I Have No Idea

I can barely breathe. I feel like I’m underwater.

I’m not entirely sure where I am. Must’ve been one hell of a night. A burst of pain like a signal flare erupts in my brain. I try to rub my aching face. I can’t move my hands.

Definitely not a good night. I try to recall the events of the previous evening. I try to take in my surroundings. My head is cocked back. I’m sitting in an uncomfortable chair. Scratch that. I’m bound to an uncomfortable chair. My arms are cinched tight behind my back with rope that makes my skin crawl. My legs are tied to the base. Not a good night at all. Unless I met a dominatrix.

“I think he’s waking up.” That nasal voice brings everything rushing back. I open my eyes, ignoring the intense pain and popping sounds as I bring my head up straight. The Irishman is standing in front of me, leaning against a rickety kitchen table and picking his teeth with the remnants of what used to be a toothpick. He’s a lot smaller than I remember him.

“That’s all you got?” I warble. I sound like I have marbles in my mouth. The Irishman cocks an eyebrow and he points at me with his gnawed-on toothpick.

“Yeah, he’s definitely awake,” he says, and moves away from the table. “I liked him better when he was out.” I continue to look straight ahead. I don’t really have a choice. I can’t seem to turn my head to look elsewhere. My neck is stiff and the room is still spinning. I get the feeling that, if I move my head at all, I might throw up the lack of food that I have in my stomach.

“Maestro, turn him.” A new voice, coming from outside my peripheral vision. Even moving my eyes makes me feel like I’m on a choppy sea. A shadow passes over me as the behemoth steps before me. That’s why the mick looked so small. This was the guy I was thinking of. I remember him well from the pulsing ache in my face and ribs. He lifts the chair with me in it and moves me ninety degrees. He must get paid the big bucks in this racket. I’m now looking at an Asian sitting on a battered couch. He seems very relaxed. I narrow my eyes.

“You’re the slant from the airport.”

“In all actuality, Mr. Maurice, we prefer to be called ‘flips,’” the Asian tells me calmly. “But, racial slurs aside, you are correct.”

He takes a cigarette from a silver case in his pocket and offers me one. There’s no way I’m passing up a cigarette, especially after what I’ve been through. I nod. The Asian motions for the big guy to bring me one. Maestro puts it between my lips and holds a lighter to the tip as I take a drag. Not my usual brand, but beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes. With smoke in my lungs, I start to regain my bearings. The spinning slows and I look around the room with a slow gaze, taking it all in. This place is a shit hole. I return my attention to the Asian.

“So what? Is this some kind of a joke?” I ask him, my cigarette bouncing in my lips. “A slant, a mick, and an ogre walk into a bar . . .”

The Asian raises his hand. “I’ve heard this one before, so I’ll stop you,” he says. “The punch line is something along the lines of ‘Then the smart-ass gets his knees broken,’ right?” I nod, deciding that it would be in my best interest not to push too many buttons too fast. I take a drag of the cigarette.

“Hey, how about giving me an arm so I can ash this cigarette?”

“That can be arranged.” The Asian motions toward the Irishman, who walks over and wags a finger in front of my nose.

“I don’t want any funny shit, got it?” He cocks his head toward the big guy. “You pull any funny shit and he’s gonna pull some funny shit . . . and his comedic timing is right on the money.”

“I got it.” I feel the ropes go slack on my arm. I bring my hand up to the cigarette. I take it from my lips and ash on the shag carpeting beneath my feet. “Thanks. The only thing missing now is a stiff drink.”

“Get Mr. Maurice a rum and Coke,” the Asian says to the ogre, snapping his fingers. Maestro disappears from the room. I raise my eyebrows. He knows me pretty well.

“Very hospitable.”

“We do our best.”

“Nice place you three got here,” I say, looking around the room again. I’m trying to keep the small talk going. They have me here for a reason. If they didn’t want to talk, I’d be dead by now. The more talking, the more time I have to come up with an escape plan. And the less chance I’m going to get killed. “Shag carpeting, shitty furniture, stains on the walls. Who’s your decorator? I’m gonna have to get his number.”

The Asian is completely uninterested in what I have to say. He leans toward me and rests his arms on his knees. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Maurice?”

“Nope, but apparently you know me.”

