James, p.1Glenn Gamble
Chicago, Illinois, USA
© 2011 Glenn Gamble
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
James © 2011 by Glenn Gamble
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Glenn Gamble.
On the Run
A Thousand Chances
1001: Car Wash
“Where’s it at, Jack?”
“My name’s Jim, motherfucker.”
Jim felt a hard slap to his face. He grimaced from the painful impact as he sat in the backseat of the goons’ car with his hands tied together. “I’m not gonna ask you again before I put a bullet in you.”
“You’re going to do that anyway, but it just won’t be out here. So why should I tell you anything when one, I don’t know what you’re talking about; and two, you’re gonna kill me anyway.”
“But we might let your woman live, if…”
“Man, I don’t care what you do to her. I’ll shoot the bitch for you if you give me your gun.”
“You rotten piece of shit,” Jessica shouted. “Fuck you, Jim.”
“You did before I found out that you were a cannibal, remember?”
“Both of you shut the fuck up, NOW,” the goon shouted.
“Jim, I’m going to ask you one last time; where’s it at?”
“Where’s what at?”
“Guns?” Jim asked. "I got guns, but you didn’t have to taser me for them.”
“Where are they?”
“If you’d untie my arms and ankles, then I could find them for you.”
“Where are they?”
“Wait a minute? What’s in it for me?”
“How will I know that you won’t kill me right now?”
“Because Steve wants to kill you.”
Jim contemplated his options. He could tell them where the guns were and get killed on the spot, or he could stall and hope for an opportunity to present itself and escape alive. He calculated that he had a one-percent chance of surviving this ordeal. Having Jessica with him made it even more difficult. If it became necessary, he had no problem making her the sacrificial lamb, provided that he would escape alive. Sure he considered after all, she ran off with his best friend over a year ago—that no-good bitch.
“Where are they, Jim?”
“They’re in this abandoned warehouse where I keep a lot of things that I don’t want anyone to find,” Jim lied.
“How do we get there?”
“Start by driving the car. I’ll tell you where to turn as we’re driving.”
Carla was parked at the end of the block just as Jim instructed her to do whenever she came over to visit. This was to allow her enough time to escape if anything were to happen to him. Thank goodness she listened to Jim this time. Just as she turned onto his block, she noticed a midnight blue sedan parked in front of Jim’s house. Then two men carried Jim to the backseat of the car. Jessica got in the front seat unharmed. This isn’t looking too good. They got Jimmy and Jessica. I could care less if Jessica gets killed. In fact, I wouldn’t mind killing that home wrecker myself, but I can’t let these guys kill Jim.
She started the engine, but she turned the key too far and her alternator made a scraping sound. “Calm down,” she said to herself. “Breathe, Carla, breathe.” Carla started the engine once again and drove down the street behind the goons’ blue vehicle. She followed the car turn by turn from a half-block’s distance, occasionally allowing a car or two to get in front of her so she wouldn’t give any indication that she was following them. After a half-hour of driving, the blue car finally turned into an abandoned warehouse in a ghost-town outside of Memphis.
“Where’s it at?”
“Untie me first,” Jim demanded.
“I should just kill you right now and retrieve the guns myself.”
“Good luck trying to find the motherfuckers in a 400,000 square foot facility,” Jim shouted. “Use your head for once. Untie me, and I’ll show you where the guns are.”
“Quit fucking around and untie him,” the driver demanded.
“Get out the car.”
“It’s kind of hard for me to open the door handle when my wrists and ankles are bound with rope.”
“If it were up to me, I’d pump your body with smoking hot lead,” the goon threatened.
“And then Steve would kill both of you and have you on a rotisserie skewer burning the fat off your pathetic ass as he decides whether he’s going to slather barbeque sauce on your legs or eat you plain.”
A thunderous punch came down onto Jim’s face, “Shut the fuck up and show me where it’s at.”
“How can I when I’m still tied up?”
“Untie him,” the driver shouted. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I was gonna untie him until he got slick with his mouth.”
The goon started toward the knot on Jim’s wrist.
“You need to untie her first,” Jim said.
“I don’t like what you trying to pull, dude. First you want to be untied, now you want her untied, too.”
“Man, just untie the broad,” the driver shouted. “She can’t do anything while we’re both here.”
The goon reluctantly complied with the driver and untied Jim’s and Jessica’s legs. He still didn’t untie their wrists.
“That the best you gone get, Jack.”
This guy doesn’t honor my request or the driver’s request and he has the nerve to call me Jack? I get that he’s a goon who calls everyone Jack, but I really don’t like that street talk shit, or whatever they call it. I’m going to enjoy great pleasure in killing this coward motherfucker whenever I get the chance. First I must get loose from this rope, but how?
If it weren’t for the circumstances Jim would admire the plush interior of the car, which included the velour seats and power door locks that were of no use to Jim. He looked at the armrest next to him anyway and noticed a razor blade that was left in the ashtray. Now he had to figure out how he would grab the blade with the menacing goon hawking over him.
