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I'm On To You! (343 hits)

Category: UberMadness! Entry
Labels: Ubermadness_II

Rating: 2 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)

Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2004-10-19 18:07:13 EDT

This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.

"I'm on to you!"

A long-haired, tattooed, foul-smelling punk was saying that to me. To me, for Christ's sake! This little fuck may have known who I was, but he sure as shit didn't know what he was dealing with.

-50-

I had jumped into the elevator a moment before the doors began to close. Vanderwal was standing in one corner, a hand on the sturdy redwood handrail. Thanks to the polished brass walls of the car, I was surrounded by Vanderwals. What a fucking mistake. I should have stopped for a piss. Could I step out again graciously, or—

Someone else was running for the elevator. I instinctively stuck my hand out and held the door. That would be mistake number two.

A bike messenger hopped into the car, making it rock a little. He had shades over his eyes and earphones in his ears.

"Thanks, dude."

The doors closed. I didn't bother with a reply. The greasy punk in cutoff jeans and a WM3 t-shirt had already turned up the volume on his iPod. The car jerked. We were off.

-49-

The notoriously slow elevators in the 60 year old Rafferty Tower are known as 'deal chambers,' to Los Angeles money managers, because so much business is conducted in the cars during the ride.

I watched Vanderwal's reflection. The old fuck. He was flexing the fingers of one hand, then the other. I had worked for Vanderwal for seven years now and I've never hated anyone more. Vanderwal has arthritis. More than once I had day-dreamed of him tripping and falling down a set of stairs and breaking his fucking neck.

Vanderwal looked up, and I brushed imaginary dandruff off the shoulder of my suit. I was thinking of the fax I had seen in his office, only minutes ago.

-48-

The bike messenger was looking at me. He was one of those helpless fucks who thinks he is being sly when every move is being telegraphed to the world. He pushed his shades up onto his head and studied me from the corner of one eye. He seemed really interested in my face.

Jesus! I had to restrain myself from shouting! Look in front of you! Brass, polished to a mirror finish! I can see you looking at me!

I looked at my shoes.

-47-

At least we wouldn't have any stops on the way down. There were four big firms on the top floor, and they were more than willing to pay extra each month for a private elevator between the 50th floor and the lobby.

Funny that the elevators took so long to descend, because otherwise they were state-of-the-art. They had electric-eye safety systems in the doors, key-card readers, modern communications equipment, and they were installing new security cameras in a week or so. I looked up. The old camera was gone. I could see two small bits of wire tucked behind the ornate brass mounting.

-46-

I should have told the long-haired freak to use goddamn freight elevator. He smelled like a holding cell full of niggers.

I looked at my shoes again.

I looked up. Vanderwal was staring at the back of my head like my hair had momentarily parted to reveal a gaping asshole.

I shifted my eyes. The bike messenger was still checking me out.

-45-

Vanderwal's private fax machine had produced a single page. I had been in his office dropping a file of fund analyses on his desk. I happened to notice that the sender was an old friend of Vanderwal's. They'd done lunch a few times.

I'd leaned to one side and peered out of Vanderwal's office. It was quiet out there. We worked East Coast hours to stay in tune with the market, so after 4:30 in the afternoon almost everyone was gone.

Vanderwal was the Vice-President of our small mutual fund firm. When the fax machine had beeped the VP had been down the hall taking a shit. Or taking a leak. With his sixty-five year-old prostate, both took the same amount of time to play out.

-44-

The bike messenger had turned to face me. I hated that shit. People get into an elevator and look at you like you're their entertainment. Fucking drives me crazy.

-43-

I had fed the faxed page into the machine and hit a button. I was Vanderwal's assistant. His whipping boy. He treated me like shit and I hated his fucking guts. Other than that, we worked well together.

I had been in his office just over two minutes when I heard the door to the reception area open, and close.

I'd stepped out of his door. "You've got the reports you were waiting for."

He hadn't answered. He had simply lurched by on his arthritic legs, grimacing like I'd just announced that I was going to go sit in the store room and stroke off. A page dropped into the fax machine's tray and Vanderwal closed the door in my face.

-42-

The bike messenger was really starting to piss me off. I looked at him, wondering what his deal was.

He got a really good look at me, and nodded to himself, as if he recognized me.

"I'm on to you!" he said.

-41-

I could see a pair of reflected Vanderwals looking from the bike messenger to me, and back again.

"What's that?" he asked. Typical old man. Couldn't hear shit, and he was always cocking his head and asking, 'what's that'?' in a quavering voice.

-40-

"Do I know you?"

