Cheap Thrills (6 Thrilling reads) (37 page)

Twenty One

The incident room is in turmoil. Phones ring off the hook, left, right and center. A group of officers and detectives stare at the large screen where Connor Chase is about to give his hourly report. The insignia on the top right of the screen says “LIVE”.

‘What’s going on?’ Frank asks. ‘I thought we cut Chase’s media connection? Who’s broadcasting this?’ Shaw turns abruptly.

‘YouTube, lad. Chase has put up a live stream on every paramount video website on the internet: Justin.tv, YouTube, Dailymotion, Livestream. He’s even streaming on some pornography websites. There isn’t one video streaming website that isn’t streaming this, including news networks out of the country like Al Jazeera and the BBC.’

‘We can’t do anything about it?’

‘We are Boston’s finest; Frank, but we are not the world police. We can’t shut down the internet just like that.’

Frank shakes his head in disbelief.

‘I was under the impression we could do just that. I know we have the capability.’

Chief Shaw nods in agreement.

‘We do have the capability, but we can’t step on other people’s toes.’

‘I hardly think it’s the time to worry about Public Relations, Chief,’ Frank says scornfully.

‘Believe it or not, laddie, it’s always the right time for Public Relations. You make one wrong decision and it impacts the investigation. Before you know it, we have every Tom, Dick, and Harry poking their peckers into our business.’

Frank is growing impatient and refrains from continuing his opinionated stance on the matter. He walks towards the TV to get a better view of what is happening. Connor Chase is once again on the center of the screen. His scrawny body unnaturally engulfs the area, which Frank knows is the cheap quality cameras.   A banner pops up on the TV: Connor Chase speaks in 1 minute.

Connor is biding time until his live stream spreads virally and the whole world is watching. Frank looks at the viewer count at the bottom of the screen: 37,987,233 Viewers. Not quite the whole world, but more than enough to spread a message and many more viewers than most videos going live for the first time get. Could this man’s following be dangerous?

‘Hello again. For the people who don’t know me, my name is Connor Chase. I am armed and so are my men. We have hostages and are situated at the M.I.T Public Relations building in downtown Boston. We have rigged the building with explosives to keep people out, as well as in. There is no escape for the hostages and all are bound and gagged. We mean them no harm...unless our demands are not met.

If our demands are not complied with, we will kill each hostage, one by one, live on this stream. I am going to show you how serious we are,’ Connor says.

A woman is shoved into the camera’s view. Connor catches her before she falls when she is pushed toward him. 

Frank comes out of his chair when he sees that the woman being manhandled on the live stream is Tasha, Connors Boss.

Connor smiles up at the camera as he grips Tasha’s hair. She gags on the duct tape around her mouth while trying to catch a breath.

‘This is Tasha Mitchel. She is my ex-boss. Not only that, she was working with the police to help them capture me. She never counted on the fact that my reach is longer than she thinks. I’m not here to divulge secrets, but she is. So I’m afraid…’

Connor pulls a hand gun from his jacket with his left hand, still holding Tasha’s head with his right. He aim’s the gun squarely at her forehead as the shiny metal glistens from the light cascading from the crude lights in the background. He pulls the trigger. Tasha’s head explodes splitting in two as a vast vapour puff of blood hangs in the air. Her lifeless body disappears from the camera’s view as the sound of a bullet echoing off the walls is followed by screams.

Connor’s white jacket bears the last fractions of Tasha’s life and he smiles a crooked smile at the camera.

‘She had to go’ he says.

He puts the gun back into his classy, now spattered, white tux.

‘A 28th amendment will fix the wrongs of this anti-privacy government we live under. If I do not hear about progress from someone in the next hour, I shall shoot someone else. I’m not saying I want the law passed in an hour. I just want a courtesy call to show me someone is taking this seriously. Might I add that if you are not taking this seriously, I will kill all of the hostages. Message understood, I hope.’ The shot of Connor Chase is replaced with a distasteful card that reads: “REVOLUTION TV WILL BE BACK WITH YOU SHORTLY.” Beneath the words, a cartoon picture of “Uncle Sam” flips the bird.

