Page 11 of Soft Tissue Damage
I’ll get to the bottom of this later. I need to work.
I spend an hour looking at the property I’ve been hired to infiltrate on an online Street View map and via propertyrecords that are public access. I make note of potential access points and the likely locations for the art my client wants to get his hands on.
I had someone on my team take surreptitious photos of the property from every angle, taking care to zoom in on every gate, lock, door, and camera. He also spent several days monitoring comings and goings from the house and the immediate neighbors.
On the upside, the house is in a low-traffic area and the owner loves to gamble at night. The security is not a rapid police response system, but I didn’t expect it would be. No one with hot products wants the cops turning up at their home with an excuse to come inside.
On the downside, the branding on the alarm system tells me it’s one that’s difficult to jam, which means I’m looking at a crash and smash: go in fast, locate the control panel that’s hidden somewhere inside the house, and disable it. Control panels are often difficult to find. I know because placing them where they’re hard to find is something I pride myself on, and I’ll only have sixty seconds to find it.
A waitress approaches Elena, who’s wiping down the next table, and their whispered conversation makes my ears prick up.
“Archer’s done it again.”
“You’re kidding,” Elena replies, visibly upset.
“Check your pay stub.”
Elena fishes inside her apron pocket and opens an envelope. “Oh no, there are four hours missing from lastweek’s pay.” She looks like she’s about to cry furious tears.
“And you know there’s no point confronting Archer about it,” the other waitress replies bitterly. “He’ll just say it’s because we were late or lazy or whatever.”
Elena’s being shortchanged out of her pay?
As she gets back to work, I scan the restaurant and see a man in the kitchen talking to the chef. He’s not wearing a hospitality uniform, and he carries himself with a swaggery air. That must be him, Archer of Archer’s Diner.
My hands tighten into fists, and I feel my blood boil as I watch him talking and laughing. I can’t stand people who don’t look after those they’re responsible for. Shortchanging a group of struggling, hardworking young women is vile.
When I see Archer reaching for his coat, I put away my laptop, drop some bills on my check, and head outside. After dropping my bag in my truck, I wait for Archer.
He heads out of the diner and approaches a blue Buick.
I approach Archer with my friendliest smile. “Excuse me, can you please help me out with directions to…”
As soon as he turns to face me, I drop the smile and smash my fist into his nose. The cartilage breaks with a satisfying crack against my knuckles. While he’s dazed, I drag him into the shadows. I grab him by the shoulder and wrist, push him face-first into a brick wall, and wrench one of his hands up behind his back.
He opens his mouth to scream for help.
“Yell, and I’ll break your legs,” I hiss in his ear. His blood is across my knuckles. More is spilling down his lips, but Archer doesn’t scream. Typical bully, picking on those weaker but about to piss himself when someone bigger comes along.
Sweat breaks out on his brow. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m a concerned citizen. Very fucking concerned. You haven’t been paying your workers what they deserve. Either you go back into your diner and fix it, or I’ll cause you an incredible amount of pain today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your life.”
I’ve performed torture to acquire codes and passwords from stubborn individuals. I rather enjoyed myself. I take a small knife out of my boot and grind the point behind his ear. “Well? I’m not hearing a yes. Do you understand how angry I am? Would you like to see me even angrier? How about I deafen you in this ear?”
“N-no. I’ll fix it,” he stammers.
“Good decision.” I put the knife away and feel around in Archer’s jacket and back pocket for his wallet. I take out his driver’s license and read his full name and address back to him. “Nice part of town. If you see me in your diner in the future, no you fucking didn’t. You will not fire any of your staff. If you make me angry again, I will come to your home while you sleep, inject you with a paralytic, and set fire to your house. You won’t be able to scream or move. You’ll burn to death in excruciating pain. Do you understand?”
Archer is crying now, his tears mingling with his blood. He nods.
“Then I’m happy, and you and I never had this conversation.” I kick him hard in the calf so he crumples to the ground, and I walk quickly away. From a vantage point between two vehicles, I watch Archer turning on the spot, hunting in the darkness for danger.
With a tissue over his bleeding nose, he goes back into the diner and heads through a door markedOffice.
Twenty minutes later, he emerges and hands out additional pay envelopes to the waitstaff, then he leaves. I admire the smiles on the faces of Elena and the other waitresses as they realize they’ve been given their full pay.
A thrill goes through me. A little bit of violence, and I’ve made Elena’s world better. I admire the blood on my knuckles, and then wipe it off and go and wait in my truck.
