Blind Spot, CH 11 (Patreon)

I slam on the breaks as the dot on the screen vanishes, then I’m fighting for of the minivan and end by the time I win, I’m on the side of the road, inches from the ditch, and the only damage is the honking cars passing by, so that’s definitely a win.

Minivans aren’t designed for the kind of speed I’ve been driving at, or the sudden stop I just demanded of it. On the plus side, there is a lot of space for crates of travel mugs.

The laptop on my lap I’m tapping away to understand why Tristan’s GPS has gone offline. I can only think of two reasons, he turned the phone off, or it’s destroyed. There’s not reason for him to turn it off, and I don’t want to think about what it woulds take to destroy a phone in his possession.

“Fuck!”

* * * * *

“What I need,” I growl to myself, “is a real computer.” 

No, what I need if a state of the art, over-clocked, Octo-core computer array. What I have is my laptop and three of the internet cafe’s seven computers networked. I’d have used more of them, but they don’t have the table space to bring them close enough to wire them together.

And it isn’t even giving me what I want!

It’s fucking good thing the coffee here’s so good, otherwise I’d been leaving them a one star review. What kind of internet cafe can’t let me do proper hacking, and why does Portland, Maine have such good firewalls on their public camera network. It’s fucking city infrastructure, it should be under funded and clamoring for every hacker to come in and peep on strangers.

Well, at least this place is good for one thing. Letting me access Google to find a place I can access a hard line to the cameras.

That and their coffee, I mean it, some of the best coffee I haven’t made myself.

* * * * *

Why does Portlant, Maine have to be so fucking cold? What would take Tristan to this of all places. And why doesn’t this truck have working heat?

The truck, tools and jacket I’m wearing, that’s not doing anything to keep the cold out, belongs to someone named Albert. I found them by hacking into a private dispatching server. Imagine that, a private company server with weaker security than the city. I swear, this place will bring about the end of the world.

I’m parked next to a junction box in an alley and a wire connecting my laptop to it. The cracked window almost certainly doesn’t help the cold situation. At least my travel mugs are insulated and the coffee in them still warm.

Six hundred box for the refill of a crate of them wiped the annoyance off the barista’s face.

I can barely feel my fingers as I type.

Okay, I have Tristan’s location when the GPS went offline. I bring up those cameras and easily find his Chevelle. A different angle shows me he’s the one driving him.

I start start breathing again.

Good, now I get to kill him myself for bailing on me with instruction not to jerk off. Well, kill him after he fucked me good and hard.

Fuck I need to cum.

I jump from camera to camera as he drives around the city—don’t leave!

Fuck, he left the city. And through a back road, so there’s now way to know where he’s going. Maybe he got wind of a great coffee shop and he—no, he doesn’t drink the stuff, the heathen. He’s out of Pemmican? There’s no way he left without the kind of supplies that would feed anyone crazy enough to eat that stuff for a year.

Okay, Bart, breathe. Before putting a bullet through your head at the idea do celibacy for the rest of your life, check if he came back. I have the information on his car, the visual parameter, so writing a search algorithm for the cameras if easy enough.

An empty crate of great coffee later and two refilled mugs I’ve left outside the truck, I find him again. He was gone for eight hours.

I’m breathing again.

“Where are you going now?” well, then. He’s still hours in my past, but not for long

He parks in the Northwest. He turns into an alley and doesn’t come out. Still hasn’t come up a speed through to the present confirms.

Okay, so what’s there that might interest him.

Insurance company, automotive supply, brewery, buildings under constructions, farming supply store. It’s fucking long way to drive to renew his insurance in person, or get parts for his car, although the Chevelle’s old, so maybe. And he only drinks water. If I can’t convince him to drink coffee there is no way he’s getting close to a brewery. Farming, really?

Okay, I am not going to find out anythign from here. I unplug, refill a mug that I leave wit the other two and drive off.

First thing though, I need a new vehicle, something with working heat.

* * * * *

His car is in the alley.

He isn’t in it.

