A Weighty Punishment-Chapter 2

“A debt repayment schedule can be arranged,” he was informed by a bored, severe-looking man in a black suit in the casino’s back room on the day the chickens came home to roost. 

“What kind of schedule?” he’d asked, knowing full well that the seizure of the assets that he’d put up as collateral would be the first steps, assets that he and Becca absolutely couldn't live without. 

“The cars first,” the man answered, as Arthur had known he would. “Signing over the deed to your house. And from there, we take a portion of your monthly income. We’ve already spoken with your place of employment.”

True panic clenched at Arthur's throat as he realized the severity of what he’d done, the mess he’d gotten himself into with people one should fear engaging even in clean businesses with. The casino was run by a group that liked to call themselves an organization, although law enforcement had another, less kind term for the group that ran drugs, guns, and dirty money throughout the city. A gang. A crime mob,. One that charged local businesses for protection against themselves, one that had so many dirty cops on the local force that they were well aware they could run the city with impunity. 

For some reason his real life, the life he lived with Becca, the office chair in the bright white cubicle he plopped into each day, none of that seemed as if it could mingle with the dark, grimy, soot-covered and smoke-reeking nightlife he’d prioritized over his own stability. The fact that these people had called his employers, that his boss now knew the kind of man he was and the kind of people that he owed a debt to, that his workplace had so readily agreed to hand over the majority of his income to these people out of fear, it all seemed like a dream. Like a nightmare. Terrifying sure, enough to wrench you from sleep and make your heart beat out of your chest, but technically inconsequential. Not a true part of reality. 

“I-I need my car to get to work,” Arthur had stammered. “And Becca needs hers, she can’t…she has to do the shopping, and she visits her mother, and-”

“Public transportation,” the besuited man had interjected, the steady boredom in his tone more appropriate for a mundane conversation about the weather. “The bus will take you anywhere you need to go.” 

“And.. and the house?” Arthur had timidly inquired. 

“Rent an apartment, I suppose,” the man had answered with a shrug. “Whatever you think would be best Arthur, we’re not looking to make your decisions for you. We simply need the money that we’re owed. As quickly as possible.”

Arthur had nodded, the tightness around his throat increasing in intensity and moving into his chest. 

“Perhaps you’ll have to cut back on time with your lady friend,” the besuited man had offered, a hint of a smirk layered betwixt his steady words. 

Arthur had flushed a deep shade of red, mortification entangling him at the first time anyone other than Cherry herself had made actual mention of what he’d been doing outside the bounds of his marriage. The short-skirted waitresses, the tuxedo-adorned dealers, none ever made any reference to the fact that the woman he spent so much time with, so much money on, wasn't his wife. He’d begun to feel, just like everything about his neatly compartmentalized wife, that she was his love of the night, a perfectly acceptable companion for the debauchery he was engaging in despite the vow he’d made to the beautiful, trusting Becca all those years ago. 

The stern man watched him redden, refusing to break the tension of the moment with further speech. 

“When, um. When should I-”

“We'll take the deed immediately,” The man interrupted once more as if he’d only needed Arthur to acknowledge what was to come in order to provide him with all the further details. “You can bring it to the casino tomorrow afternoon, we’ll have a lawyer and notary present to get everything squared away. We’ll have a pickup for the cars arranged as soon as possible, likely the following day. Your wage garnishment has already begun. At a rate of 55%.”

Arthur blinked, feeling as if he couldn't swallow. 55% of his current income, especially with no car and no house, would leave himself and Becca in poverty, a poverty he would be forced to explain the root cause of. He’d also never see Cherry again, he was sure of it, but that thought he reprimanded himself for, trying to remember that the desire for her was what had gotten him into this situation in the first palace. His mind raced as he grew nauseous with fear, as he realized he’d yet to experience true hopelessness until that moment. He yearned for the once bitter taste of a life he didn't truly enjoy instead of this. A life that was falling apart, a life that he didn't see how he and his bride could live. 

“We need… we need time,” he finally forced out. “Please. Just a week, we need time to find a new apartment before we- before you-”

The man nodded, his face unchanging. 

