Rift Grifters (Part 2)

The phone would not stop ringing.

“Can’t you just throw that out the window?” asked Pinto.

“No,” said Laurel. “This guy is gonna track us down at one point or another. We have to think of something to say to him, we can’t just keep ignoring him.”

Laurel was driving a beat up, white fifteen passenger van and Pinto sat in the passenger seat and was sweating again, as the manual crank to the window had broken long ago.

“At least turn the ringer off,” said Pinto. Laurel did not answer, but kept muttering to himself under his breath.

“Gentlemen?” the man from the fishing rod said. He was sitting in the back. Rolling was a better term, as all the seats had been taken out and replaced with complicated equipment wrapped in old rugs. He was clinging to various pieces of equipment which kept sliding around, so he did too. “Are you agents of some kind? I believe there has been a misunderstanding. Could you tell me why I am here?”

Pinto and Laurel glanced at one another. The man had followed them into the car whether they had liked it or not, and they weren’t wicked enough to leave him stranded in the middle of Kansas.

“Agents, yeah,” said Pinto, jerking his thumb at Laurel. “We take care of crime, you know how it is.”

“I see.”

“Not committing it, you understand. Taking care of crime doers.”

“Ah,” said the man from the fishing rod. He was very round and had glasses and eyes that were too small for his cheeks. He wore a nice suit, which was less nice now that Kansas had gotten to it. “Then that’s why you’re here. Are you taking me to prison?”

“Eh?” said Pinto.

“Well, I understand that’s where criminals go. And I suppose I have committed a crime, yes.”

Pinto perked up. He turned around and stared at the man. “What crime, exactly? Absolve yourself, buster. We’ll get you incarcerated promptly.”

Laurel turned left abruptly and the van screamed. Pinto jerked back in his seat and the man from the fishing rod flew to one side of the van as a mountain of odd equipment squashed him against the wall. They were now hurtling down Highway 40. Corn stretched in vast horizons in any direction from them. Now that they were on the highway, the ride was much smoother, and Pinto could reach back and help dig the man from the fishing rod out from under the pile of oddments.

“Where are we going again?” said Pinto.

“Kansas City. That’s the closest rift. My word, Kansas is so much bigger than you think it’s going to—”

The phone rang again. Pinto snatched it out of Laurel’s hand, causing them to swerve before Laurel got in control again.

“Listen, we’ve got to answer him sometime,” said Pinto. “Or he’ll just send goons after us. Goons are the worst.” Pinto frowned. “Wait, are we goons? Whatever.” He punched the call button. “Hi, sir.”

He was quiet for a moment. Laurel slapped at him and hissed, “Put it on speaker!” Pinto shook his head and jerked it back at the man from the fishing rod, who was humming slightly and twiddling his thumbs.

“Yeah, sorry about that boss,” Pinto said into the phone. “I completely understand wanting to cook us alive. Totally human response. The thing is, service is pretty bad out here, so we weren’t able to call you until now. What’s that sir? Well…” Pinto glanced back at the man from the fishing rod and squinted. “We… ah… yes. We have her, sir. Definitely, no worries there. So you can forget all about that skinning us alive, right? Right, sir. Ah, put her on the phone?” Pinto grimaced at Laurel, who was turning pale. “She’s, ah, comatose, sir. It’s a rift thing, a data transfer thing, totally expected. I’d have to ask Laurel about that. But we’ll get her to you. We’re heading right over. Oh… oh… so you’ll be COMING TO KANSAS CITY, eh?” said Pinto. Laurel clutched at his heart, gasped a sound that sounded like grrhk, and pumped the brakes. He pulled off onto the road's shoulder.

“We’re still a ways out from Kansas City, sir,” said Pinto, “So we’ll be a while. But we’ll head right over, sir, thanks.”

Pinto hung up. He looked at Laurel. Laurel looked at Pinto.

The man from the fishing rod cleared his throat and said, “If you are really agents, gentlemen, then what is—”

Laurel held up a shaking hand. “Zip it,” said Pinto. “Where are we, Laurel?”

