Corrine’s transport was cramped, painful and done in utter darkness. She’d quickly
given up trying to find a weakness in her bonds, one simply didn’t exist. Besides, the
only functioning tools she had available to her, were her ineffectual fingers (minus her
bound thumbs) and fluttering eyelids. Her cramped posture, legs folded and lashed
together, then knees brought up high and wide to press against her shoulders, made
breathing difficult. This on top of the crushing ropes around her torso and her arms
mashed together behind her back, well up past her elbows.
The cargo straps fusing her to the interior of the plywood crate robbed her of the
ability to even fidget. Which was probably a good thing, since the only thing that would
accomplish, would to be to grind her privates against the horrid wooden perch imbedded
there. There had to be a way out of this, though at the moment, nothing came to her.
After about twenty minutes (it had been nearly impossible to gauge time, her
concentration otherwise occupied), her jolting ride through downtown came to a stop. After
a long pause, the truck’s rear doors swung open. Standing in the doorway, was not the
kind-faced policeman Corrine had been hoping for.
Although the immediate area was dark, there was enough moonlight for the reporter
to see that Reggie had removed his stage make-up and donned his usual upscale sports coat
and bowtie. The aide dragged her container to the rear of the truck, until his leering
face filled her porthole. Then Corrine felt her tiny box prison levitate. Over his
shoulder, the brunette could now see Reggie’s black Escalade EXT backed up to the delivery
van, its tailgate lowered.
Transfer to the other vehicle went smoothly. The aide hopped in back and used a
pair of cargo straps to anchor his parcel firmly in place. Hoping back down, he slammed
the tailgate and returned to the delivery van. Corrine watched helplessly, as the van’s
taillights flashed briefly, then the vehicle drove off.
Abandoned, Corrine peered out the small window at the world around her. “Posh”,
wasn’t exactly the word to describe her surroundings. Trash littered the street and
sidewalk, as did several abandoned cars. The few homes she could see in the distance
appeared to be vacant, their first floor windows and doors boarded up. Her heart leapt
momentarily, when she saw a group of black youths standing under the street’s only working
streetlight.
Indeed, several of the young men looked her way, but then turned back to complete
their drug transactions. The reporter realized she wasn’t exactly excited at the prospect
of them coming to the aid of an attractive, helplessly bound female, dressed only in her
underwear. She found herself almost wishing that a drug deal would go bad and that shots
would be fired. This at least, would summon the police. But the journalist in her knew,
that response to this dangerous part of town would be lethargic at best. Besides, Corrine
could almost picture herself being towed to the police impound lot and left there to
languish in her wooden sarcophagus.
Little did she know that in this part of town R. Reggie Ross was a champion of the
people. Folks knew that he used his influence to try to rejuvenate the area. If not for
him, the whole neighborhood would have been razed long ago. So, it went without saying,
that no one here messed with “the Man” or his ride. Corrine could have been naked and tied
spread-eagle in the back of the truck and not a soul would have raised a finger to help
(or harm) her. Not armed with this knowledge, the brunette’s morose deepened at the
apparent nearness of rescue.
And then she saw the unmistakable bulk of the Councilman’s aide turn the corner on
foot. It dawned on her, that the delivery service’s depot was just a few blocks away.
Reggie must have returned the van (probably greasing someone’s palm in the process. Reggie
knew a lot of people) and come back to claim his prize. The reporter watched as he chewed
the fat with the group on the corner, seemingly in his natural environment. Then he walked
toward her, sparing her a particularly unpleasant sneer as he strode past.
Then they were off once more. Peering backwards, Corrine was afforded an excellent
view of where’d she’d been, but had no idea where they were going. She was mildly
surprised to see that they were taking none of the major arteries out of town. Her wonder
increased, as they turned on to Broad Street. Traffic was heavy, the reporter able to make
out faces in the cars trailing behind her. Ironically, a police car drifted in behind them
and followed for several blocks. The helpless woman’s frustration grew at her inability to
summon help.
Then the EXT turned off the street and headed down an incline. Corrine caught a
brief view of City Hall, whose architectural exterior had been lambasted by critics as “a
cross between renaissance and wedding cake.” And then the improbability hit her.
“We’re in the parking garage of One Liberty Place!” She thought, dumbfounded.
As with any city native, she knew the city’s second tallest building well. And like
any skyscraper throughout the world, it housed a mix of residential, commercial and
corporate tenants.
“Why bring me here?” She wondered again without answer.
She watched as a gate swung down, sealing off the “Reserved Parking” area from the
general public lot. Moments later, the EXT came to a stop. Reggie appeared shortly after,
his “shit eatin’ grin” still on his face. He released and lowered the cramped reporter to
the ground. Corrine’s world pitched back once more, Reggie having apparently kept the hand
truck.
The “ride” to the elevators was smooth. The brunette’s spirits were momentarily
buoyed, as she thought that this whole scene must surely have been captured by security
cameras. But then she realized, that if Reggie had access to reserved parking, then he had
every right to be here. No alarms would be raised by the sight of him wheeling an
innocuous parcel on to the elevator. Her supposition rang true, as no uniformed guard came
to question his presence.
The ride in the elevator was equally smooth. And it seemed to go on forever.
Finally, the butterflies in her stomach (from the ride, as well as her predicament)
settled, as the car slowed to a stop. The doors parted and when her “window” shot skyward,
Corrine caught a brief glimpse of the number “54”. They were seven floors below the
uppermost level of the skyscraper.
The last bit of her journey was no more than a few meters. When placed upright, the
reporter could see the vast expanse of open floor space. Scattered about, was a large
assortment of cardboard boxes in all sizes.
‘No wonder our arrival didn’t raise any eyebrows,’ she thought despondently, ‘I’m
just another parcel joining the collection.’
The beautiful woman could do nothing but wait miserably, as her wooden tomb was
dismantled. Her apprehension, and anxiousness to be released, were in equal proportion.
She wanted out of this crypt, but knew not, what lie in store. When the lid of the box was
pried off, she could feel Reggie’s eyes burning in to the top of her motionless head.
“Well cunt,” he growled, “welcome to your new home.”
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