Fractures: Crossing Over

Chapter 1

Interrogation

I didn’t know where I was, I only knew I didn’t want to be there. Everything around me felt cold and moist. The smell brought long forgotten childhood memories to the front of my mind. The most dominant memory was the time my parents took me on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. I remembered the moldy taste the artificial river left in my mouth as I was plunged down a small waterfall and into the darkness of underground cavern. The only thing I could taste in my mouth now was the sickening sweet metallic aftertaste of my own blood.

“We have Henry in the other room, Sonny, and he’s told us everything. We know who you are and what you have been doing and it’s time for you to tell me what we need to know before it’s too late for me to be able to help you.” The man who sat across from me spoke slowly and deliberately as if trying to coax a confession out a small child by bribing him with sweets. I wasn’t going to be bribed, not this time. The man who was holding me prisoner had to be in his late fifties with graying hair that only held hints of its past dark hues. His eyes were blue, like mine, but I hoped that mine didn’t cause people to shrink back with discomfort as his did to me. His voice carried a slight accent that I could only guess was eastern European of some kind, deducting from the name he gave me, Agent Rovacov. The man fingered a small handheld device that looked familiar but the ringing in my ears distracted my memory. The device was paper thin and nearly translucent but looked as solid as a piece of tempered steel glowing in his palm. He drew his fingers across its surface studying what appeared on what I presumed was a screen. “We also know about the girl.” Rovacov double tapped his index finger on the screen before looking up at me again. “We are close to bringing her in too, and if you don’t tell us what we need, I’m sure she will. With some convincing.”

“You leave her out of this,” I said, speaking for the first time.

“That’s up to you, Sonny,” said a second man that stood leaning against the dark wall to the left of me. Even compared to Agent Rovacov who sat across from me, this man was intimidating and he knew it. The two men’s identical dark button down shirts and metallic hued ties made the room seem even colder than it was. But despite the nippy air surrounding us, the man against the wall wore his sleeves bunched around his elbows while his tie hung loosely over two open buttons. I could see the vein protruding from his neck jump with the pulse of his heart, which was slow and steady. I knew these men were trained to read my body language far better than I could read theirs and I didn’t like what I was telling them. My forehead was damp with cool perspiration and my skin was pale despite my racing heart pumping blood through my body at full speed.

“I really don’t know what you want me to tell you. It seems like you know everything already. And everything you don’t know Henry must have told you…like you said.” I must have been out a lot longer than I realized because even I was surprised by the confidence and strength in my voice. The room was quiet until I continued, my mind clearer than it had been in weeks. “Look,” I sighed. “I don’t know what you guys want from us. We’ve done nothing wrong. I mean, I’m just trying to do my job and Henry, he was just helping me out. You know, for the good of science and all that.” I shuffled my feet against the floor looking for a way to distract myself from what I had gotten into.

“Science…” Rovacov seemed be repeating the word absentmindedly. “Your science has been impressive I must say. But that should be left for another discussion.”

The man against the wall, Agent Becker I think he said his name was, cut him off and leaned over me. “Tell us why you’re here. Who gave you the technology?”

“Back it off, Becker,” Rovacov said in a tone that didn’t convince me that he cared one way or another what Becker actually did. Luckily for me, it worked.

I licked my lips and tried not to look in the looming man’s direction, the man who had hunted and haunted me for far too long. I tried thinking about the device in Rovacov’s hands. His thin fingers had not stopped stroking the instrument since they brought me here. What did they have on me? How much could they know? Could Henry really be talking to them? How could I ask that, of course he would. All they needed was a can of Spam or Cheetos or something and he would be putty in their hands. Spam, ugh, it smells like cat food. How can he stand that crap? Speaking of cat food, I still have some in my pocket. I wonder if I can eat it if they try starving me for answers. Henry probably would have given them all that they needed to know by now. But would they even understand half of what he says? I know I didn’t.

Like a derailed train, my thoughts wreaked chaos on my mind, throwing the poor passengers of my consciousness from their neat little places into a bloody mess, crying for help. Like out of a dark tunnel I heard Rovacov’s voice echo through my head.  

