"SHIT!!" Peter slammed his cell phone down onto the restaurant table, instantly cracking the casing. His blood boiled, fury coursing through his beet-red face as he tried to process this irritating turn of events. For the second time Mr. Taggart, a wealthy prospect, had agreed to a business meeting and subsequently flaked. He hadn't bothered to say anything until he was an hour and a half late. His excuse was a "prior engagement". What kind of engagement could be more important than brokering a two million dollar deal with a potential of at least a twenty percent gain? What sort of man would turn something like that down? Twice, no less! The thought only increased Peter's aggravation. He's had so much riding on this deal and it was coming down to the wire. He needed this deal. He needed Taggart.
The restaurant was light on business today, which was convenient for two reasons: First, only a few people had the opportunity to witness Peter's tantrum; by now, their attention was already back to their own meals and lives. Secondly, if not for the extra light chatter and plate scraping, Peter would not have been able to hear the now feeble attempt his phone made at a generic chime. The vibration was now non-existent. "...hello?" His greeting was hesitant. The screen still mostly worked and he recognized the number. The name read INDIGO. His palms began to sweat. In a matter of moments, his anger was quickly replaced with a feeling he was all too familiar with.
"I know you know why I'm calling, Peter." The voice on the other end was cold and slightly distorted, but as it was before, oddly familiar. A chill shot immediately down Peter's back. "Yeah. Yeah, I know," he began to tremble, sweat beading on his forehead, "Look, I'll get it done on time, I swear."
"Your three days are almost up, Mr. Stevenson. You had so much confidence when we made this deal. I'm beginning to think you might not be able to hold up your end of the bargain. Perhaps I should add a little interest to motivate you, hm?" A bolt of fear shot down his spine. He wanted to say something. Something simple, a reassuring statement; anything!
"I'll...I'll get it done," he leaked through dry, pale lips, "just don't change the deal, it wouldn't be fair and you know it." The line was silent. He wondered if it disconnected, but quickly shook the idea as he'd heard neither a click nor a tone. He glanced at the damaged device to be sure. It still showed as connected.
"Peter, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were telling me how to run my business. Much is at stake for you already, so it would be in poor taste to do so, don't you think?"
"I know you know why I'm calling, Peter." The voice on the other end was cold and slightly distorted, but as it was before, oddly familiar. A chill shot immediately down Peter's back. "Yeah. Yeah, I know," he began to tremble, sweat beading on his forehead, "Look, I'll get it done on time, I swear."
"Your three days are almost up, Mr. Stevenson. You had so much confidence when we made this deal. I'm beginning to think you might not be able to hold up your end of the bargain. Perhaps I should add a little interest to motivate you, hm?" A bolt of fear shot down his spine. He wanted to say something. Something simple, a reassuring statement; anything!
"I'll...I'll get it done," he leaked through dry, pale lips, "just don't change the deal, it wouldn't be fair and you know it." The line was silent. He wondered if it disconnected, but quickly shook the idea as he'd heard neither a click nor a tone. He glanced at the damaged device to be sure. It still showed as connected.
"Peter, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were telling me how to run my business. Much is at stake for you already, so it would be in poor taste to do so, don't you think?"
He's playing with me, Peter thought. He knows time's running out, so he's playing with me! He could feel the anger seeping back in, swinging his mood in yet another 180. He grit his teeth. He knew another outburst could be detrimental; fatal. "Yes, you're right. That wasn't my inten--" His groveling was quickly cut off. "I expect you here tomorrow at noon, sharp. 1326 Tyler Avenue."
"I--" Click. This time he was sure. He stuffed the phone into his breast pocket. How dare he toy with someone like this!
"I--" Click. This time he was sure. He stuffed the phone into his breast pocket. How dare he toy with someone like this!
Almost immediately, he was greeted with another barely audible ring. He froze for a moment. Was he calling back? Peter wondered if he wanted to fuck with him just a little more. This all seemed to be a game to him after all. Looking at the spider webbed screen, he recognized the number, but this time it was different. It was Taggart! "Talk to me." His confidence came flooding back. Taggart replied almost immediately. He sounded apprehensive. Almost...scared. "Peter. I apologize for having to cut out on you again, I really do. Things have been rather...difficult in the past week or so." In the time he'd known him, Peter had already come to hate the sound of Jules Taggart's voice. A high, whiney drone that grated at his ears with every syllable. He'd known him from the office for the better part of a year. He was a balding, portly man and a regular client for the firm. He seemed to always have an odd odor about him. Aside from his propensity to smell, why Indigo wanted him dead was beyond Peter, but it didn't matter. He'd made the deal and was committed to it. "Are you still at the restaurant?" Taggart continued. Peter's free hand had made its way to the front pocket of his blue sport coat. He fingered the surface of a heavy metal object. "Yeah, I was just about to leave, actually. Should I wait up?" He slid his hand back out and checked his watch. It read four thirty-seven. "No, no, it's okay, I still can't make it there, but I'll be on that side of town in the morning. I promise this time you won't miss me."
Peter bit his tongue. You'd better not skip out again, you fat fuck! he wanted to scream, but the better part of him knew you don't lure flies with vinegar. You kill them with it. "See you then. I'll call you in the morning."
"Agreed." Peter disconnected.
Peter bit his tongue. You'd better not skip out again, you fat fuck! he wanted to scream, but the better part of him knew you don't lure flies with vinegar. You kill them with it. "See you then. I'll call you in the morning."
"Agreed." Peter disconnected.
This time he sat his phone gently on the table and spun it with his index finger. Why had Taggart sounded so scared. Did he know and was trying to avoid meeting with him? Or had he just lost his nerve? No, there was no way. Nobody knew about this but himself and Indigo. And Allison! She was the only other person who even knew about Indigo. But why would she say anything to Taggart? Did she even know him? It's possible as he came around every couple of weeks. The thought puzzled him enough to not notice the woman walking up to his table.
"Hey, you!" He jumped a little and looked up. A grinning brunette stared back at him as she pulled up a seat. Allison was the receptionist at the office. She was a rotund, albeit gorgeous woman. Her wavy brown hair brushed just above her shoulders -- it had recently been styled. Occasionally she would wear too much makeup to hide the bags under her eyes from her "parties". Her skirts were normally short and tops displaying cleavage to help hide this. It worked as most of the office was male. Today her skirt was exceptionally short. She had a thin white crust just on the edge of her nostril again. Peter made a subtle gesture to inform her as he nervously greeted her. He wondered what she was doing there. She rubbed her nose. "Fancy meeting you here. You waiting for someone or something?" Maybe she does have something to do with this. The question caught him off guard. "Why do you ask?" He came off a bit more defensive than he wanted to.