“I do,” the Asian states, matter-of-factly. “I know you very well. I’ve been trailing you for quite some time now.” I look the Asian over carefully, deciding to let my smartass comments stay by the wayside for a moment. I wonder just how much this guy knows. Maestro returns with a glass and he sets it on the floor in front of me. I look at it and then at the ogre. He shrugs.

“We’re all out of Coke.”

“What about ice? Did you lose the recipe?” I ask. He doesn’t look amused. “That’s fine, big guy, it just gets in the way.” I look at the Asian and motion toward the ogre with my cigarette.

“How about getting this guy to untie my other arm? It’s hard to drink and smoke with one hand.” The Asian nods at Maestro. The ogre manhandles the ropes from my clinched arm. I flex my wrist and pick up the drink. “Thanks, Lurch.” I hold the glass up to the light.

“I can see your cleaning woman is on vacation.” I tilt the filthy glass. No fizz. No discoloration. They’re not trying to poison me. That’s a plus.

“If you’re quite through, Mr. Maurice.” The Asian sighs.

I take a drink. “I’m done.”

“Good,” the Asian says. “In which case, we can commence to the matter at hand.”

The rum burns, just like it should. I can’t wait to get to the point as quickly as possible. “How about telling me why I’m here.”

“All in due time, Mr. Maurice, all in due time.” the Asian takes a deep drag of his cigarette. I get the feeling that “due time” is going to be a while. The Asian exhales slowly. “But, considering that you’re in my possession at the present time, why don’t you let me ask the questions?”

I can’t really do anything but shrug. It’s probably better for me to play along. “Fair enough.”

He takes another deep drag. “A few years back, my colleagues and I were called upon to look out for a young man.”

“You guys are bodyguards?”

“In a sense, yes. We were hired to make sure that this young man was not fatally harmed in any way. This young man, whose name was Vincent, was fully engaged in a very profitable drug ring. However, many of his dealings were highly questionable.”

I snuff the cigarette out on the arm of the chair. “This story is truly riveting in its novelty. Seriously. But if you could just cut to the chase, mainly the part that concerns me, that’d be wonderful.”

“We’ll get there, Mr. Maurice. Please be patient,” the Asian replies coolly. “The main problem with Vincent’s business was that a great many of his clientele didn’t seem to think that they were getting what they deserved. They felt that they were being cheated. Money was not exchanging hands the way it was supposed to, the product was not what Vincent claimed it was, the quality was far less than was promised. All in all, Vincent was not a very honorable businessman.” The Asian pauses for a moment as if to collect his thoughts.

“One evening, our client picked up a girl from a bar, a high-end call girl, and he took her home with him. They did what people do behind closed doors, which is none of my concern, and Vincent fell asleep. While he was sleeping, this girl managed to get into his stash. Not his private stash, mind you, but his earning stash, the kilos that paid the bills. Now, Vincent claimed that he had no idea how she knew where the stash was. I have my doubts about this, as Vincent was the type of man who liked to parade his occupation around. We, myself and my crew, had seen him show off his goods to many a female friend, so I can’t believe wholeheartedly that this situation was any different, other than the fact that this girl had moxie enough to act. Regardless, in the end, this girl walked away with enough merchandise to fund her for a long while. She also managed to walk away with all of the correct goods to get our client in a great deal of trouble. Now, these stolen goods were supposed to be sold to a very reputable source, who already had several buyers lined up. Vincent tried to act fast and he substituted the stolen product with a product of far lesser value. In any normal situation, this would’ve been the end of the story. Swept under the rug, if you will. However, the buyers weren’t your average street junkies who didn’t know good product. Things bubbled to the surface, and when the buyer heard about this dilemma, he had no remorse. Obviously, this all reflected poorly on him, so, in order to clean a bit of the egg off of his face, he enlisted the aid of a hit man to take care of Vincent. Vincent already had us on assignment and he became hell-bent on finding this girl, knowing that she was to blame for this scenario, and someone involved with this girl wanted to protect her so they put up a blockade to stop that from happening. That, Mr. Maurice, is where you come into the story.”

The Asian had my full attention now, better than if he had grabbed me by the balls and squeezed. I nodded. “I’m listening.”

“You were the one who was enlisted by the party interested in the girl’s well-being.” The Asian paused and dropped his cigarette in the ashtray seated beside him on the couch. He lit a fresh one and he proceeded to tell me a story that I already knew.