Robert Ferrigno - The wake-up

"It's a real mind fuck, isn't it, Frank?" said the Engineer.

Thorpe stared back at Gregor and knew that all the bad thoughts that had come to him while listening to Vlad were true. Arturo hadn't killed Bishop. Arturo had killed more than enough to deserve killing, but he hadn't killed Ray Bishop.

"Hey!" Gregor kicked Thorpe in the shin. "He's talking to you."

"Yeah, it's a real mind fuck." Thorpe was still weak from the anesthetic the Engineer had used on him, so numb that he had barely felt Gregor's kick. The only sensation he had was fear. He had been under fire, had jumped out of planes and crawled through tunnels where the darkness was thick with spiders, but now, sitting in his own living room, it was all Thorpe could do to stop his teeth from chattering. He wasn't afraid of dying. He had long since given up hope of a cozy old age, surrounded by grandchildren. It was losing to the Engineer that he was afraid of. Losing to the Engineer again.

"What is it, Frank?" asked the Engineer. "You look like you have something on your mind."

"I was just wondering what happened to Gregor? Did he try stopping a train with his face?"

"A few bumps and bruises, but I think it adds to his charm."

Thorpe smiled. "Looks like it must have hurt."

The Engineer pulled up another chair. They were almost knee-to-knee now. "Don't bother feeling under the cushion. We found the pistol you stashed. Found the one in the sofa, too. I like the way you plan ahead, the way you try and anticipate the worst. That's very laudable." He leaned closer.

Thorpe looked into the Engineer's eyes and thought of Vlad. Vlad had killed at least as many men as the Engineer, had gathered up lives by the handful, but his blue eyes were dim and dying, the sad eyes of a lost boy. The Engineer's eyes were dark and mature in their evil, full of a grimy eagerness for the work.

"In all your planning, though, did you ever foresee your present situation?" asked the Engineer. "Your hidden weapons found, the boogeyman inside your door, sitting right next to you, in fact, close enough to kiss." He smiled. "I guess what I'm asking, Frank, is did you ever imagine things going this far wrong?"

"So far so good."

"Indeed," said the Engineer. "I haven't hit you, haven't tied you up or restrained you in any way, haven't brutalized you. We're just a couple of men of the world having a talk." He smiled. "Since I quit the shop, things haven't gone as well as I'd hoped. Mistakes and miscalculations were made. I'm not complaining, but your personnel file was like an answer to a prayer. Some very interesting notations in that file, suggestions that you had been less than a loyal employee. Money-laundering takedowns that came up short, warehouses that turned up empty-you had some nice paydays."

Thorpe wiggled his toes, spread the fingers of his hands. Progress. Hope was the only antidote to fear, and he clung to that hope. He was going to get out of this. He was.

"You walked away with a bundle, Frank. I like a man with initiative."

Thorpe's head still throbbed, but he was breathing deeper now. "Ancient history."

The Engineer shook his head. "Not eggs-actly," he said, sounding just like Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Gregor chuckled, fists clenching and unclenching.

The Engineer beamed at Thorpe. "I like to amuse Gregor with my imitations: Irish brogue, Eddie Murphy, laid-back surfer, Boston Brahmin, Valley Girl… He's particularly fond of my Bill Clinton: 'Hilly Mae, put down that rollin' pin, darlin'."

"Very fond of Mr. Bill Clinton," agreed Gregor.

"Of course, you're already familiar with my Italian intellectual-"

"Are we going to work out our deal? This shit is boring me."

"Well, we can't have that," said the Engineer, sleepy eyes glittering. He walked over to the desk. Thorpe's laptop was already turned on. "What's your password?"

Thorpe thought about it. "Onyx three two three."

The Engineer tapped in the password, smiled as the operating system opened up. "I'm glad you didn't make me ask you again," he said, ripping through the files. "You'd be surprised how many people think they need to put on a show of resistance. I'm not sure if they're trying to impress me, or ministering to some ego need of their own…" He stared at the screen. "An empty address book? How do you keep in touch?"

"I'm a lousy correspondent."

"What I'm looking for are your business contacts, your connections-buyers and sellers, all the little people you use and abuse. That's what you bring to the table."

"What are you bringing?"

"Always so flippant, so self-controlled." The Engineer whipped the mouse, searching through Thorpe's files. "The only time I heard you lose your cool was after you had left the safe house-you were getting medical attention, if I remember correctly. You sounded scared. I bet you're scared now… probably telling yourself to hang on, stay strong, being a regular cheerleader for the home team." He glanced at Thorpe, then back at the screen. "Three bank accounts. What are the passwords?" He typed as Thorpe told him, clucked with disappointment a few moments later. "There's not nearly enough here to retire on, Frank. At this rate, you're going to be collecting aluminum cans while you lug around your prostate." He turned his head. "Where's the rest of it?"

"I had some miscalculations myself."

"I don't believe you."

Thorpe hesitated, thinking, but not taking too long, just maybe long enough to indicate that he was arguing with himself and that the Engineer had won. "Sorry, other than a storage locker full of cash and bricks of cocaine, I'm flat broke."

The Engineer watched Thorpe, then finally shut the computer down and handed it to Gregor. "I'll examine this at my leisure." He sat down across from Thorpe again. "Where exactly is this storage locker of yours?"

"You working for the IRS now?" Thorpe stretched, used the opportunity to glance out the window. Late evening now, the courtyard empty, the sound of stereos and TVs playing in the distance. He hoped Claire wasn't at home.

The Engineer smiled. "She's not here, if you're interested."

"Who?" Thorpe didn't turn away from the Engineer's smile, but he felt the blow. A light blow, a love tap, but it brought the fear back, worse than before.

"Claire. Lovely woman. A little mature for my tastes, but feisty."

"My neighbor?"

"Oh, more than your neighbor, much more, if my information is correct. Mrs. Kinsley and I had a nice chat this afternoon at the park. She's the one who let me in the gate. Made me some wretched tea while I waited for you. Sweet old lady, but her kitchen needs a good scrubbing. They get old, they lose their sense of smell. I was about to cancel her ticket, when she got a phone call and had to dash. Mrs. Kinsley says you and Claire have the look. You know the look, Frank. Mrs. Kinsley got all warm and fuzzy when she talked about the two of you, said she was eighty-three years old but that she still remembered that look."

"I threw a fuck into Claire once or twice. You want to make something of that, go ahead."

"That's rather unchivalrous of you. I met Claire this morning, showed her your photograph. She said you looked familiar. That's all, familiar. Then she told me you had moved away, moved to Los Alamitos because it had better freeway access. Wasn't that wonderful? It's the details that sell a lie. Having a woman willing to lie for you is one thing, but a woman who lies for you well, oh my, Frank… you truly are a lucky man."

Thorpe shrugged. The Engineer's indolent gaze was eating a hole in him.

"Here's my dilemma," said the Engineer. "I know you can be useful, and I dearly want your goods, but on the other hand, I'm still upset with you for that business with Kimberly. I can be petty and vindictive. I'm working on it, but I want you to be aware of my failings."