10 comments/ 14612 views/ 8 favorites The Hunt Ch. 01 By: dragontatto Okay I apologize for the confusion but for whatever reason or happenstance,I submitted this first and then later the same day submitted ch 2. While chapter two went through fine, chapter one just up and disappeared. *wondering if there are goblins in computer* Anyway - here is the revised version of one - which will hopefully clear up the questions raised by the second chapter. Shifting, I burst free of my manly trappings amongst the tall trees. The wind ruffled my fur in a welcoming caress. A low growl of pleasure built in my throat. It felt so wonderful I wasn't sure how I'd survived so long without it. The six months I'd worked in the human world had left little chance of shifting. In fact, desperation had driven me to this Nature Center in the dead of the night. It'd been too long since I'd let the beast roam free and he was close to going feral. My hectic life in the city, making a living to provide for my small pack kept my wolf as firmly chained in the wrappings of human necessity but no longer. Bounding over a fallen log, I hit my full stride quickly. Using my nose and every other sense God had given me to navigate over the darken landscape, I ran for what seemed like hours but knew had only been minutes. I crossed a stream when it hit. The most tantalizing scent I'd ever smelt hit me. Nirvana -- the smell of a female in heat. Bursting out of the water, I followed my nose, until I found her. Fur gleaming in the moonlight, she was regal from the tip of her shiny nose to the tip of her bushy tail. Her head came up as she scented me. Her low howl sent shivers down my spine. This was a true alpha bitch in her prime. Her magnetic draw pulled my wolf closer. Then she shifted. Her long blonde hair spilled over her rounded shoulders. Her breasts, tipped with pale rose nipples swayed as she held her hand out to me. I couldn't resist her offer. I shed my wolf as easily as a duck sheds water. As the familiar burn of the change faded, I stood in front of her more aroused than I could ever remember. "Come." She drew me closer, pressing her hands against my chest. Her nails scraped across my nipples before trailing down my stomach. I inhaled sharply as my cock rose like an obedient pup. I let her guide me down into a sitting position on the lush grass next to the stream. A low groan filled my chest as she settled over me, rubbing her wetness against my cock. Her nose brushed over the hollow of my throat when she pressed her breasts against my chest. Lifting my hands, I cupped the sides of them, using my hold to guide her body in a rocking motion. Satisfaction at her cry of pleasure as my chest hair teased her sensitive nipples sent me soaring. The wiggle and flex of her hips as her desire grew sent my own higher. I wanted inside of her -- inside my mate, my beautiful Onawa. "Please." My voice sounded hoarse to my own ears as I lifted my hips in entreaty. The nip of her teeth against my collar bone was her warning. Her message was clear. She'd take me at her pace or not at all. I wanted to snap with frustration when she rose to her knees, removing her heat from my lap. The urge died when she pressed my face between her breasts, before feeding me her nipple. "Suck!" I obeyed without thought, moving back and forth between each nipple until she was writhing against my cock. Canting my hips I hoped that the rub of my shaft against her mound would coax her into completing our union. A sharp cry filled the clearing as she joined our bodies with a smooth thrust. My balls tightened as hot wet heat surrounded me. "Not yet!" She hissed raking her nails over my shoulders. "You will wait for me. For your mate!" "Yes -- please." I no longer sounded like the alpha wolf that I was -- instead I was a male at the mercy of the woman I'd claimed nearly a year ago "Ride me, love." I tweaked her nipple with one hand while the other slipped between us to rub her nubbin. Her head tipped back as she snapped. Riding me hard and fast, all I could do is hang on as I crept closer to the edge. It'd been too long since we'd done this -- frolicked in the woods. "Now. Give me your seed, Mahkah." Her lips fastened over mine, swallowing my cry of ecstasy as I gave her what she wanted -- a child conceived in wild outdoors as I'd promised. * * * * I hadn't always been this way, I thought as I pulled my scattered clothing on, a wolf in the city, who longed for the wide open spaces, but had more responsibility than I'd asked for. As child all I had ever wanted was a slice of my mother's homemade pumpkin pie and time to play outdoors. Nothing more, nothing less. Then had come the revealing -- a ceremony which all young men went through after their first vision quest when they reached puberty. I was expected to travel several hundred miles in my animal form, a wolf in my case, to stand in front of our council and be recognized. Even to this day, I can remember as I'd knelt in front of them, naked as the day I was born, my body exhausted by my long trip... "...rise, Mahkah." The tall imposing shaman of the council, Ohanzee brushed his hand over my shoulder. Standing on legs which that trembled was easier than I thought it would be, considering I'd just completed my first vision quest. I was nervous but the soothing voice of the shaman relaxed me as I took in my surrounds. The lush meadow was a perfect spot for the acknowledgement ceremony. "I recognize and accept Mahkah's vision to lead -- he shall be the next Alpha male gifted to the Sapá family." Ohanzee lowered his voice until only I could hear. "Your family is very lucky, indeed young Mahkah. To have not only a shaman in Chaska but also a dominant alpha with you proves how gracious the Wakan Tanka is." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I was only fifteen and was unprepared for the mantle Ohanzee had just place upon my narrow shoulders. I wanted to run from the room but didn't. I wouldn't dishonor my family in such a way. "Thank you, Shaman Ohanzee." The booming voice of another member of the council sent apprehension down my spine. It was Kangi Witikó, the Alpha of a neighboring family. I'd heard he'd been pressing for some archaic sacrifice, but like most teenagers, I hadn't paid much attention to the on-goings of adults -- excluding my own family. I wasn't sure if he'd gotten the council's approval or not, but now with my new responsibilities I needed to know. "And now that we've heard the last Vision Quest recipient -- we need to move onto the next item on the agenda. The sacrifice our Shaman foresaw on his last quest. I have decided upon who it shall be..." My heart thundered in my chest, even as my conscious protested such a thing. We lived in the twenty-first century. Human sacrifices were wrong. I didn't care what the teachings said. "It shall be Weeko Sapá." Shock rolled through me as my beast growled. In the background I could hear my Aunt Maka crying. There was no way I could let my own cousin be killed -- not only was she a shifter but a female one at that. Our numbers were too small to even sacrifice one. "No." "What do you mean no? You dare challenge me." Kangi stiffened, his fists clenching. "As my right as the Alpha of the Sapá family I refuse." I couldn't believe how strong my voice sounded. "I will not give her to you." I stood on trembling legs as utter chaos erupted around us... The Hunt The mansion's security was on high alert but Sasha moved by the mercenaries as if she were a phantom. The jungle princess reached the front door and attacked the two guards. Unprepared they easily succumbed. Applying her herbal toxin they would be paralyzed for several hours. "Meditate on your sins, " she hissed. Entering the parlor, she saw Franco; the head of the Frisco syndicate. "Frisco!" "Jungle Bitch! Now you die! He pulled out a knife. Sahsa was glad, "Now she could kill him and the authorities would not even have to investigate. Despite his wickedness, Frisco was no coward and was a skilled fighter. The two adversaries thrust and parried for some time. "Is that the best you can do bully?" She taunted. As she expected, his machismo overruled his brain lost his focus and extended too far. Her return thrust took him in the throat. "You.." As he hit the ground. "Justice for your many crimes." "Thank you," said a female voice. A beautiful blond woman entered the room. Frisco's latest mistress no doubt. "For what." " For giving me his empire, " she replied. Sasha laughed, 'You harlot, you will be going to jail." "Call me Donna, " or as she flicked a control and a net came down over the Jungle Girl. "Or Mistress", as she placed a cloth over her foe's face. *************** Sasha work up her arms extended over a wooden bar. "Well the famous Jungle girl", Donna sneered. "How long I have wanted to meet you." "You Bitch, let me go! "Oh no my prisoner. You have cost the organization a lot of money. You will have to pay us back." "Us? You are just a whore!" Donna laughed and slapped her hard, "Naïve primitive. In the modern world, woman are empowered. We don't have to wear silly costumes. I was in charge of marketing." But as she picked up a whip, "I started by training girls in our brothels." "So you plan to make me a sex slave." "Eventually, but a prize like you gives me an opportunity. Some of our rich clients will want you for their very own.. And I want to be entertained." Meaning." "A hunt! Her eyes glistened. 