The Call: Part Two

"Jacques L' Autre" (jacklauterdale) 11/16/2014 at 20:15 • Filed to: Fictionalopnik Storytime

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"Elmhurst? "inquired a voice on the other end of the phone that Art Newhouse now had up to his ear. He froze. Elmhurst, Elmhurst? Ah, he remembered now. Elmhurst was name of the company that used to own the warehouse that he was now the sole commodity of.

"Um.. Yes, this is Elmhurst."

"Good," the voice said somewhat menacingly. "In 20 minutes a black Lincoln LS will be pulling up to the front door of your building. You will open that door when they arrive. No questions asked. Understood?"

Art hesitated for a second, realized this and managed to stammer, "Y-yeah, you got it."

The line went dead, and Art slumped back into his chair wondering what had just happened. Had he done the right thing? What was he actually mixed in with? He had always known that whatever dealings the company that had hired him was involved were not exactly above board, but he really wasn't sure. That wasn't to say that he hadn't run this through his mind before, he'd done that a few hundred times. Boredom will do that to you, make you think of all the worst case scenarios that could happen, but now it was actually happening. That interview that he had sat through six months before now rang fresh in his mind.

Immediate Discrete Help Wanted read the ad in the local job trader. Feeling that he was a particularly trustworthy person, Art had applied. After almost two months on unemployment he needed something, and he wasn't really interested in particulars, just cold, hard cash. He'd had time to think about the accident that had placed him in this predicament. The evil grinding sound of the metal on metal fighting the laws of inertia and physics as the locomotive barreled towards the stricken car were still fresh in his mind despite the time he had taken off to find himself after the accident. They were called accidents for a reason, but he couldn't help but feel responsible regardless. Her scared blue eyes had haunted him in his sleep ever since that fateful day. They almost looked peaceful when he had locked his eyes with her, as if to say that she had resigned herself to this fate. Why? Was the question that he always asked himself when he thought about why she had chosen his line to sever all the ties on her end. It haunted him for days on end afterwards, those evil eyes were present everywhere.

He had joined the railroad innocently enough. For years as a child he had always fantasized about the old iron horses that had tamed the west. There was something romantic about locomotives that seemed to capture Art in a way he couldn't describe. It was only logical that he join the railroad at the young age of 17 instead of wasting his money on college education. The rails were his path to knowledge, and he would be enlightened by the raw experience of taming the metal beasts.

His first experience with death had come when he was only 18 and been working a line from Kansas City out West to the port of Los Angeles. A vagrant had been walking down the tracks when the train had snuck up on him. Hard to believe that such a loud machine could go by unnoticed, but the vagrant had been happily unaware of his soon encroaching fate. He had mostly tried to rid his mind of those memories trying to focus them on his current job, which mostly consisted of 3 hour tour s of Craigslist.

15 more minutes remained before the LS was supposedly going to show up at his front door. The LS? Wasn't that the car that was supposed to change Lincoln, he thought to himself. He'd appreciated it at the time, and often considered one when he'd find an especially clean example for a nice price, but his Miata was still cheap to run, and of course he'd gotten it for free. Wouldn't make much sense to replace a perfectly fine free car he'd often say while secretly hoping an opportunity for something new would come up.

10 more minutes. Art began to shuffle around making sure the place was presentable for his soon to be guests. Luckily for him there aren't too many expectations on what a warehouse should look like, and other than the Miata parked off to the side of the door there wasn't much in the way of cleaning. Art had gotten used to the quiet solitude he had here, and even though it was part of his job, the incoming visitors felt like an intrusion on that. He felt disturbed, restless even. Hell, he wasn't even sure who exactly he worked for. All he knew was that a Mr. Simon Chamberlain signed his checks once a week, and Doug, who had met with him several months back, conducted any business between himself and Mr. Chamberlain. He'd once tried to look into the mysterious figure, but had only ever been to unearth that he dealt with antiquities.

Art took a quick glance at his computer screen which now showed that the Hyundai was now above $14,000. "Jesus," he muttered to himself, "Who in their right mind would pay that much for this." Answering his own question he matched the bid.

Feeling lost? Click !!!error: Indecipherable SUB-paragraph formatting!!! for part one of The Call.

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Birddog > Jacques L' Autre 11/16/2014 at 20:31

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I read this using the voice of "Guy Noir Private Eye" aka Garrison Keillor.

It's bloody great.