Hijacking Jack

Chapter Two

The Devil has a new disguise. His name is Gabe.


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As he swung the door open, he came fact to face with the black barrel of a gun that pointed unwaveringly at the middle of his forehead. “Um.”

Funny thing, that had to be the first time Jack had ever been at a loss for words.

“Hello, Jack Fielding. Mind if I come in?”

Jack’s eyes travelled down the barell of the gun, along the steady arm and finally to the gun-wielder’s face. He had a handsome expressive face, one that looked like it should belong on a pleasant banker or a, god forbid, Kalvin Klein model. Certainly not on a guy who will be on next week’s episode of crime watch. His full-lipped mouth broke into a toothpaste advert smile. “Well? Are you going to make me stand out here all day or are you going to let me in?”

Jack’s hands tightened around the door frame, his knckles turning white with the pressure of holding himself up. His legs had turned to jelly with fear. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he answered with a weak trembling voice that belied his confident words. “I don’t really have a choice now, do I?”

“No. No, you don’t. Open he door wider for me, there’s a good man.” Jack didn’t have the time to think about complying as the man moved smoothly past him into the living room with a flirty wink. His head moved from side to side as he looked about himself. “Nice place you got here. I really like the colour scheme. It’s the kind that makes the room spacious and cosy. It goes really well.”

Jack stayed by the door, unsure of what he was supposed to say to an armed man who liked the colour scheme of his apartment. “Er, what’s this about?” he asked instead, his hand coming up to scratch at his neck in an unconcious gesture of nervousness. The door was still open and the idea of legging it skittered across his mind.

The man must have been a mind reader or something, as he turned abruptly to him. “Shut the door, if you please. You’re letting all of the cold air come in.” The gun was no longer aimed at him, but the man still kept it ominously by his side. It was a blatant reminder that this wasn’t a social visit.

He glanced at the door and to freedom. Would it be possible to make it to safety without being shot in the back? He looked back at the man while worry his lip with his teeth. He was tall and slim, with the definition of a swimmer’s build. He certainly didn’t look the part of a menacing thug. Nothing at all to the beefed up buzz cut thugs you see regularly on TV. On first glance, Jack would have said he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. He looked too good-natured. However, by his proud stance and strong hands, Jack got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t get two steps out of the door.

Jack hesitated for a few moments, a battle of wills going on inside him, before he shut the door. “There. It’s shut,” he said unnecessarily.

“So, are you going to offer me something to drink?”

Jack stumbled on his next words and looked at him strangely. He had never seen the man before in his life, so he couldn’t be a great judge in character, but he was pretty sure that the man wasn’t joking. “Oh. Um, right. Do you want something to drink?”

He offered his wide smile again. “No. No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking though.” The smile was gone as fast as it had appeared. "I'll just get to the point. You owe Mr. Guiseppe some money that you used in the casinos. Wait, let me rephrase. You owed Mr. Gusieppe a large amount of money, which you never paid. Now, I'm here to make sure that you do."

Jack isn’t too sure on where to start with what he was thinking or feeling. What the fuck? Was the first thing that sprang to mind, but Jack felt that voicing it out loud was a little too uncivilized of him. So, instead, he what with an intelligent “Huh?”

The armed man offered him a patient look. “You need to pay Mr. Guiseppe the money you owe him. Preferably now.”

This really wasn’t making much sense to Jack. He was being accused of taking somebody’s money so he could gamble? “And you are?”

“The man who will get what what he wants,” he answered smoothly.

Jack couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his words. “You?”

"Yeah, me." The smile makes it seem like he's not that offended. "So. Any time you want."

Jack was left to stare blankly at the man before him. “Okay. I think there may have been a mistake. I have never gambled in my life. Well, apart from the time when I bet a friend on whether Julia Burns’ breasts were fake. I won. I have never been in a casino in my life…”

Gabe suddenly moved towards Jack while digging in his trouser pocket with his free hand. Jack leant against the door behind him, the dead bolt digging into the flesh of his back.

"So this," Gabe points at the picture he took from his pocket. "This isn't you? Because," he pauses as he digs something else out of his other pocket. This time it's a scrap of paper that he unfolds and holds out. "This form has your name and address and some bank account numbers – which became overdrawn, by the way, which is why I’m here - and do I really have to go on?"

Jack stares down at the picture with growing indignation. “I was…shopping…when the picture was taken. Were you stalking me?!” He demanded, his mind whirring back to the scene of the picture and trying to decide if he had seen any suspicious character or the distinctive sound of a camera shutter.

“I didn’t take the photograph, I was given it. So, no stalking involved.” He smiled disarmingly. “Not by me, anyway.” He slid the picture and paper back into his pocket.

“Well, that’s comforting at least,” Jack grumbled to himself.

“Listen, can we skip the stage of denial and jump right into the stage of apologies? I’m on a tight schedule here, I want to be back in London by tomorrow-“

“London?” Jack asked, the first puzzle piece starting to click into place.

Gabe gave him a strange look. “Yeah, I don’t live in this city. Anyway, I want to get back as soon as possible and have done with it. So, if you can hand over the money you owe that you blew in the London casinos, I will be on my merry way.”