I consider breaking into the car for something of a clue. I’m not seeing any obvious security, so I can break he window, pick the lock, well, maybe not that. This is an old car, no electronic locks I can access.

That’s not to say what security he might have added. Tristan is the guy who had his base of operation in Phoenix wired to blow at the press of a button, well phone call. The fact I don’t see the security doesn’t mean there is none, and with him it’s probable highly explosive.

Okay, I need a different way.

I’m back in my car, this is a Lexus. It’s gray, but it’s warm. The sales woman was amused when I told her the only thing I cared about was that it was hot enough inside to be a sauna.

Okay, there no accessing the city’s camera from here, but I already know that’s a waste of time. What I do have are a lot of wifi networks, and today, just about every store security uses wifi.

Thank you, reliable wireless.

And thank you even more not security-conscious security device owners.

I have one across the alley and rewind until Tristan drives in and exits. He crosses the street out of this field of view. I find him in another, and it comes with a time stamp of three hours ago. I watch him move from one camera to another until he steps onto a construction site, well, renovation, according to the contractor’s website.

I find every camera around the site, cover every exit, and confirm Tristan is still in there.

So I know where he is.

That means I need to get out of my new, warm, car.

I hate Portland, Maine.

Out of the trunk I open the brand new gun cases and take out the APX. I did another stop after buying the car. I did leave home rather under armed. I pocket the extra magazines into my also brand new, not thick enough, jacket.

I enter the building the same way Tristan did. The door is conveniently unlocked and thank God the heat is on.

Gun drawn I move in.

It takes two intersections to get a surprise. Or rather, to surprise someone. He gawks as me long enough for my to put the barrel of my APX in his conveniently open mouth. Thug is the best description for him. Jeans, button up shirt. Factory worker, if he has a job. There a roughness around his edges that is rather appealing. Definitely not a thinker here.

“Hi,” I greet him, “Please don’t do anything stupid, like reach for a weapon, or hit me. The safety’s off on this thing, and the trigger is way too sensitive. If you make my finger jerk, and considering you’re currently sucking the gun off, that one orgasm you don’t want to cause. Nod slowly if you get my meaning.”

He nods slowly.

“Are you alone in the building?”

A slow shake of the head.

A quick look up and down doesn’t show a visible gun. “Are you armed?”

A shake of the head.

“Is anyone armed?”

A Shrug.

“How many people in the building?”

Another shrug.

The guy’s way to calm about this. “your first time with a gun in your mouth?”

He shakes his head.

“Having a gun pointed at your face?”

He shrugs.

That explains the casual way he’s dealing with this. “There’s a door behind you. You’re going to back to it, we’re going in that room.”

I close the door behind me. I don’t remove the APX from where it’s comfortably resting. “A few hours ago a man came in. Black, taller than me by a head and with muscles to die for.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah. I have the hots for him. You would to, if you’re into guys. Did you see him?”

He shakes his head.

“But you know he’s in the building?”

A nod.

“Where?”

He points down.

“This thing has a basement?”

He shows me three fingers.

“What does a place like this need three basement for?”

He shrugs.

“What floor is he on?”

Two fingers.

“Why is he here?”

He shrugs.

He has been cooperative, so it’s worth a risk for more information.

“I’m moving the gun away. If you raise your voice above conversation level, you can kiss your brains bye-bye. Since this doesn’t have a silencer, it’s going to attract people and I’d rather not have that happen. We good?”

He nods.

I step back, keeping the APX pointed at his head.

He works his jaw.

“Who set this up?”

“My boss.”

“Do you know why?”

“I know better than to ask questions.” The accent is local.

“Since the building is standing, I’m guessing Tristan is a prisoner. Trust me,” I say as he starts to object. “Three hours is plenty of time for him to erase this building of the map. Is your boss here?”

“He left. He’ll be back in a while. Our job’s to make sure things stay quiet until he gets back.”

“I’m afraid you failed at that.” I nod to the APX. “Things are going to get loud once I break him out. Now, I need to figure out what to do about you. Any suggestions?”

