The Spaces in Between by Chase Henderson Page A

left them there for the remaining eight hours still cuffed. The room connected into a restroom, but they’d rather die than to be caught with their pants down. There were two Frostys on the table for them and a black and white TV set to channel three. The room was bare, but for its wood paneling.
    Is this his apartment? They must be waiting for someone really important, because this action of the Irishman seemed so amateur. He grabbed them as quickly and efficiently as possible, but had nothing to do with them until whoever shows up. Who the hell would want us so badly? The men in black suits were somehow related, but something in Warren’s gut told him that they weren’t in cahoots with the Irishman.
    Could this have something to do with Cameron? Warren immediately pushed that train of thought back down into the stem of his brain. They watched the door in silence to pass the time. They never once spoke, made eye contact, or tried their Frostys.
    The monotony parted when they heard the door open in the next room.
    “Have the case? Then right this way.”
    The door opened and the man in white stood in the doorway with the Irishman. The man in white shielded his eyes with his forearm against the single halogen hanging from the ceiling.
    “He’s worse for wear,” the Irishman said, “but you couldn’t really say he was Grade A beef before.”
    “He’ll do,” the man in white said. “Good job, but why get the woman?”
    “He wasn’t home when I came by so I had to get her to lure him out.”
    “I’ll take him then be on my way.”
    “Now wait just a second.” The Irishman sidestepped into the man in white’s way. “You said that you’d cover my expenses. She’s an expense, but considering the price for him an extra fifty grand won’t mean much to you.” Janet gulped and bit her lip to hold back the tears. They were cattle to be bartered.
    “I don’t want the woman,” the man in white said. “Just kill her.”
    “That’d cost more than taking him. ”
    “I’m not taking the woman, and I’m not giving you a red cent extra.”
    “Then we’ve got a major problem,” the Irishman towered over the man in white. “You’re not leaving here without taking both of them, and then we drop by the bank or wherever the hell you get this cash. There you give me the extra fifty grand for my trouble.”
    A sixth sense flared in his mind, and the Irishman went for the revolver in his jacket pocket. The man in white did not so much as strike the Irishman as his arm seemed to extend into a whip that slashed the Irishman across the face. Blood and teeth splattered across the wall followed by the Irishman’s crumpled body. The man in white glided across the floor towards them.
    Janet cried out and Warren’s mind went through every scenario with such speed he couldn’t see any of them. He skimmed his mind and in short they were fucked. The wires began to whisper, and Warren tried to ignore it. A screaming came from the light bulb. Wait! He hates me! And if you just give me the word I’ll give him hell even if it kills me.
    “O-okay.” Warren told the voice in his head. He would have felt far saner if he had kept his end of the conversation in there too. The light flared like a spotlight on the man in white. He hissed and swatted at the light. A cat chasing after a laser pointer. The light fixture was torn from the ceiling followed by a spray of sparks. Once his vision adjusted Warren leapt form his seat and rammed the man in white with his shoulder. He might have as well just run into a marble statue. The man in white didn’t give like a person, but remained stiff and rigid.
    Warren cried out when he landed backwards unto his bound wrists. The man in white grinned like a snake and his fingers slithered around Janet’s neck. There was a snap followed by another. The man in white staggered backwards. Blood splattered against the wall and Janet. The Irishman stood up again and smoke billowed from his Smith and