Welcome to the continuation of “A Man Down.” I have decided to continue this story every third week; I feel this spaces it out, and keeps things fresh. Hopefully, this will work out. I will start off each continuance with the last paragraph of the previous installment. So without further ado, I welcome you to Part 2.
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Another advantage to my outfit is this: when you wear a suit, even a simple and dirty one like mine and speak with confidence, people will believe anything you tell them. Before he can leave, I stride over to his table. As I slide into the booth across from him, I start my bluff. “Hello Mr. Secret. It’s been rather difficult to track you down.” When in doubt, subtly flatter the ego of your mark. Mr. Secret stops what he is doing, frozen like a deer in headlights. He pauses in fear as his panic-filled eyes swivel around the room, finally squeaking out, “Wh- Wh- Wh- Who a- a- are y- y- y- y- y- you?”
It is a good idea to keep your mark guessing. “Come now, Mr. Secret. You and I both know that names aren’t important. You never know who is listening.” This, with a small smile and a subtle glance around the room, has caused him to doubt his surroundings. Shifting my arm to the side just enough to reveal the gun in my shoulder holster tends to help that process along. Once you have your mark in a psychological low point, you launch your attacks. Or in this case, you fish for information. I place one hand flat on the table, and the other slides silently into my jacket. Keep him off balance. Make him think he is totally screwed. “I’m going to ask you some questions now. You can answer them here, and leave intact. Or we could continue this conversation in a more… private… location, and I can’t guarantee you’ll leave.”
Mr. Secret gulps, sweat spontaneously sprouting on his forehead. “Look, I- I- I d- do d- don….” Sometimes, I overshoot my mark a little bit. Little Mr. Online Badass is a bit fearful in person. Typical. Perhaps this Manhunt lead is all a fabrication. I slide my hand out of my jacket, and place it on the table next to my other hand. “Take a deep breath, Mr. Secret. Compose yourself. I have orders not to take you down, if possible. So work with me. Make it possible. Nod if you’re going to make it possible.” His nod is unsure, slow and shaky, like an arthritic septuagenarian trying to walk down a flight of stairs. “This Manhunt you found. How did you find out about it?” After several false starts and stammered sentences, he finally found his stride. “Well… I found a strange ad on an internet classifieds site. I- it- it promised thrills. That I’d be m- m- more confident. All for a reasonab- b- ble price.”
Clearly, the confidence paid off in spades. I would hate to have met this guy before he ran in this supposed Manhunt. As he struggled to form his next sentence, I decided to cut him off. “At which point you got in touch with Mr. Pentus? My Organization is very… interested… in talking with him. We would really appreciate any information you could give us to find him.” Part of digging for information is having a believable bluff. Most pricks like Mr. Secret are suckers for conspiracy theories. Throw in a few ominous uses of the word ‘we’ and a couple of references to a secret organization, and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.
Like an expert dentist extracting an impacted molar, after a bit of time I was finally able to coax some useful information out of Mr. Secret. I got a contact email and a phone number for the dread Mr. Pentus from him. The phone was probably cloned or is destroyed by now, but the email will be useful. Like most insecure people, once Mr. Secret starts talking, he starts getting more confident. More bold. They aren’t dangerous at this point. Just annoying as hell. Case in point; once Mr. Secret actually starts talking about his experiences in the Manhunt, he won’t stop talking.
His eyes glittering with remembered experiences, he babbled onward. “So yeah. I found myself with three other guys at like, 3 in the morning. Just standing around on a street corner, waiting for a van to show up. You know hearing this out loud, it sounds stupid. But then, I was pumped. So pumped! I’m going to have the waitress bring me some chili fries. You want anything? No? Anyway, as I was saying, I was waiting there, and then this van comes around the corner, like you see in the movies. A big white moving van, you know? Anyways, we all get in the back of the truck, and there are these envelopes taped to the wall, with our names on them. So I go up to one, and like, it’s like out of a spy movie. There are photographs of the guys I’m with. And photos of some mean looking dudes, labeled as Hunters. And a map of some warehouse-y area. They dropped us off in an alley and sped off. It was tight!”
I have always found it amusing that when these insecure people finally find the ability to talk, the pace is always a mile a minute. Information is flowing out of him like the gushing torrent of water at Niagara. They are almost personable like this. You want to like them. But you can never forget that these pricks are, in fact, pricks. Mr. Secret here is likely responsible for hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars in fraudulent online activities. People like him write the viruses, the bad ones that take down whole swaths of the internet at a time. So I try not to like these people. I try to remember what they are.
I hate pricks like Mr. Secret. They feel pushed around and bullied in real life, mocked and ignored; and so they create a completely fake badass persona online to soothe their damaged psyche. What makes them pricks, is when they use this online persona to take advantage of other internet denizens. They find the naïve, the careless, the clueless, and they digitally rape them. They steal identities, credit card information, lives, and loves. All this damage just to get back at the faceless bullies in their life. It seems while Mr. Secret was out trolling for victims to take advantage of, he found a curious posting by the mysterious Mr. Pentus. As an emotionally stunted and socially fearful individual, he simply could not pass up the chance to become a badass, like one of his cheesy comic book heroes.
After a few minutes of him happily chattering on, I’ve had my fill. As his greasy hand moves to grab his glass of soda, I reach forward and snatch it. Pinching down on the meat of the hand between the thumb and index finger causes an extreme amount of pain. This pain isn’t damaging, but it is an excellent way to guarantee a person is paying attention. I pull him closer to me, so I can whisper menacingly to him. “Mr. Secret. That is enough. I am not your friend. I am not your enemy. I’m going to let you live, this time. But if my Organization and I hear that you’ve warned Mr. Pentus, or that you’ve lapsed into your evil ways, well. You may not live, next time. Do we understand each other?”
I am out of the booth and walking out of the diner before he’s had time to do more than emit a strangled yes. Sometimes, it really is that easy to get information out of someone. My instincts have served me well, yet again. It seems this Manhunt ring is legit. At least, it’s as legit as an illicit underground murder game gets. The drive home is uneventful, as I expected. Even so, I always take a roundabout route to get back; there is no sense in making it easy for someone to follow me. I am a cautious person. You have to be one in my line of work.
As I enter my apartment and lock my door, I let out a heart-felt sigh. Coming home is one of the best feelings out there. The outside world is grimy and uncertain. At least in the place you live, there is certainty. Certainty that the place is yours. That the rent is late. That the power bill is a month overdue. Certainties that are certainly depressing, but there is a strange comfort in them. They may be problems, but they are your problems. I take off my suit jacket and tie, and crack open a beer as I head to the computer. Time to send an email off to Mr. Pentus. Time for me to see if I can find out what this Manhunt is about.
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That ends this edition of “A Man Down”. Thank you for tuning in. Your regularly scheduled blog returns next week! As always, I humbly request that you comment upon this story. Tell me what you like, what you hate. Give me suggestions. Give me pro tips! Give me something. As long as it isn’t a disease. So once again, dear reader, thank you for showing up. And I thank you in advance for your comments.
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