'You have the advantage of your skills and knowing the terrain. Of course your pursuers will be armed." "I will kill them." "That the risk they will have to accept." Donna stood behind her, "Now I am going to indulge myself.', as she began whipping. "How dare you interfere in the business of your betters.." "Drugs, prostitution poaching, The raven haired beauty responded. "Infuriated, Donna stuffed a ball gag in her mouth. "Enough talk." She moved to the front and worked on Sasha's breast and pussy. The warrior was marked all over and sweating, but still defiant. Donna smiled to herself, and put the whip down. She caressed her prisoner's face tenderly. "You know I am attracted to beautiful women. In a way it's a shame that I have to sell you." Sasha was confused,. She had been with man , but her own terms. Donna looked at her, "Let me introduce you to new pleasures." She picked up a device with a round flat head and pressed it against Sasha's body. Sasha was again surprised, it was pleasurable. "You need to be school in the sexual arts, "The mistress told her as she played it on her pussy. Despite herself, Sasha was getting aroused. She hated this woman who was controlling her body; but she wanted more. "Oh yes, 'Donna taunted. "I am going to break you." Sasha was groaning in ecstasy this was so enjoyable she felt her body getting warm. Then it abruptly stopped. She wanted more. Donna saw it, "Do you want more slave?" Sahsa refused to yield. "Good, a defiant woman makes the best slave. After she's broken." Donna picked up the whip. Sasha was able to take a lot of pain, but now she screamed her sensitivity to touch has been heighten. "What happened to your defiance, "the criminal mocked. Sasha's eyes glared with hatred. "More pleasure?" Her tormenter asked. She turned the vibrator on high. Sasha body withered in ecstasy before passing out. ************** Sasha woke, her arms extended to the ceiling. "Enjoy your nap" Donna had changed and was wearing what look like a male's sexual organ. "Prepare to get fucked," as she grabbed Sasha's legs. The jungle maiden shuddered as her body was penetrated. But part of her was craving this. "Yes you are a sex slut aren't you.? The villainess crowed. Sasha hated herself but she was enjoying this stimulation. "Ah! "Say you are jungle slut." "I am a jungle slut.!" Donna laughed evilly and took off the strap on, forced it in Sahsa's mouth. "Enjoy your pussy juices." She put on a larger strap on and spread her prisoners' ass "Round 2." Sahsa sighed in anticipation and dread. To be continued... The Hunt The Hunt The days before Desperately running through the woods, the big biker, who normally would have been about the most imposing man in whatever situation he found himself, knew that he was the one in trouble this time. The name the 6'5" man had been born with was Ralph Peterson, but the only people who called him that were either cops or corrections officers during his frequent run-ins with either group. His friends simply called him Bigfoot for the most obvious of reasons. Speaking of cops, he'd just left one of L.A.'s finest back on the trail, and even now, with every step of his oversized feet, he was putting even more distance between himself and his last two companions. The three of them had just seen the freak who was gunning for them shoot that wetback gangbanger Raul just moments before, and the lady cop he'd been stuck with out here in the sticks (wherever the hell they were) still wanted to arrest the crazy motherfucker. Bigfoot just couldn't believe it, not after everything they had been through over the last couple of days. The cop's name was Sandy, and Bigfoot personally thought she was a pretty hot Amazon-type chick. Sandy was one of that new type of cop, with all the muscles, not the pot bellies and fat asses. But after Raul got his head blown off, Sandy and her gal pal Sarah, who was some business suit type, had decided to wait for him to come out and then arrest him for murder among other things. Now Bigfoot would have gladly killed the son of a bitch, but the idea of arresting him didn't hold much appeal to the big biker. So after first trying to talk some sense into the two women, then giving that up, he simply tried to drag them along with him. But it didn't take long for him to realize the futility of that effort and let them go. With one last effort at talking some sense to them, trying to explain that running for it was the best option they had, and not getting anywhere, he finally gave up, sincerely wished them luck, and took off into the forest in a clear and deliberate effort to save himself. Even though he moved now as quickly as he could over the wet ground, the trouble was that no matter how fast he went, Bigfoot couldn't outrun the last sight he had of the two women he'd reluctantly left behind. Bigfoot could still see them standing there in the damp forest, covered in mud and soaked through with both the rain and sweat, watching him prepare to leave them behind. Sandy's blond hair had still been more or less in the ponytail she had put it in, while Sarah's dark hair was hanging loose and matted down from the rain, making her look like a drowned cat. But it was Sandy's blue eyes that haunted him now as he moved his big feet as fast and as quietly as he could down the trail. It was the look that she'd given him when he tried to talk her into coming with him to simply save herself. That look in her eyes told him that the young beautiful women knew that she was probably going to die today but she was still going to do what she thought was right. He'd looked into Sarah's eyes at that moment too, but in that instant of communication, he was reminded of his early assessment of the woman he had been trying to survive with for the last few days. There was just something about her that Bigfoot didn't like. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on really, just something about her that bothered him. Bigfoot had spent too much time both in jail and on the street to completely ignore that instinct no matter the circumstances. So he wasn't too sorry really to leave that one behind. But it was those soft blue eyes of Sandy's that finally brought the big biker to a gasping halt. Sitting down on a log to catch his breath for a minute, Bigfoot couldn't honestly believe it, but he was actually thinking about going back for her -- a cop of all things, not exactly his favorite sort of person, especially after his manslaughter conviction. He'd done eight years for that, but Sandy at least had become more than just a cop to him over the last couple of days; she'd become his friend. As crazy as it sounded even to him sitting there in the rain on a soggy log, the four of them -- so different from each other in the beginning -- had joined together, each watching out for the others. Now Raul was gone, but Sandy and Sarah were still out there alone. He couldn't just leave them, Bigfoot concluded suddenly. It was one of the most important lessons he'd learned in both his motorcycle club and in prison: You watch out for your friends. Knowing that, the answer became simple: He had to go back. Having made his decision, the biker started back up the trail, moving as fast as unfamiliar ground would let him. At last, getting close to where Bigfoot had thought he'd left the two women, he started to slow down and go easier, since the last thing he wanted was to stumble into something or someone and get shot for his trouble. That wasn't all that easy for him, since the forest the group had found themselves in was full of strange sights and sounds that a kid who grew up in the concrete jungle of L.A. had never seen or heard before. All at once, in the trees up ahead, there was a burst of gunfire. It sounded to Bigfoot like the 9mm's they had been given as some sort of sick joke by the guy who was gunning for them. As if they ever really had a chance to defend themselves, since there was no doubt they were fighting on the guy's home turf and that they were seriously overmatched. But at the first sound of gunfire, Bigfoot had wasted no time. He dove into the bushes and pulled his own gun out. He knew full well it wasn't much, really, compared to what they were up against, but it did give him an added feeling of security to have it in his hand. After the four or five shots, probably from