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Tier - Rammstein |
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The dying man's name was Henry Shockley, and he'd been sitting in the dark for five full days. There were no windows in the room where he was being kept, and the thin beam of light coming in underneath the door had become his only way of telling what time it was. He had begun to lose track of the hours as they passed, but at what felt like regular intervals the door would open and a flashlight would be shone into his face while a figure came and went, emptying the bucket that had been placed in the corner and leaving a place tray of food behind. No restraints, the handcuffs had been taken off after the first day, along with his shoes and his wallet. No bonds, but no place to run to either.
On the fifth day, the door opened, and Shockley scuttled into a corner, reflexively shielding his eyes from the sharp beam of the high-powered flashlight. His clothes were dirty and he stank. The room was small and airless, a slight breeze wafting inpast the back-lit figure that filled the doorway, and a soft, inflectionless voice spoke after an ominous silence.
"Get up, garbage. You're going to talk now."
Not 'we'. 'You'. Delberate. Shockley began to sweat all over again, remembering what he could of his abduction. He'd been stepping out of his black Beemer, about to spend another profitablenight in a Las Vegas nightclub selling drugs and hitting on the underage girls just off the buses from the Midwest. He'd run a meth lab in the industrial district for the past four years, considered himself pretty sharp, carried a gun everywhere he went. He still hadn't realized he wasn't alone until he felt the Taser in the small of his back. Twenty-five thousand volts later, Darlene Shockley's only son Henry was senseless and being bundled into the trunk of a car. Now, five long lightless days later, he was being let out. To talk.
The soles of his feet slapped against the concrete floor as he walked, and there was only one other room where he was being kept. More concrete, cinderblock walls, cardboard containers stacked in a corner. Baked beans, canned chili, plastic utensils, bottled water, a handheld can opener. Functional provisions. He could feel his captor just behind him silent, watchful, a little grim. There was a table and two folding chairs. a slim Lwas Vegas phone book on the otherwise bare expanse.
"Sit." Like he was talking to a dog, his voice without emphasis. Machinelike. Shockley sat, his knees starting to shake. The chair was metal, unpadded. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, his vision not yet adjusted to the light. There was a quiet scraping noise as the other chair was pulled out, and Henry looked across the short distance into the face of insanity.
Young guy, his features even and unremarkable. Longish dark hair, a four-day beard. He could have been any guy out of a thousand that Shockley saw while he was peddling his wares or plying girls with drinks. But it was the eyes that gave him away, because the eyes were flat and lifeless, nothing behind them but dead air. The silence stretched out, and Shockley felt the need to urniate despite the fact that he'd just done so before the door opened. Fear-sweat broke out on his upper lip. The other man's mouth smiled at him, but the dark eyes remained flat.
"You know why you're here, garbage?" Soft voice, unrushed, almost professorial. Shockley swallowed. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth, and he stammered out, "I-I-I...I got money."
Pain exploded just under his left eye, and when the room stopped spinning, Henry found himself lying on the floor. How had he gotten there? His cheek throbbed, and when he touched it he was surprised to find the bone still intact. There was a thwap, and the phone book landed on the table, the pages unfolding again. The guy gave him a look, pointed across from him.
"Get back in the chair." No anger in the voice, but no compassion either. "If you offer me money again, I'm going to break your legs. Don't insult me."
Henry got up, grabbing the edge of the table for support. He felt a kind of terror-filled anger now, but the pool of it was so shallow that it wouldn't have filled a styrofoam cup. He had always considered himself a bad-ass, able to terrify whoever he pleased, but this guy was...this guy was in outer space somewhere. You couldn't scare someone who wasn't even in the same room with you.
"That's better." That dead stare looked at something Shockley couldn't see, and the guy took a small notebook out of the pocket of his heavy gray workshirt. A blue ink pen followed suit, and the still-unknown man gave Henry Shockley a studious look. Clearly, it was time for the 'talk' to begin.
"I want names. I know what you do, but you're just a small fish. I need bigger ones so I can throw you back."
For a second Henry misunderstood his meaning, and a nervously relieved smile made his lips twitch, but then he caught those blank, mud-colored eyes again. Because he could see the guy's face now, enough to pick him out of a line-up, and he wanted names. The small-time hood's mouth opened again, and his tongue was heavy and dry when he spoke. "You're crazy."
The other man's mouth smiled at him a second time, gentle and indulgent. And Henry knew when he saw it that he'd give up his own mother if he had to. Because he was alone with someone who could hurt him. "Yes, I know. Now...let's talk."
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anxious
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