“Get the fuck out the car and show me where it’s at.”
As the goon started toward the door, Jim grabbed blade with his right hand and quickly slid the blade between the rope and the top of his left wrist. The man opened the backdoor and pulled Jim out by the rope on his wrists. Jim could feel the sharp blade pinching and scraping against his skin, just enough to pierce it. The goon shut both his door and the back door while the driver stayed in the car.
“Let’s go, Jack.”
“What about Jessica?”
“She’s gonna stay behind and have a conversation with my buddy.”
Jim appeared emotionless, but felt an intense anger burning inside. He would have liked nothing more than to burn this talkative fuck. Nothing annoyed him more than a chatty man, not to mention that he was taking potshots at him. “She’s pretty, Jack,” the goon teased. “I’m sure you won’t mind, since you were letting that good pussy go to waste anyway.”
“The pussy ain’t all that good.”
“My buddy will see about that, now come on and show me where it’s at.”
“Man, I’m starting to think that you’re full of shit.”
“It’s dark in there,” Jim said. “Look, the sooner we find my weapons, the sooner I can open the safe and get you want you want.”
“Hey,” the goon called to the driver, “pop the trunk.”
The driver hit the trunk release button and the goon grabbed the flashlight, closed the trunk, grabbed Jim, and dragged him into the warehouse. Jim could feel more pinching as the razor blade continued to pierce into his skin as the rope tightened from the pulling and tugging from the goon.
“Aight man, where’s it at?”
“I don’t have it right at the entrance,” Jim said. “Turn on the flashlight, and I’ll guide you to it.”
“You better be telling the truth, or you’re a dead man.”
“Just make sure you focus that flashlight so that we don’t trip over any broken skids.”
Jim felt another hard blow to his jaw. “You just don’t know how close you are to being dead right now. This is the wrong time for you to be extra. Now listen to me, if you make any more remarks beyond leading me to the stash, you’re a dead man.”
Jessica and the driver remained in the car, sharing an awkward silence between them. Her nervousness showed in her body language as the driver checked his rearview mirror. Now that his adrenaline had settled down since abducting Jim and Jessica, he finally got an opportunity to get a good look at her. What a sight to behold. What’s a pretty thing like this doing with a guy like Jim? She could be a supermodel on the arm of one of the celebrities. In fact she could be a celebrity herself. How did Jim get so lucky? Never mind the answer to that question. How did I get so lucky today?
“Hey, would you like for me to turn on some music?”
“No, I’d rather be at home,” Jessica said.
“Since we’re not home, let me introduce myself. I’m Jacobson, and you are?”
“You know who I am.”
“Easy there, sweetie, there’s no need to be hostile with me.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“Oh, this is just business,” Jacobson said. “Don’t mistake doing my job for me not liking you. I think it’s impossible to dislike a pretty girl like you. Hey, we might as well get better acquainted while we’re here.”
“I’d rather not.”
Jacobson unzipped the fly on his pants. “Look sweetie, I’m not a bad guy. Just have a little conversation with me.”
“I don’t have conversations with creeps.”
“You were just walking inside Jim’s house with a creep before we arrived.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“You weren’t running either. Why didn’t you run? Because Jim’s got money, so being seen with that creep is okay, but not talking to me. I don’t understand.”
“Jim’s not a creep.”
“You don’t think so?” Jacobson asked. “You must not have heard about how he tortured my brother.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Some years ago, he took my brother to a warehouse just like this one and molested him with a mini-baseball bat. He even poured salt in the wound.”
“Oh my God.”
“If he isn’t a creep, then I don’t know who is.”
“But you kidnap people.”
As they continued to talk, Jacobson momentarily pleasured himself. Her perfume in tandem with her beauty aroused him.
Jessica noticed a constant motion with his right arm. “Jacobson, what the hell are you doing?”
“As I said earlier, kidnapping you was business, but this is pleasure.”
Why am I here? How did I get tied up in Jim’s BS? I’m at an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It’s hot, these guys got guns, and I’m having a bad hair day. Why should I risk my life trying to rescue Jim when he may already be dead? He brought this upon himself. I told him not to go back to Chicago. No one told him to live a life of crime. Nope, these were his choices.
As Carla tried to rationalize not going in, she motioned to start her car, but decided not to. She then pulled out her compact, patted her hair—damn I hate my hair today—and checked her makeup—if I get killed, I’m going to die pretty—then got out her car and crept toward the warehouse as quietly as she could running behind the wild vegetation, weeds and trees that lined the abandoned warehouse. Once she made it to safe cover, she checked her purse and found the .22 caliber pistol that Jim gave her for protection. She hoped that she wouldn’t need to use the tiny weapon, for she hated guns.
“I don’t see how Jim lives like this,” Carla said to herself. “All this running and eww, I just stepped in dookie. If Jim’s not dead, I’m gonna kill him.”
