The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 30

                 

"Talk."

Abe's heard stories about wounded guys in wartime. Wake up in the hospital. Come to realize they're blind. Horrifying. Must be as bad to watch.

Not sure if it's like that now. Abe's eyes are open. Can't see anything. Either blind or the lights are off.

The voice behind his ear blurts out again.

"Talk."

Abe squints. No use. Can't make anything out. Not even a figure against the blackness. Wherever he is, it's the darkest he's ever seen. Or not seen, if he's blind.

"Open your mouth and talk."

Abe tries to get up. Feels restraints around his wrists and ankles. Tied to something. A chair? It's soft. Like a waterbed.

"Say something."

Abe remembers not being able to talk. Got the wind knocked out of him. Near the truck. When was that? How much time had passed?

His nose comes back to life. Smells like...paint? Is he in the shipping container?

That voice. Can't tell if it's male or female. Almost like it's being filtered through a mask.

A wet bead runs down his cheek. Worms its way over his lips. He tastes it. Disgusting. Not salty like sweat. More like licking a rock. Iron.

Another bead meets his lips. And another. And another. He feels it dripping onto his head. Must be paint. What else could it be?

"Talk."

Abe spits the paint out. Breathes deep.

"Talk about what?" Abe says. "Where am I?"

"Good. You can talk. Now tell me everything," the voice says.

"Everything about what?"

"About your job. About the people you work with. Everything."

"Can I go then?" Abe says.

"We'll see."

Whatever is dripping onto Abe is increasing its frequency. If talking is the only option, Abe decides to take it.

He gives in and lets out. About Les and his background on the Bakken. The shakedowns. The extortions. The violence. The things that go in and out of the Man Camp Les runs. And the things that never leave.

The voice paces the room. Abe still can't make anything out.

"Good," the voice says.

There's a pause. Abe isn't sure if he's supposed to reply. Does anyway.

"Turn on the lights. Let me go," Abe says.

"Yes," the voice says.

There's a crackle as light scalds a hole in the darkness.

Abe barely has time to examine his surroundings. He looks up. It isn't paint dripping onto him. It's blood from Tor's body. Hangs by a chain a few feet above Abe's head.

Abe's scream is loud enough to exorcise his soul into the room. A hard blow to the head from behind takes it the rest of the way.

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