“I’d rather you don’t kill me.”

“You are way to calm with a gun to your head.”

“You don’t know my boss. I’ve seen what happens to those who lose their cool around him.”

“Nasty guy?”

“You can’t even imagine.”

“Okay, then let me ask you this. Does he deserve to die?”

“No one deserves to die,” he answered easily and he believes it.

“Clearly, you aren’t a fan of the news.” I motion for him to get to his knees. “SHould he find out before we get to him, will your boss kill you for failing to stop me?”

“Not if he thinks I put up a fight.”

“I’m not taking a chance fighting you, and I’m not kicking you while you’re unconscious.”

He nods. “I’ll take my chance with him killing you and not punishing me.”

“The first one isn’t happening.” I pistol whip him and he goes down. As he said, he isn’t armed. “I should have asked if it’s standard for thugs to be this cooperative. Those I’ve encountered to date tend to be in a hurry to try to kill me.” I pocket his phone.

I listen for voices and steps as I move through the building. I avoid a dozen guards before finding the stairs.

Two floors down and when I crack the door open, voices are moving away. I leave my jacket in the stairwell, it might not be good enough to keep the cold out, but it’s certainly baking me in here, and it’s too bulky. I should have cracked the thug’s phones and seen if he had a map of the floors. This place is a maze.

Fortunately, none of the doors are locked, so I slip into one anytime I head someone approaching.

When I find Tristan’s cell, he’s standing away from the bars, looking at me. It’s a small room with a stack of newspaper and a dirty blanket at his feet. That’s it, even if it smells like it’s been occupied for days.

He still wears his jacket, but it’s open. His brown eyes are cold. “Al—Bart. What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you doing in there?” I indicate the gun in his holster. “You’re armed, how come there’s anyone left alive in here?”

“They aren’t my mission.”

A head peeks around his arm. Black curly hair around a pale face and terrified blue eyes.

“This is Emil,” Tristan says.

I close my eyes. “If you tell me he’s your son, I’m shooting you right now.” He had no right keeping that from me, if it’s the case.

“He isn’t. He’s who I came here to rescue.”

I look at the bars. There aren’t any hinges or locks. I’ll need my laptop to access the control. Probably a pneumatic system. “You let yourself be captured as part rescuing him?” I refuse to believe he was caught by surprise. “Why?” I test the bars to see of there any play left of right.

“So I could talk to the man who took him.”

“Why would you want to do that? Where are the controls for this thing?”

He steps to the bars. “It’s gravity fed. I wanted to confirm what this is about.”

I grab the crossbar and pull up. It doesn’t move. “And what is it about?”

“Greed, revenge.” Tristan grabs the bar with me. “On three.”

We pull, strain and th bar raises a few inches.

“Emil,” Tristan groans, “the papers, under it.”

The boy, no more than sixteen put them there but the weight of the door is such they get compressed until there’s only space for our fingers under it.

“We need something else to keep it open.” I look around for anything we can use, but the hall’s clear, as were the few rooms I hid in.

“It doesn’t have to stay open. Only up long enough for Emil and me to get under.”

“I can’t support this while you move under.”

“You won’t have to.” He grabs the bottom of the door, then nods to the crossbar. Once I have it, he tells Emil to be ready. “One, two, three.”

We pull and it goes up a foot and a half.

“Now,” Tristan orders.

The boy doesn’t move.

“I’m going to lose it,” I warned.

“No,” Tristan growls.

“I can’t hold it this way,” I strain.

“Then grab the bottom. Emil, I said now.”

“You can’t hold it on your own.”

“Alex don’t fucking argue with me. Grab the bottom and pull.”

I obey and the strain on his face is marked for the seconds it takes me to take hold and pull as hard as I can. It raises another half foot.

Without letting go of the weight, Tristan gets down on his back and moves until his arms are the columns supporting it up.

“Are you insane?” I demand.

Tristan looks at the boy. “Emil, you can’t stay in this prison. I promised I’d protect you. You need to leave it. It’s safe, I’m holding it up.” 