Sandy, there was a single rifle shot in return. That was from the nut that was behind all this, and it sounded really close by to Bigfoot. Could Sandy have been right all along? About wanting to wait for the nutcase and nail him when he got close? Of course Sandy had wanted to arrest him. Bigfoot would rather have simply shot him; on the other hand, whatever it took to get out of this alive was certainly something he was in favor of. He had to admit right now it was certainly looking like Sandy'd been right. He'd have to tell her that when he found her, he thought as he eased forward. After a few moments, one of the women got off a couple a more shots. When there wasn't any return fire, Bigfoot thought again that maybe they really had gotten him. He got back to his feet in preparation to rush forward to help, but before he could advance, Bigfoot was stopped in his tracks by both another sudden series of pistol and rifle shots and the sound of a woman screaming in pain. Bigfoot had prudently dropped back to the ground as soon as the shooting had started up again. Now, lying there on the damp ground and listening to the drama that was unfolding somewhere out in front of him, Bigfoot was sure of one thing: He was listening to the sound of someone dying. The biker had no doubt about it, since he'd heard it quite a few times before in his life. To her credit, whether it was Sarah or Sandy, she did manage to get off a couple more shots before a single sharp crack of a rifle shot finally brought silence to the woods. Hearing all the noise suddenly cut off like that, Bigfoot knew that whichever one of his companions had been out there was certainly dead now. But maybe if he was lucky, the biker could still get some payback on the guy responsible, if he could get close enough. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting to make sure things had really calmed down and to make sure he wasn't walking or rather crawling into an ambush himself, Bigfoot started slowly crawling forward. Bigfoot at last found a spot hidden behind an old rotted out tree stump. Looking out into the clearing where he'd left the women earlier, he could see Sandy's body lying there across from him, just inside the opposite tree line. Looking all around, he couldn't see any evidence of Sarah or the guy who was chasing them. Though he desperately wanted to go out there and make sure that Sandy was really dead (even though he felt sure that she was), he wasn't nearly that dumb. After all, whoever had arranged all this had to still be out there somewhere. In fact, the man responsible was a lot closer than Bigfoot thought. After being in prison for a while, Bigfoot had through necessity grown eyes in the back of his head, and he could feel someone behind him now. The act of suddenly turning to confront whoever it was saved his life, since the shot meant to kill him just blew a small crater in the dirt right where his chest had been a second before. Looking up, he saw a man he didn't recognize dressed in the same camouflage clothing he was wearing, but this guy was standing over him with a still smoking rifle in his hands. Bigfoot didn't have time to wonder how this guy had managed to sneak up so close to him. The biker was way too busy fighting for his life. Kicking out with one of the huge feet he was named for, he got the guy in the knee, staggering him back. This move gave the big man time to get back to his feet. As Bigfoot raised his pistol, his attacker swung a rifle butt and knocked the pistol out of Bigfoot's hand, sending the weapon flying into the bushes. Not giving a second thought to the loss of the weapon, Bigfoot reached out instead and grabbed the rifle before his opponent could bring it back around for another shot. Wrestling for the gun, the two men were finally close enough together that Bigfoot was surprised to see through the green and black paint on his assailant's face that this was an old man. He had to be in his fifties at least, Bigfoot figured. Thinking now that maybe he could just out-muscle the guy, Bigfoot used his larger size and youth in an effort to take the older, smaller man to the ground. But his opponent was a little too smart for that. Just when Bigfoot thought that he was getting the leverage to bring his adversary down, the man sidestepped and used Bigfoot's own momentum against him to send the biker flopping to the ground. Bigfoot landed unceremoniously flat on his face, but an even bigger surprise was that he was now holding the contested rifle in his hands. Unfortunately for Bigfoot, that rifle was currently trapped uselessly against his broad chest, forcing him to roll over to free the weapon to get a shot at whoever this was. Even more unfortunately, his attacker never gave him the chance. After releasing the contested rifle, the older man quickly pulled his own 9mm pistol out and fired one round right into Bigfoot's back. Hitting him like a hammer blow, the bullet knocked him face- first into the ground. Gasping for breath, Bigfoot could taste blood in his mouth. He knew that he was hurt bad but still wanted more than anything to take this miserable son of a bitch with him. Summoning up all of his considerable strength, he started to roll over again, still hoping to get a shot at his murderer. But it just wasn't meant to be. Through all of Bigfoot's struggles, his killer hadn't been just standing idly by. Like any hunter, he would never knowingly leave a wounded animal. After seeing that he hadn't finished his prey, he simply re-holstered his pistol and pulled out his combat knife and moved in for the kill. Bigfoot was indeed alive and making a valiant if futile effort to move, considering the fact that he had a collapsed lung and was rapidly bleeding to death. He felt a knee land in his back, causing a burst of blinding pain to go through him. This left Bigfoot only dimly aware of the hand grabbing a fistful of his long hair and pulling his head back. But he did feel, through the haze of pain, the sharp biting agony of the knife digging into the flesh of his neck, cutting him from ear to ear. Once the cut was done, the hunter released the man's head and stood clear of his prey so he could watch it go through its death throes without risking injury to himself. He observed, in a detached sort of way, that the head flopped around a lot more now than it did before -- so much so that even in the fading afternoon light, he knew that he'd gotten a good cut. After his prey had at last stopped moving, the hunter moved in to collect his trophies and then left the remains where they fell, since he still wanted to get his trophies from the female before he lost his light. He was also considering how difficult it was going to be to track down the last member of the group. Finishing up with the female, he heard movement behind him. Acting on instinct, he whirled suddenly, pistol drawn till he caught sight of his target. "I was wondering what happened to you," he said, visibly relaxing as he re-holstered his pistol. "I wanted to stay out of the way while you had your fun," the new arrival told him. Later, basking in the after glow of a hearty meal cooked over an open fire made all the more pleasurable by the completion of a successful day's hunt, he said, "I'm glad you were able to make it this time." "I know; I'm sorry," his companion said in an effort to mollify him. "It's just hard for me to always get away." They both knew that, unlike the older man, his partner, while greatly enjoying the hunt, had a life that couldn't be just walked away from -- not if they weren't going to arouse suspicion. Not that anyone would ever suspect what was really going on, of course, but the last thing either of them wanted was a lot of wagging tongues. "I understand," the older man replied honestly. "Are you going to be able to make it next time?" he asked, already thinking about the next group he had lined up. "I don't know; we'll see," was his companion's noncommittal reply. Later, lying by the fire and thinking about their conversation, the older hunter wondered if he should have his people grab his partner like they did the others. He hadn't done that before, so it could add a new level of excitement to the game for them both. Drifting off to sleep, he decided to consider it, knowing all the while they'd both sleep well tonight and return to the mainland and their respective lives tomorrow. The days before, pt. 2 Grabbing his lunch box out of the beat up old car, Mark Anderson trudged up to the door of his run-down apartment. He wondered -- and not for the first time -- how his life had gone so wrong. He knew how it had all started, of course. It was back over ten years ago when he'd been in the National Guard and had decided to try going to active duty. He'd been happy in the Guard, so what in the hell had he been thinking? The NCOs he'd talked to though had made it sound so