"I was just curious. This is a nice restaurant so I just figured you wouldn't be eating alone. Is there something wrong?" Peter didn't want to give too much away if she didn't know, but he still wanted to be sure.
"No, I'm fine. I'm fine. It's just been a long day." Allison signaled a waiter.
"Okay then, so what are we eating today?" Her brown, glassy-eyed stare hung on Peter as did her grin. He had always found her beautiful despite her self-destructive habits.
"Hey, you!" He jumped a little and looked up. A grinning brunette stared back at him as she pulled up a seat. Allison was the receptionist at the office. She was a rotund, albeit gorgeous woman. Her wavy brown hair brushed just above her shoulders -- it had recently been styled. Occasionally she would wear too much makeup to hide the bags under her eyes from her "parties". Her skirts were normally short and tops displaying cleavage to help hide this. It worked as most of the office was male. Today her skirt was exceptionally short. She had a thin white crust just on the edge of her nostril again. Peter made a subtle gesture to inform her as he nervously greeted her. He wondered what she was doing there. She rubbed her nose. "Fancy meeting you here. You waiting for someone or something?" Maybe she does have something to do with this. The question caught him off guard. "Why do you ask?" He came off a bit more defensive than he wanted to.
"I was just curious. This is a nice restaurant so I just figured you wouldn't be eating alone. Is there something wrong?" Peter didn't want to give too much away if she didn't know, but he still wanted to be sure.
"No, I'm fine. I'm fine. It's just been a long day." Allison signaled a waiter.
"Okay then, so what are we eating today?" Her brown, glassy-eyed stare hung on Peter as did her grin. He had always found her beautiful despite her self-destructive habits.
Peter was tense throughout the meal. He had little to no interest in chit-chatting, but he knew he needed to find out what she knew; time was too short. As the evening wound down, Allison took her last bite of ravioli, Peter placed his fork and knife. He had hardly eaten his salmon. He didn't want it anyway. He didn't need food, he needed information. He needed to get this job done. "Let's get out of here, huh?" She looked at him, an eyebrow cocked, "What did you have in mind? I mean, my place isn't far from here, if that's okay." Peter glanced at his watch again. It was now six-thirty. Time had flown. "That's fine. I have plans tomorrow morning so I can't be too late anyway." He signaled the waiter for the check. Allison began going through her purse for her pocket book, "Let me know how much my part was."
"Don't worry, I got it," he slapped a few bills onto the table.
"What about the tip?" Peter waved her inquiry away. The waiter was taking too long and he knew the money he left was enough to cover it all. "Don't worry about it. Let's get going." Allison shrugged and put her money away.
"Don't worry, I got it," he slapped a few bills onto the table.
"What about the tip?" Peter waved her inquiry away. The waiter was taking too long and he knew the money he left was enough to cover it all. "Don't worry about it. Let's get going." Allison shrugged and put her money away.
The ride to Allison's apartment was tense -- quiet. Allison fidgeted in her seat for the majority of the ride. Peter didn't think much of it. He only thought of what Taggart was thinking and what Allison may know about it. He was becoming more paranoid as the minutes passed. He worried what would happen if he couldn't make his end of the bargain. Indigo had never fully explained that part. Peter could kick himself for not thinking further into this. He was blinded by need. No, greed. His greed had gotten the best of him. He had spent little time asking questions and only worried about digging himself out of the hole that a handful of deals and bad decisions had left him in.
They came to a large blue building, too nice for the side of town it was located on. The hedges outside had been recently trimmed. Perhaps two weeks or so. The lighting posts leap frogged up the sidewalk, alternating between a box style and a box style topped with an eagle made of bronze. It was gorgeous to behold. But Peter knew better. This was just the outside. "We're here." He put the car in park and began to unbuckle. "Seriously, what's going on?" Allison sounded concerned. She knew something was up, but to Peter, it felt more like she was the one grilling him for information. "Like I told you before, nothing. You still have that bottle of scotch, right?" She nodded. "Then let's go." They began up the sidewalk, keeping sure to stay near each other. A few distant pops could be heard. Gunshots, most likely. Allison's pace increased from a stroll to a brisk walk. Peter kept up with her for appearances. He wasn't the least bit worried. He didn't have time to be worried.
When they reached the front doors, Allison put in her code. She had to try more than once as her hand was shaking from a combination of drugs and fear. BEEP! - CLICK! They entered the beautiful building. As the doors opened, Peter was hit with a familiar dank odor. The inside of the building was nothing like the outside. The halls were dusty and barren, apart from various doors and hallways. The carpet was a drab, worn red. It didn't seem to have been vacuumed any time recently. A light scent of mold wafted up. Allison led the way down one of the halls towards an elevator. She hated taking the stairs and avoided it when possible. As they waited for the elevator to arrive, Henry glanced at his watch again. Seven fifteen. Allison noticed and cocked her head to the side. "Why do you keep checking your watch, huh? Something important coming up?"
"Well, I did say I'm not planning on staying out too late. I have an appointment I have to make. A big deal for the office." Allison looked disinterested. She didn't care for that place at all, but she put up with it. The pay allowed her to do what she wanted while keeping a roof over her head. At the least, it sure beat the alternatives. The elevator dinged, moments later the doors slid open. They rode two floors up. Peter stared at the lighted numbers the whole time, lost in thought. He was distracted moments before they arrived at Allison's floor when he glanced out the corner of his eye, catching what seemed like her lightly rubbing her nipple over her blouse. He knew what she was expecting.
The lift dinged again, they exited promptly. They came to her room just around the corner, number 356. The hallway was dimly lit where there were actual light bulbs in the sockets. Every time Peter had come here before, he wondered how she could stay somewhere so polarized -- so dangerous. Luckily the bulb near her apartment worked, so she had little trouble getting the key into the knob and they were in quickly. Allison's two bedroom apartment was an oasis in a shit storm. While the halls and the general inside of the building were in disarray, she did well to make the best of it. Her furniture was a tasteful shade of green. It contrasted nicely with the wood flooring. She had previously convinced the landlord to allow her to paint the walls to accommodate the furniture. They were a similar, but lighter shade of green. The curtains matched the furniture. She didn't have a lot in her apartment, but it worked. Peter took a seat in a chair near the window as she wandered to the kitchen to get the scotch, tossing her purse near him along the way. He enjoyed watching her walk away, but only for a moment. He was there for something more important.
It took a few minutes to get the glasses and bottle ready. Peter utilized this time to rifle through her bag, partly hoping to find anything that indicated she had spoken with Taggart. She hadn't locked her cell phone, so he checked it. There were no text messages that he could immediately find a problem with. Mostly friends and a few contacts. One he remembered as being her main dealer. He didn't live far from the restaurant Peter was at earlier. He jumped when she shouted from the kitchen, "You want ice??"
