CHAPTER NINE

IX
Mischa sat in the back of Josiah Malum’s jet-black Escalade. Josiah was running an errand, the nature of which he refused to reveal, and he’d ordered Mischa to remain in the car. Mischa, insufferably bored, once tried talking to the driver, a large man with a tie as green as the emerald isles. There was no response.

Finally, the car door opened and Josiah entered the vehicle, smirking maliciously. He carried a nondescript brown bag, which he hurriedly shoved under his leather seat as he bade the driver start the car. As the Escalade began rolling down the busy road, Mischa remarkably mustered the courage to ask Josiah what he’d been doing.

“That’s none of your business, Mischa. We still need to discuss your most recent blunder,” retorted Josiah, his cold eyes flashing Mischa a look of sheer hatred.

“B-blunder, sir? W-what are you talking about?” asked Mischa.

“When I said to locate our target ‘by any means necessary,’ I mistakenly assumed you’d come up with something more efficacious than asking him to report for his own execution. Nobody would be stupid enough to do that, Mischa! Well, maybe you would, now that I think about it…” said Josiah.

“No, to lure him to his death will require subtlety and tact, of neither of which you seem to possess even the slightest amount.”

“W-what do you r-recommend, sir?” inquired Mischa.

“I’m going to find this man myself,” said Josiah, now picking up the plain brown bag and resting it on his lap.

Mischa again wondered what Josiah was keeping in the bag, but he restrained himself from asking, instead focusing on Josiah’s plans to capture their antagonist. He looked out the window to clear his head, seeing nothing, as the windows had been tinted from the inside, specifically to make sure that Mischa never got to look out of them. It was another way of crushing his spirits - one of Josiah's personal favorites.

“How, sir?” asked Mischa.

“Your idea of a newscast was poor at best, but I think I’ll use it anyway. There will be one key difference though: my newscast will work. Do you know why, Mischa?” questioned Josiah.

“No, sir. Why?”

“Because I’m better than you!” answered the secretary, his voice rife with vitriol.

Mischa hung his head in shame as the car continued on its way. It hit a pothole, and Mischa, who on Josiah’s orders wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, fell out of his seat.

Josiah chuckled as he took out his cellular phone and quickly dialed a number. Pressing the phone up against his ear, he delivered a sharp kick to Mischa’s ribs, partly to get his attention and partly due to good old fashioned sadism.

“My contacts in the media will have my newscast on every channel in America tonight, Mischa. Even if our would-be thwarter doesn’t see it, someone who knows him will, and he’ll be led right to us,” said Josiah. “He’ll be dead by the end of the week, and then I’ll be able to move forward with my evil plan!”

Mischa, back on the seat, sat as still as he was able, making a conscious effort to imbibe every word his boss spoke, which was fairly difficult thanks to the searing pain in his ribs. Before long, however, the mysterious bag once again piqued his interest.

“S-sir, if I might be so b-bold as to inq-quire…what’s in the bag?” asked Mischa.

“I already told you, I’m not telling you,” said Josiah, reaching into the bag, pulling out a cookie and taking a bite.

Mischa lowered his head, disappointed.