FINDERS KEEPERS

Part 3

John glanced at his watch, realizing it was almost midnight. Leo perused through his various torture tools like a surgeon inside an operating room, picking up and feeling the weight of a mallet. John gave his shoulder a gentle tap and a shake of his head. Leo’s shoulders slumped, and they regarded Eddie.

“Hey, man, we’re gonna take a break,” Leo said casually, like they’re going on recess. “But you better use this time to take a breath and think about your choices, you know? It better be the right answer, kapish? You don’t look so good.”

Eddie didn’t answer as he took in labored breaths. His cheeks had already puffed up from the four teeth that Leo extracted. His right eye was bruised when John punched him repeatedly with brass knuckles. His pinky and ring fingernails were torn out, and he was soaking wet from the waterboarding.

I had to walk out a few times and enjoy the lake’s serene waters under the moonlight. Still, Eddie’s muffled screams inside the visitor’s center cut through the woods’ silence.

Throughout all that, the only information they got from the man (between the sobs and the whining) was that he was approached twice by an undercover agent before to spy on Mercer and his organization. He denied them both times. But when Leo pressed on who those guys were, Eddie swore he never knew their names and had never seen them. Even I could tell he was lying. It wasn’t enough for the men; they wanted to leave with a name. A face, if possible.

John pointed at Art and his brother. “You two watch him closely,” he said before leaving the office with Leo.

They went to the mess hall, where John picked out his phone and dialed Mercer’s number. He picked up within three rings.

“Yeah?” Mercer said on the other line.

“He’s not talking yet, boss,” John said. “We’ve got a rat, though. He confirmed it, but he didn’t give any names. Said he’d never seen them before.”

John and Mercer continued to talk on the phone, but from what I could glean, it seemed like this Mercer fellow was in full panic mode because of some meth lab that exploded in the docks in Portland, kneecapping almost a quarter of his profits. I guessed even mob bosses had loans to pay now that the feds were breathing down his neck and threatening him with decades in prison.

Over in the other room, Scottie shuffled on his feet. He leaned to Art, “Hey, I got to use the restroom,” he said.

“But we’re watching him,” Art said, pointing to Eddie. His head hung low, still taking in labored breaths.

Scottie guffawed. “You think he’s gonna escape when he’s that fucked up?”

Art shrugged. “What is it then? Number one or number two?”

Scottie winced. “Number none of your business, Art.” He walked out of the room. “I won’t take too long.”

“Better be fast, Scottie.”

Scottie waved him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

With the bathrooms inside the building not working for a few years, Scottie went out of the lodge, hobbling toward the only outhouse nearby, which was near the docks. On the shore were stacks of overturned metal dinghies abandoned when the camp closed. All of them were still in good condition.

Back at the visitor’s center, John was still talking to Mercer. I doubt he realized his younger brother left the premises.

“Tired of this shit,” Scottie muttered under his breath, fallen leaves crunching under his boots. “We got an emergency.” He mocked John’s voice. “It’s going to be an all-nighter. You ready for this?” Heaving a sigh, he stopped in his tracks. “Scottie, you idiot, I could have just hung out with Carla. Maybe get laid instead of being stuck in the middle of the fucking—”

A twig snapped by the edge of the wood.

Scottie turned, listening.

I could feel the Goliath clenched the axe’s handle as he stepped behind a large tree. Still, he’s a lumbering brute. He could never be that sneaky. I had to purchase a trait for that.

Scottie stepped closer toward the tree line, peering into the darkness. The Goliath didn’t move. He either got creeped out or the “call of nature” overpowered him when he started dashing toward the outhouse. “Hold it, hold it!” He mumbled with each step.

Fortunately, he reached it, dropped his pants, and sat on the toilet. He tried to ignore the lingering smell inside, but given he’d be there for at least a few minutes, he couldn’t hold his breath that long.

The Goliath turned to me, but I shook my head. “Wait,” I ordered him again.

Meanwhile, Art was left alone with the prisoner. He fished out his phone from his back pocket and started playing a Candy Crush knockoff. Spat a curse when he lost too many moves and didn’t get to the next level.

“Fucking stupid piss of shit app.”

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Like a true loser, he bought more coins and hearts for ten bucks, which would only run out in a few minutes anyway. I frowned in disappointment.

That’s when I heard it.

A bone snapped, drowned out by the ching-ching chimes coming from Art’s phone every time he made a combo.

Immediately, I went to the source: Eddie.

He still hung his head forward, blood drooling from his lips, pretending to be passed out. Behind the chair, his left thumb was at a weird angle, disclosed off its joints. Eddie slowly slipped out of the binds. He didn’t even react to the pain, even when it looked like it fucking hurt. How many times had he done this? The ropes untangled and fell with a slight thud on the floor, but given where Eddie was sitting, Art didn’t have a line of sight. He was too busy riding the high of getting to the next level. He probably thought that ten bucks was a good purchase.

Eddie popped his thumb back, opened his one good eye, and stared at the open duffel bag and the weapons across the table.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. “He’s got balls than I gave him credit for,” I thought out loud. Out of habit, I looked around. Obviously, no one heard me.

Eddie glanced over to Art leaning near the door and started coughing. “Water,” he whispered roughly. “Water. Please.”

Art looked up, annoyed. “Shut up,” he said and went back to his game.

“Please. I’m thirsty,” Eddie said.

