Day 70

Writing exercise – end the story with the line ‘ “I know, trust me, I do,” she said, “But this way we live. Isn’t that what you want?” ‘

…

A wise man once told me that I would, one day, have to make a compromise that I wouldn’t like. At the time, I thought that I had everything under control. The pieces of my life were coming together one by one, after a lot of hard work.

There was a party, more a gathering of colleagues and a few friends, to celebrate my recent promotion. More money, meaning I could move into a better apartment, and finally ask Bernice to move in, if she wanted to.

I was not sure how she felt about me, other than that we were very good friends, and I was ready for the next step. But I soon would, we were meeting up after this was over. No one would be staying late, we all had early mornings.

Jack Bosworth, one of the three candidates for the position I finally got, was happy for me.

“Just glad Ansen didn’t get it,” he said.

We both were, Ansen was an ass who was only in it for himself and what he could get out of it. There were too many like that already. The company needed new blood if it was going to move forward.

Then Ansen wandered over. Five thousand dollar suits and one thousand dollar shoes, and I didn’t hear what the pure gold tie clip cost, he made sure everyone knew what he was worth.

“Brick.”

He knew my name was Hohn Brock, but pretended he could never remember. He knew it well enough when he was trying to convince the selection committee when he ‘confidentially’ told them about my shortcomings.

“Brock, Ansen, which you know is my name.”

“Brick, Brock, Brack, it’s just a name. Well played, this time. Just don’t get too comfortable. A few weeks, we’ll see how it goes.”

Always flanked by his wingmen, he simply smiled, and they moved on to the next junior executive whose aspirations they could quash. Being related to the boss I guess had its privileges, he might not get the position, but he would never get fired.

“Slimeball.” Bosworth didn’t like him, none of us did.

“Be that as it may, he’ll probably be my boss next week. I have to play nice.”

“We shouldn’t have to do anything.”

“It’s a game. It’s the same everywhere, there’s always one adversary who seems to have a charmed life. But let us not dwell, the bar closes soon and there’s a few drinks I’ve yet to try.”

…

An hour later I dashed into the restaurant five minutes late and Benice was already at the table looking annoyed. She did not like tardy people.

“Sorry,” I said, sliding into the chair after hanging my coat on the back of the chair.

“You wouldn’t have to be if you were on time. This is the second time, there will not be a third.”

Well, that took all of the euphoria out of the promotion, and the news I was going to tell her.

I sighed. “Are you ready to order?”

Her expression brooked no small talk. She was an eat-and-run girl, forever telling me her time was precious. The waiter was hovering. She asked for the salad, and I said ditto. No point in having more food than she, I would not get to finish it.

The waiter was gone, drinks poured, and she looked around the room. This was my moment. Her eyes came back to me.

“Not a good day at the office?” I was going to dance with the devil.

“It’s never a good day at the office.”

I saw her eyes wander over to the entrance to the restaurant, and three men came in. Her eyes lingered on them for a moment longer than they should, have before one pulled out a shotgun under his coat and fired into the roof, making a loud bang and a lot of mess.

“Now I have your attention. James Brock. Stand up now or I will start shooting diners till you do.”

I looked at Benice who was shaking her head.

He had the gun pointing at a woman’s head next to where he was standing.

I stood.

“Excellent. We’re leaving. Bring your friend.”

“She’s not involved.”

“I decide who’s involved or not.” By that time he had one of the other men dragging her out of her seat.

“Alright, alright.”

Thirty seconds, a police siren in the distance, we were bundled into a white van and it left the curb before the door was shut. Then, a needle to the neck and nothing.

Why me?”

…

When I woke I found myself in a chair, bound and gagged, opposite Bernice. She was looking at me.

Some people looked terrified and others were terrified, and Benice looked terrified. I’d expected she would be fighting the bindings and making noises, but she was sitting there, not calmly, but there again not as if she was trying to escape.

Me, I was just plain terrified. Men with guns, who might use them. A few TV scenarios ran through my mind, the most pertinent in this situation, that they would use her as leverage to get what they wanted. The question was how far they would go?

The bindings were tight and inescapable. The chair was bolted to the floor so no trying to fall over or break it. We were not blindfolded, and we had seen the faces of our captors. Not good.

The man with the shotgun appeared out of the gloom and stopped not far from Bernice, a silenced pistol in his right hand.

“I’m sorry about the interruption to your dinner, but I’m in a hurry, and you have something I need.”

I shrugged. No point answering while I was gagged.

He removed it, and Bernice’s. Surprisingly she didn’t speak.

“What do you need?”

“A code. A code only you know, I have been told.”

Who could have told him? Bernice didn’t because I’d never told her, and it was only known to three people, me, my boss, and the head of the IT department.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bluff first, though the tone I used sisn;t exactly sell it.

“You do. Let’s cut to the chase.”

“If I don’t.”

“Missy here dies from a nasty gunshot wound to the head.”

“You’re going to do that anyway. There’s no way you’re going to let us live now we’ve seen you.”

“We have anonymous faces. Facial recognition won’t match us with anything you will remember. just give me the code and I’m gone, and you two can spend the rest of your lives doing whatever it is you want.”

I could see Bernice following the conversation. “Just give him the code.”

Just like that.

“No. Either way, we’re both going to die. If I give it to him, they’ll know who did it, and they will execute me for treason. There’s no incentive.”

She glared at the man. “You’re not selling it. If what he says is true, then even I wouldn’t give it to you.”

The man looked at both of us. Then he raised the gun and shot at her, not fatally but the bullet hitting her arm and she screamed.

“Let there not be a second.”

I looked at her and could feel her pain. “I can’t, no matter how much I want to.”

“I know, trust me, I do,” she said, “But this way we live. Isn’t that what you want?”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025