Boulders thundered through Milo’s skull; his eyes fluttered as he shook his head to regain his wits. The right side of his head was pounding; blood was caked on his face. Through the blur and haze he could tell the room was large and dark. A smell of dusty crates hung in the humid, stagnant air.
“Mr. Wilson, are you with us? Hello?” a calm voice asked from the shadow in front of him.
Shaking his head, blinking, Milo looked around the dark room. His eyes stopped on the outline of a man sitting across from him, who was looking at his watch.
“What happened? What’s going on? Who are you?”
“Mr. Wilson, we need to talk. It seems you have something that belongs to my boss. I am here to collect it. I do hope that you choose to work with me so that we can make this quick and easy.” The Man With the Watch said, glancing at his watch.
“I don’t know what you are talking about. What do I have?”
“Shoddy information that you shouldn’t have and questionable intentions that concern us, deeply. We have spent a lot of time and energy building a certain…reputation…and we don’t want it tarnished with slanderous half truths.”
“What? I don’t understand. You must have the wrong guy. Why am I tied up? Where am I? Let me out of this chair!”
“Mr. Wilson. May I call you Milo?”
"What?! Let me the fuck out of here!"
The Man With the Watch sighed and checked the time. “Or what, Milo?” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.
“Let me go…or…or I’ll scream! I’ll scream for help and someone will call the cops!” Panicking, Milo thrashed wildly in the chair, tugging at his restraints and bellowing to be freed.
The Man With the Watch nodded towards the back of the dark room. Seconds later Milo's face exploded in pain as he was sucker-punched from the shadows of his peripheral vision. Flashes of color and light danced before his eyes; senseless, Milo slumped forward in the chair.
The Man With the Watch stood in front of Milo, hands in pockets, looking expressionlessly at Milo. “Remember what I said about the easy way? Let’s get back on task, shall we? First, there are two cops sitting right outside. Don’t you remember how you got here? They really did a number on you with those batons…you might consider a civil suit to cover the medical bills. Second. Give me what I want and quick and don’t waste my time, and we might skip the brain hemorrhage and skull fracture…or not. I sincerely don’t give a fuck either way. And finally, the reason we are all gathered here tonight. Have you heard of a man named Duke Stone?” The man calmly asked.
“No, I have never heard of him!” Milo lied, slobbering and wheezing.
“Well, Milo, he’s heard of you. Guess what? Mr. Stone doesn’t like you, not one tiny bit. That generally means, as you might guess from your evening so far, that you are fucked.“
The Man With the Watch was right. Milo, and everyone in Cincinnati had heard of Duke Stone. He was a legendary mobster in Newport’s mob days who was up to his elbows in violence and corruption. He was untouchable. These days you didn't hear much about him personally, but you might hear about The Duke Stone Foundation. Somehow, in those 60 years since he was breaking legs and running brothels, Duke Stone had managed to use blood money, bribes and blackmail to build the visage of an honest business that donated YMCA’s to poor neighborhoods and money to the Police & Fire Widows Fund and Children’s Hospital. The miracle of social amnesia had allowed Duke Stone to associate himself with philanthropy and disassociate himself from the news reports of bodies being fished out of the river that morning. The public image of Duke Stone was respected, but slightly frightening. A lion on a leash.
In reality, Duke Stone was ruthless and uncaring. His public image was contrived; carefully built over many years to protect his family and open larger and larger sets of doors. Once, collecting a bad debt, the entire tenement in Over the Rhine, where the deadbeat lived...burned for hours before a fire truck arrived. The debtor...and 26 others...died in the fire. Coincidentally, at the time of the fire, The Duke Stone Foundation was sponsoring the Cincinnati River Regatta Festival across town. Every news van in the city was there covering the festivities and the city never heard a word about the fire. Later, with a small portion of the insurance money, The Duke Stone Foundation donated a memorial of the "accident" to the neighborhood. Meanwhile, monetary gifts were discretely distributed to the firefighters. That’s how Duke Stone handled his business: misdirection, annihilation, remuneration.
Milo definitely didn't want to be on the wrong side of Duke Stone. He needed to fix this, give them what they wanted, or his disappearance would become a cold case overnight.
"You...you called me Milo. You know who I am and you have to know that I'm not looking for trouble. I will give you whatever you want. What's this about?" he stammered.
“It’s about damage control. Public relations.”