"Sure, scotch on the rocks it is!" This would buy him a few more precious seconds. A quick check of her phone calls revealed not much different. A few friends, a few contacts. One call was listed as "T". Could this be what he was looking for? His pulse pounded, he felt sweat starting to bead again. He made a mental note of the number before stuffing the phone back into her purse as soon as he heard the freezer shut. He knew she'd be in there any second now. At the last moment, he swiftly wiped his brow with his sleeve just as she came back into the living room bearing gifts.
"Is it too hot in here?" She'd noticed his face had become a bit flushed almost immediately. "Oh, no, no, I'm just still a bit winded from all the walking. How do you survive here anyway?" He'd asked her that before. She smirked. "Street smarts. You know that." He leaned forward and took a glass and the bottle from her, she held hers out as he filled them both. "Should we toast to something?" she asked pensively. He replied, albeit, cryptically, "To a job well done.". She held a confused look on her face as they touched glasses. He chuckled slightly, she took her seat nearby on the couch. "You should sit over here so I don't feel so lonely." Peter obliged her and changed his seat to the cushion next to hers. She didn't own a television, so entertainment was strictly through her computer or the stereo. She picked up a remote on the coffee table and turned on some music. The radio had little to offer but present hit pop singles. Peter couldn't care any less about that. While he was nursing his drink, Allison had taken out a little baggie. He knew what she was planning. "You don't mind, do you?" He hated the stuff. "Go ahead." She immediately got to work.
tap-tap-tap-tap-tap SNORT!! She had a line chopped and done in a manner that made Peter wonder just how often she actually did this. He sipped his scotch, it was strong, at least 100 proof. She wiped her nose. "So, what do you want to do?" Her pupils were dilated. He downed his scotch.
They left a trail of clothes to the bedroom. Allison's style radiated seamlessly from room to room. The comforter and curtains were the same color as the furniture in the living room. She left her skirt on, as hadn't worn panties that day, so the last article to be removed was her bra, which Peter deftly handled. They kissed one another as if there would be no tomorrow, he cupped a heaving breast. He felt the alcohol beginning to kick in rapidly, his head began to swim. She had already pushed him down and had taken him into her mouth. The moaning was drowned out by a bubblegum pop ballad sung by a famous over the hill female perpetrating a youthful existence. The ballad sounded tired. Before the song had finished, Allison had climbed on top of Peter and begun to ride him. Every gyration made the bed creak a little. For two more songs, she rode him, occasionally pausing to present him with a breast or a kiss. His mind was still somewhat muddled as he internally screamed, FUCK! FUCK! YES, FUCK!! with eyes closed. This was the relief he needed! He could feel his tension melting away, almost forgetting himself in her. Until he remembered Taggart.
Peter's eyes shot open, Allison's were still shut tight with ecstasy. She had just climaxed again. It all flooded back to him, he needed to find out what she knew. He threw her off of him causing her wetness to spray slightly. Startled, she shouted, "Ow, what the fuck!? What are you -- oohh..." He had grabbed her blouse and was twisting it up. "I didn't know you were so kinky," she turned over onto all fours, wiping sweat from her face, her ass moist from the ride. Her expectations were met when he entered her from behind. She was no stranger to bondage and welcomed the twisted blouse around her neck. Peter pulled tight, almost too tight, and proceeded to give her what she wanted. After a minute he yanked on the blouse, bringing her with it. She was now sitting upright on her knees, he hadn't skipped a beat. "What do you know about my dealings with Taggart?" he whispered in her ear. She immediately felt uncomfortable, but it was too late to recognize she had made a mistake. He had tightened the blouse a little more. "W--who??" She could barely choke out a response. "Last chance, Allison, what do you know about Taggart? I saw your phone! Who is "T"??" He had begun to thrust harder, more wildly. He was enjoying this more than he'd expected. She began to claw at the blouse and at her neck, he face became reddened as she found it harder to breathe. "WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT, ALLISON!!" he screamed in her ear and then shoved her down on all fours so she couldn't fight as hard. He had slipped out for a moment but hastily reinserted. He didn't notice his aim was a little off. Her scream was mostly muffled by the comforter and partially by asphyxiation. She was beginning to slip out of consciousness. All she could feel was a sharp, burning pain and the tears streaming down her face. The drugs did little to dampen the agony.
Whether it was the alcohol or the fear of what tomorrow would bring, Peter became severely impatient. He thrusted harder and pulled the blouse tighter. By this point, she had stopped moving; she had given up the fight. He kept screaming, repeating himself like a berserked skipping record until he finally climaxed inside of her. At that moment he gripped the blouse as tight as he possibly could, jerking her limp body back. He heard the tell-tale "crik" of her neck. Peter let the blouse go, watching Allison's lifeless body fall back to the bed. A light flow of blood trickled from her nose and lips. He found he had enjoyed this more than he thought he would have. He contemplated doing it again later. This was the right side of town for it anyway.
He cleaned himself up in the bathroom with one of her towels. His heart was still pounding as much as his head was still swimming. He knew someone would find her if he left everything the way it was. He almost felt bad for her, but he was more worried about getting his own problems taken care of. He glanced at his wrist, but remember he had taken his watch off. It was on the coffee table with the glasses and the bottle of scotch. As he checked the time (eight thirty-six), he had an idea. After getting re-dressed, he grabbed the bottle and began flinging the spirit around the living room. He made a trail to the bedroom and finished off the bottle on the comforter. He twisted up the towel he used to clean himself up and dabbed it into a small puddle of scotch then used one of Allison's lighters to ignite it. He didn't have time to stay and make sure it lit the scotch properly, but was relieved when he could see smoke and a small fire one of the windows of her apartment as he drove away. It was a sloppy cover up, but it would suffice. He was in the clear and he'd be gone after his task was complete. He'd almost driven straight home to think about what he was going to do in the morning when Taggart called, but decided to make a stop on the way. He needed to figure out who this "T" was from Allison's phone. It had to be Taggart. There was no other way to explain it!
Peter checked his mirrors to make sure nobody was behind him before he pulled into the parking lot of an old gas station. He was headed north and traffic was usually light around this time on this side of town. He pulled around to the side of the station, hoping to avoid any possible cameras that may be in the area. There was a payphone on the side, which gave him an idea as he got out of the car. I thought these things were extinct, he thought to himself as he shuffled up the sidewalk. The phone was covered with faded stickers and graffiti. He didn't get a chance to worry if he had stopped at the wrong place when he realized the receiver was no longer connected to the box. The hard plastic clacked across the concrete, dragging a frayed cord and a handful of swear words with it. He sat on the hood of his car for a moment trying to figure out what to do next. On one hand, he could try to use his own cell phone to call the number, but that was too risky. On the other hand, he could step inside and ask to borrow the store's phone, but if they have cameras it could be just as bad as using his own phone. Ultimately, he decided to enter the store. As long as he didn't give a reason, nobody would be suspicious...right?
