“John, honey, are you there?”
Sitting on a stained hand-me-down couch, John worriedly smashed the keys on his laptop. His tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of his mouth. The rhythm of fingers hitting keys frantically increased. Then silence; John groaned as he picked up the phone and set his computer off to the side; the screen displayed “Game Over” in a thick bloody font.
“Hey, Mom, sorry I was just finishing up some work for the data entry I have due tomorrow.”
“Oh John, you're always working. You need to take a break every once in a while.” His mother said matter of factly.
“I know, Mom, I’ll come home soon; how is Molly doing with school?”
“She is doing well; however, she is more concerned about the dance recital she has been practicing for. She claims she is ready, but I'll bet she looks like a baby deer stumbling from left to right when the time comes.”
John could hear the eye roll in his mother's voice. He chuckled as he said.
“Give her a break; she is only twelve. I’m planning on coming next week to see her moves.”
“Aw, I'm sure she will love that, Johnny.”
“Okay, Mom, I'm going to get back into this project for a bit, then I'll head to bed. I love you.”
“Love you too. Bye now”
John hung up the phone and looked around at his run-down apartment. The drywall cracked in several places, and his wilted brown plant that sat in a pot by the window that overlooked a narrow street in downtown Houston. His dog Jerico sat up from where he had been lying on the couch and whined. The bright red ball he loved in his mouth, tail wagging insistently.
“Okay, okay,” John sighed, “But only for a few minutes, buddy; I need to get some work done so I can present something at this fucking meeting tomorrow.”
He said with exasperation as he took the ball from his dog's mouth. John threw the ball at the refrigerator in the kitchen only a few paces away, and Jerico shot off the couch, paws and claws scrabbling for purchase on the linoleum flooring. He snapped the ball out of the air on the third bounce and brought it back. The process repeated for a few minutes until John faked throwing the ball and quickly tucked it under the couch.
“Where did it go?” He asked the confused dog while retrieving his laptop and filling in more data strings. He felt terrible, but that crazy dog would play fetch until the world ended if he could, and more work was yet to be done. The clicking of a keyboard soon filled the air; this time, however, work was being done. John lost himself in his work, the average life of an office drone. His career, if it could be called that, was with a company called Hexicron Tech, a major player in all tech markets, from video games and cyber security to cutting-edge advancements in robotics. John, however, was part of the company's data analysis team. It wasn't a glorious job or a perfect one, but it was a job, and it paid the bills. John returned to himself as he put the finishing touches on his project. He stretched his arms up towards the ceiling and cracked his neck. Standing, John walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. A red and blonde shock of hair stood atop his head; the sides were cut short, but the top was long and messy his unassuming face had begun to look a little gaunt over the last months with dark bags under his eyes; he looked the part of a man who sat in front of a keyboard for seventy to eighty hours a week including weekends. John wasn't scrawny but close to it with a waist size that matched most women. He sighed with dissatisfaction; loading his toothbrush with a dollop of toothpaste, he began to brush.
A few minutes after, John was lying in bed with Jericho at his feet. A b list movie was playing quietly as John tried to sleep. On the Tv, a man darted out from a crowd of bystanders to tackle a woman to safety. They came up from the pavement together, hair perfect as the woman stared longingly into the man's eyes. John rolled his eyes with a muttered “whatever” as he clicked off the television and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head. His mind raced, anticipating the meeting to be held first thing in the morning. John tossed and turned fitfully, searching for the release of sleep; it finally came as the clock read 03:00.
The following day came all too soon as the blaring alarm ripped John from his fitful sleep; he quickly jumped out of bed and threw on the clothes he had laid out the night before, a gray collared
short-sleeve shirt and khaki pants he ran to the kitchen. While he filled Jericho's bowls with food and water, the dog bounced around him, mistaking the flurry of movement for playtime.
“Sorry buddy, you know the drill. I gotta work; Mrs. Matthews will come by to walk you soon. Have a good day.”
John said as he stuffed his laptop charger and a water bottle into his backpack and headed out the door. Quickly making his way down the six flights of stairs, he began his commute to Hexicron HQ, only five blocks away. John kept his head down as he passed the homeless and business people in his rush to the offices. The crosswalk timers were taking forever, and today of all days, wasn't the one for delays. He edged up to the street, waiting for the white walk sign to appear.
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“Come on, Come on,” John muttered as he checked his watch.
Ten minutes and two blocks to go plenty of time.
The walk sign illuminated, and a car screamed past the crowd of people who had just stepped out onto the road and ran the red light. John’s heart jumped into his throat, and he mumbled, “Fuckin crazy bastard watch what you’re doing.” Crossing the street, he continued down the sidewalk. The day was beautiful it was mid-spring, and lofty white clouds hung in the air. The high towers of glass in the downtown district glittered in the sun and an infrequent strong breeze blew through the streets. A woman wearing a gray pantsuit was standing under the canopy entrance of one of the large hotels; she was waving at him.
“John,” She called. “John!”
Checking his watch, he rolled his eyes and stepped out of the crowd to meet her.
“Jamie, what are you doing out here? Don’t you have to be at work?”
