wouldn’t feel that way again, though, not until now.
This week, when he woke up from that daydream, he felt comparable to the way he had in the courtroom. Not as deeply, but a vague similarity that this was something outside of his sphere of influence. So what could he influence? The speed at which he operated. Or at least, he could try to, which is what he wanted to ask these people today. Would it be possible to turn the assembly line’s pace up just a bit?
Matthew stepped outside of the van and closed the door. He walked to the hood, just as he had been instructed to, and placed a cigarette in his mouth, just as he had been instructed to. He lit it and smoked. He tried smoking in college but this was the first one he had lit since then. It felt, strangely, good. He blew the smoke out into the sky and took another puff. He was told to wait here until someone came for him. Matthew didn’t think that someone would be a law enforcement agent; he had done as much investigating as humanly possible on the people he was dealing with, as surely they had him. Maybe they knew who he really was, or maybe they believed the spurious life he had created and allowed to circulate through the various regulatory agencies. He’d even popped in some contacts to cover up the blue of his eyes, making them the more natural brown of African-Americans. Either way, he was here, and you didn’t get here unless they thought you were serious. No one arrived to this business and ended up dead right away. You got here because you had money to give and they had people to sell.
The door to StraightAire opened up and a man walked outside. He had a blazer on, a button down shirt with the top two buttons left unbuttoned. No tie. He walked across the parking lot, his eyes looking more at the ground than anything else, certainly not sweeping the lot.
“Jamal?” The man asked as he arrived.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Bolden?”
“That would be me. How was the drive?”
“Not bad at all. Eighteen hours is never good, but it wasn’t bad either,” Matthew said.
“Good, good. The drives can really be the worst sometimes. If you need a pick-me-up for the drive home, let me know and we can probably find you something.”
“I should be okay, but I appreciate it.”
The man nodded. “Alright, let’s get to it.” He turned and started walking back across the parking lot. Matthew dropped the cigarette and followed.
They went through the building, winding upwards, taking the stairs each time, and covering each floor. The floors were full of people in cubicles, apparently working, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. And, really, nothing abnormal was happening yet, but why was Matthew being led upstairs? Upstairs meant they had to come back down, and back down meant they had to travel in front of all these people again. Matthew kept his mouth shut until they reached the top floor, where they walked all the way to the end and met what appeared to be a closet.
“Here we are,” Mr. Bolden said.
He didn’t put a key into the doorknob, but simply turned it, and opened the door. The room was dark, but as he flipped a switch, the ceiling rained down light. They both stepped in, and Mr. Bolden closed the door behind them, though anyone could have looked in to see what this room held.
The Room of Illegitimacy , Matthew thought.
Four people were attached against a wall. Their legs tied to pipes that ran around the base, and their arms to pipes that ran at about waist level. Two sets of pipes, four people attached to them with zip-ties.
Matthew turned around to look at Bolden. “Those people out there, the one’s you just paraded me through, they know?”
“Of course. They’re paid their usual salary, and then they receive a bonus once a year just like any other corporation. Their bonus is tied to their performance and tied to their knowledge of this room.”
“And if someone leaves the company?” Matthew asked.
“Once you work for
This week, when he woke up from that daydream, he felt comparable to the way he had in the courtroom. Not as deeply, but a vague similarity that this was something outside of his sphere of influence. So what could he influence? The speed at which he operated. Or at least, he could try to, which is what he wanted to ask these people today. Would it be possible to turn the assembly line’s pace up just a bit?
Matthew stepped outside of the van and closed the door. He walked to the hood, just as he had been instructed to, and placed a cigarette in his mouth, just as he had been instructed to. He lit it and smoked. He tried smoking in college but this was the first one he had lit since then. It felt, strangely, good. He blew the smoke out into the sky and took another puff. He was told to wait here until someone came for him. Matthew didn’t think that someone would be a law enforcement agent; he had done as much investigating as humanly possible on the people he was dealing with, as surely they had him. Maybe they knew who he really was, or maybe they believed the spurious life he had created and allowed to circulate through the various regulatory agencies. He’d even popped in some contacts to cover up the blue of his eyes, making them the more natural brown of African-Americans. Either way, he was here, and you didn’t get here unless they thought you were serious. No one arrived to this business and ended up dead right away. You got here because you had money to give and they had people to sell.
The door to StraightAire opened up and a man walked outside. He had a blazer on, a button down shirt with the top two buttons left unbuttoned. No tie. He walked across the parking lot, his eyes looking more at the ground than anything else, certainly not sweeping the lot.
“Jamal?” The man asked as he arrived.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Bolden?”
“That would be me. How was the drive?”
“Not bad at all. Eighteen hours is never good, but it wasn’t bad either,” Matthew said.
“Good, good. The drives can really be the worst sometimes. If you need a pick-me-up for the drive home, let me know and we can probably find you something.”
“I should be okay, but I appreciate it.”
The man nodded. “Alright, let’s get to it.” He turned and started walking back across the parking lot. Matthew dropped the cigarette and followed.
They went through the building, winding upwards, taking the stairs each time, and covering each floor. The floors were full of people in cubicles, apparently working, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. And, really, nothing abnormal was happening yet, but why was Matthew being led upstairs? Upstairs meant they had to come back down, and back down meant they had to travel in front of all these people again. Matthew kept his mouth shut until they reached the top floor, where they walked all the way to the end and met what appeared to be a closet.
“Here we are,” Mr. Bolden said.
He didn’t put a key into the doorknob, but simply turned it, and opened the door. The room was dark, but as he flipped a switch, the ceiling rained down light. They both stepped in, and Mr. Bolden closed the door behind them, though anyone could have looked in to see what this room held.
The Room of Illegitimacy , Matthew thought.
Four people were attached against a wall. Their legs tied to pipes that ran around the base, and their arms to pipes that ran at about waist level. Two sets of pipes, four people attached to them with zip-ties.
Matthew turned around to look at Bolden. “Those people out there, the one’s you just paraded me through, they know?”
“Of course. They’re paid their usual salary, and then they receive a bonus once a year just like any other corporation. Their bonus is tied to their performance and tied to their knowledge of this room.”
“And if someone leaves the company?” Matthew asked.
“Once you work for
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