Page 57 of Look for Me

“You a mechanic?”

“I mostly do paperwork in the office.” Martin decided not to mention Dad either. Or any other member of his family.

Flavian laughed. “I asked for a muscle man, not a muscle car man.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Get some sleep.”

The last thing Martin wanted was to sleep in this foul prison. He closed his eyes and prayed to God for mercy.

And a swift death if needed.

* * *

Asmall stream of light came through the slit of a window far above Martin’s head, but it was enough to wake him up from his uncomfortable slumber on the concrete floor.

He took inventory of his surroundings, but there was nothing much to report. The floor was dusty and grimy. Cobwebs hung above him here and there, but he could not see any spiders. He hoped they were the friendly neighborhood kind. Garden variety spiders or harmless ones that he could tolerate.

Five or six feet away, Flavian slept on his back. His pants were ripped and caked with dried blood. One ankle was askew on one leg, and the other knee bent the wrong way. He must be in terrible pain.

But he seemed to be sleeping, albeit noisily.

How long had he been in here?

Was he really Corinne’s ex? Ex what, exactly? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?

Who was Nikos who had thrown them in here?

Martin tried to remember what had happened to him, but his recollections ended at the moment he passed out in the nightclub.

The last face he had seen was FBI Special Agent Tanaka. Had she been abducted too? If so, where was she?

And whatever happened to Pilar the PI?

Were Corinne and Dahlia somewhere in this building too?

Flavian groaned, and then cried in his sleep.

Martin guessed the man might be in his forties. Early forties, maybe. Martin couldn’t place his ethnicity, and he couldn’t tell if Corinne’s daughter looked like him.

Someone tell me what’s going on and who everybody is!

Martin heard noises outside the door. Then the door opened and two bowls appeared on the floor just inside the door. Sticking out of each bowl was a plastic spoon.

The door slammed shut.

“Would you mind getting my bowl for me?” Flavian had woken up.

Martin nodded. Well, he didn’t mind, so he should have shaken his head. Whatever.

He picked up the dirty melamine bowl, and wondered what that gook was. It looked like a cross between oatmeal and grits.

Martin handed the bowl to Flavian. “I’d ask what happened to you, but it’s clear they beat you up.”

“Broke my legs so I can’t get out of here.” Flavian dug into his breakfast.

“How long have you been in here?” Martin sat down up against another wall.

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