New World Disorder

Chapter Six

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

"Oh crap!" Carl expostulated, after he pulled the slug out of Oran's back. "Have you contacted your mother? She's got to be going crazy."

"Oh crap!" Oran echoed. "I haven't. They took my phone and I've been worried about letting Jock know where I am."

"Why?"

Hesitating a moment earned the teen an impatient look and a "hurry up" gesture from his grandfather. Relenting, Oran related his reasoning and the deductions that lead him to suspect Jock was behind the two recent incidents that had put his life in danger. Carl listened and seemed to be giving the argument real consideration.

"Damn ... I think you know I was never too fond of that man, but I ... I don't want to believe his would do this."

"But ..."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you." Jock quickly cut off Oran's argument. "But even you admit the evidence is circumstantial. Still it means we have to be more cautious around him. If he is behind this, he's likely to try again. If he's not, someone else is, at least behind the kidnapping. The lab accident could have been just that – an accident."

The old man (Younger than I was two weeks ago, Pope thought. Damn kid is corrupting my perspective already.) shook his head and continued. "I'll call your mom. Let her know you're ok. Get her calmed down and let her know you're staying here until Sunday. Probably best to keep you away from him until we know more."

"What about the police?" Oran asked. "I was snatched from the street. If no one else did, my friends must have called 911."

"Let me make a couple of calls. I know a guy that probably knows who we need to talk to. If you have to make a statement, I'll go with you. I have more experience with the police than your mother. But first, your mom."

Oran sat next to Carl as he called Mariela. "Oran's alright. He got away from the bad guys with only a little damage ... Nothing serious. I already have him patched up ... No, I don't think he needs to go to the hospital. You know I know how to handle this sort of thing ... I think it's best if he says here for a couple of nights. I'm better qualified to talk him though this ... Why don't you come over tomorrow? I think he just wants to crash tonight ... alright, Mari, we'll see you then. Love you. The kid does too."

"Thanks," Oran said when Carl disconnected. "I'm not sure what I would do if I saw him tonight."

"Still keyed up from the fight?"

"Maybe." It had been decades since Pope had seen any action. He had forgotten the strength of the rollercoaster of emotions that usually followed combat.

Carl slapped him on his back and said, "Let's finish getting you cleaned up. If those wounds aren't closing in an hour or two I will have to pit in some stitches. I'll call my police contact while you're in the shower."

An hour later Oran's grandfather told him he had an appointment with the FBI at 10 am tomorrow. "They found your wallet in a burned down chemical warehouse in New Jersey. This is officially an interstate crime now, thus the federales. But they have almost nothing. It sounds like someone cleaned up after the bad guys by destroying the building before it could be investigated. Almost all the evidence was gone."

He also assured him the wounds were closing and would likely be gone by morning, if not sooner. "You're healing faster than I do now, but back in the day ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know ... Uphill, both ways." Oran cracked.

"Hey. You're not gonna learn much from my decades of experience if you mock everything I say."