I'm a relatively good guy that's trying to make a living. However, with things like war and recession in everyone's rearview mirror, it's nearly impossible to be a good chap and survive. Being good and surviving requires old money these days. Nice people aren't fighting to survive.
I moved from the agrarian US to the nearest big city to find work, but jobs are few and far between with exploitative pay. I've resorted to stealing and smuggling to make enough money to get by. I've stayed out of gangs and mobs to avoid the trouble of inner politics with serious gangsters and the visibility to law enforcement. My status as an... "in-between" criminal has made me vulnerable to law enforcers that reside in moral grey areas. When money is scarce, people will do whatever to get some, regardless of morals or ethics. I started my kind of work with the justification that I had no other way of getting by. Now, I just do what I can to afford to eat and stay out of jail, without considering right or wrong. It's the same for everyone else in the eco system, even those who enforce the law.
One of the guys I've been working with told me to meet a new guy from New York at Elaine's for some goods from the Big Apple. Elaine's is a motel that has bed bugs that have resided in the mattresses for generations, with cigarette-burned sheets draped over them. The yellowish glow of the dim florescent lights buzzed. Every flat surface has touched hard drugs and a person's private parts. These kinds of motel rooms are common for smuggling gigs because they are cheap and offer a decent amount of privacy. Queers can fornicate in secret, husbands are able to escape for nights with prostitutes, and dope dealers can open up shop at these places, so everyone minds their own business and lays low.
I didn't know much about this new guy, but we usually only give each other nicknames and a vague history about where we're from. I'm Kurt from Wisconsin. Apparently, this New Yorker just came into town for the month to make some money before returning home to his wife and kids. He sounds like a regular guy who's trying to provide for a family, but I kept my guard up. Just because a guy has kids and isn't living in sin doesn't mean that he won't rob or kill another scumbag in a fleabag motel room. I attended our meeting with my pistol and pocket knife, as any sane person would. I haven't had to use my weapons so far, but it felt like their inaugural use was coming.
When I met with Jamie, the New Yorker, at the room, he had a few suitcases next to the bed. This seemed like a lot of luggage for one traveling guy, but not enough to be a big score unless it's something really valuable. I assumed that he had more in his car. Before revealing what he had in the suitcases, he asked a lot of questions. Suspicion is very common in this line of work, so I did my best to give answers that would insure Jamie that I'm legit without revealing too much about who I am or what I've been doing. However, I must have let too much slip because Jamie pulled a gun on me and demanded that I put my hands behind my back.
I assumed that Jamie was untrusting of the fact that I had no allegiance to any known gangs, but as he was tying my wrists with thin rope, he indicated that he was a bounty hunter and I was under arrest. Apparently, police have been targeting guys like me who operate under the radar since we're less protected than gang members and they need perps to arrest to show that they're doing their jobs, so they're putting prices on our heads and paying guys like Jamie under the table to cross state lines, infiltrate operations, and have a heel for the newspapers to sensationalize and convince the village that they're safer now that their boogeyman is in custody.
Now that Jamie has me, I'm "Harlan, the New York Con Man." As the story goes, Harlan Garris has been a most wanted criminal for the past three years. He has managed to disappear and re-emerge under different aliases, murdering various men and stealing their identities, then slipping away before getting caught. Different police forces are basically having bidding wars for prisoners they want to purchase, and New York must have the most to spend because the city had the biggest reward for Garris to be turned in and Garris is apparently highly sought after in the country. I am unfortunately lucky enough to fit the description of Garris' many personas and nobody cares enough about the wrong bad guy being arrested. Jamie had been following me and knew he could get his coveted prize if he served me on a platter with a new name and someone else's worse reputation. As long as money is made, photos are taken and printed, and scum is put away, everyone is able to sleep at night.
I was absolutely dumbfounded by this setup, angry that I was sent to Jamie by one of my guys. He was either too dumb to sniff this out or knew, but didn't care about me. It's better I got busted than him, everyone is in it for themselves. However, I've been got and there was nothing I could do but try to escape Jamie if I got a chance. He seemed to be pretty good at tying, but he might have to leave me alone at some point.
