Into The Land of Punt

Three

They drove him into their boss' compound and led him through a series of corridors to the boss' study room, on the second floor. As he walked through the Mansion, Martin couldn't help feeling proud of himself. Most, if not all of his artefacts were displayed all over.

Artefacts he had made by himself with his own hands. They were all here.

Displayed.

He really was a master of his craft. He smiled.

One of the henchmen poked him and he moved forth, a little hurried.

They opened the heavy wooden door of the study one would swear was a safe door, and behind it, standing in front of a bulletproof window, was the bulgy, fat boss. Sergei Chekov. But Martin doubted the name was really real. it smelt fabrication.

They forced him into the chair in front of him, he complied but they still held him there. So much for coming voluntarily.

"Okay, enough with the hands! i can sit by myself if you will!" He had said but they still held him there. Sergei didn’t move or say anything. Nor did he react like someone just walked into his office. His henchmen didn’t move either. They just held him down like he was going to run. Or was he going to be tortured?

“Oh, come on! I came voluntarily anyway! I’m not gonna run! Isn’t it enough that you damaged these goods?” He shouted again, pointing to his wounds. but nobody cared about his wounds.

“Your tongue.” Sergei said without turning away from the window and Martin instantly went silent. He had a feeling the Russian was going to cut his tongue. A lot of people have threatened to cut it. Including his stepfather. But this one was within that. Plus, he didn’t know if he was caught red handed with a fake artefact.

 “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.” He said and sunk into the chair.

Sergei waved the henchmen off and they let him go, before stepping back and standing like soldiers on guard.

“Martin Moore.” Sergei said his name like he was telling his tin something to moo like a cow. Ma R Tin Moo RR. He sounded much like.

“Mr. Chekov. How are you doing today?”

“You know when I was a kid, I watched Deadpool. Loved it.”

“When you were kid?” He couldn't help but ask. “It’s 2019, you do know that Deadpool the movie came out in 2016, right? That was three years ago. No wonder you don’t use your head, you still a freaki… I’ll just shut my mouth.” He stopped as he realized that Sergei was eyeing him menacingly.

“A lot of people always threaten to cut it out because I can’t seem to filter out what I say, so… can you pardon what I said?” he made puppy eyes and begged. “Please? It does come as a price of spending a lot of time alone.”

Sergei chuckled as the henchmen approached him and held his shoulder. He swallowed hard, as he thought of possible ways of escape. He outsmarted the smartest people on earth on daily basis, this, he must get out of, safely and soundly.

“You know Deadpool, He had a mouth, like yours. Couldn't stop speaking. But that wasn't why I loved him.” Sergei said sitting in front of him. He took a lighter, flipped it on and closed it.

A lot of things that lighter could do. He thought. Snapping nails free from fingers. Burning the tips of fingers until no fingerprint remained. Just to name a few. He swallowed hard, hoping Sergei was going to let him free.

“But you know what I loved about Deadpool?” He asked flipping the lighter on again.

“No.” he responded looking at the guns that weren’t pointed at his head but at Sergei. He definitely could use that and kill Sergei with it.

“Deadpool, he was a man of focus and few words when it came to punishing those that he was targeting. And when it came to Ajax, hurting him, he enjoyed it.”

“I love Vincenzo.” He chipped in. “The Korean series, have you watched it?”

“Are you making threats?” Sergei asked and Martin instantly shook his head. "you threatening me?"

“No! No! No! I wouldn’t…”

“You come to my territory, without my permission, and make threats at me?” Sergei took out a shotgun from Martin’s head. Martin started sweating at the gun as he stared into the barrel of the large caliber rifle. He wasn't going to survive this. Even if he did, he wasn't going to go far. There was a reason why a shotgun was called the trench cleaner for a reason. The Germans knew it and he definitely wasn't going to know why now.

“Can I use your bathroom? I think I just peed my pants.” He asked closing his eyes.

Sergei laughed as he put the shotgun away and placed it on his shoulders. He opened his eyes and looked at the laughing three men as they conversed in Russian while laughing at him. He checked his trousers and sighed, seeing that he didn’t pee on himself, and he nervously laughed with them.

“You are funny, Martin! Really funny.” Sergei laughed and joked around in Russian. But even though his Russian was rusty, he heard a few sentences that told him the laugh was fake, his problem was huge, and… how the f**k did he end up bedding the Russian Mafia? He wondered as he pretended to laugh with them.

He was an outlaw. A thief, and an archaeologist. But how did he end up in bed with them? Markov just… he realized the problem. Markov, saving him in Moscow was the problem. His fifty thousand wasn't just a full payment for a boarding pass out of Moscow. The boarding pass was a debt he wasn't going to be free from. Was that it?

They abruptly stopped laughing after discussing his fate and pointed all their guns at him. “You owe me thirty million!” Sergei said pressing the shotgun on his face.

Martin blinked a couple of times and pushed the gun aside with his finger to look at Sergei without anything obstructing his view.

“Say what?” He asked.

“Thirty million dollars.” Sergei said it so seriously Martin couldn't help but laugh.

“Who? Me?” he pointed his chest and asked again. “You kidding right? Me? thirty million dollars? Quick question, what did y’all smoke today? Because it clearly ain’t weed or cocaine. Might as well be the s**t that the South Africans smoke, heard that sit goes through the head and mess you up. Thirty million my ass!”

He sank back into his seat as the henchmen looked at him. Sergei lowered the trench cleaner and rested it on Martin’s shoulder. Then, shot it behind him.

He fell of the seat and covered his ears as they rand sirens. His heart drummed so hard he could feel it trying to burst out of his chest and run away.

“Look, you owe me interest, so I will be humane, bring me my thirty million within three months, or I will take your sister and harvest each and every egg she can make,” Sergei threatened, squatting next to him. “Harvest her liver every time it regenerates and salvage every piece of her to pay off your loan and her adoptive parents, I will kill them.”

He turned to his men and told them to drop him off somewhere outside.