There are people you just should take for a ride until you know them better.

The white construction van was dirty inside, but had none of the tool racks or belts Jack would expect to find in a legitimate construction crew work wagon. Fortunately, there were also no loose screws or nails rolling around the van floor either.

The floor became Jack’s new place of resting, after Kurt and one of his sidekicks threw Repairman down. They through him down hard and stomped him a few times for sheer enjoyment.

“Knock that sh—off!” Culver Jake commanded. “Now.”

Jack was raised from the floor and forced into a busted, old car seat. He felt a spring poke through and tap him on the a–. The two thugs buckled his belt for him and drew it way tighter than was necessary.

An unknown driver sat next to Jake and started the van. He kicked it in gear and pulled away slowly from the parking place. They were smart enough boys to leave the scene without grabbing too much attention.

This guy Culver Jake rubbed jack the wrong way. So much so that it caused Jack to grow angry. He felt this guy was unclean in a major way; a major way that filled Jack with that burning sensation that told him the mojo was charging back. Jack would really have to clean up Culver Jake’s act.

************************************************************

“Tell me those catamites you sent came back with Angusto.” The man said calmly.

He tossed this off in an off-hand manner that suggested he could have just as easily been drinking a mint julep and watching the horses race from a luxury suite. It was like that The Man. He always had that calm expression before he found a reason to crap down your neck and wipe his butt off on your shirt collar.

“That’s what they tell me, Sir.” Eponymous said with no visible emotion.

Eponymous knew better than to show fear. His demeanor had hardened to the point where his facial expressions were immune to fear or anger. His career of violence had ended his ability to feel fear, excitement or anger. He was like a smack junky who required a bigger hit than the syringe could possibly hold. Things just didn’t change his mood much anymore.

“Ah, yes.” The man reflected. “You and Angusto need to discuss a few legal matters. Something he was supposed to have gotten from an attorney, I believe.”
“Yes.” Eponymous replied. “Angusto keeps on selling things to others that you want for yourself. I spoke with Glammon on that very subject. He promised not to let Angusto do this again.”

Alex Abel pounded a fist against the table. “And therein lies the rub…”He mused. “We talk to these people, we offer them opportunities to choose a different path, but they always wind up here….And I DO NOT appreciate having to constantly clean up Glammon’s messes.”

Abel’s voice was now higher and touch less controlled. It even made Eponymous take a step back. The boss rarely got this mad. The Doomsday Clock got a few seconds closer to midnight each time that he did.

********************************************************

Repairman Jack had no earthly idea where the van was going. He seemed to recollect that the van had gotten onto harbor freeway. From there, he lost reconnaissance and was pretty much flying eyeless through space.

“Aye, Rubester?” Kurt asked. “Does this schmuck look like Angusto?”

“F— if I know, Dude.” The less than intellectual Rubin Thorn replied. “We showed up at the right hood.”

“Yeah.” Kurt continued. “But he don’t look like no bean-eater.”

“Yeah.” Rube said, and scratched his chin as if he were capable of deep thought. “He don’t look right. I’ll tell the boss.”

Jack knew this conversation was going somewhere bad. His captors could only do one smart thing if they nabbed the wrong guy. They had to whack him and feed the fishies and worms. Jack had to make something happen.

The ropes around his hand were tight, but unevenly lashed. He could work them to and fro and create slack on one had and tension on the other. He worked until he had half a hand free, while Rube began working forward to talk to Culver Jake.

“Tell me your name’s Angusto, F—tard.” Kurt said to Repairman.

“My name’s Angusto, F—tard.” Repairman replied with an ironic smirk. He had just about worked his right hand free when Kurt’s fist met Jack’s cheek a little below his right eye.

The blow spun Jack to the left and twisted his body just enough. The hand was free! Kurt’s next blow connected flush with Jack’s nose. Something made a squishing sound that wasn’t to Repairman’s liking. Blood began to run down the back of his throat and closed off his left nostril.

“Knock that f—ing s—t off!” Said Jake.

“He’s calling E.” Rube said in a serious, worried voice.

************************************************************

Eponymous drove through mordant streets of corpselike East Los Angeles. The old, closed down bank would soon be open for business again. He hated the place, but no one ever cared what went on in there. It was just another reminder of some people his boss has ruined. Just another place he holed up in, while he was doing the bosses’ other bidding.

His cell phone rang. It was Culver Jake and the news was not pretty.

“You did WHAT!?!?!?” Eponymous asked. “How?”

The reply was pathetic and only made Eponymous more willing to end Culver Jake’s two-bit career in crime.

“Well who in the bloody, pig—–ing hell is this guy?” He demanded.

“You don’t know?” Eponymous continued. “You don’t know? What were you thinking, Jake?”

“Get his — over her!” Eponymous yelled.

“G—–n! I can’t find good help these days.” Eponymous said as he violently snapped the phone shut and continued to the meet.

*****************************************************************

Jack was pleasantly surprised not to be dead yet. The van had come down off the freeways and was on the surface roads. They stopped for some lights and made slower progress through the dreary night. The four thugs now looked a lot less cocky than they had when Jack had been grabbed.

“We gonna do this punk?” Rube asked.

“No.” Jake replied. “He’s gonna wish we did his a–. He’s speakin with E.”

Jack had no great desire to meet ‘E’, or anyone else associated with this van full of tools. He wondered who ‘E’ was. It wasn’t anyone local, or he and Volker would have known.

Jack finally got a chance at the two in the back. Kurt got careless and wasn’t watching the .38 he had tucked in his pants, beneath his belt. Jack’s hand whipped out as fast as lightning and grabbed the weapon. His other hand popped the seatbelt.

“Move and die, Dirtbag.” Jack told Kurt with a grin.

Rube thought about making a move. Jack smiled at twisted his weapon into Kurt’s side. “It hurts more if I gut shoot him.” He told Rube. “Go up front and tell the driver to continue as if I hadn’t just taken your maggot buddy here hostage.”

Jack still felt himself in a world of trouble. However, the odds were coming his way. He had continued charging far beyond what this Jake character should have given him. He sensed an evil here that would send logical men running. It gave him greater mojo. It made him morbidly curious. Jack wondered how a band of cock-ups like these could possibly find work with a major league bad-ass.

“So who is ‘E’?” Jack asked casually.

“Eric Berkfeld.” Jake replied in an obvious lie. “The man who will become your worst nightmare.”

“You shouldn’t frighten me.” Jack quipped. “I might slip and put this loser’s brains all over your plush interior.”

Jake turned around and looked at Jack with an expression that held no lies. “He’ll send you to a place worse than hell. He’ll suck your soul through a coffee stirrer, and laugh at you when you shrivel.”

Jake looked at him and cracked his neck slightly. “You have balls kidnapping Repairman Jack. I haven’t decided how I intend to cook those balls yet when I make you eat them.”

To be continued….