Jamie taped my mouth with a strip of curity cloth adhesive bandage and instructed me to not make a fuss as he checked me for weapons and confiscated my wallet. I've never been physically unable to speak before. My lips couldn't move under the strip and a wave of embarrassment overcame me as the uneven power dynamic set in since Jamie decided that I'm not allowed to speak. I guess it suits his agenda because it would be harder for me to explain that my name isn't Harlan Garris and that I've never been to New York, murdered, or stolen a person's identity. Trying to hysterically explain myself while my words only sound like garbled nonsense would only convince officials that I'm resisting arrest and need to be kept silent and in custody.
Jamie found my knife and gun and confiscated them. He sat me down and proceeded to tie my legs with more rope. He informed me that the next train to New York was tomorrow evening. This means that he's going to have to keep me here until then and take me onto the train as his prisoner. My hope to escape slipped away as the night went on because Jamie kept a sharp eye on me and added more restriction as he saw fit.
Even though he left me in the room to get a drink, I wasn't able to get loose or call attention to myself because he secured me to the bed, stuffed a hand towel in my mouth, and used his handkerchief to keep the towel in place. The towel felt dry and rough against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. My jaw ached from the pressure of being forced open. I was only able to grunt faintly. This made the strip of tape preferable.
Jamie's absence gave me time and privacy to concentrate on trying to find and loosen knots from my binds, but I couldn't find or reach any of them. In fact, it felt as if my struggling tightened the ropes. I must not be the first man that Jamie had to restrain. It isn't hard to imagine that anyone else in my position would try everything they can to get away and Jamie isn't going to take any chances.
Not only does he get a generous cash reward for turning me in, but he also gets to be a hero for bringing a notoriously wanted man gift wrapped for the police. Being able to catch such a famous swindler and leave him unattended for several hours without worrying about him so much as getting an ankle free when he isn't supervised is probably another source of pride for Jamie. Not only was he "savvy" enough to catch the criminal, Jamie also made him his property and is in complete control.
When Jamie returned, I was exactly how he left me, but more flushed and sweaty. My glasses were fogged and rested at the tip of my nose. He chuckled at the sight, knowing that I must've been trying to escape or get a pedestrian's attention and obviously failed.
After preparing to hit the hay, Jamie reinforced my restraints and even added more, this time securing my ankles to the foot of the bed. He also tied a thicker cloth over my mouth, covering my lips this time. Jamie loosened my tie, opened a few buttons of my shirt, and rested my glasses on the night stand. Before turning off the lamp, he warned me that I'd be sorry if I did anything to wake him throughout the night. Aside from beating me, Jamie threatened to stuff me in the closet over night if I so much as snored in a way he didn't like. Considering how stuffy the room was, I'm convinced that I'd suffocate or die of heat stroke in the small, unventilated closet. So, I had to do my best to not upset him.
There was only one bed in the room, so Jamie was going to sleep next to me, which meant that I wasn't allowed to move or make a sound if I didn't want to see Jamie's consequences. Ever since Jamie arrested me, he only removed my gag to replace it with something else. He wasn't interested in anything I'd have to say. If I started talking in between gags or after drinking water he gave me, he'd promptly replace my gag or cover my mouth with his hand if he didn't have a gag handy. When I tried talking to him through my gag, he'd tell me to shut up. It was one thing to be bound and gagged with Jamie in private, but I dreaded the thought of Jamie taking me out in public, and on a several-hour train ride muzzled and restrained.
With Jamie's hubris, I imagine that he'd gloat about his big catch, explaining all the crimes I supposedly committed and how no official law enforcement was able to get me. He'd probably say and do all kinds of things to make himself look strong and me look weak and powerless: pushing me around, calling me names, slapping me, telling other people why I should be gagged at all times, etc. And even though he caught the wrong man and brags about how the police have failed to catch Garris, New York PD will pat him on the back and say "good job" and call him a hero.
Comments