good. But Mark soon found out that it was anything but. He'd managed to stick it out for his enlistment, but when he'd tried to get back to his old guard unit, they told him that they didn't need him anymore. Even though he'd been promised repeatedly when he'd first expressed an interest in going to active duty that he could come back afterward if he wanted to. The thought had never occurred to him at the time that the whole thing had been arranged from the beginning just to get him out of his National Guard unit. Everyone involved, other than Mark, knew he'd never amount to much on active duty. However, when Mark had expressed some interest, the shrewd-minded staff sergeant in charge of recruiting had seen a golden opportunity to get rid of one of the biggest fuck-ups in the whole company. Accordingly, the sergeant did everything he could think of to make sure that Mark was convinced that going to active duty was the best possible thing he could do. Then, four years later, the same recruiting sergeant had almost laughed out load when he'd gotten a call from Mark asking to transfer back into the unit. There was no way in hell that was going to happen, and everyone but Mark knew it. Maintaining as professional a demeanor as possible, he informed the young man that they didn't have any slots available at the moment. He advised Mark to re-up in the regular Army and then to try again in a few years. Even though he really didn't want to, Mark did consider doing just that, but with the force reductions taking place, he was told there was no place for him in the regular Army anymore either. So here he was at 23 -- out of the Army, which was the one thing he'd always wanted to do, and stuck in a job that even he knew was a loser. One of the few bright spots was the little Internet business he'd started while he'd been in the Army; it was at least making him a fair piece of change. He'd gotten the idea while he'd been stationed in Europe. Mark had taken a weekend pass and had gone into Amsterdam looking to get laid just like everyone else. It hadn't taken long for him to find his way to the city's famous red-light district, and it was while he was getting ready to take care of business that he'd seen an advertisement for online adult entertainment -- in others words, porn. Knowing just how popular magazines like Playboy -- not to mention the more hardcore publications -- were on the base, Mark got the idea that maybe he could set up his own site. So after taking a computer course generously offered by the U.S. Army, he suddenly found himself in the online adult entertainment industry. Mark, though, had been smart enough to keep it low profile since he didn't think that his superiors would be all that much in favor of his little enterprise. He honestly didn't think of himself as some sort sleazy porn distributor the way most of the more morally uptight people in the world would probably look at it. No, Mark thought of himself as more of an equal-opportunity provider of adult entertainment. He didn't judge the people that came to his site as a matter of course; whatever the people that came to his site wanted, he got for them. It didn't matter how he felt about it personally, though some of this costumers might be more than a little strange even to him; in those instances, he just liked to remind himself of the old adage that the customer is always right, since it was just business after all. Even after he got out of the service, Mark had wisely kept the site going as a convenient means of supplementing his income. Knowing how Mark felt about his decision to get out of the Army, one of the guys at work had shown him a copy of Soldier of Fortune magazine and helpfully suggested that Mark, if he still wanted to be a soldier, should check out some of the ads looking for people with military experience willing to fight for money. Mark knew that a lot of the ads in magazines like this were from white supremacist groups. Now Mark didn't really consider himself a racist, per se. He honestly didn't have any problems with spear chucker's or wetbacks or any other ethnic group. He didn't go out of his way to socialize with them, but as long as they didn't bother him, he didn't bother them. On the other hand, he could always use the money these groups obviously had, and the thought of being back in some kind of uniform held a lot of appeal, so after thinking it over, Mark started answering ads. Today, though, digging through the day's bills, he found a letter he didn't recognize. There was no return address, and even though Mark didn't know it, there wasn't a single trace of a fingerprint or DNA from the sender on it. Dropping his stuff just inside the door, Mark flopped down into his recliner and tore the anonymous letter open. Dear Mr. Anderson, We were delighted to receive your inquiry and after due consideration have decided that you are just the kind of person we are looking for. One of our representatives will be in touch with you in due course to set up a meeting to discuss our future business relationship. The Hunt Mark, of course, was ecstatic at this change in his fortunes. Finally, he thought, after all this time, maybe things were looking up. Now, Mark wasn't an overly patient man, and he found waiting as the days passed for whoever it was to contact him to be nothing short of torture. Nearly two interminable weeks had gone by before the phone finally rang. "Mr. Anderson?" Mark didn't recognize the voice; in fact, it didn't even sound human. Having seen his share of TV, Mark quickly realized that whoever was on the other end was using one of those electronic voice disguisers. "Yes" he answered. "My employer would like to set up a meeting to discuss your future." "OK?" he replied, trying to stay non-committal. "Sounds good." "Excellent. I would like to meet you tonight at midnight in the parking garage on the corner of 128th and Maple on the fourth level." Taking only a second to consider whether he really wanted to do this or not, Mark knew that he really didn't have much choice. This could be his last chance to really make something out of himself. Thinking about it that way, he found the choice -- such as it was -- an easy one. "I'll be there," he replied. "Make sure to come alone, Mr. Anderson," the voice warned, "I'll see you then." With a click, the phone went dead in his hand. Well, here we go, Mark thought to himself. Seeing it wasn't even 6 p.m. yet, Mark took a shower and had some dinner. He even tried to sleep but found he was too excited about the meeting later to even catnap. Finally, unable to wait any longer, Mark decided to leave early, figuring he could always drive around the block a few times if he had to. The assigned meeting place wasn't in the best part of town to be in after dark, but it wasn't too wild either. Like any other rational person, Mark simply kept the doors locked and the windows rolled up and hoped that he'd get there all right. Seeing that midnight was at last approaching, Mark drove into the agreed-upon parking garage and found his way to the fourth level, just like he'd been told. Parking the car, he looked around. The place looked pretty deserted even for this time of night -- which was the point, he supposed. He'd only been waiting for a minute or two when another car pulled in: a shiny black Lincoln Continental. In fact, it looked brand new to Mark. These people must be pretty well off, he thought. He did wonder idly how this information could translate into a bigger paycheck for him The newly arrived Lincoln pulled up a short distance away and flashed its lights at him, just like in the movies. Figuring that they wanted him to come to them, Mark got out of his car and, after carefully locking it, started walking toward whatever awaited him. Approaching the Lincoln, Mark never saw the shot that dropped him. All he felt was a sharp pain in his thigh. Reaching down out of reflex, he pulled out what looked like some kind of dart. He only had a second to wonder what the hell was going on as he found, much to his amazement, that the ground was rushing up at him. Two men dressed in black stepped into the meager light offered by the few working night lights in the low-rent parking garage. They rolled Mark over and, after making sure that he was really out, quickly and expertly searched him for weapons, cell phones, and anything else he might have on him. After relieving him of what little he did have, the men bound Mark's hands and feet with flex cuffs and unceremoniously dumped him into the trunk of the Lincoln, which promptly drove off. The team knew from experience that even if the police were called about Mr. Anderson going missing, they wouldn't find anything. The letter he'd received had been sanitized; nothing about it from the paper to the ink or even the stamp used could be traced back to them. They'd even mailed it on the opposite