DING! The door chimed as he walked in. The store was musty and old. The products on the racks seemed to be layered with dust. This place was filthy. And old woman sat behind the register and stared at a magazine. "Evenin', hun," she hadn't even looked up. "Evening. May I borrow your phone? The one outside is --"
"Yeah, I know. Damn kids, these punks! Don't got no respect anymore! But I won't talk your ear off about it, sweetie, here ya go." She pulled a cordless phone from under the counter and set it near the edge. Peter grabbed it, nodding in appreciation. She still hadn't looked up from the magazine. "Not a problem."
Peter pressed the Talk button and checked for a tone. On confirmation, he immediately began hammering in the number. Three digits in, he stopped abruptly. What the hell was the rest of the number? So much had gone on that he was having trouble remembering. "I hate when that happens, too, sweetie. But then again, I got an excuse. I'm old." She chuckled lightly to herself. Peter smirked. A minute or two later, he was able to remember the digits and put them into the phone. It rang for a few seconds.
The voice on the other end was sultry and seductive, nothing he was expecting. "Hello? Who is this?" Peter pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. Oh no..., a knot was curling up in his stomach. "I...I'm looking for a Mr. Taggart. I tried his cellphone, but didn't get an answer. Is this his home line?" The woman on the other end sounded a little annoyed. "No, I'm sorry, you have the wrong number. This is Theresa." Peter's face went white. "My...my apologies." Click. It was all for nothing. He had killed Allison for nothing. This hadn't involved her and she died because of it! He felt sick enough to begin dry heaving. "Are you okay, sweetie?!" The cashier finally put the magazine down and looked up. She seemed concerned. "You want me to call someone for you?" "No! I'm fine, I'm -- hurk --" He ran out of the store and back to his car. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!" He screamed while beating on the steering wheel. He had to get home and get this figured out. He'd not cared about killing her until this very moment. The regret flooded into him as if an emotional levee had finally given way. He'd thought he'd steeled himself, but in reality he had done nothing more than put up a mask. And now it was crumbling. At least the engine started back up smoothly.
Peter sped the rest of the way home like a rabbit running from a wolf. He was scared. What if someone had seen and recognized him on the way in? What if the old bat at the store decided to call someone? All he had to do was last until he could see Indigo in the morning and it wouldn't be a problem anymore. He would be far away with a lot more money than he had before. He only had to last. Before pulling into his home, Peter circled the block just to make sure nobody was in the area. His paranoia was getting the better of him. He was so close to finally making his payoff and didn't want any more to go wrong.
Peter didn't sleep much that night. Worry and anxiety kept him rolling in his bed, searching for a level of comfort he couldn't achieve. Occasionally, he would splash his face with cool water in the bathroom sink to wash away the sweat. He was weary and still hadn't eaten since at the restaurant. He checked the alarm clock in the bedroom. It read three fifty. He couldn't lay in that bed anymore. He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done to Allison. Part of him was remorseful for destroying a subjectively innocent life, but a larger part of him had genuinely enjoyed it. Both parts equally made him sick. He was a monster, but he was a monster that was about to roam free. He spent the rest of the wee hours with a deck of cards and a scowl. He'd played at least six games before he checked the time again. Six twelve. Morning light was finally peering in through the windows. He decided to grab himself a shower. He needed to be fresh for when Taggart finally called, or at least as fresh as he could be. He took a few caffeine pills from the medicine cabinet to help him stay alert. His clothes from the night prior were lying in a heap by his bed. He began to go through the pockets and make sure he left nothing behind. He started with his pants, taking out his wallet and a few receipts. Moving to his jacket, he felt a familiar heft. Reaching into the front pocket, he pulled out a small .22-calibre pistol. He had originally planned to complete his deal with Taggart at the restaurant and then lure him to a hotel or any isolated area and finish him off. He hadn't had much time to plan it, but he had envisioned it. It went smoothly. Taggart would lie dead, bleeding out on the ground. He would die without making a sound. His cell phone was in the breast pocket. As he got dressed in a new suit, this one a tan affair similar to the previous nights' outfit, he felt his stomach growling. He was starving, but didn't have much of an appetite.
He skipped shaving this morning to save time, it was eleven passed seven. As he finished combing his hair, his phone began to ring. He knew who it was. "Talk to me." He'd sounded as confident as ever. "Time's running out." Click. He wasn't expecting Indigo. He wasn't expecting to be taunted. Time was running out. He began to worry if Taggart would call. Fifteen minutes later, his phone rang again. This time he brushed his arrogance aside and checked the name. It was Taggart. "Taggart! Tell me nothing's come up this time." Taggart sounded different this time, "No, I'm ready to meet you. Sigh, this has to be done, right? Where are you right now?"
"At home, are you on the north side like you said you'd be? I could head that way right now."
"Yes, actually," Taggart replied, "I'm just around the corner from the new Mancino building. Do you think you could meet me here? It's not hard to find, it's the red brick building next to the construction site. They won't be back for about a month, so we should be able to finish up the deal here without a hitch."
Peter grinned, "That'll be fine. That's not far from here at all, actually. I'll be there in about 20 minutes."
"Park around back. I'll be waiting, Peter." Taggart disconnected. Peter immediately checked himself in the mirror. He was looking great even with the stubble. Checking the .22, he confirmed the magazine was still full and cocked the weapon. He smirked to himself in the mirror as he stuffed it back into his front pocket. He didn't bother to lock the door on the way out. After today, he planned to never come back to this place. He planned to live somewhere in Mexico or perhaps Peru. Maybe even Switzerland. He hadn't really decided yet. He would have all the time in the world to think about it.
It took a little longer than expected, he didn't arrive until a little after eight o'clock. As he pulled around the corner from the construction site, he saw the red brick building Taggart had spoken of. It seemed old, but not rundown. It looked to have been a toy store at one point. He paid no mind to this, though. As he pulled around back, he spotted a beautiful baby blue luxury sedan he recognized as Taggart's. As always, it was spotless with a fresh coat of wax. Despite the dusty, dirty parking lot around back, it still shone in the morning sun like a jewel. I'll be sporting one of those in about two days, Peter thought to himself with a chuckle. Before exiting the vehicle he checked the firearm one more time. The last thing he wanted was a misfire or a jam. As he strolled across the lot and into the building he thought he could see Taggart in the window of the second floor looking down on him. Was he smoking a cigarette. He'd never seen Taggart smoke, despite his obnoxious odor.