The sun cooked everything outside the comforts of air-conditioned homes. It was still early afternoon with the beaming sun providing nowhere to hide. Even the shade provided little relief from the heat. The humidity was suffocating, making it hard to breathe and coating Carla’s skin with a thick, sticky film of sweated and oil slicked skin. The air felt more suitable for slicing than for breathing. Ahead of her parked the blue sedan. From this distance, both Jessica and Jacobson looked as if they sat motionless in the vehicle. Carla continued to creep forward, ignoring the scent of dog shit at the bottom of her sole.
Walking through the weeds and shrubbery, she felt dirty from brushing back plants that she would never touch under normal circumstances; however, this set of circumstances were anything but normal. If she walked directly to the car in the open lot, she would risk being seen and gunned down. The scenic route gave her the best option as she crept toward the entrance gate of the warehouse. She continued to walk slowly, until she felt something moving on her hip. Carla flinched, panicked and knocked the thing that was crawling on her to the ground; it made a buzzing sound. Carla looked down, it was her sister texting her. She asked if she had seen the latest episode of Basketball Wives.
Now aggravated, she picked up the phone and changed the setting to silent. As she placed the phone back on her belt, she heard a loud scream.
“I don’t feel comfortable with what you’re doing,” Jessica said.
Jacobson smiled. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t know you.”
“I tried to get to know you, but you wouldn’t tell me your name. Besides, a pretty thing like you smelling as good as you gets me aroused every time.”
“You creep,” Jessica yelled.
Jacobson laughed as he continued to stroke. He wasn’t concerned with the possibility of being caught with his pants down. They were in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse located in a ghost town. It looked as if a car hadn’t traveled down the road leading to the warehouse since Reagan was president. Weeds grew as tall as trees and crabgrass tall as NBA players. If it weren’t for a handful of abandoned vehicles and faded Old Milwaukee beer cans in the lot, there would be no evidence that people existed in this once bustling town. The insects, rabbits, and occasional garden snake were the only possible witnesses and they didn’t talk.
“Jim is going to kill you when he gets back out here.”
“Baby doll, Jim doesn’t care about you. He even said that he’d shoot you himself if he allowed us to, but I don’t understand your friend.” Jacobson slowly stroked his dick. “Why kill when he can have all the fun he wants with someone as pretty as you?”
“Jim is different.”
“Who cares?” Jacobson smiled. “Besides, I bet you have a pretty pink pussy.”
It took all of Jessica’s strength to hold her vomit down. She couldn’t understand why this strange man sat in the driver’s seat masturbating as if she weren’t there. The fact that she was there aroused him even more. Everything about this man frightened her from the small talk to his dick rubbing. Then he eased out of the car and opened the backseat door allowing the heat and humidity to seep in. She w
“Why don’t you stop doing that,” she yelled.
“Why don’t you show me what’s between your legs.” He smiled.
“Noooo,” she screamed.
Jessica frantically slid toward the door on the other side, but forgot that her arms were tied and couldn’t open the door. Jacobson looked hungrily as her dress rose up her legs. He could see her blue hi-cut panties as she tried to get away. He smacked her on the ass and pulled her legs toward him. Jacobson pointed his gun at her.
“You better quit kicking, or else you’ll be a dead bitch.”
Jessica’s body went limp. She was helpless and powerless and knew no other choice but to submit to Jacobson as he ran his hand down her leg until he got to her feet.
“Now why you have to wear some sandals with all these straps on your pretty feet? Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of that.”
Jacobson delicately unstrapped each buckle on each sandal and placed her shoes onto the floor mat. He examined each toe on her left foot from the pinky to the big toe. He then kissed the bottom of her feet, first with soft wet kisses, then he gave her foot one big lick as he made his way back up to her toes before sliding his tongue between the crevices of each toe as he suckled each toe. He liked the taste of her feet—salty, with a hint of foot odor, but not overpowering. Jessica felt disgusted by the whole experience as tears ran down both sides of her face. Afraid to make a sound, she laid there motionless as he continued shrimping the right foot.
Jim felt an intense amount of pain in the spot where he was struck. His skin felt warm as his cheek swelled, but his temper ran even hotter. He was growing tired of the goon hitting him whenever he wanted. As soon as I get out of this rope, I’m going to kick his ass until both of my shoes are shitty. Then I’m going to kick his ass some more for making both shoes shitty. Right now, I gotta stall until I figure something out.
When the goon wasn’t attacking him the heat was. The humidity and the dust in the abandoned warehouse were suffocating, and they had to navigate through broken skids, darkness, and disabled equipment. Besides the goon’s flashlight, the only light source available to them peered through the broken windows. Jim felt small amongst the conveyor belts and other equipment that towered over him. He could hear mice squeak as he took inventory of this massive warehouse.
James by Glenn Gamble / Thrillers & Crime have rating 3.9 out of 5 / Based on39 votes