side of the country from where they were going. Likewise, the call they'd made to him had been done from the payphone right here in this parking garage. So even if the cops investigated which they probably wouldn't, everything would lead here, and that's where it would end. Their employer didn't like the idea of the cops or feds -- or anyone else, for that matter -- snooping around in his business, so they carefully followed his instructions to the letter. The boss would have his fun with this poor bastard, and they'd get paid -- which was, after all, the only thing that mattered. Pt. 3 Being driven through the darkened city on his way to a business meeting, Raphael Ramirez ("Paco" to his friends -- not that he had many of those anymore) sighed to himself at the depressing thought of his lack of friends. Having friends --especially close friends -- just wasn't a good idea in his line of work. Being one of the biggest and, in his opinion, best drug distributers in a city the size of L.A. meant that having friends was a liability that he just couldn't afford. Paco had climbed up the criminal ladder the hard way. Starting out as a lookout and small time street dealer when he was 10, he didn't take long to see that someone else was making more money off his hard work than he was. On top of that, he was the one who was taking all the risks. He could've gotten arrested or killed at any time. It just wasn't right, so the intelligent and ruthless up-and-comer did something about it. First, he slowly worked his way into the confidence of his boss, Charley Gonzalez. He did it in part by doing whatever he was told quickly, efficiently, and without comment. Seeing that the young man was someone he could depend on to carry out his orders, Charley started bringing his would-be protégé more and more into the organization, showing him just how things were done. Paco soaked up these lessons and got himself ready to make his move. Being an ambitious young man, he wanted to do a lot more with his life than play second fiddle to anyone. If Charley had ever suspected what Paco had really been up to, he would have killed him in an instant. But Paco played his role of the obedient and loyal underling well, so Charley never suspected a thing -- not until the night, years later, when Paco and a hand-picked crew ambushed him coming out of a club in east Los Angeles. After the coup was complete, the newly minted drug kingpin brought the same level of ruthlessness to his dealings with his competition, the cops, and anyone else that stood in his way. Paco was on top, and now he was ready to move on to still bigger and better things. As if someone had read his mind, his grandmother had received a very interesting letter for him. It stated that a certain prominent businessman was interested in what he had done up to this time and wanted to meet to discuss a future working relationship. This was good news to Paco, for not only could it open up new markets to him (since he, like everyone else, knew how those rich white kids loved their drugs), but it could also give him at least two other things that he had always wanted and, even with all this power and money, couldn't buy. The first was a better and cheaper way to launder his money. With the cops and feds always sniffing around, it was getting harder and harder and more expensive to get it done. The second thing that Paco wanted was respectability. He'd grown up on the street and knew the people he sometimes dealt with now didn't give him much respect since he didn't dress or talk or even act like them. That irritated Paco, which wasn't usually a good thing for the people who did the irritating. The letter made it clear that he should call a certain number on a certain day and time if he wanted to talk. Making the call, Paco was, of course, still suspicious of this sudden good fortune and had at first thought that this had to be some kind of police scam. But to prove his good faith, the man on the other end of the phone had informed him that the feds were planning to raid two of his shipments that would soon be coming over the boarder by mule. The term mule was just a nice way of saying that his people in Mexico would recruit some locals who wanted to come to America -- usually young, strong men, since it didn't do anyone any good if the poor suckers died in the desert before transferring the drugs they were carrying to another group of his people, who would bring it and them into the city. The drugs would get cut and start hitting the street within a day or two. The mules would either get recruited to work for him or they would get put to work with one of the industrial or construction companies Paco had a deal with to provide cheap labor for a fee. Even with the potential tip off, he still wasn't sure if whoever this was he was talking to was on the level. Paco, though, being a pragmatist, decided not to chance it. He sent the incoming shipments in question along a different route and started checking with his own informants, both on the street and with the cops. Eventually, he found out that this informant, whoever he was, was telling the truth about the raid. Paco figured that his new friend had just saved him close to five million dollars. That went a long way to inspiring the drug distributer's confidence. Still, the ever-cautious Paco wasn't completely convinced. He wouldn't put it past the feds to deliberately tip him to what they were up to, just so they could work one of their informants into his organization. That was, after all, how he'd do it. He'd spread some more bribe money around on both sides of the border and found that the cops were plenty pissed about what had happened and were looking everywhere for leaks in their organizations. Paco concluded that if this was a set-up, it was a real beauty of one. With that in mind, he decided to go to the suggested meeting and find out just who he was dealing with. If he didn't like what he was seeing after that, he could always kill the guy and never look back. After some further negotiation, the parties agreed that Paco would meet in person with his potential new business associate. Apparently this supposedly upright business man was also looking to branch out into some new areas and make more money, which was a sentiment that Paco could understand completely. However, being ever prudent, he did go to the meeting with two of his well-armed bodyguards, since he never went anywhere without protection. Being driven through the darkened city, Paco found himself actually looking forward to what the future might bring. The agreed-upon meeting place was in an old warehouse district near the harbor, which had the virtue of being nice and quiet. Pulling up, Paco and his bodyguards could see two well- dressed men standing near what looked like a brand-new Lincoln Continental. Getting out of their SUV, Paco and his guards walked toward them. Now, Paco had lived by his instincts for a long time, and right now, he felt like they were trying to tell him something. Paco didn't like the situation he was walking into here; something was wrong. Almost unconsciously, Paco ran his hand down the outside of his coat, feeling the comforting presence of the 9mm he always carried. It seemed to reassure him as he kept walking. When they were just about close enough to make his introductions, Paco heard two muffled pops, followed by the thuds of his bodyguards hitting the ground stone dead. Both, Paco saw, had been shot through the head. Dammit! It had been a set-up. Going for his own gun, Paco knew that he'd never make it back to his car; instead, he tried for one of the steel support beams holding up the roof of the rundown warehouse the meeting was taking place in. He'd only made it about two steps when he felt something hit his thigh. Thinking that he'd been shot, he looked down in amazement to see a dart sticking out of his leg. Not understanding what was going on, Paco felt his whole leg quickly go numb as he fell to the ground. Faster than it had seemed possible, it now felt like his whole lower body had gone to sleep. As the seconds passed, the sensation spread to the rest of his body, and he passed out, thinking that he was a dead man. Two men dressed in black camouflage clothing came out of the surrounding dankness, weapons at the ready. While his partner kept him covered, the other man rolled their target onto his back and quickly searched him, finding both the 9mm on his waist and the 32 automatic that Paco liked to carry on his ankle. After checking him for anything else he had on him, they bound his hands and feet and tossed him inside the Continental's trunk. Now entirely unimportant, Paco's now deceased guards were simply left where they fell. The two teams of men moved with both speed and a practiced efficiency. Knowing they still had one more pickup to make for their employer, both teams headed