The knob to the back door was rusty and had difficulty turning. The door hinges were just as rusted, requiring a slight bump to open. It creaked steadily. The inside of the building was mostly empty, save for a few boxes and a random assortment of dusty cobwebs. The front windows still had evidence of paint on them. "Tomlin's Toys", he could barely make out the wording. "Hellooo! Taggart, are you in here? This is kinduva weird place to conduct a deal, don't you think? Wouldn't you rather go back to the restaurant??" His words seemed to echo through the back, to the lobby and then up the stairs. He followed the same path. His hand rested on the piece in his pocket. At this point, he didn't care about the deal for his firm, he just wanted to do the bald fuck in and collect from Indigo and then dissapear like a thief in the night. He heard a slight shuffling coming from somewhere upstairs. "Taggart!" More echoing. Peter checked his watch again. Eight twelve. "Taggart! This isn't funny! If you're not serious, just tell me now!" As he crept up the stairs as best he could (they did creak some), he heard the sounds of shuffling coming from a storeroom to his left. He drew his gun. Something wasn't right.
Creeping down the hallway, Peter listened carefully for anymore tell-tale signs of activity. The floorboards were caked with dust, but they were sturdier than the stairs by far. More shuffling came from the storeroom. As he crept to the door, the shuffling became louder. In a quick move, he pulled the .22 and aimed for anything moving as he busted into the room. "There you...are?" The only things occupying the room were several boxes, a window with a cardboard cutout of a clown holding a small flower and the faint smell of cigarettes. Someone had definitely been smoking in here. Looking around, he noticed a closet in the back of the room. Perhaps a broom closet or something similar. Regardless, this seemed to be the place where the sound was coming from. He slowly walked up to the door, pistol still raised. "Taggart, if you're hiding in there, it won't do you any good. This little game of hide and seek is over." Just as he opened the door, he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head and everything went black. He fell flat on his face as a rat scurried from the closet. "Yeah...it is, Peter." Taggart mumbled to himself. He dropped the brick he had been holding.
The first two sensations Peter experienced when he came to where pain and confusion. The blow to the back of his head had left him groggy and bleeding. He felt a light trickle down the back of his neck. Reaching back, he felt the knot and the gash. It stung horribly causing him to wince. As he pulled his hand back, he noticed something was wrong. klink-klinkle-klink His hands had been chained to something behind him, perhaps a radiator or a pipe, he wasn't sure. He found it hard to move. "You know, I thought about shooting you, too." Peter recognized Taggart's voice. He smelled cigarettes again. "I thought about stabbing, I thought about poisoning, I thought about a lot of things. It took a while, a good, long while, to get you, but here we are." Peter's vision was still a little off, but he was able to focus in the dim light. He saw Taggart sitting across the dank room just as he was flicking the butt of his cigarette away. He was sitting down with his back against the wall, elbows propped on his knees. "Where are we?" Peter was able to force out. He still didn't have it in him to move much. "Under the toy store. The basement storage, if you will."
"Why?"
Taggart slowly stood up. His balding head dripped with sweat. Peter surmised Taggart must have just finished shackling him. "Because it's quiet, of course. I couldn't leave you upstairs and expect this to all work out."
"No, why is this happening? Why are we here? What did I do to--" Taggart cut him off.
"Are you really going to try to play the victim role here? Let's be honest, you were trying to kill me. You know it. I know it."
"So she did tell you, didn't she?"
Taggart's face contorted into a mix of confusion and fatigue, "Who?"
"Allison."
"Oh, you mean that big girl that flirts around your office? I never really cared for her, I know what she's about. You seemed to be pretty sweet on her, though." Peter looked away. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, there's nothing wrong with it, per se. Sheesh, people are so stifled by the Hollywood image."
"Yeah, she was great." Peter's tone was somber, muted.
"'Was'? What's that supposed to mean?" Taggart stared at Peter inquisitively for a moment. "Oh, you didn't...did you?!" Peter remained silent. "Geezus, what is your problem! What did she ever do to you, huh? No matter, this little game of cat and mouse ends now." Taggart began to walk towards Peter. klik! klak! In the dusty storeroom, the hard soles of his shoes echoed loudly off the concrete floor. Peter shut his eyes and tensed up, bracing himself for whatever killing blow Taggart had planned for him. He didn't want to know, he just wanted it over. "Oh, no, no, no. It's not going to be over that easily. No, sir. After what you did to me a year ago, I don't think so." Peter glanced up. He didn't remember much of the prior year. It had all been a blur of drinking and gambling; the very reason he had gone to Indigo for help just a few days prior. "What? I don't even remember..." Taggart smirked as he walked past Peter towards the corner of the room. He turned his head to see another light bulb and some pipes. Large pipes. Almost immediately, he recognized a water main.
"I'm not surprised. You didn't seem to care about much of anything last year. As a matter of fact, the day I found out you had lost all of my business's money you reeked of bourbon and scotch." Scotch.
"Is that it? You want to kill me over some money?"
"Again with the victim role. Isn't that why you were going to kill me? I know you were planning to collect a huge sum through Indigo." Peter's eyes shot open. "How do you -- How!?" Taggart laughed. Peter's head still throbbed in a haze making Taggart sound almost demonic.
"Because I set the whole thing up. Hell, I've been working with him for the past six months just to make sure everything went without a hitch. He's the one who paid off the construction company to not show up for about a month. I just had to do some jobs for him here and there. Nothing too major, though, considering he's my older brother."
The familiar sting of fear shot up Peter's spine. He was set up from the beginning and didn't even know it. Allison apparently hadn't known, either. "What about Allison? Didn't she know something was up?"
"You know, I really didn't interact with her besides a few times at the office. That was mostly Frank, er, "Indigo". As a matter of fact, that part couldn't have played out any better. It was a friend of hers, a Theresa, I believe, that introduced them. She was in a bit of a rut, so they got together and made a deal, much like how she introduced you and him not too long ago. It was purely coincidental, but nonetheless beneficial."
It was too much for Peter, he still didn't understand how it had all ended up like this.
"I'd say the best part had to have been this week, though. Knowing about your phony deal, I did my best to fluster you. Frank had instructed you to kill me, as I'd asked him to, so I made it a difficult task. Did you really think I was going to just meet you up out of the blue for such a huge deal? What kind of idiot falls for something like that? Especially since it's only been a year since the last time you fucked me over. I'm not much of an actor, but I think I did a pretty good job keeping you wondering and worried, huh?"