London…. Casinos?

Oh.

His mind puts everything together, slowly, painstakingly, even though he should have expected this. The most logical explanation floats to the top of his consciousness in an almost lazy way.

“You say that I used my signature at these casinos?” He asked carefully.

“I do. The money that you asked for was transferred into your account and then used at the gambling tables.”

“Huh.” The air in Jack’s lungs whistled past his clenched teeth. Danny was going to die slowly by his hands. “Right. This is probably going to sound stupid and a lot like some lame excuse, but-“ A bubble of hysteria rose in his throat and he laughed a little. “Okay, this is going to sound stupidly ridiculous.”

Gabe didn’t interrupt his deranged rambling to get on with the explanation already, which made Jack a hell of a lot more nervous. “So here’s the thing,” Jack finally says. “The guy you are looking for is my roommate, Danny.”

He flinches.

Gabe just stares at him.

Jack scrunches his nose up in an odd attempt to be serious. “It was my roommate, Danny, who went to London to gamble in the casinos. He’s done this type of thing before. Impersonate me, I mean. I can’t believe he’s idiotic enough to do it again…” Jack trailed off when he realised how utterly lame he was sounding.

Well, Danny hadn’t done anything to this extent. He had set up an Ebay account in Jack’s name, bought a hot pink convertible and when the transaction had gone through on Jack’s account and he nearly had a stroke, Danny had come clean and told him he would pay Jack back when he got the money.

The guy was unbelievable.

Gabe blinks owlishly. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that your roommate, this Danny, impersonated you, slapped a fucking huge gambling debt to your name, and left you to clean up his mess,” he states flatly. “Seriously?”

Jack nods, alightly relieved. “Yes.” He’s still nodding, because the reaction from the guy seems too good to be true. “Yes, yes. Exactly. I mean, I’m sitting here innocently eating my food and reading the newspaper, I’m not really the type to take weekend trips to casinos. And I have no idea how he got my bank account numbers, I ought to give him hell for that. Am I right? Am I right? Ha. Okay, if you just let me call him, we can sort this mess out.”

He made his way to the other side of the room where his telephone was on the coffee table by the kitchen door when the unmistakable cocking action of the gun makes his hand freeze over the receiver.

“I can’t let you do that,” Gabe said placidly. “You may be phoning for help. That’s one complication I can do without.” Jack turned his body, afraid that the gun was once again aimed at the spot between his eyes, but was relieved to find that it was still aimed at the floor. “You can make this a lot easier on both of us and just give me the money or come with me,” Gabe suggests, sounding hopeful and a lot less like a hardass.

“I don’t have the money, because I never had it in the first place,” Jack said as calmly as he could. “That picture is of me in a grocery store, not at a casino. I’m telling the truth, Danny forged my signature and has my account numbers.” Getting hysterical now seemed rather pointless and would probably make things a lot worse.

Gabe stare at him for a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours to Jack. He seemed to be weighing Jack’s words and Jack felt a glimmer of hope spark in his chest. “If you don’t have the money, then it looks like I will be taking you with me.”

Jacks heart plummeted and, finally, he felt anger take over bewilderment. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I told you it wasn’t me, it was my roommate. I’ll call Danny, and then you two can work it out for yourselves because honestly, I’m done with this crap.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know if you’re telling the truth, and I don’t have time to find out. But you seem like a nice enough guy and just, please? I’m saying please here.”

“No,” Jack says flatly. “Now get out or I’m going to call the police.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Gabe said amiably and Jack got the distinct impression that he was being talked down to or maybe Gabe really was that nice. But that was completely absurd; the man owned a gun for crying out loud.

“I wish you would get the hell out of my apartment but since you have no intention of doing so, it looks like I will have to call the police.” Jack had barely enough time to pick up the phone from its cradle when a heavy weight barrelled into the side of him and he was knocked into the wall, narrowly missing the mop and bucket. His head made a sickening crack with the impact and he was dazed for a few seconds before he was flipped around to face Gabe and pressed tightly In between the wall and Gabe’s body.

The man felt like he was made of steel, all hard lines and unyielding pressure. No matter how desperately he struggled or how hard he fought against him, Gabe didn’t budge an inch. The thought of someone whom he was helpless against was going to kidnap him out the fear of God in him.

His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the wall and they came in contact with the handle of the mop. Taking hold of it, Jack managed to lift the soppy end and take a swipe with it at Gabe’s face. Gabe immediately pulled away, a small cry of surprise muffled by the soapy mop head shoved in his face, and Jack used this opportunity to make a break for the front door.

As Jack’s hand grasped the doorknob to turn it, he was once again man handled in a very embarrassing way and shoved against the door, his face making intimate contact with its surface. He gave an indignant cry and resumed his struggles.

“I don’t think I have ever been accosted my a mop before. Points to you for originality.” Gabe sounded like he wasn’t even out of breath and Jack struggled harder in his grip.

“Let me go, you jerk! I’m innocent, god damn it, innocent!”

“I’m sorry I have to do this to you, but you leave me no choice. You should have just come along quietly.”

Jack opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about when Gabe, without any hesitation, used the butt of his gun to knock him out.

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To Be Continued…

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