for the out-of-the-way airport and the private jet that was already waiting. Part 4 Jennifer Ryan, being the very embodiment of the driven modern executive, was already up, showered, and hard at work at the desk in the spare bedroom of her condo that she'd converted into an office, when her alarm went off at 5am. She was, in fact, so deep in thought that it took her a moment to notice the electronic noise coming from her bedroom. Only allowing herself to get slightly irritated at the interruption, the well-dressed women got up from her desk, papers still in hand, went over to turn off the alarm, and then retraced her steps to her desk -- all without taking her eyes off the report she'd been reading. Jennifer was getting ready for the quarterly review, and her already heavy work load had nearly doubled. She did have others in her office who could have taken care of most of this, but she was convinced that she was the only one who could get it done right the first time. With a shake of her head, she wondered (and not for the first time, either) how some of the people she was forced to work with had ever gotten out of college; it was just beyond her. Both the men and women in the office seemed a lot more interested in just having a good time than in getting their work done right, which was to say, to her satisfaction. She knew what they said about her behind her back. Called her the Dragon Lady and all that crap, she thought with a snort. All that was just fine with Jennifer, since she was the one living in this condo, driving a new top-end BMW, and on the fast track to be senior VP, if not CEO, before she was 40. If anybody doubted her, they had better get of the way, or she'd run right over the top of them. Noting the time, Jennifer knew she had to get going. Slipping on the high heals she wore to try to compensate for her 5' 1" stature, she checked herself briefly in the hall mirror. Jennifer had to admit to herself in a brief moment of vanity that she still liked what she saw staring back at her. Her long, natural, chestnut-brown hair was pinned up the way she preferred to wear it to the office. Her brown eyes still looked good even though she now needed to wear glasses for reading (she'd tried contacts but just couldn't get use to them for some reason; she had been told that some people just couldn't wear them, so being ever practical, she simply went back to wearing her glasses). She was also dressed the way she liked: in a smart business suit, showing her to be the successful executive she was without being flashy or tacky. Walking toward the door, she couldn't help but pause for a moment to look out at the city that was laid out beneath her balcony. It was still dark out at this time in the morning, of course, but she could just see the first hints of dawn lighting up the eastern horizon. The view from these windows was the main reason that she'd bought this condo in the first place. It was one of her few indulgences in an otherwise disciplined life. She loved just sitting in the big, overstuffed chair she'd purchased just for that purpose and spending a portion of her precious spare time just looking out at the city beneath her. Pulling herself away from the enticing view with some effort, Jennifer knew that she simply didn't have time to indulge herself right now. Maybe she could find some time this weekend, she mused, if she didn't have too much work to do. Driving through the still slumbering city, the overworked executive watched with contempt as other people were just now waking up and starting their day. Pulling into the company's private underground parking garage, past the security guard whom Jennifer nodded politely to as she shot past (it didn't hurt to be polite to the worker bees as long as they remembered their place), and parked in her reserved spot with the other executives and away from the riffraff. Waiting for the elevator, she glanced over at the building directory and found another reason to sigh. The 12th floor held what used to be the executive gym, which Jennifer had been a member of -- that is, until the board of directors, over her objections, opened it to everyone. She'd quit going that very day, since she had no intention of working out alongside the secretaries or whomever. She'd simply worked too long and hard to be a success to do that. Jennifer had instead joined the most exclusive private health club in the city to get her needed workouts done; her workouts and her view were two of the few ways she had to relieve the stress she was constantly under without going crazy. She got on the elevator with a group of other executives she hadn't even bothered to pay attention to before, being too lost in thought to even notice their approach. Now, though, Jennifer was struck again by how much bigger everyone else seemed to be compared to her petite frame. She sometimes felt like a child trying to sit at the grown-up table. Sighing again, she pushed the thought from her mind; she had too much to do to waste time worrying about things she couldn't do anything about. When evening came, she found herself still at her desk, working late as usual. Even though it was a Friday and she'd already sent her secretary and assistant home, Jennifer really didn't have anywhere else to go, so she kept plugging away at the seemingly never-ending pile of papers on her desk, hoping to get a jump on what she needed to do on Monday. At last, seeing that it was already after eight, she did stop working long enough to go down to the cafeteria that she had insisted to the building managers be kept open late. The kitchen was closed, but they still had a good selection of sandwiches, salads, and things like that in some coolers. Paying a bored-looking clerk for her selections, Jennifer was on her way back to her office when she was nearly run over by an idiot of a janitor pushing a big cleaning supply cart. "Hey, watch where you're going!" she barked at the dumpy, somewhat unkempt-looking guy driving the thing. Glancing at the plastic name tag he wore on his cheap nylon shirt, she read the name Stillman. "You OK?" he asked, not appearing to be all that concerned. "Yes, I'm fine," she told him. "Then what are ya yelling about?" he asked her with a shake of his head as he started back down the hall. "Do you know who I am?" she asked, full of self-righteous indignation that this...this menial would treat her like this. Stopping and turning to look back at her, he replied, "Yeah, I know who you are." "Then why don't you show me a little respect! I could have you fired any time I like." she told him, figuring that it would put him in his place. But he just shrugged. "So go ahead and do it, then. I'm not afraid of you, lady, and by the way, respect is a two-way street. If you want some, you have to be ready to give some. You should remember that," he told her before resuming his course down the dimly lit hallway. The Hunt Jennifer couldn't believe that this...knuckle dragger would dare talk to her like that! She knew what she had to do. She'd call down to maintenance and peel the hide off of whatever mental defective was down there until she made herself clear that she wanted that man fired and if they didn't want to do it, then they could join him in the unemployment line. Marching back into her office with every intention of making that call, she was surprised though to find two building security men waiting for her. They seemed at a glance to be a little higher-functioning than most of the others they had around here. Both were clean-shaven and had an intense look about them. "Miss Ryan?" the taller one asked. "Yes, what's the matter?" she asked. Rather than answering, he pulled out what looked like a photo and checked it against her face. Confirming her identity, he nodded to his partner who reached into his jacket and pulled out some kind of gun. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed, unable to believe this was happening right here in her office, her seat of power. Seeing that the second goon was going to shoot her, Jennifer found she only had one weapon in hand: the salad that she'd just purchased downstairs. At the last moment, she threw it as hard as she could and managed to distract the man enough to cause him to miss. Instead of the expected sound of a gunshot, she heard a dull thump followed by the thud of what looked like a big dart sticking out of the hardwood door of her office. By this time, she'd already turned to make a run for it but was grabbed from behind and lifted off the ground by a pair of very strong hands. Jennifer didn't know who these two were or what they might be after, but at that moment, she really didn't care. She just did what her self-defense coach had told her to do. She screamed at the top of her lungs and started fighting with all her strength. While she was doing that, one of her attackers held on to her while the other seemed to be trying to reload his gun. After a moment's frustration, he finally appeared to give that up, simply dropped the gun, and instead pulled out a stun gun. He activated the stun gun and, after signaling his partner to let her go for a second, jabbed the nonlethal weapon into her stomach. Jennifer had never felt anything like it. It was like her whole body started going berserk. All of her muscles clenched up, and she felt an unbelievable, searing-hot pain go through her before she passed out. Catching her inert body and lowering it to the floor, the taller of the two men looked at his partner. "We weren't supposed to hurt her." "She'll be fine," the man with the stun gun answered as he pulled out the spring-loaded inoculation syringe he carried as a back up to his tranquilizer gun. But before he could give her the shot to keep her out, they were interrupted by a voice calling from the outer office, "Hey, are you all right in there?" Hearing the source of the voice coming closer, the two men quickly dragged the woman out of site and positioned themselves, more than ready for whoever was coming through the door. Part 5 Reluctantly coming awake in the dingy, low-rent, one-bedroom apartment to the annoying racket of his cheap alarm-clock buzzer happily humming away, James Stillman would have liked nothing more that to reach out and smash the damn thing to pieces. But since he was broke and hung-over again, he merely reached out and, after a couple of tries, managed to turn it off. Throwing back the sweat-dampened covers, he managed to roll out of bed and noticed that today, unlike other mornings, the room wasn't still swaying, at least. He took that as a good sign. Jim really didn't think that he could have dealt with a swaying room right now as he trudged off to the bathroom. After showering and brushing his teeth, Jim started to feel almost human again. He'd long since forgotten how many drinks he'd had last night in that little hole-in-the-wall bar he frequented after work. About the only thing going for his favorite watering hole, as far as he could see, was that it stayed open all hours. Staring at his bloodshot-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror, he considered for a moment shaving the stubble off his chin, but seeing how much his hand was still trembling while holding his toothbrush, Jim decided the hell with it and instead started to look for some reasonably clean clothes. Jim was very glad that it was Friday, even though he had to work second shift. It was good not only because he would have the weekend off but because it was Friday. Friday meant that the office building where he worked would be cleared out and quiet even earlier than usual, which was just fine with him. All the suits would probably be out buying new Porsches or something, he supposed -- that is, except for a few of the real overachievers they had working there; those saps would still be at their desks plugging away till who knows when. Jim supposed that he'd been like that once as well, even if he couldn't remember exactly when in his life that had been. Everyone had to go through that sort of phase at some point, didn't they? Not really feeling like eating anything, he did manage to drink a cup of strong coffee, which made him feel at least a little better. After digging around the pile of semi-clean clothes he had accumulated in his bedroom, Jim found the blue janitor's uniform he had to wear (no matter how much he hated it) that had the least odor coming from it and put it back on. He also discovered that it was starting to fit a little tight around the middle. When did that happen, he wondered? Jim really didn't know if he was going to do anything about his suddenly expanding waistline or not. Did he even care? Not really, Jim knew, if he was being honest with himself, but old habits die hard. The software company where he worked had a gym that was open to everyone now -- even him, the lowest of the low. He'd overheard plenty of bitching about that from the higher-ups, which was the one good thing about being a janitor (or rather, an environmental engineer, as they called it while they somehow managed to keep a straight face). Being on the very bottom rung of the ladder meant that everyone around you treated you like you didn't even exist. Jim found the idea of being invisible at first to be really annoying, but after a while, he discovered that it had its advantages. For instance, he could listen in on other peoples conversations, or go through their desks and their trash to see what they were up to. He could even go just about anywhere in the building he wanted whenever he wanted without being questioned. On top of all that, there were also plenty of good-looking secretaries running around. Can't beat a little eye candy, he thought -- not that any of them would ever stoop to going out with him, of course, but that didn't stop him from looking. Thinking about the situation with the gym at work brought him back to the realization of his expanding waistline. Maybe he really should start working out again, Jim thought to himself after considering the women he might meet. Well, he'd think about it, Jim decided with a shrug, and with that thought, he closed his apartment door behind him and went to work. The first part of the night had gone just about as he'd thought it would -- that is, except for the call he got during the evening telling him that the building's computerized security systems were down. Jim found that pretty amusing: a software company that couldn't keep its own electronic systems running. Security had asked that the custodial staff keep their eyes open for anything out of the ordinary till they could sort out the problem. Just as he'd thought, all the young, upwardly mobile people had cut out the first chance they had, and by 9 p.m., the place was pretty well deserted. In fact, Jim was getting dangerously close to having a good night at work -- that is, till he almost ran over the Dragon Lady with his cleaning cart. It wasn't his fault, really; with this carpeting, you couldn't hear anyone coming around a corner. Hell, he didn't knock her down or even make her drop the dinner she was carrying in one of those plastic containers you get at gas stations for sandwiches and shit like that. To top it off, he'd even asked if she was all right, and what does he get for all his trouble? He gets yelled at, that's what. Looking over her otherwise well-put-together 5-foot-nothing frame, Jim wondered why is it that women who are short, tall, fat, thin, or in any way out of the ordinary have to make up for it by being extra bitchy. After seeing that she was all right, Jim decided that he didn't really need to stand around here and listen to her yell at him all night, especially since he was already running a little late and should have been off this floor by now, so he just turned and kept going on down the hall. Unbelievably, he could still hear the self-important executive harping about her importance and how he should show some respect and all that crap. At that point, he did stop, though he knew he should have kept walking. While Jim felt she had it coming, he didn't really think she liked it too much when he pointed out the obvious fact that respect is something that works both ways. Turning to walk away again, with a grin this time, he swore he could almost see the steam coming out of her ears. Figuring that he was about to get fired again, Jim idly wondered if his file at the job service was still active. Not long after that, he was cleaning one of the executive crappers (since God knows the big shots were far too important to exercise their bodily functions with the hired help) when he thought he heard a muffled scream. Jim paused to listen for a moment. What was that, he wondered? Now, the building was very quiet this late at night, but with all the sound proofing, it was still hard to be sure he'd really heard what he'd thought he'd heard. Since the security systems were down, though, even though he was behind schedule, the ex-soldier in him figured he should take a look just to be safe -- old habits and all that. Walking down the hall, he found the Dragon Lady's inner office door open, which was unusual for her. She wasn't what you would call an approachable person; that door was always shut at this hour, Jim knew from experience, and usually locked whether she was in there or not. After not hearing anything from inside, he risked getting yelled at again and called out. "You all right in there?" Not getting a response, Jim started getting more worried that something was wrong. He eased past the outer door as quietly as he could and crossed to the inner office door. When he still didn't hear any activity, his anxiety level kept going up. Maybe he should get some help. He thought about it for a second but decided to just take a quick look