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Inthrallis – Chapter 31

January 13, 2015

Inthrallis – Chapter 31

I have the phaser, Captain. And I do not intend to simply disappear as so many of your opponents have in the past.

Moller was confused to say the least. He had experienced several of the tricks and ploys of small town out-of-control law enforcement. Virtually everyhing came with a price tag, came with a game.

For example, when it was time to feed the prisoners, the guard brought in food on plastic trays on a cart. Just when it was Moller’s turn–last, because he was in a cell by himself at far end, and the cell across from him was empty as well, as one deputy was about to hand him the tray, another would stick his head in the door at the other end and call him away. The deputy set the tray down on the floor.

The spot was undoubtedly carefully chosen and this kind of thing was done frequently. The first time they did this, Moller figured to just wait. He waited three hours, the mush on the plate, whatever it was, got room temperature and he had no desire to eat it anyway. All that happened was the deputies later came to gather the trays and flashed Moller a crooked smile.

The next time he figured he may as well try to slide it over. Of course it was just out of reach, by an inch or so. Perfectly set so close and yet so far.

That wasn’t all, of course. There had been the pre-written statement that Moller was supposed to sign and refused. These other games were designed to wear him down.

The had also planned their interrogations at times when Moller would have preferred to have been sleeping, so sleep deprivation was of course part of the regimen. He started contemplating escape, figuring maybe to go somewhere else and commit a crime on purpose just to be sure to have himself handled over to a different jurisdiction than where the neofascists and law enforcement were kin.

But that was what was so damn strange. He thought at first his visitor must be his assigned public defender. But then he noticed the suit was far too expensive unless there was also some serious local business he knew nothing of. This guy just didn’t blend in with his surroundings.

The business card read: Bruce Pertwee, VP, Second Chance, LLC out of Tuckahoe in Virigia. The guy didn’t much look like a preacher, definitely lawyer type.

“Mr. Moller. I represent Second Chance. We’ve reviewed your case, and we think that we can help you.”

“I see.”

“We’re a non-profit. We provide alternate means of support in order to reduce recidivism.”

“So you folks in Tuckahoe can help-a-hoe?”

Pertwee looked at Moller for a moment impassively. Then he smiled.

“If you like, yes. All that’s required is signing a confession which we will be happy to provide free legal counsel in order to work with you and the local police. And of course you’d be obligated to work for us for a contracted period.”

“For free?”

Now it was Pertwee’s turn to laugh at Moller, “My, no. We pay decent wages. I’m not certain where you’ll be or what you’ll be doing for us and our clients, but yes, you’ll be paid. Slavery ended two centuries back, Mr. Moller.”

“Well, I guess I just need to weigh my other offers.”

Pertwee blinked dispassionately.

“Ok, Mr. Pertwee. Sounds good.”

“Excellent, Mr. Moller. Right this way,” Pertwee motioned to the way out.


“Um. But the confession, and all that. I mean, won’t the Sheriff be upset, me leaving so so–”

“Taken care of. We can discuss and sign the paperwork at lunch.”

Moller blinked.

“Lunch is on us, Mr. Moller.”


Moller thought for certain he was being put on when Stone pulled up in front of Ciao Bello and asked if it was acceptable. Before Moller could reply, Pertwee got out of the car and headed for the door.

The place had been repaired already. No sign of the previous melee remained from the outside.

Moller looked around for a hidden camera, maybe a suspicious repair van. He then checked to see if he could spot Ashton Kutcher, Tracy Morgan, or someone standing around on the sidewalk. Then he recalled 4/17 and how the world was so much less mirthful.

He continued looking around inside the restaurant and stopped abruptly. There was Sheriff Bernheimer seated with two of his deputies. Now Moller figured this was some kind of operation. Clearly Pertwee snuck him out at the good sheriff’s request so he’d have good legal grounds to murder Moller. It just didn’t make sense otherwise.

Pertwee waved, “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff nodded, looked to Moller, and went back to his meal and discussion.

“Everything all right, Mr. Moller?”

“Yes, Mr. Pertwee. Though I’d stay away from the cacciatore.”

Who are these people?


From → Inthrallis, Novels

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