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck you. Fuck you for ruining my business and fuck you for ruining my life, Peter. I was homeless for awhile, you know. I had a fucking wife before all this. She left me shortly after the company went belly up. Last I heard from her, she was spiraling into an unfathomable depression. She drowned herself in the river, you know. That was when I decided how this was going to end. I don't want you to feel my pain. I want you to feel hers." Just then, Peter heard the sound of creaking metal. Plip-plip-plip, the sound of water dripping quickly turned into a stream. With a grunt, Taggart began to un-bolt the water main. This was when Peter noticed the drain in the middle of the room. It had been cemented over. There were no other drains or holes in the room. The cold liquid splashed hard on the ground covering Taggart's feet, sogging his fine leather loafers. "A small price to pay, eh?"
"It doesn't even matter anymore. I was gonna die anyway, wasn't I? I mean, I only have until noon to get back to Indigo...Frank." Taggart laughed to himself. It began as a chuckle, but quickly escalated to a full on guffaw. "You don't want to know what would have happened to you. Let's just say the smell of hydrochloric acid really sticks to your clothes when you've been around it for a while." Peter remembered the faint stench that followed Taggart. It was people. Decomposed people. He began to dry heave again, almost wishing he had actually eaten something just so there would be a result this time. "You think that's bad, just imagine being around it for days at a time. You get used to it, though."
The cold stream of city water was quickly filling the storeroom. At this point, it was up to Taggart's ankles, Peter's thighs. "By the time anyone notices, this place will be flooded out. You can try screaming, but..." he looked around as if assessing the room Peter was shackled in. In reality, it was purely for dramatic effect. "So, you're just going to leave me here?" Peter wimpishly inquired. Taggart had waded to the stairs and was already halfway up the flight. He stopped and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. Sticking one in his mouth, he crumpled the pack and tossed it onto the rising water. It floated past Peter like a dinghy in a rough stretch of ocean. Taggart then brought a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the stick. "I think this will be my last one. A reward, if you will. You know, I had quit these things years ago, maybe 5 or 6. Decided to pick some up because, well, it's felt like forever. Lily never liked me smoking, but I'm sure she'd probably take one now, too. You can have the rest, though." He tossed the lighter into the water. It splashed next to Peter.
Taggart continued up the stairs without another word. The door shut with a heavy CLANG! leaving Peter with only a soggy pack of smokes and his thoughts. The water in the room rapidly rose from Peter's thigh to his stomach, then to his chest. He wanted to sob, but couldn't find the strength. As the water rose to his chin, Peter couldn't help but grin. In a small way, Taggart had done him a favor. He was planning on going swimming when all was said and done anyway.
He cleaned himself up in the bathroom with one of her towels. His heart was still pounding as much as his head was still swimming. He knew someone would find her if he left everything the way it was. He almost felt bad for her, but he was more worried about getting his own problems taken care of. He glanced at his wrist, but remember he had taken his watch off. It was on the coffee table with the glasses and the bottle of scotch. As he checked the time (eight thirty-six), he had an idea. After getting re-dressed, he grabbed the bottle and began flinging the spirit around the living room. He made a trail to the bedroom and finished off the bottle on the comforter. He twisted up the towel he used to clean himself up and dabbed it into a small puddle of scotch then used one of Allison's lighters to ignite it. He didn't have time to stay and make sure it lit the scotch properly, but was relieved when he could see smoke and a small fire one of the windows of her apartment as he drove away. It was a sloppy cover up, but it would suffice. He was in the clear and he'd be gone after his task was complete. He'd almost driven straight home to think about what he was going to do in the morning when Taggart called, but decided to make a stop on the way. He needed to figure out who this "T" was from Allison's phone. It had to be Taggart. There was no other way to explain it!
Peter checked his mirrors to make sure nobody was behind him before he pulled into the parking lot of an old gas station. He was headed north and traffic was usually light around this time on this side of town. He pulled around to the side of the station, hoping to avoid any possible cameras that may be in the area. There was a payphone on the side, which gave him an idea as he got out of the car. I thought these things were extinct, he thought to himself as he shuffled up the sidewalk. The phone was covered with faded stickers and graffiti. He didn't get a chance to worry if he had stopped at the wrong place when he realized the receiver was no longer connected to the box. The hard plastic clacked across the concrete, dragging a frayed cord and a handful of swear words with it. He sat on the hood of his car for a moment trying to figure out what to do next. On one hand, he could try to use his own cell phone to call the number, but that was too risky. On the other hand, he could step inside and ask to borrow the store's phone, but if they have cameras it could be just as bad as using his own phone. Ultimately, he decided to enter the store. As long as he didn't give a reason, nobody would be suspicious...right?
DING! The door chimed as he walked in. The store was musty and old. The products on the racks seemed to be layered with dust. This place was filthy. And old woman sat behind the register and stared at a magazine. "Evenin', hun," she hadn't even looked up. "Evening. May I borrow your phone? The one outside is --"
"Yeah, I know. Damn kids, these punks! Don't got no respect anymore! But I won't talk your ear off about it, sweetie, here ya go." She pulled a cordless phone from under the counter and set it near the edge. Peter grabbed it, nodding in appreciation. She still hadn't looked up from the magazine. "Not a problem."
Peter pressed the Talk button and checked for a tone. On confirmation, he immediately began hammering in the number. Three digits in, he stopped abruptly. What the hell was the rest of the number? So much had gone on that he was having trouble remembering. "I hate when that happens, too, sweetie. But then again, I got an excuse. I'm old." She chuckled lightly to herself. Peter smirked. A minute or two later, he was able to remember the digits and put them into the phone. It rang for a few seconds.
The voice on the other end was sultry and seductive, nothing he was expecting. "Hello? Who is this?" Peter pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. Oh no..., a knot was curling up in his stomach. "I...I'm looking for a Mr. Taggart. I tried his cellphone, but didn't get an answer. Is this his home line?" The woman on the other end sounded a little annoyed. "No, I'm sorry, you have the wrong number. This is Theresa." Peter's face went white. "My...my apologies." Click. It was all for nothing. He had killed Allison for nothing. This hadn't involved her and she died because of it! He felt sick enough to begin dry heaving. "Are you okay, sweetie?!" The cashier finally put the magazine down and looked up. She seemed concerned. "You want me to call someone for you?" "No! I'm fine, I'm -- hurk --" He ran out of the store and back to his car. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!" He screamed while beating on the steering wheel. He had to get home and get this figured out. He'd not cared about killing her until this very moment. The regret flooded into him as if an emotional levee had finally given way. He'd thought he'd steeled himself, but in reality he had done nothing more than put up a mask. And now it was crumbling. At least the engine started back up smoothly.