I look at him in disbelief. My arms are shaking from the strain. What is he doing letting the kid make up his mind?

“Alex is a friend.”

“A friend?” I ask angrily. “Is that all I am?” 

The bastard doesn’t even acknowledge me. “He will keep you safe.”

Don’t you fucking rope me into whatever this is. “Yeah, I will.” Come on, he’s a kid. Even as pissed as I am, I am not that heartless.

It’s enough. The kids gets to the door, crawls under it and plasters himself against the other wall, as far from me as he can. Tristan pulls his legs to himself and manages to rotate himself do they’re on this side, his crossed arms are shaking and I can feel the weight shifting to me.

“Alex, you have to support the door by yourself for a second.”

Before I can point out I’m already loosing my grip, I’m screaming as it feels like it rips my fingers away. It slams down loudly enough my ears ring and with enough strength the stack of papers is guillotined.

Tristan leans against the bars with a sigh.

I rest my head against them. “You are fucking insane.”

The kid, Emil, is in his arms. On his lap, curled up like he’s a puppy and that is the one safe place in the world. The concern on Tristan’s face is scary. I don’t want to be the guy who hurt the kid. How did I miss he was naked? Or so damned bruised. Oh I so want to be there when Tristan catches up to the man who did this.

“What happened?”

Tristan shakes his head.

Fine. Now’s not the time to deal with this.

He stands and Emil stays behind him, eying me warily.

I open and close my hands until the shaking in my arms subsides. Tristan stretches his.

“Are you okay?” a ask once I feel like I can lift my arms.

He nods.

I punch him in the jaw as hard as I can. It’s nowhere near that hard after straining the way I did, but it’s satisfying to watch his head snap to the left. “What the fuck is wrong with you, leaving without telling me?”

He rubs his jaw. “What do you mean?” There’s no anger on his face.

“What do you think I mean? How about asking for my help with this, if nothing else?”

“This doesn’t involve you,” he states.

“How can you—”

“Hey,” a man yells. “What are you doing—”

I have Tristan’s giant gun out of its holster, turn, flicking the safety and pull the trigger. The detonation makes my ears ring and the recoil throws me back against Tristan. The man’s head explodes.

“Fuck, that thing kicks.” I put it back in the holster. “How could you not think of asking me for help?” I yell, barely hearing myself over the ringing. “You were in Phoenix!”

“This doesn’t involve you.” He takes the gun out and replaces the magazine.

“Are we or are we not together?” I yell again, even if the ringing is fading.

He searches my face. “I’m not sure how that is relevant.”

I groan as it register he’s honest. “You don’t leave your partner in the dark about something like this. Don’t you know what it means to be with someone?”

He thinks as he puts holsters the gun, and when he asks, there’s hints of confusion in his voice. “You would have wanted to help me?”

“Fucking yes! I chased you here. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

“It tells me you’re pissed.”

“I am, but damn it, do you get why?”

“Because I didn’t tell you about Emil.” He tries to cover it up, but I can hear the uncertainty. 

He has no idea why I’m angry.

The kid has stepped away and looks ready to bolt. I push my anger down, because as much as I want to be it. I’m not the most important person here right now

“We’re scaring him.

Tristan nods. “He’s fragile right now. He’s been hurt deeply.”

“You’re his safe place and I’m threatening that.”

Another nod.

I let out a slow breath. “I’m tabling this for the time being.” I fix my gaze on Tristan’s cold brown eyes. “But once he’s safe, you and I are getting back to this. You do not get to treat me like a fuck toy you can throw aside once you’re done with it.”

There’s confusion in his eyes. He really has no idea. “Fuck, how can he be so smart and not know this? I want to slap him, scream at him. Distant running getting louder reminds me there are more important things to deal with.

Tristan hands me earplugs, then a pair to Emil and puts one in each of his ears. Of course, that, he’s prepared for.

I glower at him as I put them in, then take out the APX and turn to face the incoming forces.