62. What goes up must come down (analog or digital)

It fucking hurt, and it was probably going to earn him a beating, but it was worth it.  The back end of the steamer trunk they carried hit the walkway with a thud, just missing Jesse’s right foot.  Parker, or whatever the hell his name was, fell forward onto it, smashing his teeth and chin. He rose up cursing, holding his mouth.  After spitting out a broken incisor, Parker punched Jesse in the face a couple of times and booted him in the ribs.

Jesse had never been blind from pain before.  There was a tremendous roaring noise, and then he heard Balaclava Man say, “Forget about him. We need to get this stuff onto the truck right now and leave.” Jesse could feel a slow-motion waterfall of blood from his nose dripping onto his lap and down his shirtfront. He felt sick, but knew if he puked he might actually die, and so managed not to.

Good luck with that, Jesse thought, suddenly remembering something.

George, who had no trust in the travelling public, had put another padlock on the truck.  In order to open it, they would have to know where the other key was or take a hefty bolt-cutter — or cutting torch — to it.

They were back in a minute. Parker said to his partner, “Give me the knife.”

Holding the knife to Jesse’s throat, Parker said, all the perky cuteness gone from his voice, while ripping the duct tape off, “Where’s the fucking key.”

“You broke my nose, and now you want my help,” Jesse said, quietly. As he took a breath, his cracked ribs protested.

“Where’s the key or I’ll cut you.”

“Criminal Code of Canada section 264, uttering threats. You’re already up for 5 years apiece for forcible confinement section 279, and common assault section 268, and since you’re abetting, it’ll be share and share alike when it comes to sentencing.”

“You a fucking lawyer? Shut up, asshole,” said Balaclava Man. “Put the tape back on his mouth and cut him a couple of times, he’ll tell us fast enough.”

“That so?” came a voice out of the darkness.

Jesse laughed through his own blood as his assailants spun to face where they thought the voice was coming from.

In a quiet voice, he said, “Gentlemen, meet George, my boss.”

Balaclava Man lost his headgear.

“Aw, look at you, all naked in the face,” George said. The knife clattered on the ground, far away. “Close your eyes,” George said, and turned himself into a twenty thousand watt light, blinding the other two, since Jesse was the only one who obeyed him.

The two men staggered about, and George searched them, recovering Jesse’s stolen items and tossing them into his lap.  He relieved Parker of the duct tape and wrapped the miscreants to each other, back to back, and covered their mouths. Then he shoved Parker hard on one shoulder and the two of them fell down; Naked Face bashed his head on the stucco, as Jesse watched with a tight smile. They had started to screech behind the gags, but George said, “Shh, shh, unless you really love jail that much.”

“How’d you find me?” Jesse said, as George released him. He had felt his cold clammy skin pulling gently at his face, removing the blood. George tidied him up a little and then clapped him on the shoulder.

“Of course I installed a tracker, what am I, a moron? Even if they’d killed you I would have found them eventually and avenged you in true grindhouse fashion.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t book this run, like you were supposed to. The truck pinged me because it was moving in the middle of the night without authorization. I get a notification when your phone goes offline, too, just in case.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s good you didn’t book this, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“George, I was really stupid,” Jesse said. “Really, really stupid.”

“Is that your idea of an apology?  Seems more like a daily affirmation. Let’s see what their loot looks like.”

It was obvious that Naked Face and Parker thought this was a really bad idea.

“I’ll put them in the back of the truck,” George said. He picked the two men up as if they were kittens, walked them the thirty metres or so to the back of the truck, and opened the tailgate. He then dropped them inside. Jesse heard something snap and one of their prisoners groan.

“Oops,” he said. “Are you going to kill them?”

“I haven’t decided,” George said. He closed and locked the door. In a conspiratorial tone, he said, “Of course I’m not, but they don’t know that.”

George, during his approach to the property, had ensured that no security cameras were working.  He noted a silent alarm, but decided not to worry Jesse about it, since he’d be the one dealing with the undoubtedly armed, and even more undoubtedly pissed-off guys who were headed their way.