The Law of Betrayal

The box was heavy and only hurt more to look at it. A dull sheet of grey on all sides to appear inconspicuous to the eye. Brimming with content but giving no audible sign of frailty when pushed closed. One padlock dangling from the face, swaying like jewelry upon a nose. All nine of them had the same vestige and components. It was as if the maker, Aaron Levie, had designed boxes for every conceivable instance, cargo, or condition. He was no oracle or for-seer of any sort, but any customer with a box or crate in their possession, satisfied that it congested whatever they put into it, could hypothesize the devine connection. Following that vein, these crates here had been fated to find their way to this house and encapsulate whatever its owner wished it to carry. But he had no knowledge or reverence for material destiny, only that which he material could give him.

Simon thought his arm would dislocate at any second, giving him pause. He took the well deserved rest to examine his surroundings. He was standing in what, until a mere day ago, had been a factory.

Sitting upon the crate, he let his eyes move of their own accord, guided to the most interesting of things that could be found there. Chains hung from the ceiling, laced into a hoop that a child could swing from, and some lay along the floor as streamlined as human hands would allow. Near the center were the cylindrical tanks filled with unspeakable chemicals that he was perhaps too timid or too disinterested to examine. To the left were shipping crates. The plethora of colors was overshadowed by the darkness the factory was in, despite it being the afternoon.

He had no idea what type of factory that it was, only that it would serve as a safehouse for the nine crates until morning. Simon only ever asked about safety and time. They were the two things that protected all objects large or small, organic or inorganic, neglected and coveted.

Right next to him beside the crate where he sat was a shotgun. It was a twelve gauge Remington automatic with a plastic military stock and a parkerized finish. It was also one of the very few things he bought for himself and never owed anyone an explanation. Clutching it in his fingers, even unloaded, provided him with an acute sense of liberation and power. Two things that people tried to convince him were impossible to have together. He wished he'd listened.

There was a period when he would ask about something that didn't fall into those categories. A person, whom he cared for beyond gold, silver, or any shiny metric.

Actually it was many people that he thought about.

The most prominent was Grant, the man for whom his scorn and contempt for the world was directed into. Another bastard of bad choices who cared little for the future was just the man Grant sought to induct. The first few of Simon's tasks were primarily to transport goods and to stay out of the way of the true heart of his company. Despite letting him into more rewarding jobs, the toll of frowns glares and bullshitting insults tossed back and forth was incalculable. Simon could never discern the source of Grant's pretentious attitude, but one day, after demanding Simon stay after hours, Grant let him in on a secret: why he hired him. He said that Simon was a stone in the rough and normally people like that always fucked up whatever situation you were in. Basically, he explained that he was an asshole because he wanted to be careful of Simon. Simon still didn't know what he meant by that. He had come from a mediocre family and did not seem like rat material to the naked eye, but Grant obviously had some wisdom no one else in the business did. Regardless, Grant began to treat him as a friend, which warmed Simon's callous persona he adopted. But it was what happened recently that placed the sentiment between the mentor and prodigee on a cliff.

The second of them being Olivia, his love. She had come to him from Ireland with the promise that her education would bring great things, and connection to abroad companies. The boss, Grant, initially hated the idea. Said she was too 'genuine' for their business, but Simon enlisted her after a few talks. Although she continually left the lights on and talked to way too many friends, they would all be struggling with deadlines if it wasn't for her. Grant would have called her a secretary, but she preferred 'agent'. Eventually, Simon's investment in her grew to be something more than he thought he was capable of. Perhaps her auburn hair looking especially hellenistic that dusk or the comfortable way she spoke to me when he met her at the lake is why he fell for her. After they kissed, they spent nearly every moment exchanging their reasons for this infatuation. What he'd do to have one more.

And third, there was Jake, whose dry wit and strategic compass had given Simon a high definition screening of what hell had to offer.

Some part of him still missed the connection he had with them, but now he wasn't sure. Now it was him alone on top of a crate filled with something much less sentimental but equally as rich. The rest didn't matter.

Awakening from his trance of covetousness, he stood up straight. The crack from his cartridge and wince of exhaustion echoed through the room as if he screamed in both kinds of pain.