Frank stares at the TV screen trying to piece together what just happened. The whole room is filled with a shocked silence. But no one is more shocked than Frank. He felt a connection to Tasha, sexual or not, it was still a connection. He feels sick.

Twenty Two

Frank stares into the bowl he’s been vomiting in. His knees hurt because of the length of time he’s spent kneeling before the toilet. He flushes the toilet, gets up and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks 10 years older than he did 27 hours ago.

Frank turns on the tap and sprinkles water into his hair trying to refresh himself. He notices the cigarette burn. It is still there and annoying him. He tries to peel the shirt fabric surrounding the smelted burn off but it feels like hardened, melted plastic.

Catching another woeful glimpse of himself in the mirror, he gives up tidying his appearance. He feels dirty and cold. He always does, he realizes when he sees a reflection of himself. The harsh reality of who he is and what he has done always settle in hard when he observes his soulless eyes and rigid complexion.

The voices are back; this time the whispering turns into a shout in his head. ‘Get a grip, Frank.’ he tells himself, trying for an equal balance of sanity and authority.

‘It’s no good whispering, Frank. We can still hear you,’ the voice says.

‘Leave me alone!’ Frank shouts, grabbing his head and shaking it, trying to get rid of the sounds he is hearing.

Laughter replaces the whispering sound and it takes pleasure in making Frank’s life hell.

Frank moans in agony and grabs the sink for stability. ‘Fuck you!’ he screams, taking a forceful swing at the mirror. It shatters and leaves behind a spider web imprint.

Frank drops to the floor and huddles, gripping his knees with his bleeding hand. The skin on his knuckles hangs from the impact with the mirror. He moans aloud and crawls to the toilet in pain. He vomits once again and the strain on his stomach is so hard he feels like he has been stabbed.

Twenty Three

Nathan’s nerve is as steady as ever. In his past life, he’s been commended for his nerve, and, in fact, believes it is the reason he is successful; this day is no different from any other. He has been summoned to Chase’s makeshift office and is waiting for someone to let him through. The office that Connor Chase uses is the office Tasha Mitchel occupied before her untimely death at the hands of Chase. Nathan notices that Tasha’s name on the office door has been chiselled out and replaced with a crude plaque that reads: The man with the Plan.

Nathan isn’t nervous, despite his position on Connor’s crew. Any signs of uncertainty in his job, he knows could prove fatal. Not many explosive technicians have the luxury of worrying or they wouldn’t get anything done. He strives for a perfect balance. Red or blue is not a guessing game. In films it’s always red. Nathan knows that in real life, you strip the wire down, locate the correct circuit and then you know whether or not to cut the red or blue wire. He always gets it right.

Nathan notices the guard standing in front of him and snaps out of his daze, the guard extends an amused smile to him and Nathan follows the heavily armed man into Connor’s new office.

Chase stands behind his desk, looking at a painting on the wall. It is a random “Artsy” painting that has no middle or end, much like Chase’s personality.

Chase signals for the guard to leave the room, and he walks out, leaving Chase and Nathan alone. Connor looks up at Nathan’s 6 foot 3, 230 pound, brick house frame.  ‘You did a brilliant job on the fire exits son,’ he says.

‘Thank you sir.’

‘Those C4 bombs will protect our building. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think things would have gone so smoothly. It’s impressive. How you could rig those exits so fast is beyond me. I’m told that people like you are rarer than a warless revolution.’

Nathan nods in agreement with Connor’s flattering remarks. ‘Thank you sir.’ ‘I’m going to cut to the chase, Nathan. You may be more valuable than I anticipated. I want to task you with interrogating one of the security guards who worked here. We believe he has the key codes to the mainframe, and we need them if we are going to succeed in destroying all of the data this M.I.T building holds.’ Nathan nodded once more. Showing initiative was the key to gaining Connor’s trust. And Connor tested every man before extending that trust. This was his test. Nathan worried for the first time in a long time. ‘What is it you want me to do exactly, sir?’