The bike messenger nodded. "I've seen you, dude. I've seen you comin' and goin' at the club."

Vanderwal squinted, and pulled at one ear.

-39-

What the fuck was this? I shook my head. "You got the wrong guy, pal."

"Nasty habit, man."

I gave him my 'what the fuck?' face.

The bike messenger pulled the earphones free, wrapped them up, and stuffed them into the big shoulder bag holding his iPod.

"I've seen you coming outta the Under Room."

-38-

Vanderwal frowned. "What's going on here?"

I was not going to sweat. I would use force of will to keep my pores closed, to maintain the appearance that all was well. I gave the boss an easy grin. "He thinks I'm someone else."

Vanderwal's big, watery, old man eyes moved in their sockets. He was pondering, I guess.

-37-

"No way, man," the bike messenger said. "No way, dude. It's you. I know it's you. You smoke, right? You smoke and you use a Zippo lighter. A brass one like these walls. Am I right?"

Fuck. This cocksucker had definitely seen me.

-36-

Vanderwal spoke, almost to himself. "What is this Under Room business? Wasn't there something about that in the newspapers? Something... something about the police?"

The bike messenger gave an enthusiastic nod.

I shrugged. "This is all news to me."

-35-

If I had been alone with the bike messenger I would have grabbed the mangy fuck and pounded his head against these solid metal walls until his skull cracked open and his life spilled out. That kind of thing wouldn't leave a very good impression on the boss, though. Then again, he already hated me. I took a few deep breaths.

-34-

"Hell, yeah, it was in the papers!" The bike messenger was having a grand old time. He gave me a sickly grin, and what appeared to be a little bit of a Slim Jim was caught between two teeth.

If this fucker asked for money I'd just give it to him. I could still save the whole day.

"Little girls," he said. The words were guttural grunts. "Little fuckin' girls, man."

-33-

Vanderwal rubbed his chin. For a guy who was supposed to be a financial genius, that purported intellect sure was wasted here. Most people would have put it together by now. Drop Vanderwal in front of a Bloomberg and let him watch the market minute-by-minute, tick-by-tick, and he was in his element. Suggest something unsavory, and he was lost. Mr. Fucking Clean. Couldn't possible imagine anything not-quite-nice.

-32-

I spoke calmly.

"Listen, guy, I don't know you, and I don't know what your deal is, but if you don't stop talking right now, you will regret it."

I got another queasy grin in reply.

-31-

Vanderwal gasped like an old dowager. "I remember! There was something in the paper." He rubbed his chin again. I started wondering if he had a glass jaw that doubled as a crystal ball. He snapped his fingers and looked at me in surprise. "An illegal club!"

-30 -

The bike messenger cocked a finger at Vanderwal and said, "Bingo."

This was going to end badly. I started to keep my eye on the young guy's hands. I was thinking about where I could dump him afterwards. This city had some ugly neighborhoods. Kid wanders into the wrong part of town, and it's all over.

-29-

Vanderwal spoke in an unbelievably prissy tone. "A sex club!" He said the word sex like someone who doesn't get a lot of it, and does not approve of anyone who does.

The bike messenger nodded.

-28-

"Look," I said, "For the last time, you have the wrong guy. Now let's just drop this, okay?"

The bike messenger held my stare for a moment. Then he started rummaging in his bag, looking for all the world like he was going to cry.

-27-

A picture came out of the pack. The bike messenger's hand was shaking, so it was hard to get a good look at the photograph. It was a little girl. She was cute. Her hair was in a pony tail, and her neck was so slender.

Just like the neck of the guy holding the picture.

-26-

"She was my sister, you sick fuck."

Just like that, the bike messenger started crying. Vanderwal almost jumped back in shock. The young guy's body shook with sobs and he dropped the photo. He sniffed and wiped his nose and got himself together.

-25-

Vanderwal gave me an icy look. "Is he saying—"

"Shut up," I said.

The old man's faced grew purple. "What... what did you—"

"I said, shut the fuck up."

-24-

The messenger wiped his eyes with one wet hand. The other went into his pocket. "I guess you like your tail fresh, huh? You fuckin' bastard."

I just looked at the kid. Didn't say anything.

"I thought I saw you on the street near here yesterday. Finally got a chance to see you face to face, make sure I had the right guy. The cops busted a whole bunch of people at that club, the ones running it, anyway. The ones providing the little girls. But most of the customers just walked away. Probably to start looking for new meat somewhere else."

-23-

Vanderwal's jowls were shaking. He made a fist, all knobby swollen joints. "You sick pervert," he whispered. "You are now out of a job. And when I get off this elevator I'm going to make a call and have you arrested and put away!"

