Page 115 of Stone Coast

We climbed the steps to the loading dock, then opened the door with peeling, bubbling paint. The hinges squealed for lubrication.

Shafts of morning light spilled in through the broken windows.

The gang was all here.

They huddled in the center of the room.

Xzavier smiled and stepped to greet us. He extended his hand to Tyson and said, “It’s great to finally meet you. You’re a bit of a legend around here. I’m Xzavier. I believe you’ve met TJ,” he said, motioning to him. Xzavier continued to point out the others. “This is Cooper and Finn. Of course, you’ve met Piper.”

They all sized him up, and he returned the assessment.

“I understand Savannah has informed you of the situation. Before we go any further, I want to make sure we’re on the same page. After all, we are working toward the same goal.”

“To clarify, what is that goal?” Tyson asked.

“To keep Savannah safe, of course. And to serve justice.”

There was a long pause as the two men stared each other down.

“This is where I tell you that we are not so different,” Xzavier said. “Only our methods vary. I’m hoping you will extend me and my associates a professional courtesy, and ignore what you see here today. If you’re not comfortable with that, it might be better for you to wait outside.”

“Short of murder, I think I can overlook any actions you’ve taken. Who’s in the next room?” Tyson was no dummy.

Xzavier smiled and handed him a faceless white mask that you could get in any craft store. “You might want to put this on.” He handed one to me. “You too.”

We all donned the expressionless masks that were so vacant they were scary as hell. Once we were all anonymous, Xzavier led us into the next room. He pulled open the door and presented a hostage tied to a chair, a black bag over his face. He stepped beside the chair and pulled the bag from the man’s head.

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With duct tape across his mouth and eyes so wide they were about to pop out, the CEO of Phaxelon, Alec Stratton, stared at the ominous figures that surrounded him.

“Mr. Stratton has graciously volunteered his time to be with us today,” Xzavier said. “Let’s get straight down to business. Your company is manipulating clinical data. You’re covering up the deaths of innocent people.”

Alec mumbled through the duct tape.

Xzavier ripped it off.

Stratton winced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he said in a frantic breath.

Stratton was late 50s. His once strong jaw was now softened by age and overindulgence. He wore a T-shirt, boxers with yellow smiley faces, and black socks. It looked like he’d been plucked out of bed by Xzavier and his crew. It seemed to be their specialty.

Sweat misted Stratton’s skin, and he trembled with fear.

“I don’t think you’ve come to fully appreciate the situation,” Xzavier said. “Lying will not be tolerated.”

He sparked up a propane torch. The blue flame hissed promises of pain and disfigurement. Xzavier brought it close to Stratton’s face, and the blue flame reflected in his terrified eyes.

“What do you want!?” Alec squealed.

“I want the truth. I want a confession,” Xzavier said, pointing to a video camera on a tripod. The red tally light flickered as it recorded the scene. “I will get it, too. It’s just a matter of how much you are going to suffer between now and then.”

I looked at Tyson, his unease at the situation growing.

Xzavier brought the blistering flame closer.

“Okay!” Stratton was a cushy corporate guy. He didn’t want any part of that. He wanted to keep his vision. “We’ve got $100 million dollars invested in R&D. The raw data coming in would have killed the drug, tanked the stock, and opened us up to liability. We need time to redevelop the study to achieve better outcomes.”

“You mean change the study criteria so your drug doesn’t look as fucked up,” Piper said.