Connor walks around his desk and looks Nathan square in the eyes. Nathan can smell Chase’s cologne. He’s certain Chase smells Nathan’s fear.

‘It’s not what you can do, Nathan. It’s how you do it. I won’t have an army of prima donnas, anymore than I’ll house a bunch of pussies.’

Nathan’s train of thought kicks in and he knows this is an emotional shakedown. Nathan’s drill instructor had been a ballbuster too, so Chase’s amateur corporal persona was easy going.

‘Yes sir!’ Nathan bellowed in his best soldier voice.

Connor smiled and saluted Nathan. Connor mumbled something into the two-way radio strapped to his bullet proof vest under the once white tux. The middle aged man had a style for the revolution and a mob like swagger. 

Looking at anything besides Connor’s eyes was dangerous but Nathan chanced a look at Chase’s presence. His hair was wet and sleek and combed back like a New York City mobster. Chase’s eyes were wide and the almighty penny dropped as the guard who’d escorted him in came in once again and escorted Nathan out. The pile of cocaine Nathan spotted on the table as he left would make Scarface proud.

The guard escorted Nathan silently.

‘We’re here,’ he finally said. ‘I’m going to make sure everything is ready.’ He gestures for Nathan to stay behind while he disappears behind a metal bolt-locked door. After a minute or two, the guard walks back out and signals Nathan to go in.

He cautiously follows the heavy man. The sight inside is of squalor and pain. The room is dark and littered with rubbish. A man lies on a metal table, his hands cuffed to the table leg.  His arms are in an unnatural position. The guard pulls something from the man’s jacket pocket. The guard snaps it and waves it underneath the man’s nose. The man comes too and panics.

‘No no no no no no. Please don’t kill me.’ The captive squirms on the rickety metal table and the guard laughs. He backhands the man and blood spatters from the man’s nose and lands on the table. The guard wipes his knuckles on a bloody red paper towel and turns to Nathan with a twisted smile.

‘Make this bastard talk,’ he says, ‘And make it fast.’

Twenty Four

Crystal wakes after dosing off while reading her book. The lights in the train affect her vision. She breaths deeply, trying to compose herself while stretching her arms out, Her friend, Jenifer, is no longer there.  Neither is Jason. She gets up from her seat and walks down the train aisle as the cabin shakes and glides down the track at high speed. When she reaches the toilet cubicles at the end of the cabin, she taps on the first door. ‘Jenifer, are you there?’ ‘There’s no Jenifer here lady,’ a man’s voice replies from inside.

She shakes her head in embarrassment and moves to the next cubicle. The sign on the door says ‘vacant’, so she moves to the third one. She hears a woman breathing heavily and the cubicle door shakes as if engulfed in its own minor earthquake. The shaking gets stronger until she hears the unmistakeable sound of the lady inside climaxing with pleasure.

A minute later, the toilet door opens and Jason steps out, looking pleased with himself. He sees Crystal leaning against the second cubicle door. She quickly looks away to hide her embarrassment. The moment is awkwardly fused into an intense and unpleasant feeling.

Jason casually shuts the toilet door behind him and moves closer to Crystal. He touches her hand and stares deeply into her flustered eyes. She immediately pulls away from his cold harsh touch.

‘Did you like what you were hearing? Or do you just enjoy spying?’ Jason’s voice is calm and seductive.

Crystal openly squirms at the question. ‘You caught me as I was about to go in to the toilet.’

Jason laughs.

‘Maybe next time you won’t have to be a spectator.  Maybe you and I can have some fun.’ Jason touches Crystal’s curly brown hair. His hand follows the curve and wave to where it lies against her shoulders. ‘I’m not interested Jason. Not one bit,’ she says forcibly.

Moving closer, he leans in to the smell her perfume and to let his finger drift to the cleavage showing at the ‘v’ of her white blouse. He presses his erection against her and she dares not look at him. He laughs and walks away, leaving her standing by herself, tightening her fists.