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And it won’t be hard to confirm.
Spinning myself once more to face the other direction, I commence strolling again. In spite of knowing exactly where the wine is, I feign ignorance. Continuously look up at the dangling signs for directions. The action allows me to use my peripherals to repeatedly spot the unidentified follower. After confirming I am indeed being tracked, I use my randomly timed stops where I pretend to be looking for the right condiments and sauces to mentally assess the threat.
Several inches shorter and years younger than me.
Stature smaller yet still solid.
Shoes built for show rather than function.
No visible scars or tattoos.
No distinctive signs of an affiliation like dog tags or crest rings.
My initial evaluation says he’s here to recon.
Not engage.
Unfortunately for him, he picked the wrong motherfucker for surveillance.
Knowing there’s a nearby hallway that leads to a family restroom, I steer my basket that direction, executing two more irregular stops to ensure my stalker takes the bait of pursuing. Once I feel he’s within a respective ear shot, I fake a groan of discomfort. “Man, I knew I shouldn’t have had so many eggs this mornin’.”
I pretend to look around for a restroom and then fake relief when I spot it. Abandoning my cart and making a beeline in that direction adds to the illusion my stomach truly is upset, a performance I sell even more by tugging at my t-shirt near the area of pain.
As I enter the territory, a member of the janitorial staff is pulling his cart outward prompting me to pause in order to politely let him pass by. My choice forces the young male following me to cease his own movements and needlessly look at the nearby coffee creamer. Slyly, I remove a plastic bottle of glass cleaner from the back of the object, a hanging “out of order” door sign, and slip out of view into the empty facility.
Tossing the flat item in the sink is swiftly followed by me positioning myself behind the door to wait for his inevitable arrival. It doesn’t take long for the newbie to arrive outside the space, nor does it take long for him to cautiously test the knob to predetermine if I’m still inside. Panic – another indication he’s new at this – pushes him further into the room and the instant he’s there, he’s met by two bursts of cleaner directly to the eyes. His mouth drops down to release a blood curdling scream, unintentionally offering me a second point of attack. Two chemical splashes are shot inside, leading to another one of his senses being violently overwhelmed. Loud gags are attached to thrashes which are easy to maneuver around as I lock the door. Dropping the bottle in the sink precedes me swinging my right arm around his neck to trap his trachea in the crook of my elbow. I grasp my own bicep, tuck my left hand behind his head, and create the necessary pressure required to restrict the blood flow to his brain.
While the flawless execution quickly results in an unconscious state, the truth is, he’ll regain that same consciousness at relatively the same speed meaning the time I have to properly restrain him is minimal. Lowering his lifeless frame to the ground so that his head can rest against the edge of the sink occurs first. Hastily retrieving the emergency set of zip ties, I keep alongside the knife that’s holstered inside my pant leg and binding him to the exposed pipe is done next. By the time the unknown man finally comes to, the only thing left to be done is to secure his legs together at the ankles. Being too focused on his upper body aches leaves his lower half easy to manipulate, which is another telltale sign this young man has no fucking clue what he’s got himself into.
So many mistakes.
So many exposed weaknesses.
So many chances he could’ve ended up dead.
However, depending on how this interrogation goes, the latter may still be in play.
I grab the edge of the bottle of cleaner, readjust my squat stance, shift the nozzle, and mist his face once more. “Wake up, rookie.”
The man in front of me chokes on the mixture yet forces himself to look my direction.
“Tell me why you’re followin’ me.” His reluctance to answer has me firing two more rounds into his eyes. A new wave of unholy screams escapes but speaking over them isn’t that difficult. “Hesitate again, and I’ll turn this shit from light rain to downpour. Copy that?”
This time he speedily nods.
“Good. Now, tell me why you’re followin’ me.”
“Not you.”
My head tilts to the side in aggravation. “Lie to me, and I’ll drown you in the sink.”
“It’s n-n-n-not a lie!” He immediately croaks. “I’m not followingyou. Well, okay, Iamfollowing you, butyou’renot who I’m supposed to be following! You’re just supposed to be leading me to the person I am supposed to find.”
Swallowing the swelling lump in my throat isn’t easy, “Arley.”
“Idontknowhername,” the terrified individual announces in one breath. “I just…I just have her picture!”
“Where?”