 “Don’t play dumb, Mr. Benson. We’ve been watching you for quite some time and know that you are the brains of the little operation you two are running,” he said with gravel in his voice.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stopped searching through my scattered brain for answers and looked at him for the first time as a human being. His blue eyes reflected my face revealing to me the twitching at the corners of my mouth. For the first time in weeks I laughed. The men looked at each other for a moment before looking back at me. I wiped a tear from my cheek. “Oh, ah, oh…that’s funny,” I forced myself to take a breath and exhaled loudly. “You think I’m the brains,” I started laughing again and felt weeks of tension sadistically roll off my shoulders and onto the floor. “Look fellas, if you think I’m the brains of this operation you need to get better surveillance.” I continued laughing until I felt my sides ache. Agent Becker and Rovacov just sat there staring at me like I was some freak show on display, and to them, I guess I was. They didn’t stare long unfortunately. Out of the corner of my water-filled eye I saw Becker’s fist glide through the air and connect with my temple, sending me into momentary darkness lit by small flashes. I wondered how long it would take my eyes to reconnect with my brain. Ugh, no, I definitely didn’t want to be here.  

But this must all be really confusing. Let me start at the beginning. My name is Sonny Benson and all I wanted was to keep my job. Okay, and to make lots, and lots of money. You know, the American dream, right? But how I got stuck here with two murderous looking goons and a pocket full of cat food, I’m going to blame that all on Henry. Henry, my good ‘ol pal, my buddy, my chum of chums, and the man I’m going to strangle if I ever get out of here. Unlike a lot of other things I was apparently supposed to remember, the day I first got mixed up with Henry, and his brains, I can’t forget. I had spent another demeaning day at work being outperformed by punks almost half my age and half my IQ. I just needed my boss to accept one of my product pitches. Just one.

“Come on, Tom. This is a great idea, and you know I could sell millions of these with my campaigns. Let me pass it on to the tech team and have them work out the kinks.” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice as I negotiated a product idea that I spent countless sleepless hours working on. I pulled my heavy wooden chair closer to Tom’s modern desk and pushed the file toward him.

Tom, a heavy set man with thinning blond hair and ever present wet marks under his arms leaned back and dragged a palm over his wincing eyes and down to his chin. “Look Sonny, I’m gonna be honest with ya here.” He opened the fading manila folder and quickly flipped through its contents without paying attention their information. “I can see you put a lot of effort into this and God knows you could market cats to mice, but things are changing around here. I know you’ve seen it. The country is changing. With the Chinese dominating the economy and nearly every product market, I can’t afford to take any risks and—”

“You don’t think I know that?” I stood and placed my hands on my hips while studying the ugly paisley pattern of Tom’s office floor. “I can’t get away from these blasted Chinese inventions, advertising, and—” I balled my fists and tried to control the volume of my voice. “I’m even brushing my teeth with their stuff. ‘Happy-Fun Teeth Gel’ they call it! Jeez, Tom! ‘Happy-Fun!’ Whatever happened to Crest, Colgate, or even the crap tasting stuff I used to buy at WallShop? And while we’re going there, what happened to WallShop? Oh, it’s still there you might say, under the direct ownership of one Mrs. LiYin.”

“Miss. I don’t think she’s married,” Tom said.

“Screw Miss or Mrs. or, or whatever she is,” I slumped back into my chair.

“Sonny,” Tom said, leaning forward and focusing his eyes on mine “I know it’s been rough for you. I’m with ya, really, I am. But you need to understand, I can’t sit here and cry about the Chinese market, I have to move on. And so do you,” he pushed back the folder towards me. “I use Happy-Fun toothpaste too. I’ve never had whiter teeth.” He pulled back his lips in a fake grin and showed me two rows of brilliantly white teeth that looked unnatural against his chapped lips. “You can’t deny it, they make good products, and that’s the problem.”

“That’s a big problem,” I muttered.

“Damn right it is! We need to compete! Take Chad for example. He brought me a spec the other day for a filing cabinet that would alphabetize, and digitize your files as soon as you put them in.”

“Isn’t that called a computer?”

            “Don’t be a smart ass. You need to be more creative or move over for the younger generation that are quite frankly pushing you out,” he said.

“The ‘younger generation,’” I repeated in disbelief. “Hell, Tom, I’m thirty six next month. You’re talking like I have one foot in the grave or something.”

“Judging from what you have been pitching me lately, you may as well have,” he thumbed the file folder again. “Stay ahead of the times and think younger or move out of the way,” Tom spat with a finality that signaled he was done listening to my pitches, and my whining.

            “I’ll do my best, sir,” I said through my teeth and swiped the file off the desk and headed for the door.
            “Don’t ‘sir’ me. Just get it done.”

END CHAPTER 1