Jamie worried at her lip, and her dark brow hair that she always wore down billowed around her face. Jamie was Wesley’s fiance; she was often flippant and changed jobs as frequently as she painted her nails. John had never liked her all that much because it seemed to him as if she didn't care for her own future. Wesley, however, was the only person that John considered a friend. They had gone to high school and college together, and Wesley had always stuck with him. Every time John ran his loud mouth, Wesley was the only person to have his back. It was something that could be counted on, like the passage of time. John had never understood why he stuck around, but he was grateful for it all the same.
What is she doing here? I don’t have time for her nonsense.
“Look, Jamie. I really don’t have time.”
“I think Wesley is in trouble.” She blurted out, cutting him off.
Eyes narrowing, John asked, “ What kind of trouble? Wes doesn’t find trouble; he avoids it.”
“I don’t know, but he didn’t come home last night. He said he was going to the DownEasy to meet with someone about a job.”
“Jamie, the DownEasy is run by a bunch of thugs, and Wes loves his job. Why the fuck would he go there, and why didn’t you call me last night!”
“I know, John. I tried to call you, but your phone went straight to voicemail! I went to the police station, and they said he had to be missing for more than twenty-four hours before they could realistically do anything.”
John pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked at the button several times. The screen stayed black. “Shit.” He said, looking at Hexicron HQ only a block away. He sighed, knowing this would inevitably end with him being fired.
“Alright, let's go. The DownEasy is only three blocks south; maybe they saw him.”
Jamie smiled and started back down the sidewalk quickly. John could tell Jamie wasn’t telling him everything, but he didn’t care. Wes had bailed him out of trouble so many times, and he was eager to return the favor. The pair walked briskly, weaving in and out of foot traffic. John looked up as they stopped. The DownEasy was on the first floor of one of the downtown towers. The dark-tinted glass kept the bar dark during the day, but as he looked at the bold red script on the windows, it felt like it served a more insidious purpose.
“Stay here, and I’ll see if the manager has seen him.”
Jamie nodded, and John walked in through the double glass doors. The bar was empty; only the staff stood around talking as they wiped down glasses and restocked the liquor shelves behind the bar. The DownEasy was modeled after the bars of the speakeasy days when alcohol was illegal. The dark wood paneling and cellar-like interior were very well maintained. One of the larger men in a suit looked over and waved him away, saying. “We aren’t open for another few hours, bub; you’ll have to come back later.”
“Ah, I’m actually not here for a drink. I need some help,” John replied quickly.
“What is it then? Looking for a job?”
“No, I'm looking for a friend. His name is Wesley. I was told he came here last night to meet someone about a job?”
The man’s face took on a confused expression, quickly growing into a grin.
“Oh yea. Our friend Wesley is in the back.” The man walked over and wrapped an arm around John’s shoulder. He looked at John and continued, “C’mon back if you’re worried. We can settle this up, and you can let the people missing him know he’s alright, yea?”
The man tugged at John’s shoulders, and he began to realize it wasn’t a question and he would be going to the back regardless of if he wanted to or not. His imagination began to run wild as he was pulled through the swinging doors leading through the back rooms.
No one friends with Wes calls him Wesley. Shit, what did Wes get himself into? This guy is rough. Did he owe them money? Was he selling drugs? Nah, no way. I need to try to find a way to get us both out of here without taking an ass-whooping.
His thoughts were cut short as he was led down a set of stairs. He stumbled slightly on the first step, but the man’s thick arm held him up.
“Careful now,” He said. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt; Wes might get mad if I brought ya all banged up.”
“Why is Wes in the basement? None of this makes any sense.”
The pair reached a door at the bottom of the stairs, and the man fumbled with a key.
“He is doing some… Maintenance on the equipment.”
Why the fuck is the door locked, then?
Finally, oaf, as John began to refer to him, turned the key and made to open the door. John, slipped the man’s grip and busted through the opening door. He ran around several pieces of equipment and froze as he rounded a massive water pump. Wes was chained to a pipe with his arms hung above his head. The man was barely recognizable, his face bloody and bruised. The three men standing around Wes all turned.
“Who the fuck are you,” Asked one of the men with an Irish accent. A hand clamped to John’s shoulder, and Oaf spoke.
“This here is a friend of Wesley! Can ya believe it? He came looking for his missing pal.”
“An Why did ya bring em down here ya idiot!” The man with the Irish accent was incensed. “Now we’ve got ta kill’em both!”
John, at that point, had heard all he needed to hear. He crouched low, turning, he slammed his fist up between the man's legs. Oaf toppled over, groaning and clutching his groin. He lept away behind the equipment as the three men behind him burst into motion. John caught his footing and ran, looking for any type of pipe or rebar.
“Fuckin get that wirey little sheit.” The Irish man yelled from behind as he ran around another piece of equipment. Leaning against a set of water valves, he saw what he had been looking for; a three-foot-long pipe wrench. John grinned; he grabbed the wrench and turned, swinging with fear and desperation. The heavy wrench met the first man’s ribs with a hollow thwack, followed by the sharp snap of ribs breaking. John quickly stepped to the side, allowing the first man to fall past. His eyes wild, he hoisted the wrench up above his head to deliver an over-hand swing at the second man, but he entirely misjudged how fast his attacker was moving. The man dove, colliding with John, he was taken backward off his feet. His head bounced off the concrete, and it was lights out for John.