I’d like to thank my father for the inspiration for this story, and I hope you, my reader, enjoy it.
Bob blinked as he regained consciousness, raising his head from its lolled position on his chest. Before he got a clear picture of his surroundings, however, he was intently aware of his position fastened to a metal chair with rope; his head ached, with pain reminiscent of being hit in the head with a shovel. Oh, wait. That was what had happened right before he passed out, wasn’t it? And now that he could see, there was the one who had hit him, standing in the edge of the dim light cast by the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a thin wire.
“Ah, at last you are avake,” said the man, his large boots clicking against the concrete floor as he stepped forward. “Ve have been vaiting for some time – you are a heavy sleeper, Mr. Jackson.”
“Well, when you need rest –” Bob began, before the man cut him short.
“Ve have a few qvestions, Mr. Jackson, vich ve vould like ansvered.”
“If you cooperate, tings vill go vell for you. If you do not, vell zen…”
A tall, muscular man stepped out of the shadows so that his bare six-pack and malicious face fell in the circle of light. He cracked his knuckles and grinned villainously.
“I see,” said Bob, staring at the man and quivering some. “Well, I’d love to help, but I’m not sure what I can do.”
“You could start by telling us ze names of your employers,” said the captain.
“Let’s see…there was that old blonde chick, I just can’t remember her name. And then the old guy in the suit…”
“Descriptions vill not do, Mr. Jackson, only names.”
“That’s the trouble, then. Sorry, I’m awfully terrible with names. Sometimes I think that’s why people hire me so much.”
The captain stared at him, trying to decide whether he thought Bob was telling the truth or not. “Vell, you must know at least the name of your partner,” he said after a moment.
“Oh, yeah! The guy with the beard.” Bob thought for a moment. “Nope, can’t think of it.”
“Doesn’t ze name ‘Charles Jamesson’ ring ze metaphoric bell?”
“That’s what his name is! I remember now!”
“Really? Zen do you also remember ze names of your employers?”
Bob was silent for a while. “Nope, still drawing a blank.”
The captain’s eyes bulged momentarily, before he turned away from the prisoner. This was not going the way he had intended.
“Mr. Jackson, do you know any names?”
“Well, certainly: George Washington, Ben Franklin, Abe Lincoln, Hannibal, King Louis XIV (or what it XVI?), Plato, Christopher Colum–”
“Qviet!” the captain snapped.
Bob shut up, watching anxiously as the captain paced in front of him.
“Now, let us start at ze beginning, ya?” he asked in a forcedly calm voice. “You vere hired by zis, zis blonde woman and zis man in suit for ze purpose of reclaimed ze secret Allied documents zat I had stolen, ya?”
“Ya – I mean, yes.”
“Hm. So zen you came to ze casino in Mexico in order to get a lead on vere ve vere heading from a certain singer.”
“Yeah, the singer. Can’t remember her name right now, though.”
The captain smiled unamused. “Ze name is not important. You zen used her information to track us down to ze varehouse in Spain vif your partner.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Vere you fell directly into our trap and ve captured you.”
“Whereupon I believe I was immediately transported here,” finished Bob. “Though, that’s just an assumption, since I wasn’t awake for that part.”
“Ya, ve know. I vas the von ‘hoo knocked you ovt. I vas just vondering vy you vere in our trucks ven you must have known the documents vere in the facility.”
“Oh, I was trying to sabotage your vehicles in case you tried to escape. Totally not acting as a distraction while my partner broke into here and stole the documents back!”
There was a loud bang! from beyond the captain as a door opened, spilling light into the room. There, silhouetted in the doorway, was Jamesson, a briefcase in one hand and a machine gun in the other.
“Oh, there you are, Bob,” he said as he viewed the scene. “You busy?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just entertaining the guests,” Bob replied.
“Right, well, see you outside. Let’s take the motorbikes this time!”
“Great! Right behind you!”
Bob raced out of the room, turning into the corridor toward escape, all while the captain and his goon stared dumbfounded after them, before turning to see the chair covered in severed ropes. The captain’s face evoked perfectly his infernal rage.
“I’ll get you next time, Jackson!” he roared.