After looking past the skylight into the heavens that seemed so palpable but now prohibited, he prepared to push the final crate up the ramp to the truck. Just before leaving for the meeting, Grant warned Simon that the cops would be arriving at eight in the morning. It was now seven forty five.

He didn't hear Jake enter from behind him.

*

"Well, well. There isn't a single category of being a fool that you don't fail to satisfy."

"How did you escape?"

"I'll get to that in a minute. First I'd like to know a few things. Actually just two. First, does anyone know you're here?....Yeah I figured you'd be smart about hiding here. Grant told me about this place just yesterday. Said I was free to take off my disguise here and it'd be just you."

"A thousand times I imagined this moment, not like this. Almost makes me feel like I should have spent it on a suit, or maybe a toast of some sort, but hopefully Grant will do the honors for me."

"So he's still at the meeting? Shit."

"One of these days his arrogance and 'rub in your face' attitude is going to get him killed."

"Well I know someone whose even more borderline suicidal than him. After all he did for you, you convinced him that this was right?"

"He once told me, sooner or later the hard choices would be left up to me. But I make one mistake and he turns his back on me. One thing that I thought was right and he calls me a disgrace."

"Giving away all our safehouses. Borrowing from everyone here so you could fund your little project. Then you purchased an untested piece of equipment from Tyson Jr, and branding it as my property and disposal. I'd say you're lucky he even helped you now. You're either too blind with cocksure or just hoping that money will solve your problems."

"It's worked so far."

"Until now."

"Well, now I see he only helped me because he'd knew you'd get the crates and do me in. Still trying to keep his hands clean, acting like he had no part in this, just like you. And you still don't care that you killed my wife."

"What?"

"Don't bullshit me now. Grant was there. She found out that you made a deal with the Jonathan and the cops to come and get us in exchange for you and Sharon's safety. So you thought you'd shoot and throw her in a tank and brand it as an attack. Pretty clever given my desire to back out now."

"What the fuck are you talking about? That was an accident. All of this was. I never would have shot her."

"Yeah, and you never shot me in the arm, blew up my car, or tried to kill me more than once."

"After the accident, I tried to apologize for what happened, but you somehow believed that you had the license to fuck up everything. You're the one who got Grant on your side even after that shootout with Jonathan. I told him you were bad news but he didn't listen."

*

"I tried not to involve him in this."

"Oh fuck you. Using that redemption facade as an excuse to get rich. You did all those horrible things to get back at me for what happened, but he didn't say yes. So when that didn't work out you thought you'd try again with him under the guise that you forgave me. But you didn't. And he fell for it."

"I just needed permission."

"Permission to kill? Permission to punish Sharon who did nothing but protect us from the police. You should remember that if it wasn't for her, they'd still have a vice around your balls and the closest you would ever get to me, Grant, or anyone that you cared about would be a phone call. A fucking email at best."

"Tell me something Jake. Did you ever try and convince her to leave me? I mean, at that point, my wife was just killed, you and I hadn't seen each other since the funeral, and you and Sharon have been close ever since. Did you start to worry that I might be jealous. That I might want revenge?"

"What the f- You really think this is all about you. Is that how you see this. Your little bubble exploded and now we have to pick up the scraps for the rest of our lives while you wallow away?"

"So you were ignorant of the consequences."

"The consequences! The fucking consequences! I didn't do it. She knew the risks, what the fuck did you think would happen if you tried to buck out. You're treating yourself like an executioner. You were supposed to be the fucking moral compass here. Because despite his deplorable shit you got yourself into, you never lost sight of who we did this for."

"I was trying to get her out. But you didn't like that, so you shot her."

"Why would I do that?"

"Grant told me everything after I came back from the trip. But he also warned me that I should leave you alone. I told him that I just wanted to seal this last deal and go while I still had something to lose. But now I see, he's sent you to kill me."

"I didn't do it Simon. Jonathan was at the scene. I found that out when I came back here. She got in the way. it was him."

"Grant wouldn't lie."

"That's right. But you would. You lied about us while you frittled your income away on building yourself a life where you could leave this place, abandon us. This success that you're after is just a load of boxes that will help you stay afloat a little while longer. But what happens when you walk down the street and people don't recognize you? What about us whose left behind? What about me and Grant?"

