Legion

The Warehouse Tim and Kain pulled up in front of Zophar’s warehouse just before five. The sky was overcast with light rain. The temperature was in the mid-50s. Tim rechecked the address and said doubtingly, “Surely, this can’t be the place.” Tim stepped out of the car and stared at the numbers on the building, suspicious but hoping this was not the correct address. “This building has been deserted for years, Tim.” Looking around at the other derelict buildings nearby gave Kain some concern. “What did you say this guy does for a living?” “All I know is what’s on his card: Vice President of Product Acquisitions, Abaddon Industries.” “Abaddon,” Kain replied. “That means the place of the dead. Look at where we are, Tim. There’s not another person within half a mile. Why would anyone choose such an out-of-the-way location for a business? Where’s his car? I don’t like this, man. We should split.” Curious now, Tim looked around for clues to explain why Zophar would pick this strange location for his enterprise. Fronting the warehouse was a four-foot-high loading dock. Centered on the pier was a concrete stairway leading up to a business entrance. With hesitation, Kain followed Tim up the stairs to the door. Beside the door was a button with an old, rusted sign that read: Ring for Service. Tim pushed the button and waited. A buzzer sounded, and the door lock tripped, allowing the door to spring open slightly. The door creaked as Tim pushed it further. Cautiously, he entered. Kain stopped at the threshold and surveyed the interior carefully before following, leaving the door open in case they needed to make a fast getaway. The building skylights let in enough light to provide limited visibility. A single light shone above a large roll-up door at the back of the warehouse. Zophar’s Cady was parked inside thirty feet away. Besides a couple dozen large unopened crates sitting to one side, the spacious warehouse was empty. Close by was a rusted forklift that looked like it belonged in the sixties. Along the wall to Tim’s right were several offices with glass windows. A staircase led up to a catwalk that abutted another set of offices. Zophar called down to them from the top of the stairway. “Nice to see you made it, Tim. Come on up.” Tim’s eyes followed the eerie echo of Zophar’s voice as he chased it through the warehouse. Turning to Kain, he said, “Remember, he does not like to be called Mr. Zophar. He prefers Zophar.” “Man, I don’t like this one little bit.” Kain protested, “Let's get out of here.” “Let’s hear what the man has to say first.” Kain glanced back at the now-closed front door and reluctantly followed Tim to the staircase and climbed to the top. Zophar greeted Tim with a handshake. “Hello, Tim. Who’s your friend?” “Kain, I want you to meet Zophar. Zophar, this is William Kain. Everyone calls him Kain.” Taking Kain’s hand, he replied, “It’s good to meet you, Kain. Both of you come inside, and we’ll talk business before dinner. I hope you like barbeque. There is a perfect place across town I’ve been dying to try. It’s called Peggy Sue’s BBQ. Do you know it?” Tim’s eyes lit up like a billboard, “Yes. That’s my dad’s favorite restaurant. The food is awesome.” Tim’s countenance fell when he realized he referred to his dad in the present tense. Pleased at Tim’s slip, Zophar covered it with, “Yes, he’s the one who recommended it.” Zophar withdrew two beers from the old, rusted refrigerator next to the door and handed them to Tim and Kain. “Why don’t you boys have a seat.” Tim and Kain walked past Zophar and sat at a large, old wooden desk. Then Zophar began his age-old game of suggestion and illusion. “Thanks. You’re not having one,” Tim asked. “No. I prefer something much . . . stronger.” Zophar’s office was clean. The furniture was wood, dating at least to the fifties. A dozen antique filing cabinets lined the wall to Tim’s right. The table behind Zophar’s desk was bare except for an empty file holder marked Progressing. The desk furnishings were relics of a bygone era: a stapler, tape dispenser, pencil sharpener, and a sizeable daily planner. On one side of the planner were two stained white coffee cups; one held several pencils and an ink pen. The other was half full of rusted paperclips. Sitting on the desk was an old black AT&T office phone. A genuine leather chair that looked like it came right out of the box stood in sharp contrast to the other furnishings. A single folder lay on the right side of the desk with Tim’s picture paper clipped to it. Tim assumed it was his new personnel folder.