Peter sped the rest of the way home like a rabbit running from a wolf. He was scared. What if someone had seen and recognized him on the way in? What if the old bat at the store decided to call someone? All he had to do was last until he could see Indigo in the morning and it wouldn't be a problem anymore. He would be far away with a lot more money than he had before. He only had to last. Before pulling into his home, Peter circled the block just to make sure nobody was in the area. His paranoia was getting the better of him. He was so close to finally making his payoff and didn't want any more to go wrong.
Peter didn't sleep much that night. Worry and anxiety kept him rolling in his bed, searching for a level of comfort he couldn't achieve. Occasionally, he would splash his face with cool water in the bathroom sink to wash away the sweat. He was weary and still hadn't eaten since at the restaurant. He checked the alarm clock in the bedroom. It read three fifty. He couldn't lay in that bed anymore. He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done to Allison. Part of him was remorseful for destroying a subjectively innocent life, but a larger part of him had genuinely enjoyed it. Both parts equally made him sick. He was a monster, but he was a monster that was about to roam free. He spent the rest of the wee hours with a deck of cards and a scowl. He'd played at least six games before he checked the time again. Six twelve. Morning light was finally peering in through the windows. He decided to grab himself a shower. He needed to be fresh for when Taggart finally called, or at least as fresh as he could be. He took a few caffeine pills from the medicine cabinet to help him stay alert. His clothes from the night prior were lying in a heap by his bed. He began to go through the pockets and make sure he left nothing behind. He started with his pants, taking out his wallet and a few receipts. Moving to his jacket, he felt a familiar heft. Reaching into the front pocket, he pulled out a small .22-calibre pistol. He had originally planned to complete his deal with Taggart at the restaurant and then lure him to a hotel or any isolated area and finish him off. He hadn't had much time to plan it, but he had envisioned it. It went smoothly. Taggart would lie dead, bleeding out on the ground. He would die without making a sound. His cell phone was in the breast pocket. As he got dressed in a new suit, this one a tan affair similar to the previous nights' outfit, he felt his stomach growling. He was starving, but didn't have much of an appetite.
He skipped shaving this morning to save time, it was eleven passed seven. As he finished combing his hair, his phone began to ring. He knew who it was. "Talk to me." He'd sounded as confident as ever. "Time's running out." Click. He wasn't expecting Indigo. He wasn't expecting to be taunted. Time was running out. He began to worry if Taggart would call. Fifteen minutes later, his phone rang again. This time he brushed his arrogance aside and checked the name. It was Taggart. "Taggart! Tell me nothing's come up this time." Taggart sounded different this time, "No, I'm ready to meet you. Sigh, this has to be done, right? Where are you right now?"
"At home, are you on the north side like you said you'd be? I could head that way right now."
"Yes, actually," Taggart replied, "I'm just around the corner from the new Mancino building. Do you think you could meet me here? It's not hard to find, it's the red brick building next to the construction site. They won't be back for about a month, so we should be able to finish up the deal here without a hitch."
Peter grinned, "That'll be fine. That's not far from here at all, actually. I'll be there in about 20 minutes."
"Park around back. I'll be waiting, Peter." Taggart disconnected. Peter immediately checked himself in the mirror. He was looking great even with the stubble. Checking the .22, he confirmed the magazine was still full and cocked the weapon. He smirked to himself in the mirror as he stuffed it back into his front pocket. He didn't bother to lock the door on the way out. After today, he planned to never come back to this place. He planned to live somewhere in Mexico or perhaps Peru. Maybe even Switzerland. He hadn't really decided yet. He would have all the time in the world to think about it.
It took a little longer than expected, he didn't arrive until a little after eight o'clock. As he pulled around the corner from the construction site, he saw the red brick building Taggart had spoken of. It seemed old, but not rundown. It looked to have been a toy store at one point. He paid no mind to this, though. As he pulled around back, he spotted a beautiful baby blue luxury sedan he recognized as Taggart's. As always, it was spotless with a fresh coat of wax. Despite the dusty, dirty parking lot around back, it still shone in the morning sun like a jewel. I'll be sporting one of those in about two days, Peter thought to himself with a chuckle. Before exiting the vehicle he checked the firearm one more time. The last thing he wanted was a misfire or a jam. As he strolled across the lot and into the building he thought he could see Taggart in the window of the second floor looking down on him. Was he smoking a cigarette. He'd never seen Taggart smoke, despite his obnoxious odor.
The knob to the back door was rusty and had difficulty turning. The door hinges were just as rusted, requiring a slight bump to open. It creaked steadily. The inside of the building was mostly empty, save for a few boxes and a random assortment of dusty cobwebs. The front windows still had evidence of paint on them. "Tomlin's Toys", he could barely make out the wording. "Hellooo! Taggart, are you in here? This is kinduva weird place to conduct a deal, don't you think? Wouldn't you rather go back to the restaurant??" His words seemed to echo through the back, to the lobby and then up the stairs. He followed the same path. His hand rested on the piece in his pocket. At this point, he didn't care about the deal for his firm, he just wanted to do the bald fuck in and collect from Indigo and then dissapear like a thief in the night. He heard a slight shuffling coming from somewhere upstairs. "Taggart!" More echoing. Peter checked his watch again. Eight twelve. "Taggart! This isn't funny! If you're not serious, just tell me now!" As he crept up the stairs as best he could (they did creak some), he heard the sounds of shuffling coming from a storeroom to his left. He drew his gun. Something wasn't right.
Creeping down the hallway, Peter listened carefully for anymore tell-tale signs of activity. The floorboards were caked with dust, but they were sturdier than the stairs by far. More shuffling came from the storeroom. As he crept to the door, the shuffling became louder. In a quick move, he pulled the .22 and aimed for anything moving as he busted into the room. "There you...are?" The only things occupying the room were several boxes, a window with a cardboard cutout of a clown holding a small flower and the faint smell of cigarettes. Someone had definitely been smoking in here. Looking around, he noticed a closet in the back of the room. Perhaps a broom closet or something similar. Regardless, this seemed to be the place where the sound was coming from. He slowly walked up to the door, pistol still raised. "Taggart, if you're hiding in there, it won't do you any good. This little game of hide and seek is over." Just as he opened the door, he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head and everything went black. He fell flat on his face as a rat scurried from the closet. "Yeah...it is, Peter." Taggart mumbled to himself. He dropped the brick he had been holding.
