Under Illusion: Day 17

Word Count: 102,045

Summary of Events:

Trace was disheartened to not reach Tombstone — where he'd hoped to be able to escape with the help of locals, and especially law enforcement — before being required to turn onto the next part of the route to the ultimate destination of Fairbank, a ghost town, where they met the gang leader, whom Dallis was surprised and wary to observe wasn't Bentley, or Al, although he did look like a relative. Both of them were rather astounded that the gang leader seemed to think Trace was also a gang leader, although Trace was grateful to merely be herded into the backseat of a car instead of shot as he'd feared. Dallis, however, was forced to endure the company of the gang leader, whom she didn't like at all, as they drove to Nogales, with a gang member driving Trace's truck after them to a warehouse, where the gang leader wanted to inspect the load…

Excerpt of the Day:

They walked up to a loading bay, against which the rear of his truck’s trailer was pressed, the overhead door that sealed the bay having been raised out of the way. Two men were standing by the closed doors waiting.

“Why isn’t it open?” the blond man demanded.

“We don’t know this lock,” one of the men replied. “It doesn’t have a keyhole.”

“What?” the blond man snapped. “Pancho!”

The grey-haired man walked up to the door and examined the lock critically for a long time.

“What is it Pancho?” the blond man demanded. “You know locks!”

“My guess is that it must be some sort of an electric lock,” the grey-haired man — Pancho, apparently — replied.

“An electric lock?” the blond man asked. “What is an electric lock?”

“That’s the only way I can figure it,” Pancho replied. “I would suppose that some sort of electronic, or maybe even magnetic, charge is required to be applied to the lock before it can open.”

“You don’t even know!?” the blond man demanded, sounding upset.

“No,” Pancho replied. “I didn’t realise there was such a thing as keyless, buttonless locks.”

“Even my lock expert hasn’t seen a lock like this,” the blond man said. “Why are you my lock expert?”

“Because I know locks,” Pancho replied. “But surely our driver has the key, even if it is not a key by convention.”

The blond man turned and looked at Trace. “Where is the key?”

“I don’t know,” Trace replied.

“You have to have the key!” the blond man snapped.

“I didn’t load the trailer,” Trace replied. “I don’t even know what’s in it. I just know it’s loaded, and that the load just about maxes out my GVW limit.”

The blond man scoffed profanely. “You, of all people should know what’s in your truck and how to access it!”

“I’m not a gangster,” Trace replied. “I’m just an employee of ESM. I know nothing about what they do.”

The blond man shouted his profane disagreement, stalking toward Trace, which revealed he was hardly taller than Journey. “I will not be lied to!”

“I’m not lying!” Trace exclaimed.

Forcefully the blond man slapped Trace. “You will not fool me!”

“Seriously?” Journey asked.

The blond man whipped around to look at her.

“You seriously believe he’s a gangster?” Journey asked.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” the blond man demanded. “He had gangsters protecting him.”

“What?” Trace asked.

“How do you know?” Journey asked.

“My men know what gangsters look like,” the blond man replied. “Every single man they liquidated was a gangster.”

“What!?” Trace exclaimed. He wanted to exclaim further in his disbelief of what he was hearing, but he didn’t know what to say. All of the men in all of the black cars that’d been following him around and forcing him around were gangsters? Was that why he’d never been told what he was doing? Because he worked for the front of a gang?