“Three days,” he answered, already standing before the words had fully left his mouth. “You’ll have three days to get yourselves settled, and then you’ll begin to give us what's rightly ours.”

He left Arthur in the small, dim back room of the casino he’d been called into to account for his sins, and Arthur leaned back in the hard wooden chair, suddenly exhausted. He had three days. Three days to make this right. 

He all but flew home that night, one of the few nights he’d left the casino without being too intoxicated to drive, and had awoken Becca in the middle of the night, shaking her and starling her first with his suddenness, then with his words. 

“Baby, I lost my job,” he lied in a rush, the story one he’d been constructing and reconstructing on the frenzied drive back to their home. “I’m sorry, I should've told you but I was so ashamed and I just couldn't. I’ve been looking for a new job and I finally found one, but it's- it's a while away.”

“Arthur,” Becca had murmured, sympathy already etching her features as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Baby, you can tell me anything. You know that. Why did you-”

She shook her head. 

“Where's the new job?” 

He blinked. He hadn't considered a lie yet, but knew that with his hurriedly makeshift plan, it would behoove them to get as far away as possible. 

“Arizona,” he answered on a whim, the states hours away by car. “But, we have to be there by Tuesday. It's better, good money, and... And they’re paying for an apartment. And the relocation costs, and a realtor. They’re covering everything, but I have to be there by Tuesday.”

“Alright,” Becca said, blinking in confusion and bleariness. “Alright. But-”

“Just go back to sleep, love. And in the morning, pack up whatever can fit in the car, fill both of them. Whatever you’d think you’d need. I’ll be handling some…paperwork. And we’ll leave tomorrow night, you’ll follow me.”

“They can’t have our second car shipped?” Becca asked, already settling her head back to the pillow obediently. 

“No,” Arthur answered with a shake of his head. “No. It's not part of the relocation package. Just pack quickly, ok? And pack in the garage. We don’t want anyone seeing that we’re leaving and trying to break in. Alright?”

“Alright,” Becca murmured, and was fast asleep in seconds. 

Arthur sat up the rest of the night, worrying and researching. There was no job and there was no extra money, which meant that in order for him to have a place to bring Becca to, he would have to sell the house immediately. And in cash. He found a shady, predatory business that he was only aware of from their low-budget late-night advertisements geared towards the desperate, whose ranks he’d now joined, and prepared himself to lose everything he’d worked for. After a brief conversation with them at dawn, he found that they were more than willing to offer him far below the market value of the home for an immediate deed transfer. It wasn’t anywhere near what their paid-off home was worth, but it was enough to sustain them for several months while he actually searched for work in the new location he’d picked on an absolute whim. He settled on the city of Sedona for no reason other than its vaguely familiar sounding name, and also identified a consulting firm he could claim to Becca had hired him and was bankrolling this entire new venture. 

He got up after a few hours of tossing and turning, signed the deed of the house over to the greasy, bespectacled man who met him in the parking lot of a coffee shop and handed him a case full of cash, and returned home to help Becca pack, secretly mourning the loss of furniture that had been in his family for generations. He disconnected his cell phone line, cut off the credit cards on the joint account he and Becca shared as well as his own private account, the one he’d opened to better dip into his retirement fund without Becca's knowledge, and they were off the second night fell just as he planned, the cover of darkness hopefully concealing the fullness of the two cars that set out for the highway. 

He’d done it. Wrapped up their lives in a single day and left for a fresh start. 

He promised himself that he would walk the straight and narrow from that point forward. That for the rest of his life he would appreciate his circumstances for what they were. What they’d always been. Normalcy and simplicity would now be celebrated. No more gambling, no more drinking, and no more Cherry. In fact, no more voluptuous women of any sort, not even in the relativity-safe and anonymous confines of the internet. He would be good. He would be the kind of man Becca deserved, the kind she never knew she didn't have. 

They made it as far as their first rest stop. 