"Don't bring that up between us. It was Jonathan. In fact, don't bring up Grant or anyone."

"So what the fuck do you want me to bring to the table? What's your metric for success out of all this?"

"My freedom, that's what! My damn freedom! All I want is to just go and never come back. I've lost the best of myself to my stupidity. I have to save what's left. Now, I want you to put down that gun, walk out that door, and stay away. Don't make this worse, Jake."

"You think I'm going to be the one that closes this cycle? You think i'm going to be the one to sacrifice after what's happened?"

"We've already lost enough. Just go and maybe I'll forget you escaped."

"I'm the one who's locked away and with a weapon. This time I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. I want you to look at me. You betrayed the trust of everyone who stood by you. You abused the privilege your mentor gave you because you thought you were special. You thought that because you had a pretty shitty but undeserved childhood, were good at your job, and lost your woman that you were entitled to kill people. You nearly killed an innocent woman. That among many terrible things. And all for nothing."

"For nothing? You're a smart guy, but you're too stupid to see, you did the same to me. The path you're on is inevitable. It's a matter of time before she begs you too to leave. And you'll do it. You're just as weak as me."

"Shit. Looks like blood and tears are the only satisfying ending?"

"Jake....you ain't kidding."

*

Jake did not see the Lite Beer bottle Simon was clutching in his hand. He threw it at Jake hitting him squarely in the head. Simon snatched the Remington from the floor next to him and sprinted towards one of the pristine cylinders. He slammed his back to it, not caring about the noise.

He heard the click of a pistol and the uncoordinated movement of intoxicated feet. A shot rang from the wall next to him and Simon ran from his position. he appeared to cling to the cylinders like a magnet as he ran. The door was to the right. Between it and him was a space of lethal dimensions and little leeway. He checked to make sure his shotgun was loaded. Although neither he nor it had expected company, it was ready.

He turned back to the cylinders. The light from the window above gave the entire room a more vibrant glow. Just before daylight.

He heard a grumble and panting from the east of where he stood. He knew there was no easy way to escape. If only he had stood his ground and fought with his hands. He figured that if he was going to die, he might as well die fight like what he perpetually claimed to be: a man.

Next to him was a loose screwdriver that he recognized to be a victim of haste and overuse. He picked it up and hurled it as far as he could to the back of the room. During its flight he sprang from his pounced position and dove for the door. Just as he found the knob and turned it clockwise and pulled, a shot rang from behind. He leapt from the factory and ran to the farthest end of the wall. The gravel on the grounds making steps seem like jumps. The wall had sides of rippled corten steel. Other smaller crates of the same material and a plethora of colors coiled around the makeshift factory like Oroborus. No apparent exit from the shipping site.

He wasn't running. He just needed to get on top of a container for better view. What was he going to do when he saw Jake come running? The door behind him was still open and no one had exited except him. Jake's bald head was likely convulsing with sweat against its metal frame. The first rays of sunlight flew sporadically along the scene like spotlights. With morning comes agitation, Simon thought.

Across from him there was a trailer access ladder against a crimson container which rose above the others. He checked his shotgun one more time and slung it over his shoulder and made for the ladder. As he ran, he saw that the top of the boxes formed a second level upon which he could navigate. He didn't know how far or how many dead ends it led to but it was high enough. Haste caused him to miss the first step and nearly sever his lip between the metal edge and his teeth. He pulled himself using the guardrails up the stairs.

Something hissed behind him and dented the crimson coating in the container. He raised both hands to shield his head, causing him to lose balance and fall onto the granite. His instinct forced him to roll twice before his hands took hold of the shotgun. Jake stood unguarded outside the door, his face seething. Simon fired and watched him evade the shot and run for cover. As he scrambled to his feet, he saw an open path between the containers to his right. He followed it. It snaked to the right beside several gray boxes, to the left against a single green, and straight for a nauseating four of unknown color. As the next turn greeted him, two shots flew past him. He swerved left and right against the containers before banking into the pathway against a red. He felt an ache in his stomach that may have been from a cramp or a shot. The adrenaline kept him focused on his escape either way. He heard Jake shuffle behind him.

Then from his pocket he heard something else.

