Deadbeat: A Tale of Righteous Vengeance Chapter Two
DISCLAIMER: The following chapter contains graphic scenes of varying nature. Think the worst and it’s about to happen in one form or another. This work, as it continues week to week, will seek depths of depravity, violence, and hate. It seems to be a sign of the times and that’s the whole point.
Syd lived in a condo in a complex that doesn’t offer them. The difference, apparently, is that you can buy a condo but rent an apartment. Similar spaces but different terms.
He had taken over the third floor of building 23 at Camden Oaks, a shithole of affordable housing catering to students, waiters, and newly minted professionals with terrible GPAs. Building 23 because of his love for Michael Jordan, I’m assuming. His apartment was scattered with Bulls merchandise and MJ memorabilia, including a Space Jam poster and jersey. I’d have guessed he was from Chicago but I loved Jordan as a kid and have never been near the Windy City. At least I had a better guess at his age.
El Jefe Chicagoan was standing in the middle of sprawling space of TVs and couches adjacent to a surprisingly well equipped kitchen. I had spent some time working in restaurants and was fleetingly impressed with what I saw. Of course, the threat of death or injury curbed my curiosity and I followed the instructions offered by the larger, better armed gentlemen that had brought me there.
“Sit at the table and wait to be called.” The apparent leader of the duo that had kidnapped Wells and myself, his words, while menacing and terrifying, couldn’t help but break into rhythm as he spoke. I’ve seen some of the world, fuck if I know where that man was born.
Syd was talking quietly to a too young girl, wearing a light blue terry cloth robe. One of his heavily tattooed arms was delicately wrapped around her shoulders. The petite brunette was scared but not enough to resist.a moment to realize he was slowly guiding this girl through the maze of couches and glass coffee tables. His lower half shielded by the flowing robe, he appeared to move without taking a step. As he inched toward a closed door, his goons closed in. With two swift movements, Syd popped open the door and revealed the girl with his robe, like a cheesy magician. As soon as they grabbed her arms and legs, she began screaming at a frequency that echoed hauntingly across the space. Syd shot us a unilateral, contemptuous smile, never breaking eye contact as he shut the door.
She continued screaming for the next twenty or so minutes but it was muffled, either by hand or a pillow. The latter seemed unlikely as she continued to get enough air to scream, which struck me as deliberate. Wells stared at the floor, defeat and fear leaking from his pores.
It was our best chance to talk about our situation, maybe coordinate a lie about some stashed cash or just decide to run. If I’m honest, neither thought occurred to me. Probably the same for Wells. Then the sound was sucked from the room, even Wells held his breath.
The door sung open and Syd’s goons emerged, sickening smirks across their chins. They wandered into the kitchen, a can popped open. Syd finally rejoined, his arm again gently draped around the young woman. Her eyes were locked on the ground, though Syd was whispering, he came into range just enough to hear, “… just what I needed. There’s been a lot of stress today.” He turned to look at us as he said it, straightening my posture like someone dropped an ice cube down the back of my shirt.
“One of my guys will give you a little gift bag to take home,” Syd continued to the woman. “Your bill is still the same but I’ll give you a little extension.” He moved his arm, releasing her, then turned to us. “Now, leave us. I have a proposition for these boys.”