They didn't make it at all in fact, the logic of hindsight revealing that they’d been followed from the moment they pulled off from the house, but their first rest stop was where they were caught, where Arthur quickly discovered the futility of attempting to escape from an organization so focused and so widespread. The moment Becca pulled into the spot next to Arthur and shifted her car into park, he heard a tapping at his window that made his heart sink. The barrel of a handgun rapped lightly on the door, the weapon exuding far more aggression than the almost gentle knock, and he looked up into the face of a man he recognized as occasional club security. 

“Get out of the car Arthur,” the buff guard inserted, no hint of malice in his tone. Becca turned to look at him and screamed, realizing her own gun-toting assailant was right outside her window as well, his weapon drawn and pointing at her through the car's smudged glass windows. 

Arthur stepped out immediately, hope already lost, and listened in a shamed silence as Becca screamed again and began to cry, cringing as she furtively locked the doors in some under-considered plan to save herself. 

“Arthur,” she wailed, and he turned away, sick with himself, unable to face the terror and confusion in her sweet innocent face. 

“Arthur,” the man called tauntingly, pressing his gun into Arthur's chest. “Your wife is calling you. How about you tell her to open up the doors, huh?”

“Please,” Arthur murmured. “Please let her go, please don't-” his voice broke and he suddenly found himself choked with tears. “She didn't do anything wrong, please don’t hurt her. Do whatever you want to me, but just- just let her go. Please.”

He heard the click of a car door swinging open and looked to his right, finally seeing the sleek black vehicle that must've been tailing them from the second they left the house. 

“Well, that’s just the thing,” came the silky smooth voice of the man he would soon grow accustomed to daily conversation with. 

The man stood, revealing an intimidating stature and impeccable posture to accompany his clearly bespoke suit. 

“We had no plan to involve her in this. None at all. But you see Arthur, it's the principle of the thing. You remember principles, don't you? You remember having them before you became the kind of man who would do…”

He paused, chuckling lightly.

“Well, all this,” he said, with a wave of his hand, gesturing to the untangleable knot his actions had woven himself and Becca into 

“All this,” he repeated with a smile. “See,” he went on, taking a step closer. “The principle of a situation, it's not about logic. It's not about profit. It's not even about vengeance, Arthur, it truly isn’t. The principle is about justice. It's about sending a message. You honestly thought we weren’t well aware of what you would try? You honestly thought that the company you signed your deed over to wouldn't call us first? I don’t love our involvements with that business, frankly. It preys on the poor. But it does keep us…well connected, with the goings on of those in major debt in the city. Because as you certainly know, the vast majority of that debt is owed to us. We cover our bases, it's just practical. Speaking of,” he said, snapping and pointing to the car. 

The first man pulled his gun from Arthur's chest and leaned over into the passenger seat, searching until he unearthed the buried duffle bag stuffed with the cash meant to begin their new lives. 

“Thank you,” the silk-tongued man acknowledged, indicating for the lackey to place the bag in the car the two of them had emerged from. 

“As I was saying Arthur, it's about the principle. You disrespected us. You disrespected our kindness. The opportunity we gave you to pay back your debts without any of this…unpleasantness. And given that you took our kindness for weakness, a mistake I'm certain you won't make again, things have to become just a bit more personal.”

He smiled again, a perfectly pleasant smile that only added to the terror in the pit of Arthur's stomach. 

“And the only thing you have left in the world is that woman. Oh my,” he observed squinting over at Becca's driver's seat and frowning. “She looks fairly concerned Arthur. Tell her to open the door.”

Arthur swallowed, the tears beginning to run down his cheeks in earnest, and the man's tone darkened.

“Now.”

Arthur turned, his wife's tear-streaked face matching his own, and called, “Becca, open the door. It's ok.”

She whimpered and shook her head, the defiance unlike her but the situation one she’d never been faced with.

“Go to her Arthur,” the man said grandly, as if encouraging his captive towards romance, and his armed companion laughed heartily.

Arthur made his way slowly to the car door, the gun-wielding man assigned to Becca's car turning his weapon toward him as he approached, and leaned down into the passenger window. 

“Becca, it's ok,” he promised. “They’re just…it's hijackers. They just want the cars, they’re not going to hurt us,” he lied, the mistruths rolling off his well-practiced tongue with relative ease. 

