The Recoil Of The Mind

Chapter 5: Salt And Smoke

"I wish to see him. Now."

Rickard stood in the doorway with Marlon and Bo standing behind him. The guard in charge of manning the hallway took one look at them and allowed them to enter the room.

It had been almost a day since the incident with the gun runners. Things had escalated in the bureau to the point that Director Walker had to personally address the people of the city. One could not expect a calm response from the journalists; the people of the city, or any city on the planet, had proven to be dumb, panicky and dangerous in the event of a crisis, even if the crisis was implied. Bradley and Margo were livid over Rickard's actions and had berated him, individually, over the phone for almost two hours, or that was what Rickard remembered. The old Director had personally assigned a team of hard hitting specialists to track down the militia that Rickard had reported. Bradley had told him that the leader, a man named Keith Richards, had personally deposed off a Colombian drug lord, and as such, was to be taken seriously. The press had a field day with the happenings, but not before the Director shut them down. Even then, things were at breaking point in the bureau.

And things felt the same in Rickard's mind. There were many questions floating around in the depths of his brain, and they had already stolen a decent amount of sleep off of Rickard's schedule. And Greco seemed like the perfect source for an answer, any answer, as long as it made sense.

Rickard walked into the room with Marlon trailing behind him. Bo stopped midway, closed the door and stood, leaning on it for support. Rickard looked to Marlon for directions, or even orders; he was unsure of what to say. Marlon leaned over to Rickard, perhaps sensing his uncomfort, and whispered to him. "Stand behind him and follow my lead." Rickard obliged and did as told. Marlon grabbed a metal chair which was at the corner of the room and sat in front of a bound and gagged Greco. Blood was trailing across the side of his face and his nose seemed to be broken. His clothes were disheveled and his arms were tied with zip ties to each other and to the back of the chair on which he sat. His head was bowed down and his mouth was sealed with duct tape.

The small room was an empty one, maybe one designed to be a warehouse target than an actual room, albeit a more functional one than all the other rooms in the building. DeShawn's own personal hell. It was lit up by two vertically oriented, top-down lights, which illuminated the many useful weapons on the side of the room. Not weapons made for killing, but weapons fit for making the victim wish they had been killed.

"Wake him up", Marlon told Rickard. Greco's eyes were closed, he appeared to be asleep. Rickard brought down both of his palms on Greco's shoulders, grabbed them with both his hands and shook Greco violently.

Greco jerked back to life. His eyes spun around the room, perhaps to take in the details and finally settled on Marlon, sitting in front of him. Marlon turned back and looked at Bo, and he understood. Bo took two steps and leaned over to Greco and pulled back the duct tape off of his mouth in one violent jerk. Greco screamed with pain.

"Ah, cocksucker. Finally glad to see you're awake."

Greco rested his head back on his chair and looked directly upwards, at Rickard. "I'm glad too", he said with almost a smile flashing at Rickard. Rickard was in no mood for games and pushed his head back to a position where he was facing Marlon.

"So, you thought you could fuck with us?", Marlon barked.

Greco appeared calmer than before. "This is not the first time I was tortured."

Marlon faked a smile. Bo did not as much as look at Greco, his eyes were transfixed on Marlon. "Where did you get your own personal army, hmm?" He turned to Rickard. "I thought you said he was broke!"