“Right outside Kansas City.”

“And where’s the next closest rift?”

“Lincoln. No, Des Moines.”

“Gentlemen?” said the man from the fishing rod.

“Too far,” said Laurel. “Both are three hours, I think. He’ll get suspicious when we don’t show up. Did he really say he’d skin us?”

“We can drive and hide somewhere,” said Pinto. “Kansas is pretty big. If we find a cornfield, we can just lie low and live off the corn, you know?”

“Gentlemen,” said the man from the fishing rod firmly. “I believe I can help you.”

Both Laurel and Pinto turned in their seats. The only sound was the broken air conditioner rasping for breath.

“I know where we can find a private rift in Kansas City. My name is Gentry, though of course you did not ask. I can get us out of here, if you would be so kind as to listen to me,” said Gentry. “The Kansas view tires me and I need to get to D.C. I have business there.”

~ ~ ~

“Who did you say you were again?” said Laurel.

“Take a left here. I didn’t,” said Gentry. “That is, I told you my name, but I didn’t say who I was. You never asked.”

“Well, we’re asking now. Who are you?”

“You could be the devil himself and I wouldn’t care if you can get us out of here,” said Pinto. He thought for a moment. “You aren’t though, are you? That’s something that would be good for us to know.”

“Take a right. Down that alley. No, my good man, I am not, though that is exactly how the devil would respond if you asked him. Yes, I can get you out of here. You simply need to follow my instructions.”

Laurel brooded over the steering wheel. They were driving just inside Kansas City, and already both Laurel and Pinto had no idea where they were. Laurel did not use a smartphone. Having worked in the cybersecurity industry himself, he knew that the amount of data they collected was dangerous to the health of petty criminals such as himself. Smartphones could tell you what you had for breakfast and what you will have for dinner. He relied solely on maps and a flip phone from the early 2000s. Unfortunately, this meant he was now relying entirely on the direction of Gentry. Laurel guessed that Gentry must be some criminal like themselves, possibly a rift grifter, who hijacked data transfers for personal travel. Rift travel was expensive and still difficult to trace.

Pinto fiddled with the burner phone. It had not rung since the last conversation with their client. To Pinto, it felt like a bomb whose timer was hidden from view and could go off any second. Pinto didn’t mind Gentry, who stuck him as a polite and slightly gullible businessman.

Neither men were correct.

“Stop here, please,” said Gentry. A worn down laundromat had a bright, red sign which read “Sudzees” and had a woman wearing a red dress with red lipstick and bubbles for hair welcoming them in. Everything looked faded, like they were peering through a dust cloud.

“Lucky you knew about this place,” said Pinto.

“Lucky,” said Laurel, squinting.

“My business has taken me here. It’s cheaper than the regular rift port,” said Gentry, opening the van door.

“Tight budget, huh?” said Pinto.

“Your business, eh?” said Laurel.

Gentry paused halfway out the door and turned to Laurel. “Ah, forgive me. I am an auditor. I assess organizations’ financial statements and internal controls. My company recently made an arrangement with a governmental agency to audit a particular entity that I am not at liberty to name. I graduated from Michigan State and went on to get my master’s in accounting from the University of Idaho, where I met my wife. My job out of college took me to California, where I now live. I have three children—Sheryl, Marvin, and Fauntleory. Does that address your fears, Laurel?” Laurel glared but nodded.

“Fauntleroy?” said Pinto.

Gentry sighed. “A family name foisted upon the poor boy. Sadly, I do not have time to discuss the entirety of my personal life. We can part ways in a moment to the benefit of all: you may go your way, and I, mine. I will speak with the attendant.” Gentry crawled out of the van, adjusted his clothes, and walked into the laundromat. Laurel watched him closely.

“He just rattled all that off like he studied it,” said Laurel. Pinto shrugged.

