Day 164 - Upside Down- Chapter 12 - (1701 words)

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UPSIDE DOWN, BACK TO FRONT

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 12

After

“You know what? Go the fuck ahead.” James courage is an empty threat, not because he has no intention behind it, but he has nothing left in him. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”
He flings his arms wide and stares Ivan in the face. “Fucking do it already!” and then in a quiet voice, the most honest he could muster. “I’ve had enough.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you want to fucking die?” Ivan is incredulous.
He wants his money. It is his money. He doesn’t need to kill anyone.
He can of course. It’s his choice, the choice of life and death. It’s not this irritating drama queens choice who lives and dies, that’s Ivan’s choice.
He decides.
Is this a bluff? A gambit, a cry for help or attention? Does he really fucking want to die?
Let’s find out.
“Fine.” Not shouted or threatened at all. Matter of fact. “Who am I to deny you?”
I’m the man in charge, that’s who I am to deny or decide. Fuck you and your deathwish.
Ivan steps out of the room, James barely registers and waits. He comes back roaring with energy a gun in his hand. It’s ram rod straight in his arm, a deathly pose and a raging body backing it up.
“You fucking want to die you fucking prick?” the language of control and lack of control in one breath.
James blinks. Twice.
Ivan is at full extension, his arm starts to wobble slightly as the seconds pass. He realises that James is not doing anything at all.
Nothing, waiting.
He pulls back the stock.
Chambers a round.
Diasbles the safety, a little red mark now visible.
Back in position and a raised eyebrow.
James does not move.
This is not going the way he expected. The man is obviously a coward, a fool. Is he trying to see if he’s bluffing? Is that it? Is he trying to wrest control from him. Is he trying to force a decision on him, good or bad does it matter? It’s not his call is it?
Who the fuck does this bastard think he is?
The gun edges close to touch the skin of his temple and James recoils at the cold touch, but only by milimeters as if swaying gently in the breeze and coming back to rest, his head pressing against the barrel.
Ivan can feel the force of the forehead pressed against his weapon, his oustretched arm.
Is this really going to happen? This is up close and personal, there’s no doubt about it. This is not an accident, this is planned, this is not a malfunction. This is a decision in the heat of the moment.
His pulse pounds, he can hear it in his skull and he feels euphoric.
This is my choice here and now, this feels amazing.
Life, death it does not even matter anymore.
Then the sound of the gate opening and footsteps takes the choice away from him, and his blood runs cold in anger and frustration. Would he kill James? Would he spare James? Fuck! Who the fuck is coming into my fucking house and telling me what and when to do things?
Ivan leans in rapdily, and jams the gun hard into the cavity beneath James’ chin and the barrel presses dangerously into soft flesh. His free arm has reached behind the mans head and grasped a handful of hair and jerked it to the side, as uncomfortable twist that shows who is controlling who and between the hands of the man in charge James see’s death and flames in Ivan’s eyes.
The house is burning down again, burning away all the evidence of impotance and importance that it can bring.
House of betrayal play briefly in Ivans mind and he utters his warning into the side turned face of his visitor.
“This is not over.” Each word spat with stabbing force into his eyes, reflecting the burning there.
Now James is scared.
Now he has really seen death.
Ivan jams the gun into the wasteband of his pants, and he points so very slowly to the center of Jame’s forehead as the lights outside the ranch slider click on and the new arrivals come into view.
Sam and Manisha are laughing with each other as Sam opens the door for his sister.
Neither see the murderous intent that fills the room, they see two men, one unexpectedly but welcome none the less.

Before

The paper flexed unwieldy in his hands, for all the decrying of a tabloid the size was much better to handle than the broadsheets. Folding in on itself and around again then not supporting itself, the straining hands, the moving paper and the feeling of discomfort all added up to the paper being ditched with a sigh.
Should not be so hard to enjoy a coffee.
The waitress was bustling about the other customers and he stared at her legs as she worked. It didn’t really feel that lecherous, he was just enjoying the view, not leering at all. Yet he still looked away quickly when she turned to come back past his table.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
“Hey.” A voice interrupted his internal panic attack. He looked up and saw a man standing there, tall and imposing. What the hell?
“You finished with that?” he gestured non specifcally, but the paper was what he had in mind.
Relief showers him.
“Yeah, take it. Done”
“Thanks man.” A small salute of sorts with the folded mess of news and advertising and then he was alone again and with nothing to read either. Not that he had been reading it, successfully, but now the option had been taken from him.
Now he had to wait.
People came and went, it was a long time before his meeting showed up. His friend, more like a friend of an acquaintance really finally came in looking like a very long and interesting night had been had before.
“Jesus, you look like shit.”
“I fucking feel it bro.” There were darkened glasses covering bloodshot eyes. Even with the obsidian shields his guest could not meet his gaze. Avoiding looking at him at all, fidgeting and twitching off to the side.
“What happened? Did you … party last night?” He shook his head, this was all going a bit wrong. This was supposed to be easy, supply some information and get a cut of the deal. No harm, no foul, no one gets hurt.
“No. We got. Caught.”
Fuck.
“Caught? You got…” he looked about nervously, suddenly acutely aware of how public this place was and who was sitting around him.
“The police, were waiting for us.”
“How? What the…?” Now that nervousness intensified, shouldn’t they be lying low or not talking about this or something? How did it work in the movies?
“Somebody narced. Was it you?” It was an accusation, but it didn’t come out like an attack, more like a rehearsed line.
“Why? No! Why the fuck would I narc, this is my fucking job on the line. Of course I didn’t narc, what the fuck man. You came to me and all I have to do is give you the fucking information and …”
The demeanour of the visitor changed instantly, cutting him off.
“What? Don’t fucking tell me you have nothing to do with this, this is all on you man. This was you fucking idea!” This felt like an attack.
“What are you talking about?”
“You man, you set this whole fucking thing up, now it falls apart and you fucking narc us to the police and what the fuck, man. You can’t deny it man.”
“Dude, are you high or something? You’re not making any sense!” This was crazy, he was just the inside man, and now he’s being blamed for the whole plan, the whole thing going south. He didn’t even know who the others in the group were, how could he be in charge? “I don’t know anything?”
“Man you’re a piece of work, you set this whole fucking thing up like some… mastermind and then you act all fucking innocent, man I ain’t going to prison for you.”
“Man, I don’t understand, why are you trying to blame me for…”
Not blame. Set up. Fuck me.
The cold feeling sets in and both men go quiet, the sunglasses come off and there’s only a cold intent there, no feeling or leeway. A plan to incriminate a useful ally, in favour of protecting the real brains behind the job.
Silence moves in to stay and settles that way until the detectives listening in walk up and hoist the vistor from the table shaking their heads and cuffing him rougher than necessary.
Wasting everyone’s time with an ill fitting stich up that no one for a second would believe.
As they lead the guy away, screaming that he was just a pawn in the whole game and that the kingpin was right there the remaining detective sighed and sat down.
“You made a mistake, we get that. It’s obvious he was trying to fit you for the job, but we’re not stupid despite what people think. He’s not your friend, and it will be a lot easier if you just co operate.”
“I… I don’t know what you mean?”
Another sigh and this time there was no second chance. Standing up and fishing out his cuffs the detective stood back and raised his voice.
“James Hansen you are under arrest.”
Resigned and resolved, just let it happen, let it happen, see where it goes.
Is there any reason to make it worse, fight an unwinnable battle?
“You had to go for the hardway didn’t you?” The passing epithet sealed the deal as they bustled him out of the café.
The waitress who had not given him a second thought now looked out after him, wondering what the quiet guy at the back table had done.

It’s always the quiet ones right?