first. He eased the inner door the rest of the way open but couldn't see anyone. Going into the office, he almost missed but at the last moment caught the reflection in a darkened office window of someone standing behind him. Previously well-honed reflexes that hadn't been used in a while but were still there took over. Jim sidestepped the probes from the stun gun meant for his back, causing them to find nothing but air. Pivoting, he grabbed the arm holding the weapon and used a hip throw on whoever the hell this was. Flipping the man over his back, Jim sent him to land in a heap on the floor. Jim only had a moment to congratulate himself on smoothly executing a move he hadn't practiced in a while when another guy he hadn't seen before came from behind the door with some kind of gun he didn't recognize aimed at him. Standing so close to his would-be attacker, Jim, rather than try to dodge out of the way, grabbed the gun's barrel to keep it pushed away from him. The two men struggled for the weapon for a moment. Jim had just managed to wrest the gun away from the second man when he felt a sharp pain in his leg and looked down to see the other guy holding some kind of syringe to his leg. Automatically reaching down to pull it out, he discovered to his chagrin that his legs didn't want to support him anymore and promptly dropped to the floor. Lying there helpless for a moment before he passed out, Jim did wondered just what in the hell he'd stumbled into. After quickly making sure that both Jennifer and Jim were out cold, one of the men secured their hands and feet with flex cuffs while the other went to get the large supply cart they'd left in a storage room and brought it back into Miss Ryan's office. Then the team leader took a second to look the situation over. Their orders had been to grab the woman, but now they had this other guy. What should they do with him? "He had to have seen our faces," his partner said, stating the obvious. "But we can't kill him here; the cops would be onto us to soon." The leader mulled over his options for a second and said, "We'll take him with us. The boss is going to have an extra player this time around." His partner agreed that this was the best thing to do. After making sure that the office was back in order, the two men quickly loaded both of the unconscious people into the cart, threw a cover over it, and started for the freight elevator. Knowing that they didn't have much time before the building's security system was back on, they went out a side door and loaded the cart into a waiting van. While one man drove the van, the other went back into the building to retrieve the lady's BMW. After all, the lady couldn't leave for the weekend without her car, could she? They didn't know which car belonged to the broom pusher, so they couldn't have that one taken too, but from the smell of alcohol they'd gotten off him, the two men decided that no one would ask too many questions about his disappearance -- at least not till it was too late. The first day Coming around, James felt like he was waking up from one of his three-day benders. God, his head hurt. But it was the smell of food that got his attention the most. He opened his eyes to find that he was outside, though that fact wasn't too surprising, really. It was just that he wasn't lying in somebody's lawn (which had happened a few times), but instead he was out in the woods somewhere. "What the hell?" Another surprising thing was that he wasn't alone. There were three other people -- two men and one woman -- who were with him in what looked like a campsite. There was even a low-burning fire, as well as what looked like food warmers from a military field kitchen. After seeing that the others, whoever they were, were coming around now too, Jim spotted a bag with a red cross on it and, desperately hoping to find some aspirin or something to help with this god-awful headache, staggered over and opened it. Inside were all sorts of bandages, ointments, that sort of thing, as well as (to his relief) a bottle of Tylenol, which he promptly opened. Finding a cooler with cartons of orange juice in it, he grabbed a juice and downed three of those glorious hangover remedies. Taking another pull of juice and feeling a little more alive now, he surveyed the scene. He hadn't recognize the woman at first -- not with her hair and clothes all disheveled. When he had seen her at work, she'd always been the image of the impeccably dressed businesswoman. When she sat up and he got a look at her face, though, he knew at once who she was. Making the connection, Jim let out a sigh. Here he went and got himself kidnapped or whatever, and who does he find? Muttering to himself about fate, luck, or whatever seemed to have it in for him, he said out loud, "Jennifer Ryan, right?" Hearing her name being called helped to clear the cobwebs from her head. Brushing the last of the hair out of her face, Jennifer saw the janitor she was going to have fired standing in front of her. She looked to her left, where there was a heavyset blond-haired man waking up who looked as out-of-sorts as she felt. "What the hell is going on?" This came from a Latino whom she also didn't know. "That does seem to be the question before us," Jim told him. "Who the hell are you?" the Latino asked. "I'm James Stillman; you can call me Jim if you like." "I'll call you a bitch when you're sucking my dick," the Latino replied, getting to his feet, and started patting himself down as if looking for something. Jim did the same thing, more out of habit than anything, and wasn't really surprised that his wallet was gone, as well as a ring he'd bought while in the service. "Where's my gun!" "How should I know, pal. My wallet and ring are gone too." "So are mine," the other man told them, "and my necklace." "Mine are too," Jennifer told them, getting to her feet." Jim had to admit that she looked a little ridiculous standing out here in the boonies barefoot in her wrinkled business suit. But on the other hand, he was still in his blue work clothes too, so he supposed he didn't have to much room to laugh. Still smelling what was in the food warmers, Jim decided that even with everything that was going on, the idea of getting something to eat was sounding better and better. "I don't know about any of you," he told them, "but I'm starved." He promptly headed over to see what had been left for them. Pulling the cover off, he found eggs, sausages, toast, rolls -- hell, even pancakes with syrup. Whoever had left them here certainly didn't want them going hungry. Grabbing a paper plate and a plastic fork, he started to dig in. The other three traded a look, then quickly got their own plates and started in too. Sitting on the ground around the fire to keep off the morning chill while they ate, the four of them looked each other over. Jim already knew about Jennifer Ryan, but the other two were a mystery. "Where are you two from?" he asked. "Who wants to know?" the Latino (who had "gangbanger" written all over him)said. Jim decided to ignore the tone and try to keep things on an even keel for the moment. "Well, I'm James Stillman from Seattle, and like I said before, you can call me Jim if you like." "What do you do?" the blond-haired man asked. "I'm a janitor in a software company. How about you?" "I'm Mark Anderson. I'm from Chicago, and I at least used to work in a factory there." Nodding at that, Jim turned to Jennifer, "You're next." She looked at him in surprise for a moment before responding. "I'm Jennifer Ryan. I'm an executive at the same software Company where Mr. Stillman works." "Really? How'd that happen?" Mark asked. Jim had been wondering that same thing himself. "I'm not really sure," he replied honestly, but I think that I'm here by accident." Seeing the curious looks he was getting, Jim decided to elaborate. "I think that whoever is doing this to us was after Jennifer here, and I walked in on it." "That's got to suck," Mark observed for all of them. "You have no idea," Jim told him ruefully before turning to the last member of their group. "How about you, friend? What's your story?" Paco didn't usually like answering questions about himself, but under the circumstances, he decided to play along. "I'm Paco Ramirez. I'm from L.A." "What do you do?" the white guy in the cheap blue clothes, who look halfway toward being a bum, asked. "I'm an independent businessman," Paco said with a smirk. Snorting, Jim replied, "You're a drug dealer, eh?" "You got a problem with that?" "No, not at all," Jim replied honestly, "I've always felt that you have to do whatever you have to, to get through the day." "You should know," Jennifer said smugly. "You're the one who smells like a distillery." Nodding, Jim replied, "I have been known to tip a few from time to time, but we all have our little vices now, don't we?" He gave her a grin that caused her to blush.