The clean room was a small, windowless room with a gray painted concrete floor. There were sheets of clear plastic spanning the entire floor and walls—held together by duct tape. Aside from a small metal stool in the center of the room, there were no other pieces of furniture or equipment anywhere, save for a box of black garbage bags and a half used roll of duct tape in the corner.
The man with the blond beard sat comfortably on the stool. Two of Chambers' men stood on either side, flanking him. All three men were engaged in conversation, but they stopped talking once Chase and Chambers entered. His hands were still not tied.
"Why is he not tied up?" Chase asked, for the second time.
Chambers said, "Okay, look. I appreciate your work with the car, but I don't want to see this. I need some deniability here. Quite honestly I think you're a little out of control, and I don't really want to know what happens next. You can keep my guys here—if you need them—but I'm leaving." He looked at the man on the stool and added, "Do what you want with him. Tie him up, don't tie him up, I don't care. But if you kill him it'll cost you 10 for the disposal."
"That's a little high," Chase said. "I'll just do it myself."
"No no no. My place, my way. I'm the one they're going to come after if you leave evidence anywhere. Even with the plastic there are logistics to worry about. Besides, I have no idea who this guy works for."
"Fine."
Chambers nodded, "Alright then. This character's taken up too much of my time already." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a six-shooter, "Here, take this."
As Chase went to reach for it, one of Chambers' men quickly interrupted, "Here, boss," he hastily handed Chase a ratty 9 millimeter. "It's unregistered."
"Even better," Chambers said, putting away his gun. He looked at Chase, "That okay?"
Chase took hold of the 9 millimeter. It looked as old as the dark ages. He hoped that its worn appearance also meant it had been used often, perhaps indicating its reliability.
"Yeah," Chase said.
"Great," Chambers said, "Let me know when you're done. I'll be upstairs."
Without waiting for a response, he pushed through the door and disappeared.
Chase looked at both of Chambers' men and said, "Hold him down."
They looked at each other questioningly for a moment, and then grabbed the prisoner's arms.
Chase made sure the safety was on, and stuck the gun down the back of his pants. Walking to the corner of the room, he picked up the roll of duct tape and measured out an arm-length strip. He tore the piece off and taped the man's right leg to the vertical bar of the stool, repeating the process until his leg was secure. He did the same for his left leg, and motioned to Chambers' men.
"Hold his hands behind his back," Chase said.
They looked at each other hesitantly.
"What are you doing?" the prisoner asked Chase.
"Shut up," Chase snapped. He looked at Chambers' men, and said, "Is there a problem?"
One of them shifted uncomfortably and said, "Chambers never said anything about this."
Chase took the gun out and used it to gesture all around the room, "Look where we are. Why do you think we're here?"
"Uh—"
