Buff's heart sank. He'd rather have invasive rectal surgery than deal with this asshole.

"Well, Bryan, maybe I can help," the lawyer continued. "Which one is Big Frank? Is he the big guy in the trench coat? The one who's built like a Clydesdale? I wouldn't expect him to answer. It's tough to talk with your head caved in."

"No, no, no," shouted Buff. "Don't do that. There's no need for that. Please. We'll get the network back up and running. We're working on it right now."

"Too late, pal. You had your chance."

"You don't understand," Buff pleaded. "The servers were wiped out with an electromagnet. It's going to take a while to get them back online. I need more time, Mr. Bockner. Please."

"Tough luck. Time's up, dickhead."

Buff clenched his fists. The muscles beneath his left eye began to twitch. Something inside him snapped. He'd had just about all he was willing to take from this old man, and he wasn't going to be ordered around anymore.

"You know what, you son of a bitch?" he said, growling. "I don't care. I tried being nice. I tried reasoning with you. You want to play hardball? Fine. Do your worst. You're no threat. You're a sad, weak, pathetic old man who couldn't beat up a fourth grader. You probably can't even get a hard-on without a blue pill. You're locked in here with guys who are bigger, stronger, and better armed than you. My boys are going to find you, and then they will kill you, Mr. Bockner. I never wanted to hurt anyone, but you've forced my hand. If you want to stay alive, I suggest you find a good hiding spot, stay there and leave us the hell alone. This will all be over soon."

Harry's responded with a hearty, carefree laugh.

"Last time I checked, I was still here and you were down at least two men," he said. "Have it your way, pal. Come and get me. You're right. This will be over soon, for all of you. You fucked with the wrong lawyer. And Bryan, I want you to know that I'm going to kill you last."

"Big words from a small man. You really think you stand a chance against us, asshole?"

"We'll see. By the way, you might want to send somebody over to the stairs and mop what's left of your friend Frank off the floor. Happy Canada Day."

The radio clicked off.

Buff was furious. He screamed with so much fury that his throat hurt. He ran over to one of the planters and kicked it in frustration. Unsatisfied, he grabbed one of the ferns by the stem, ripped it out of the dirt and smashed the roots against the floor. He utterly destroyed the leafy plant. It accomplished very little, but it made him feel better.