*

"Sharon?"

"Simon, where are you?"

"I'm at this warehouse with all the money. Grant asked me to take care of it, but turns out Jake's set me up to be here."

"That idiot? I've tried to tell him its over. Aw shit, dude, I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm being shot at by this asshole now, and he's making it real hard not to shoot back. The trucks behind these crates here, and the cops will arrive any minute. I need help."

"I can't do anything. Jake told me to stray put here with the car and everything. Grant's probably gonna call any minute now."

"I know, I know, dammit. Don't tell him anything about me. Just say its taken care of."

"Well, what about Jake. You're not gonna kill him are you."

"I was just going to get the nine crates and go. Jake wasn't supposed to be here."

"Because you thought the cops had busted him right? Like they're trying to bust me now."

"Because I needed him out of the way. And I can't make this go away unless he wises up and leaves. If it's not me that stops him, he's going to have a bullet ridden bust when the cops show. Cause there's no way he's surrendering after all he's fought for."

"And after all you've taken."

"That too."

"So to be clear, you try to make off with the money from Grant, Jake, who's been sent by Grant, comes to stop you. But you don't talk it out and instead decide to start blasting the place! What the hell were you thinking."

"He pointed a gun at me. I told him I moved on, but he said that was no good. That's why he's trying to steal this now. This shit that i've earned."

"I hate it when you use that word."

"Well listen, if you're so intent on saving him, why don't you just call him now."

"Because you're right. He's too full of frustration to listen to any sensibility. We're both responsible for that. And also, I'm here to ask you to please not shoot him. Just leave the damn money and go. No one's taking it now. You said it yourself: the cops are here."

"Oh, no. They're coming I hear them. All right listen, you get your wish. But that means you're gonna need to call Jake and tell him to stop."

"Fine."

"Oh, and Sharon. I have forgiven him. Even if he didn't do it, I'm sorry."

*

Putting the phone in his pocket, he directed his attention back to the path and sirens. They had to be less than a block away by his deduction, which meant that there was certainly no chance of getting back to the truck. The red container which his back was pressed to revealed another opening back towards the factory he came. As he barreled into the path, Jake stepped out from an ajar section.

Simon leveled his shotgun at his waist. Jake positioned his magnum as if to shoot him between the eyes. For a moment, time froze. The sirens reached a foreboding tempo. The wind stopped. Their eyes met and spoke.

In a silent dialogue, their faces contorted with borderline fear and anguish. The fear comprised mostly of their predicaments. Thier bodies stood at the mercy of remorseless tools of metal and their own temperaments. Their location was reminiscent of an exit inside a labyrinth where the minotaur and Theseus had encountered each other. But the conclusion of the conflict, the termination of the ferocious anxiety that turned them into killers was the most daunting part. How could they escape this without some sort of resolve instilled in each other? Was it by bullets or by words? Or something else entirely?

Their anguish was a plethora of loss. The deaths of two people who, in the hearts of such dishonest men, were immortalized as the only virtuous aspects of their respective lives. It seemed to be shared knowledge that staying like this would only complicate things further.

The sirens cried harder with torment. Unbearable gasps left each of them. Their guns lowered.

*

"What are we fucking doing Simon? Why did we choose this?"

"Because we're people, Jake. it's just nature. Change or no change, we have to live with what we are."

"Does that mean they have to live with what we are as well? Do they get a say?"

"I guess that part is a choice."

"Whose?"

"Ours. Not Grant's. Ours."

*

As they walked toward each other, arms lowered, they both exchanged looks of pity. Simon would've smirked at the sentiment but not today. More than anything, he knew that they were responsible.

The sirens had stopped just beyond the containers. He examined his shotgun once more. It had four gauge slugs still loaded. The type that could pierce body armor and bulletproof glass. But fighting the police was not the plan. The plan was innumerable containers behind him in a truck that was syphoning gas by the minute. So what was it now?

The two men looked at each other again. Then they both stared at the exit between a red and green container a few paces back. They. both considered it for a moment. Were they really going to fall into Muhammad proverb of working together. What was the alternative.

*

"Freeze. Put you hands up now!"

*

They had come from Simon's path. There was only one so far. They looked back at each other. They ran.

So was the law.