“The truth? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”
“That's the problem, Milo. You want to talk. My associates and I prefer the current situation where nobody talks and nobody asks questions. Everyone is minding their own business, and we like that.“
Confused, Milo looked at The Man With the Watch. "What do you...I don't know what you are talking about! I'm just a student. I work at a bar. I'm not talking about anyone!"
"It’s who you are talking to that's the problem. What do you know about Robert Petway?"
"Catfish? This is about Catfish? Suddenly relieved, feeling this was a misunderstanding, Milo laughed a nervous laugh. He's just a guy who comes in on open mic night. He always wears a suit. He's pretty good."
"Bullshit. You two are closer than that. Keep talking."
"He plays that old song, Catfish Blues. He claims he wrote it...but who knows. He's got a lot of stories."
"He does?"
"He….he...he's always talking about the old days when he was a traveling musician! Famous people he met, all the girls he had. He likes to talk."
"Who does he talk to? The man with the watch cut him short."
"Anyone who will listen. You know how old people are. They love to…"
"How often you talk to him?" He said, interrupting Milo again.
"Wednesdays. He always plays at open mic, every Wednesday, even though nobody wants to hear old blues tunes. Some Sundays I go see him at Boothe Hospital. He's got no family and no money, so I take him cigarettes and we sit and talk in the garden at the old folks home."
"Right. Keep going. What's he do for money?"
"I don’t know. Nothing. I guess. It’s a shame someone with that history and talent wound up in obscurity, broke and alone."
"You taking notes?"
"Huh?" Milo said, confused.
"Taking notes. Are you keeping track of what he tells you?"
"How could they know that?" Milo thought. Had he been followed, watched? Holy shit...this was bad....now he understood. Catfish mentioned that he used to work in some of Dukes clubs a long time ago, but nothing specific.
"Uhmmm....yes. I was actually. I am using his life story as part of my Senior Project."
"What?!"
"He…he was glad for the company and I needed the story for my project! If the publishing came through, of course he wanted the money..."
"Publishing? You submitted it?"
“Well…uhmmm… “ Milo thought for a moment. He needed to choose his words carefully. What did they want to hear? If he had already sent it out, the damage was done and they didn’t need him anymore. Not a good scenario. On the other hand, if he still had the manuscript tucked away, they might free him after he turned it over.
“No! I still have it!”
His interrogator smiled. “Good. Very good. Now, how can I get my hands on it so that it doesn’t become a problem?”
"Its on my computer... I could just…"
"The computer in your apartment, or your laptop?"
Milo was stunned that the man knew this much about him. “Uhmmmm….both actually.”
"Where else do you have it saved? Flash drive? Disk? Is there a printed copy?"
"I have it saved in a few places, take me to my apart…."
"Milo, you are not going anywhere until I have every copy of it secured."
"But you need me to…"
"No, Milo. We don’t need you. You are optional. I’ve told you that I can help you if you help me, but you are belaboring things. At this rate you might become collateral damage. Tell me now, exactly where the manuscript and files are and stop wasting my time."
Milo closed his eyes. He knew that if he gave up the information, he was dead weight. Literally. If he didn’t give it up, they would torture him and then kill him. He needed to think of something, and fast.
The Man With the Watch checked the time, again. “Wrong answer, Milo.” He nodded at The Man in the Shadows, lurking behind Milo. “Hook him up. I’ll come back later and see if whatever is left of our boy here wants to stop wasting my time.”
Heavy steps approached Milo from behind. There was some clanging of equipment, then suddenly someone lit a welding torch nearby. An electric sander and a gallon of turpentine were suddenly on the floor at his feet. That got Milo’s attention. “Wait! Wait! Please don’t!!”
The Man With The Watch had turned to walk out. He stopped, looking over his shoulder at Milo. “What do you got to tell me, Milo? I don’t have time for your bullshit. Spit it out now, and do yourself a favor.”
“The laptop. It’s on the laptop and the PC too! Its on both. I can show you the files!! I think I have some pages in my laptop bag and the files along with my flash drive!! Please don’t hurt me!”
The Man in the Shadows, standing behind the chair, pulled a bag over Milo’s head. Everything was dark as a moonless night. Milo began blathering and crying. He thrashed against the restraints like a man in an electric chair.
The Man With the Watch pulled a cell phone from the inside pocket of his shit jacket and dialed a number. “Grab the computers, the laptop bag and anything printed out in his apartment and car.” He hung up the phone and looked at The Man in the Shadows standing behind Milo. “Hold on to him until you hear from me.”
The Man With the Watch stepped outside and took a deep breath of the night air. He looked at his watch. “Good. We still have a little time.”