“Where do you suppose the daughter of the president actually is?” said Pinto. Laurel frowned. He had not really considered where the president’s daughter currently was, being mostly preoccupied with where she wasn’t. “I mean,” said Pinto, “She was supposed to be going to DC. Presumably on the rift that Gentry was on, since that’s the rift code we got from the boss. But why wasn’t it her? Did she just change her mind? Did she just give her rift tag to some random guy and that’s how we got Gentry? And what’s that crime that Gentry mentioned he was guilty of? And are we going to get food sometime, because it’s been a while since we had anything to eat.”

“Yeah… yeah, maybe we should get something to eat,” said Laurel. “And ditch this guy.” He turned the key in the ignition to start up the car.

At that moment, several things happened at once. Gentry came running outside the laundromat just as a black sedan screeched around the street corner behind Laurel and Pinto’s van. Gunshots echoed around the alleyway and the rear view window shattered as Laurel and Pinto ducked. In the brief silence that followed, a hissing sound from their rear tires made it clear that they would need to find another way of escape.

Gentry, meanwhile, had dropped to the ground. Laurel thought he had been hit, until Gentry propped himself up, gun in hand, and fired back at the sedan. The laundromat attendant, wearing a baby blue apron and smoking a cigarette, stepped outside the laundromat and pumped a shotgun. The sedan swerved away and to the right of the van. Gentry was yelling something.

“Better go,” said Pinto.

“But all of our stuff, so expensive—” moaned Laurel.

“Go!” said Pinto.

Laurel opened the car door and tumbled out. Before following, Pinto reached back and grabbed the fishing rod device before exiting the driver’s side of the van. Gentry gave them cover fire as they ducked and weaved their way to the laundromat entrance. “Get inside, inside!” Gentry was shouting, his polite mannerisms and vaguely British personality dropping away completely. The occupants of the sedan continued to fire as it pulled to a stop on the other side of the van. Pinto’s bowler hat was blown off his head. As Laurel and Pinto passed him, Gentry was hit in the hip and right arm and collapsed to the ground.

Without a second thought, Pinto turned and ran to Gentry, tucking the fishing rod under his elbow so that he could get both hands under his armpits. Laurel hesitated, and Pinto frowned at him. A shot chipped and shattered the pavement behind Pinto, stinging him with shrapnel. Laurel rushed over to them both, cursing himself. They dragged Gentry into the laundromat while three men exited the sedan, still firing in their direction. “Inside,” the laundromat attendant grunted around his chewed cigarette. As soon as Laurel, Pinto, and Gentry passed him, he fired his shotgun at hip height at the men crossing the street. That backed them up a moment. Laurel opened the glass door to the laundromat and they dragged Gentry in. The door jingled merrily as it opened. Keeping his shotgun trained on the men outside, the attendant followed them in. The door jingled shut.

“Where to now?” gasped Laurel, glancing around the laundromat. It seemed to be a one room building, without even restrooms. They heaved the groaning Gentry to a washing machine and propped him up. Pinto took off his jacket and pushed it against Gentry’s hip. It had hit Gentry just above the thigh, and must have glanced off his pelvis. It was not deep, but certainly painful. The shot in his arm had gone clean through.

The attendant backed into the laundromat and grunted at them. He fished in his jingling pocket and tossed a pen to them. Laurel caught it. “Tourniquet,” he said, adroitly maneuvering his cigarette in his mouth to point it at Gentry’s arm. Pinto looked and groaned at the sight. The attendant

Laurel looked around the laundromat and stood. He was hoping to find—yes, a rag on top of a dryer. He grabbed it and bent to Gentry’s arm. The shot was just above the elbow, so he wrapped the rag around his upper arm and around the pen. As he turned the pen, a ringing sound filled the laundromat.

The burner phone.

Pinto took it out of his pocket, wincing at the pain in the back of his neck, and answered it. Laurel kept his eyes on the laundromat glass door, where the men from the sedan stood at a safe yet threatening distance.

“Well, gentlemen,” purred the voice on the phone. “You’re trapped. Now what will you do?”