The first two sensations Peter experienced when he came to where pain and confusion. The blow to the back of his head had left him groggy and bleeding. He felt a light trickle down the back of his neck. Reaching back, he felt the knot and the gash. It stung horribly causing him to wince. As he pulled his hand back, he noticed something was wrong. klink-klinkle-klink His hands had been chained to something behind him, perhaps a radiator or a pipe, he wasn't sure. He found it hard to move. "You know, I thought about shooting you, too." Peter recognized Taggart's voice. He smelled cigarettes again. "I thought about stabbing, I thought about poisoning, I thought about a lot of things. It took a while, a good, long while, to get you, but here we are." Peter's vision was still a little off, but he was able to focus in the dim light. He saw Taggart sitting across the dank room just as he was flicking the butt of his cigarette away. He was sitting down with his back against the wall, elbows propped on his knees. "Where are we?" Peter was able to force out. He still didn't have it in him to move much. "Under the toy store. The basement storage, if you will."
"Why?"
Taggart slowly stood up. His balding head dripped with sweat. Peter surmised Taggart must have just finished shackling him. "Because it's quiet, of course. I couldn't leave you upstairs and expect this to all work out."
"No, why is this happening? Why are we here? What did I do to--" Taggart cut him off.
"Are you really going to try to play the victim role here? Let's be honest, you were trying to kill me. You know it. I know it."
"So she did tell you, didn't she?"
Taggart's face contorted into a mix of confusion and fatigue, "Who?"
"Allison."
"Oh, you mean that big girl that flirts around your office? I never really cared for her, I know what she's about. You seemed to be pretty sweet on her, though." Peter looked away. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, there's nothing wrong with it, per se. Sheesh, people are so stifled by the Hollywood image."
"Yeah, she was great." Peter's tone was somber, muted.
"'Was'? What's that supposed to mean?" Taggart stared at Peter inquisitively for a moment. "Oh, you didn't...did you?!" Peter remained silent. "Geezus, what is your problem! What did she ever do to you, huh? No matter, this little game of cat and mouse ends now." Taggart began to walk towards Peter. klik! klak! In the dusty storeroom, the hard soles of his shoes echoed loudly off the concrete floor. Peter shut his eyes and tensed up, bracing himself for whatever killing blow Taggart had planned for him. He didn't want to know, he just wanted it over. "Oh, no, no, no. It's not going to be over that easily. No, sir. After what you did to me a year ago, I don't think so." Peter glanced up. He didn't remember much of the prior year. It had all been a blur of drinking and gambling; the very reason he had gone to Indigo for help just a few days prior. "What? I don't even remember..." Taggart smirked as he walked past Peter towards the corner of the room. He turned his head to see another light bulb and some pipes. Large pipes. Almost immediately, he recognized a water main.
"I'm not surprised. You didn't seem to care about much of anything last year. As a matter of fact, the day I found out you had lost all of my business's money you reeked of bourbon and scotch." Scotch.
"Is that it? You want to kill me over some money?"
"Again with the victim role. Isn't that why you were going to kill me? I know you were planning to collect a huge sum through Indigo." Peter's eyes shot open. "How do you -- How!?" Taggart laughed. Peter's head still throbbed in a haze making Taggart sound almost demonic.
"Because I set the whole thing up. Hell, I've been working with him for the past six months just to make sure everything went without a hitch. He's the one who paid off the construction company to not show up for about a month. I just had to do some jobs for him here and there. Nothing too major, though, considering he's my older brother."
The familiar sting of fear shot up Peter's spine. He was set up from the beginning and didn't even know it. Allison apparently hadn't known, either. "What about Allison? Didn't she know something was up?"
"You know, I really didn't interact with her besides a few times at the office. That was mostly Frank, er, "Indigo". As a matter of fact, that part couldn't have played out any better. It was a friend of hers, a Theresa, I believe, that introduced them. She was in a bit of a rut, so they got together and made a deal, much like how she introduced you and him not too long ago. It was purely coincidental, but nonetheless beneficial."
It was too much for Peter, he still didn't understand how it had all ended up like this.
"I'd say the best part had to have been this week, though. Knowing about your phony deal, I did my best to fluster you. Frank had instructed you to kill me, as I'd asked him to, so I made it a difficult task. Did you really think I was going to just meet you up out of the blue for such a huge deal? What kind of idiot falls for something like that? Especially since it's only been a year since the last time you fucked me over. I'm not much of an actor, but I think I did a pretty good job keeping you wondering and worried, huh?"
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck you. Fuck you for ruining my business and fuck you for ruining my life, Peter. I was homeless for awhile, you know. I had a fucking wife before all this. She left me shortly after the company went belly up. Last I heard from her, she was spiraling into an unfathomable depression. She drowned herself in the river, you know. That was when I decided how this was going to end. I don't want you to feel my pain. I want you to feel hers." Just then, Peter heard the sound of creaking metal. Plip-plip-plip, the sound of water dripping quickly turned into a stream. With a grunt, Taggart began to un-bolt the water main. This was when Peter noticed the drain in the middle of the room. It had been cemented over. There were no other drains or holes in the room. The cold liquid splashed hard on the ground covering Taggart's feet, sogging his fine leather loafers. "A small price to pay, eh?"
"It doesn't even matter anymore. I was gonna die anyway, wasn't I? I mean, I only have until noon to get back to Indigo...Frank." Taggart laughed to himself. It began as a chuckle, but quickly escalated to a full on guffaw. "You don't want to know what would have happened to you. Let's just say the smell of hydrochloric acid really sticks to your clothes when you've been around it for a while." Peter remembered the faint stench that followed Taggart. It was people. Decomposed people. He began to dry heave again, almost wishing he had actually eaten something just so there would be a result this time. "You think that's bad, just imagine being around it for days at a time. You get used to it, though."
The cold stream of city water was quickly filling the storeroom. At this point, it was up to Taggart's ankles, Peter's thighs. "By the time anyone notices, this place will be flooded out. You can try screaming, but..." he looked around as if assessing the room Peter was shackled in. In reality, it was purely for dramatic effect. "So, you're just going to leave me here?" Peter wimpishly inquired. Taggart had waded to the stairs and was already halfway up the flight. He stopped and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. Sticking one in his mouth, he crumpled the pack and tossed it onto the rising water. It floated past Peter like a dinghy in a rough stretch of ocean. Taggart then brought a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the stick. "I think this will be my last one. A reward, if you will. You know, I had quit these things years ago, maybe 5 or 6. Decided to pick some up because, well, it's felt like forever. Lily never liked me smoking, but I'm sure she'd probably take one now, too. You can have the rest, though." He tossed the lighter into the water. It splashed next to Peter.
Taggart continued up the stairs without another word. The door shut with a heavy CLANG! leaving Peter with only a soggy pack of smokes and his thoughts. The water in the room rapidly rose from Peter's thigh to his stomach, then to his chest. He wanted to sob, but couldn't find the strength. As the water rose to his chin, Peter couldn't help but grin. In a small way, Taggart had done him a favor. He was planning on going swimming when all was said and done anyway.
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