Becca nodded and, with shaking hands, pressed the button to unlock the car. The second she did, the man elbowed Arthur out of the way and grabbed her by the wrist, reaching across her to unbuckle her seatbelt and dragging the petite woman out of the car with ease. 

“Arthur!” she screamed as he pulled her away, and before Arthur could take a step, he had the wind knocked out of him by a gun barrel straight to his middle. 

“Let's avoid the pretense of heroics, shall we?” the silk voice man instructed as a screaming, flailing Becca was stuffed into the backseat of the car the org members had arrived. “Not to fear Arthur, she’s in no physical danger. Like you said, this wasn't her fault. It was yours. And despite what you’ve done to her, you do love her. You always have. So we'll get to you through her. You can understand that of course. Can’t you?”

Arthur swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, feeling as if he would vomit. 

“What are you gonna do to her?” he choked out. “Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere safe,” the man assured, sounding trustworthy despite the lopsided grin easing its way onto his face. “Relax. What are we going to do to her? Well, you’ll rather like this Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head, fresh tears springing to his eyes. 

“You will!” the man insisted almost cheerfully. “I promise. You know Cherry?” he asked, and Arthur hung his head, allowing himself to weep unencumbered. 

“Arthur, please please,” the man reprimanded with an eye roll. “The dramatics. Let me finish. You know Cherry. And we’re aware that your interests in Cherry…well, let's just say they weren't intellectual, yes? We’ve seen your search histories and your bank statements, you really have a type, don't you? A very specific type.”

Arthur looked up, confusion momentarily stemming his tears. 

“What-what do you-”

“We’re going to make Becca your dream girl,” the man promised, smiling in earnest. 

Arthur wrinkled his brow, true confoundment sobering him further. 

“We’ll give you the opportunity to pay your debts,” the man went on. “You’ll have exactly a year. We’ll even let you keep one of these lovely little cars and stay in your house, paying rent to us, of course. Pick up a second job, start collecting cans, hell, buy some lottery tickets if you think it’ll help. And in that year, we’ll hold on to your beautiful little Becca. And make sure that she’s very, very well fed.”

“What?” Arthur breathed, his gaze drifting back to the jet black-tinted windows from which Becca's cries for help still emanated. 

“We’re going to fatten up your wife,” the man repeated slowly, as if it had been the speed of his sentence and not it's content that Arthur had failed to understand. “And if you haven't paid your debts within the year, she's going to find out why. She's going to find out all about your sick, perverse fantasies, your sordid little affair. The gambling, the drinking, the lies, she’ll discover all of it. She’ll be swollen into a pudgy little tub of lard and she’ll know that it was all your doing. That you wanted this. We have plenty of evidence to show her, don't you worry. You really should be more careful about who you’re seen with. What you’re seen doing. 

He grinned once more.

Now, that's not such a bad deal, is it?  If you’re able to pay us, you’ll get what you want. In more ways than one. And if you can't? You’ll lose everything that ever mattered to you. Your house, your job, the love and respect of your wife, you’ll lose it all. She’ll hate you. She’ll blame you forever for what we’re going to turn her into. And it is all your fault, isn't it Arthur?”

Arthur reached for his head, feeling as if the intake of the information would send him into some form of cardiac arrest. 

“Arthur?” The man teased. “Isn't it?”

Arther nodded almost unconsciously, still barely processing what he'd just been told. 

“It's a very fair deal, in my estimation. Truly too good for the disrespect you’ve shown us, but regardless. Do you understand the terms?”

Arthur nodded again, that faint feeling reaching the top of his head and dizzying him so severely he nearly stumbled in place. 

“We’ll send you updates,” the man promised as he walked towards the backseat of the car where Becca was being held. “Progress pictures. You like that sort of thing, yes?”

He laughed at Arthur's silence and opened the door, Becca screaming for help once more as the man that had cuffed her to the backseat switched places with the silk-tongued man and stepped back toward Arthur. 

“Stewart here will drive the lovely Becca's car back into town, and you can keep yours, as I promised. For now. Oh, and Arthur?" he said as if an afterthought, looking over his shoulder as he slid into the car. “Get some sleep. You have work in the morning.”