Dire Means Read Free

Please…”
    He labored to his feet and staggered toward the gurney. He flopped his upper body across it, panting and his face ashen. The second female, a petite blond who carried a backpack, eased past Keith. She picked up his phone from the floor with gloved hands and dropped it into her bag.
    The two men took hold of Keith’s arms and legs and carefully swung him up onto the gurney, rolling him over so that he rested face up. They were gentle with him. One cupped the back of his head so that it came to a soft landing on the gurney pillow. Keith’s eyes were wide.
    The blond woman walked to his side and examined his face. “Aww, poor thing,” she said. She opened her backpack and produced a vial of clear liquid and a soft white cloth. She wrapped the cloth around her forefinger and wet it with the bottle. She dabbed at some blood that oozed from the side of Keith’s mouth. He winced at her touch and pulled away.
    Meanwhile, the two men had pulled padded nylon restraints from under the gurney bed and strapped Keith at his ankles, knees, waist, chest, wrists, and loosely about his neck. One man lifted Keith’s head and slipped a rubber strap under it, connecting it in the front with hooks attached to a ball gag. The man centered and pulled the ball gag out above Keith’s mouth and said, “Say Ahh.” Keith turned his head to look at the woman who had the Taser. She opened her mouth wide and said, “Ahhhhh.” The three others joined her in a long, almost harmonious, “Ahhhh.” Keith opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The ball gag popped in, snug between his teeth. He tried to close his mouth over it, but his lips couldn’t meet. The rubber strap of the gag pulled the corners of his mouth into what looked like the frozen smile of a happy mask.
    The woman with the Taser stepped forward and examined the probes in his abdomen. Keith’s eyes widened as she held the Taser gun out behind her, with her finger clearly still on the trigger. She plucked the probes from Keith.
    The two men collapsed the gurney’s legs to the floor, lifted one end, rolled Keith toward the lit wall, and turned to face a red door.
    The Taser-wielding brunette stepped to the door and placed her palm on a waist-high glass console to the right of it. A green light silhouetted her fingers and then flashed under her hand like lightning. The door reacted with two heavy clanks and swung open a few inches as if it had been held by magnets that suddenly gave way. The crew of four wheeled Keith Mendalsen through the door.
    He would soon desperately wish that a warm bottle of water, forgotten by a temp, was his life’s biggest inconvenience.

Chapter Three
    BRANDON CHARGON PUSHED his way to the front of the elevator to exit ahead of the eight other passengers. He wasn’t late; he always rushed to everything. He didn’t wait for the doors to open completely before he shouldered his way out into the grand lobby of Santa Monica’s Pacific Grove building. Roman columns flanked a thirty-foot indoor fountain whose hissing water padded the echoing footsteps and conversations of the lobby’s guests.
    As Brandon passed the large security check-in desk en route to the VIP parking exit, he saw a gorgeous brunette woman approaching from the opposite side of the lobby. She wore a low-cut, red satin blouse and a fitted black mini-skirt. She held eye contact with him and smiled. He slowed his pace. At six feet tall, the woman had a two-inch advantage over Brandon—even without the three inch heels that clicked on the polished floor under her graceful legs. Her trajectory and growing smile made it look as if she intended to speak to Brandon, but he couldn’t be so lucky…could he?
    She carried no clipboard, so he knew she wasn’t taking an annoying survey, nor could she be what Brandon referred to as “scummy bummys”—homeless people that frequently timed their solicitations near closing time on the concrete walkway of Brandon’s office building. He