0. Gregory M.

The room was oppressively dank. Carl sat huddled against one wall, opposite the only door. There were no windows. Every so often, he judged it was perhaps two hours, that door would open. He used to be horrified to see the crack of light in the doorway growing wider—but a strange numbness to the fear had come over him.

            The interrogations weren’t usually as bad as he thought they would be. It was always a different man; few asked many questions. Most had thick, sausage-like fingers that seemed to be designed for pounding. Carl judged he had been in the dark, drafty cell for less than a day, since he had been fed only once and still wasn’t too hungry.

            He had known this was coming, though. He knew that at some point, they would catch up to him. But he hadn’t let any information out: he hadn’t sold his true value—his knowledge—for relief from bodily pain. For this he was proud of himself. It was the way he was raised, integrity. He chuckled out loud. Integrity in some things, at least.

            The door opened quickly. A tall, thin man stepped into the room and walked directly across the floor to where Carl was huddled. He bent over and looked at Carl with a look of conceit. Carl resisted his urge to spit in this man’s face. It was too cliché, and the other ‘interrogators’ had only ever grown more aggravated by it.

            “You’ve been quiet. You can talk to me; do you know why you’re here?” Said the anonymous man.

            “I’m here because you think I’m the reason you’re out five million,” said Carl belligerently.

            “That’s right, Carl. We do think that. In fact, you could say we know that. And you’re going to help us get it back.”

            “I’m a schoolteacher. You knew my name, so you probably knew that too. Your fat-fingered henchmen haven’t told me how you know about me, but you do. Why me?”
            “Listen Carl, I haven’t much time. I’ve let you stay here this long only out of kindness. Let’s leave it at that my men and I can track accounts from Thailand to the Ivory Coast to Texas. You think you’re a maverick, but you’re not.”

            “I have no interest in Thai money.”

            “Shut it with the wisecracks. I came here to give you two options. Either way, you’ll be out of here today.”

            “I’d like to get out of here, sure.” Carl refused to look the man in the face anymore.

            “Your first option: we take you out of here immediately. I’m hungry now, so we can stop at a steakhouse. We’ll drive thirty miles North to a small farm owned by a very friendly farmer who can’t see past his nose. There, in his fields, I will shoot you in the temple. Quick, painless. My men will dispose of you at their leisure.” The shadowed man betrayed a faint smile.

            “…” Carl scratched his nose then punched the man in the chin. The man bent backwards and recovered himself for a few seconds.

            “Your second option: you get a cut.”
            “A cut where?”

            “A cut of the money. You’ll be responsible for us getting our money back, so you should deserve some. Fair?”

            “If I were responsible, it’d be fair.”

            “But you’d have to come with us. You made the trail hard to follow, so we’ll need your help overseas. Afterward, you’ll get one million.”

            “A million? You must be desperate.”

            “I am desperate, Carl, and if you don’t want to help us we’ll dispose of you as per option one.”

            “How do I know you’d give me anything if I were to help you?” Carl was beginning to stand up.

            “I might not. I think I will, but I might bump it down to a couple hundred grand. Or a couple grand. We’ll see how I feel later, but I think I’d owe you.”

            “I know how to get your money.” Carl half expected a pat on the back, half expected a bullet to the chest.

            “Excellent. Go to the hotel where we found you today, to the same room. I’ll send someone to monitor you. Wait for me there.”

            “So I’m just supposed to go without telling anyone?”

            “That would also be less than ideal. Your family would doubtless summon a search for you, cause too much commotion.”

“Then what…?”
“Before we leave the hotel, I’ll give you a few seconds to write a note to your family. Forty seconds, actually. I’ll make sure it’s suitable, then we’ll leave.”

            “Why can’t I have more time? What could I possibly write in forty seconds?”

            “You’ll think of what to write. If I gave you more time, you’d say it wrong.”