Dire Means Read Free Page B

The pad beeped and the doors opened to a large, worn elevator car.
    When the doors closed them in, she stepped away from Brandon and turned to face the elevator panel. Her smile disappeared as she buttoned two buttons on her blouse.
    “Maybe our spin might roll us to a place where I can buy you a drink,” Brandon grinned.
    “You wish,” she answered, her voice now lower in pitch.
    Brandon, startled, said, “Pardon me. I can be too forward sometimes…I apologize.”
    She sucked her teeth and then folded her arms over her purse.
    “So, you’re into cars. Is the Fairlane your favorite classic?” Brandon asked, hopefully.
    She poked her tongue into her cheek and shook her head without answering. The illuminated Floor 2 on the elevator panel had her full attention.
    “Something I said?” Brandon forced a nervous laugh and cleared his throat. “What’s your name?” he asked. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I actually forgot to ask you your name.”
    “My name won’t be useful to you,” she said as the elevator door opened to the third floor. The small 15 x 10 foot vestibule was barely lit by a single 40-watt bulb in the center of the ceiling and dark gray foam padding lined the walls. She stepped out of the elevator and motioned for Brandon to follow.
    “Whoa! What’s with the bat cave?” he said. The soles of his shoes sank into the spongy floor.
    “Oh, we store some supplies for sound-staging here,” she said. “Just come through, my office is around the corner.”
    On Brandon’s third step into the vestibule, a padded wall slid from the ceiling and slammed down between him and the open elevator door, blocking retreat. He jumped. The woman pivoted to him. A door behind her opened and two men in matching red Polo shirts and black slacks entered. One man was muscular with a crew cut, and his smaller partner pushed a silver, enclosed metal cart the size of an office desk. He swung open a side panel on the cart, exposing an interior, padded like the walls. The woman pulled a Taser gun from her purse. A red, laser sight quivered a spastic, two-inch pattern on Brandon’s stomach.
    “Remove your pants and then enter the cart willingly,” she said calmly.
    “Wait! What the hell is this?” Brandon said, searching the faces of the three.
    The Taser’s probes pierced Brandon’s skin and he dropped, stiff, to the padded floor. He writhed with his teeth clenched and fists balled up and pressed against his hips as the Taser ticked. When the woman released the trigger, Brandon staggered to his feet.
    She repeated her instruction. “Remove your pants, and then enter the cart willingly.”
    Brandon unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers and dropped his pants to the floor. He stepped out of them and stumbled toward the cart, dragging his Taser leashes. The woman nodded at him with no smile, approving his progress to the container.
    He squatted and managed to squeeze into the cart. He fought his gut to raise his knees toward his chin. While one man strapped a ball gag around Brandon’s head, the other picked up his pants and fished through the pockets. He retrieved Brandon’s keys, cell phone, and then a wedding band that he handed to the woman. She sucked her teeth in disgust, reached down, grabbed the Taser wires two feet from Brandon’s stomach, and snatched the probes out. The man who held Brandon’s pants, pockets pulled inside out, tossed them into the cart. The bulky man slammed it shut and locked it before opening a slat on the side that exposed four quarter-sized holes for ventilation.
    The padded separator wall that had blocked the elevator retracted into the ceiling and they pushed the cart onto the elevator. The cart shook a few times as Brandon moved his hips to adjust his position inside his padded container. The ball gag and foam lining of the cart’s interior dulled his pleas to garbled babble heard only by him.
    On the loading dock, they wheeled Brandon’s enclosed container into the back