I realized Eddie was only pretending. Tried to look as pathetic and too hurt to talk. I won’t hurt you; look at me; I’m broken. That’s probably what he tried to convey. “Water,” Eddie whispered. He glanced at the half-empty water plastic bottle next to the duffel bag.

Art furrowed his brows, hesitating. Finally, he sighed, shoved the phone back in his pocket, and walked over to the table. He picked up the water bottle.

“Thank…you,” Eddie said. He gave him a small smile.

Art extended the water bottle…and then tipped it over. All the contents spilled on Eddie’s lap, soaking his pants and shoes. Art chucked the now empty plastic bottle on Eddie’s forehead and laughed. He walked back to the door.

Eddie rose quietly, ignoring the pain all over his body. Meanwhile, four doors down to the mess hall, John argued loudly with Mercer over the phone, wanting to finish Eddie off and bury him in the woods. “He’s tapped out, Mercer. We can’t get anything out of the guy,” he said. But Mercer begged to differ.

Leo stood patiently to the side, head hung low, arms crossed, pretending to be anywhere but here.

Eddie snuck behind Art and, in one swift motion, wrapped his meaty arms around his neck. Art’s eyes bulged in surprise, trying to shout as he lifted two inches off the floor, but Eddie got him in a headlock and quickly took him to the ground. He squeezed his arms, probably breaking Art’s windpipe. Art was a skinny dude, and Eddie probably got a hundred pounds over him. There was no contest about who would win.

Art kicked.

Clawed at Eddie’s arms, drawing blood.

Reached behind to gouge out Eddie’s eyes. Too far. Too slow. Too strong. Too…

His kicks began to weaken. Art’s curled fists merely tapped on Eddie’s vice-gripped arm before. Finally, his eyelids grew heavy. Saliva drooled from his lips until his heartbeat slowed.

Eddie waited for a couple of seconds before he loosened his grip. He checked for a pulse and barely felt the gentle tap under his jaw. Still alive but unconscious. Maybe for a little while.

Eddie fished for Art’s phone—password locked. Eddie sighed and closed the phone, and opened it back again. This time, he presented the screen over Art’s face.

He got in.

I was worried that he would call the cops over to the camp. The last thing I wanted was for the authorities to be nearby while the cultists were going to be next door. I also didn’t want to alert Rebecca Torres, the sheriff’s deputy. Instead, he quickly opened up the settings and disabled facial recognition and the password before texting an unknown number with a coded message: Let’s go to the zoo this weekend.

While he waited for a reply, Eddie grabbed a sheathed knife from the table and snuck closer to the door. He opened it just a crack, listening to John and Mercer argue down the hall. He closed the door back again when he received another message.

Are you alright? It said.

Eddie frowned. Texted: Grab the pack. Get out. Lay low. I’ll be at the meeting point. Mercer knows.

He opened the contacts tab and deleted the unknown number. He went over to Art and checked his belt, trying to find a gun, but John was the only one carrying it. Eddie muttered a curse and heard John end the call since the shouting match had died down. He searched for the van’s keys instead, but Leo had them.

Over in the mess hall, John gave Leo the bad news. They were going to torture Eddie until he spilled the beans.

“That’s gonna take a while,” Leo rolled his eyes. “Might be dead before we get anything.”

John huffed. “I think that’s the point,” he said. “Mercer’s gonna make an example out of him.”

“That bad?”

John said nothing and looked out the window with a good view of the lake. “We’re gonna have to get Evelyn and the kids, too, once we’re done here.”

Leo gritted his teeth. He didn’t like what he heard. “They’re nice kids.”

John shrugged. “Like Mercer wanted. An example, even if he’s family.”

“Cold.”

Eddie crept toward the windows facing the woods. Luckily, the windows were unlocked, and he quickly slipped out into the night. He threw Art’s phone and stomped it on the ground. He picked out the SIM and threw it into the bushes. He probably didn’t want the number he dialed to go back to Mercer.

Once the cool air entered his lungs, he ran for the van, almost circling the visitor’s center until he reached the front. He found the driver’s side door unlocked.

“Come on. Come on.” He looked at the glove compartment and the overhead console for the keys. Nothing. He slapped the wheel out of frustration. “Shit!” He spat. “Shit, shit, shit!”

For a brief moment, I felt terrible for Eddie. I had a sneaking suspicion that the number he dialed was probably his family or maybe his accomplice. The undercover agents, maybe? Could he really be working for the DEA?

I projected my consciousness back to the mess hall and found Leo had joined John near the windows. The latter was staring right at something across the lake.

“Huh. That’s interesting,” John murmured suddenly.

“What?” Leo asked.

“You didn’t tell me you have neighbors.”

Leo tilted his head. “Um, we don’t.”

“Then, what’s that over there?”

John pointed across the lake.

Pointed at my cabin’s faint lights on top of a shallow cliff overlooking the lake. In the darkness, it stood out like a beacon.

Shit. I quickly shut off the lights, which only made it look worse.

John winced. “You definitely saw that, right?”

“Yeah. That’s…not there before,” Leo said.

“Are you sure?”

“My brother and I came down here eight days ago for a potential sale. We checked around the lake, too, but that building has never been there.”

“Are you sure?”

“I grew up around here. No one is supposed to own a property around Cedar Lake except us. We’re too close to the National Forest, and half of the feds own the area.”

“Well, someone’s staying over there. Maybe you missed it?”

“I don’t know—”

“Can they hear us? See us?”

“I doubt it. The lake’s too big for that.”

“Good. It looks like they went to sleep.” John headed down the hallway toward the office. “Let’s finish this.”