-22-

Even if Vanderwal had been carrying a cell phone, and he was too old and stubborn to do that, it probably wouldn't have worked in this elevator car.

I wrapped one hand around Vanderwal's fist, and squeezed. "How strong are your bones, old man?"

-21-

Vanderwal looked like he was going to cry. He didn't look so powerful now. I shoved him away and turned to the bike messenger.

"You get one last chance to shut the fuck up and walk out of here kid. Just one."

-20-

The bike messenger shook his head. His eyes were puffy and red and his hair was all over the place.

"I've done too much walking. My sister, she cries almost every night, you know? I fuckin' left home cause I couldn't take it and I couldn't help her. She has nightmares that make her scream. You ever heard shit like that, a little girls screaming?"

-19-

As a matter of fact, I had. Screams were icing on the cake.

I was getting tired of this judgmental bullshit. "You think these kids just showed up at the Under Room on their own? No way. I'd say nine out of ten of the kids are brought to the club by family. Brothers, sisters, mom or dad. The membership fees are high for a reason, asshole. We have to grease all the wheels on the machine, front to back, or the whole thing shuts down."

-18-

The bike messenger's hand came out of his pocket. I relaxed as he wiped his eyes and nose with a wad of Kleenex. "My dad is next on my list," he said. He picked up the photo and held it out. "Does she look familiar?"

I took a closer look at the picture. The girl was about eight years old. Thin, a little sad around those big beautiful eyes. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Skin like milk. Sammy.

"Her name is Sammy," the kid said.

-17-

I closed my eyes. Just for a moment. The corners of my mouth curled into a smile. "She has three tiny moles, a little triangle, just under her left nipple. Three little moles." God, I could almost smell her.

-16-

"Oh my Lord Jesus," Vanderwal said. His lips had drawn back from his teeth, displaying his primitive, mindless loathing. "How could you. How in the world could you?"

The bike messenger was stuffing the photo back into his pocket.

I reached out and grabbed his hair.

-15-

I pulled his body forward and down before he even began to react. I brought my knee up into his face and blood sprayed out of his nose, falling like a mist on my pants and shoes.

The kid fell to his knees. I wrapped one arm around his head and gave that slender neck a mighty twist. There was a muffled crunch, like someone in the car just bit down on a big gherkin.

-14-

I was distantly aware of Vanderwal hovering over me as I kneeled beside the bike messenger. This was the old man's chance to strike. He blew it. He huddled back against the wall as I reached out and pinched the bike messenger's nostrils shut and put one hand over his mouth.

The kid was tough. Real tough. I'd broken his neck yet he was still hanging on. His body was completely limp, but his eyes rolled madly.

"Don't worry about Sammy," I whispered. "I'll make sure she's treated real good."

Some essential awareness faded from the bike messenger's eyes, and he was gone.

-12-

"Guh," Vanderwal said. He sounded winded.

I waited for him to suck some air and try again.

"God! My God! You killed him!"

-11-

"Yeah," I said. I looked myself over. "Jeez, I really fucked up my pants. Look at this."

-10-

Vanderwal gaped at me.

-9-

The shoes I could clean off. The pants were probably history.

-8-

Vanderwall looked up. He saw the empty camera mount, and looked back at me, his mouth working silently.

-7-

I shook my head. "I'm not going to hurt you, you fucking moron. You're a little more prominent than some loser bike messenger."

-6-

Vanderwal let this soak in. It took a while.

-5-

I was glad I had my keycard with me. Once we reached the lobby I could take the elevator right down to the parking garage. My car was on parking level one, not that far away. I could still pull this off.

-4-

"You can't possibly think you'll get away with this," Vanderwal said, finally finding his balls. "The moment I step out of this elevator and into the lobby, I'm calling for help. You are sick. Sick! I'll see you locked up for this, and all the other disgusting things you've done."

-3-

I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. I had used Vanderwal's fax machine to copy it just before he had entered his office, less than a half hour ago.

"And what is this?" he asked.

-2-

I showed the pompous fucker the fax from his buddy. The fax that showed Vanderwal was benefiting from insider trading info. The fax that could ruin him and subject him to, at the very least, the same treatment Martha Stewart was getting.

He shut his mouth.

The elevator doors opened. I slipped my keycard into the slot and punched P1.

-1-

"Now, Mr. Vanderwal," I said, as the doors closed again. "You're going to keep quiet and help me clean up this mess. Because I'm on to you!"

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Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-07-31 16:17:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Supreme Overlord damage repair...

Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:10:11 EDT (#)
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shite

Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-16 11:44:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

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