Man in Charge

Man in Charge

A Story by Jason Scott
"

A man goes searching for his friend who went missing near the territory of a drug lord. Who in turn is captured by the drug lords men.

"

Man In Charge

(MIC)


He was half dragged through the long corridor as he stumbled along trying to keep his footing. His captors had his hands bound crudely behind his back with rope. The onlookers in the dusty hallway looked up, some smirked while others offered only an indifferent glance. They were taking him to see the man in charge.


The man being dragged along was Ryan Stockard. He was looking for his friend Andrew Dalton who went missing after unknowingly wandering onto the territory of a possible drug lord. In his search for his friend Ryan himself was captured. Finally the men reached a door near the end of the hallway and entered.


It was a small crowded room. In it were two more henchmen standing at the far end armed and wearing faded military fatigues. There were two oscillating fans situated in the far corners of the room. They were coated with dust and did little to relieve the uncomfortable stuffiness of the room. Ryan was directed to a chair in front of a desk and was forced to sit down.


The boss, the man in charge himself was seated at the desk in the center of the room. He peered curiously at Ryan, amused by the look of pained frustration on his face. The man in charge bared a striking resemblance to Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. Like his henchman he too wore faded military fatigues. A unkempt beard sprouted from his face and atop his head rested a faded purple beret that did it's best to contain a full head of overgrown curly dark brown locks.


As the man in charge leaned back in his chair he pulled a cigar out of pocket and propped his feet up on his desk. His boots were impeccably shined. So much so they looked better than new, causing a stark juxtaposition with his worn out uniform.


So.” Began the man in charge. “I understand my men found you trespassing on my territory. Why are here?” Ryan sat up in the chair, straining to do so as his bound hands made it difficult. “I am looking for a friend of mine.” Began Ryan as the man in charge lit up his cigar. “He must have gotten lost and I believe he came here.” A “Hmph.” escaped from the man in charge. Ryan continued. “If so I was wondering if you have him, captured or otherwise” But the man in charge only leaned back further in his chair and blew several prominent blueish white smoke rings in the air.


Agitation began to set in as Ryan felt the man in charge was toying with him. “Look, have you seen him or not?” But the only response Ryan got was a nonchalant shrug from the man in charge. Ryan leaned forward in his chair and was about to speak when a heavy hand clasped down on his shoulder. “Did you kill him?” Asked Ryan.


A look of shock came over the face of the man in charge, he appeared offended. “My men might have killed some gringo.” Replied the man in charge. “But I...I NEVER kill anyone.” This response caused a stir of murmured laughter from his henchman. Ryan struggled to maintain his composure and waited for the laughter to subside before he spoke again.


But it seemed to be getting hotter in the room. The humidity was stifling and Ryan was beginning to have trouble breathing. He was sweating profusely and his shirt was stuck to his back. Overcome with anger Ryan lashed out. “Look Che, I demand to know what you did to my friend and I want answers now!” Shouted Ryan.


The room suddenly got very quiet, as the only sound was the gentle hum of the oscillating fans. Sweat dripped from Ryan's brow and his chest heaved as he waited for a response. Finally the man in charge chuckled before speaking. “You see that is what I love about you Americano's. You think you can just waltz right into my country and make demands! Pound your fist on the table and get what you want, pronto! And you show me disrespect as well! You will get nothing from me guero!”


Suddenly Ryan leaned forward and spat directly on the boots of the man in charge. A stunned silence fell upon the occupants of the room. In disbelief the man in charge examined his boots. He looked up at Ryan his face trembling as it turned red with anger. In a fit of rage he shouted out an unintelligible command to his men in garbled Spanish. Ryan couldn't understand him, but he soon figured out what he said as his henchmen began beating the s**t out of him.


They worked over Ryan's body, punching him in the stomach and ribs before punching him across his face. Ryan wasn't sure how much more of a beating he could take before he blacked out. Finally the man in charge shouted “Bastante!” And the beating ceased.


Ryan was beaten to a pulp, if not for his bound hands being over the back of the chair he would be on the floor. His entire body was wrought with agony as blood dripped from his face. His blond bangs had fallen over his eyes, obscuring his vision. “Sit him up” Ordered the man in charge. One of the henchmen pulled Ryan upright, causing him to winch in pain.


Get his hair out of his eyes. I want him to see me when I talk to him.” Commanded the man in charge. A henchman grabbed Ryan's hair and slicked his blood and sweat soaked bangs to his forehead. By now the man in charge had regained much of his calm composure. He chewed on his cigar as he stared at Ryan, moving it from one side of his mouth to the other before he spoke.


I am afraid your time has run out geuro.” The man in charge motioned for one of his henchman to approach him. He ordered him to do something but Ryan could not hear what he had told him. The man in charge placed his boots back on his desk and again leaned back in his chair. He blew several more perfect smoke rings. As the men waited Ryan noticed the unmistakable coppery taste of blood in his mouth.


Finally Ryan heard voices as someone approached the door. It was thrown wide open revealing a tall, lean, older man in a white suit. His hair was thinning and his suit jacket rested askew on his shoulders. He was hastily buttoning up his crisp dress shirt, which was partially untucked. Ryan also noticed he had missed a button on his shirt.


Hola amigo!” Shouted the man in charge jubilantly. “What? What is it?” Asked the flustered man in white. “I need you to kill this man.” The man in white glanced over at Ryan. “Why don't you just do it yourself?” “Because.” Began the man in charge as he puffed on his cigar. “Like I tell you, like I tell my men, and even the guero here. I NEVER...kill anyone!” This caused everyone in the room to erupt into boisterous laughter. Save for the man in white and Ryan.


As the laughing finally began to settle down the man in charge meant to puff on his cigar when he discovered it had inexplicably... gone out. This caused him to gawk peculiarly at his unlit cigar as he reached in his jacket for his lighter. The man in white stood by his side, prompting the man in charge to gesture with hands and command, “Shoot him shoot him.” Exasperated the man in white threw up his hands before reaching into his jacket and pulling out his gun. As the man in charge struggled to light his cigar, the man in white fired two rounds into Ryan. His lifeless body slumped over to one side, causing the chair to topple over.


Finally the man in charge was able to relight his cigar. He took a big hearty puff on it and shouted out to his men, “Anyone see any gringos?” Again the room filled with laughter. “Cut! Cut! Goddamnit cut!” The director jumped out of his chair. “Why is there no blood?!” He was shot twice in the body and there is no blood? Where the hell is special effects?!”


This caused a collective groan from the actors in the room. “Alright everyone lets take a break.” The room of tired and frustrated actors shuffled off of the set.





© 2022 Jason Scott


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Added on March 29, 2022
Last Updated on March 29, 2022
Tags: capture, searching, drug lord, foreign country

Author

Jason Scott
Jason Scott

St. Petersburg, FL



About
I enjoy short story writing. I welcome criticism. I simply want to share my writing. I initially started posting short stories on Facebook that I called "Snipits" Because they were VERY short in lengt.. more..

Writing