different voice yelled. "Marcus wants him out."
All at once, there were four men at the cage door. Three of them used long prods to keep the zombies back while the door was opened. Arrick didn’t give them any trouble. Since he hadn't wanted to go inside in the first place, coming out was something he did voluntarily. He was ushered away by one of the men while the others went in to secure the stock. The noise in the crowd grew. Arrick was taken toward the back of the arena where there was a set of stairs leading up to a makeshift second floor and some offices. He wasn't sure what was about to happen to him and, frankly, a bit more frightened now. But he knew that trying to get away would be a mistake. Not only were the men working the arena upset with him, but the crowd seemed to be calling for his blood. Every time they caught sight of him something was thrown. He was moved quickly up the stairs and into an office.
The office was in a bit of a shambles, though not totally disorganized. There was an old desk with a chair in the back and some papers on it. There was a computer that seemed state of the art. Its plug and the plugs of its components trailed away to a couple of power strips that were plugged into exposed outlets. The man behind the desk was the complete opposite of his office. Despite his gangster clothing and fierce look, Arrick could instantly detect his upper class air. Of course, he could detect it. He had grown up in its ranks. In addition, this new man exuded a commanding authority.
"You can go," the man in the office said to the Arrick's escort.
"You sure?"
"What? Do you think that because the zombies won't touch him that he's a match for me?"
Arrick shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Without an answer, the young man just left the room, closing the door behind him.
"What's your name, Long John Silver?"
"John Arrick."
"Scottish?"
"That's right."
"My name's Marcus. Nice to meet you."
Arrick coughed. "Likewise, I suppose."
Marcus laughed at that. "So what happened? You showed up, ready to take on ten zombies. Everyone thinks you're crazy until you get into the ring and we see that they don't even notice you. Then, instead of fighting and winning, you just stand around doing nothing. It leaves me with a lot of questions."
"I don't know if I should answer any questions."
"Mr. Arrick, I want you to understand that there have been a lot of people that came into this warehouse and not all of them got to leave. With all of the people going missing because of the plague, there are very few missing persons investigations nowadays. You understand?"
Arrick nodded. "I understand. You're threatening me."
Marcus spread his hands wide. "There you go. So why don't we agree to be honest with each other."
"Okay," Arrick said. "I agree. You start."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by Arrick's guile and boldness. But he conceded. "Okay. You ask the first question."
"How long have you been doing this?"
"A few weeks. Brilliant, don't you think?"
Arrick nodded.
"My turn. How come the zombies didn't eat you? Did you find some way to camouflage yourself?"
"More or less," Arrick said. "I've had the disease and recovered."
Marcus' eyes grew wide. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised by the fact or Arrick's casual admission of it.
"My turn now," Arrick said. "Why haven't the police shut you down?"
Marcus almost didn't answer the question. He didn't want to play this game. Still, there was a lot he wanted to know about John Arrick and determined that playing was the best way to get that information. "We have cops who come in to watch and to bet. People tend to see things on Friday and Saturday night and forget about it for a week. You know what I mean?"
"I suppose I do."
"You tell me more about you now. I want the whole story before I decide whether or not I believe you."
Arrick
All at once, there were four men at the cage door. Three of them used long prods to keep the zombies back while the door was opened. Arrick didn’t give them any trouble. Since he hadn't wanted to go inside in the first place, coming out was something he did voluntarily. He was ushered away by one of the men while the others went in to secure the stock. The noise in the crowd grew. Arrick was taken toward the back of the arena where there was a set of stairs leading up to a makeshift second floor and some offices. He wasn't sure what was about to happen to him and, frankly, a bit more frightened now. But he knew that trying to get away would be a mistake. Not only were the men working the arena upset with him, but the crowd seemed to be calling for his blood. Every time they caught sight of him something was thrown. He was moved quickly up the stairs and into an office.
The office was in a bit of a shambles, though not totally disorganized. There was an old desk with a chair in the back and some papers on it. There was a computer that seemed state of the art. Its plug and the plugs of its components trailed away to a couple of power strips that were plugged into exposed outlets. The man behind the desk was the complete opposite of his office. Despite his gangster clothing and fierce look, Arrick could instantly detect his upper class air. Of course, he could detect it. He had grown up in its ranks. In addition, this new man exuded a commanding authority.
"You can go," the man in the office said to the Arrick's escort.
"You sure?"
"What? Do you think that because the zombies won't touch him that he's a match for me?"
Arrick shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Without an answer, the young man just left the room, closing the door behind him.
"What's your name, Long John Silver?"
"John Arrick."
"Scottish?"
"That's right."
"My name's Marcus. Nice to meet you."
Arrick coughed. "Likewise, I suppose."
Marcus laughed at that. "So what happened? You showed up, ready to take on ten zombies. Everyone thinks you're crazy until you get into the ring and we see that they don't even notice you. Then, instead of fighting and winning, you just stand around doing nothing. It leaves me with a lot of questions."
"I don't know if I should answer any questions."
"Mr. Arrick, I want you to understand that there have been a lot of people that came into this warehouse and not all of them got to leave. With all of the people going missing because of the plague, there are very few missing persons investigations nowadays. You understand?"
Arrick nodded. "I understand. You're threatening me."
Marcus spread his hands wide. "There you go. So why don't we agree to be honest with each other."
"Okay," Arrick said. "I agree. You start."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprised by Arrick's guile and boldness. But he conceded. "Okay. You ask the first question."
"How long have you been doing this?"
"A few weeks. Brilliant, don't you think?"
Arrick nodded.
"My turn. How come the zombies didn't eat you? Did you find some way to camouflage yourself?"
"More or less," Arrick said. "I've had the disease and recovered."
Marcus' eyes grew wide. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised by the fact or Arrick's casual admission of it.
"My turn now," Arrick said. "Why haven't the police shut you down?"
Marcus almost didn't answer the question. He didn't want to play this game. Still, there was a lot he wanted to know about John Arrick and determined that playing was the best way to get that information. "We have cops who come in to watch and to bet. People tend to see things on Friday and Saturday night and forget about it for a week. You know what I mean?"
"I suppose I do."
"You tell me more about you now. I want the whole story before I decide whether or not I believe you."
Arrick
Similar Books
