When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure about that simple fact, whether my eyes were open. A quick check of the facts I could verify: I was on the floor, and it was a cold cement one. I had a fucking headache and it started in the back of my skull. I tried to rub the lump I was sure was back there and was faced with another fact. I was in cuffs, and they were chained to some sort of metal pipe slightly above my head as I sat. I was in deep shit, one fact to rule them all.

I was about to start rattling my chains when I heard footsteps and some conversation.

I decided playing dead was the best plan.

“I’m not staying in hiding anymore.” It was a familiar voice but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Just a little longer, now that we’ve got McCall down there we’re going to have to re-adjust our plans.” That voice was Donny Barchek, I could tell. I strained to hear their conversation.

“What the hell did you want me to do? Let him kick the shit out of you again?” Franco! It was Franco and Donny Barchek, and they were both alive and both responsible for stirring up whatever shit stew I was in. That made sense, as neither one alone had the brain wattage to power a bathroom nightlight.

“Since we can’t string him along anymore now that he’s down here, we’re going to have to do a few other things.” Barchek sounded like the mastermind of the two, incredible as it seemed.

“Look, we were going to keep framing him and then let the cops drag him in, he’d have never known it was us.” Barcheck spelled it out for Franco.

“He could take credit for your waiter fuck up and whatever else we could pin on him. But NOW we’re going to have to get rid of him and let the cops figure it out. That means we’re going to have to spell it out for them real easy.” Donny Barchek sounded very Moriarty about then, the criminal mastermind.

“I suppose when they see the videos of McCall going berserk, it won’t be too hard. It takes care of my little problem, but what YOUR little problem? His cash was paying your debt down to the family, but you still owe,” said Franco.

I struggled to piece together what they were talking about. The best I could figure was they were using me as a scapegoat for Franco’s violent tendencies and as a cash register for Barchek’s gambling debts. I was getting double fisted. Pardon, my French.

 “He can still call his bank Franco, he ain’t dead yet. He is also going to call his boss so no one starts missing him. Let me do the talking.” Barchek had an answer for everything.

They flipped on a light and I stayed “unconscious” while they walked toward me. I let it set it in my mind a bit. Franco and Barchek were covering up for each other, Barchek’s cash problems and Franco’s violence problems.

I was going to be the lucky perpetrator of all it. I’d made it pretty damn easy too, by beating up Barchek on tape and then the waiter. Speaking of waiters, it looked like this was a huge storage area for kitchen supplies for the hotel’s several restaurants.

 I wondered how often staff came down here. Clearly not enough to worry Franco or Barchek.

Franco kicked me in the side. That fucking asshole loved to hurt people.

“Wake up McCall.” Barchek barked it. I decide to open my eyes and get this show started. Whatever the hell they were planning next.

“Good morning sunshine, not so tough in chains eh?” Barchek thought the situation to be hilarious apparently.

“What the fuck are you playing at Barchek?” The effort of talking ignited a headache that made me want to close my eyes again.

My only play right now was do what they wanted until I could figure a way out of here. I didn’t think they had the stones to kill me in the basement, only because they’d have to drag out my largish body. But who knew. Franco’s killing was unpredictable. He could shoot me in the head in a heartbeat.

“Okay, here’s how this is going to go. You’re more or less dead already. There’s no talking or fighting your way out of it.” Barchek was really enjoying being the boss it seemed.

“Is that so?”

“Yep, so to make the getting dead less painful, you’re going to do a few things.”

“I am not doing anything you want if I’m going to be dead anyway. Not really an upside for me.” You’d think for a gambler, Barchek would be a little better at negotiation.

“Franco. Show him.” Franco fished a phone out of his pocket. He showed me a picture. It was Marilyn. The date stamp showed it was taken only a few minutes ago in the lobby. Lorenz was holding her hand and guiding her somewhere.

She was very much under the thumbs of the Maldonados right now. Did she have security? Did she call Petra when I didn’t show? That part of the equation started to fill in and I realized that was their leverage. Not this basement or even my life; they had her, they had my cooperation.

“So yeah, we’ve got her nice and snug here. We’ve taken over security even.” Franco snatched the phone back.

“If she has so much as a split end because of you two, I will kill you.” That was another fact to add to my list of facts; if anyone did hurt Marilyn, I would find a way to take them apart. I took a deep breath. I need to play these fuckers right so I could last a few more hours, long enough to get out of here, and somehow get to Marilyn.

“Okay, so now that you know why you’re going to do what we say, let’s get to it. Text your boss and tell her you’re off the job. You can’t take it anymore and you quit.” Barchek put a hand to his forehead in dramatic fashion, like he was starring in a soap opera. Hilarious.

“What?”

“Yep, we don’t want Petra nosing around, so that’s your first job. Oh, wait! I took your phone. Actually, I’ll text her.” Barchek grabbed my phone from his jacket pocket.

I watched as Barchek typed out a message on the screen and Franco looked over his shoulder. Franco laughed as Barchek showed the display to me.

“Petra. I’m leaving. I can’t control my violent impulses around her clients. It’s gone too far. It’s already too late.” A text to be sure there was yet more evidence I was a homicidal maniac stalker.

“AAAND send.” Barchek was ensuring that Petra would now be alerted to my guilt.

Petra would believe every word of that text, I realized. Once in my life, she’d have known that text was bullshit but now, I’d proven my temper was too much when it came to Marilyn. She’d probably be relieved to get the message. One less unpredictable complication for Vallin Consulting.

But if I knew her, she would also understand that Marilyn was here, on the job, with no backup. I was counting on that fact to disrupt at least some of the Maldonado’s plotting.