Trapping Sophia: Disciples 6

by Sweet, Izzy

  “What’s the plan?” Andrew asks as he looks up to me.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “Lots of misery for this fuck. Got a second?”

  “Sure, that paralyzing drug should keep him pretty useless from the waist down,” he says before slamming a fist down on the old man’s naked ball sack.

  Fuck me, that didn’t even make the old man flinch.

  “Gonna need that shit turned down a bit for what I have in mind,” I say.

  “Oh, we gonna work on the legs first? Been a while since we did that,” Andrew says while we walk away from the stretcher.

  Making our way over to Simon and Lucifer, I motion for Johnathan to join us.

  “We need to keep him alive through all of this,” I say to Andrew once we’re all together.

  “Fuck,” Andrew groans. “You all know I’m not a doctor, right?”

  I grin. “You’ve got this, I have faith in you.”

  “What exactly are we doing with him?” Johnathan asks.

  “Fingers, ears, eyes, and tongue,” Lucifer says.

  “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes,” I sing-song after him.

  When every pair of eyes turns to me and just stares, I shrug my shoulders. I couldn’t help it, the song just came out of me.

  Lucifer chuckles first, then the others quickly follow suit. Chuckling and shaking their heads.

  “Anyway, we’re shipping him off to somewhere out of state. I think the west coast would probably be our best bet,” I say.

  “Why not the east coast or New York?” Simon asks.

  “Too hard to get through the city and back out. Also, it’s their big hub. Everyone knows their shit’s jacked up all over the eastern seaboard,” I say, trying to get my words out as fast as my thoughts are flying.

  “So somewhere west coast,” John says and begins to rub his eyebrows in thought.

  “Yeah, we know they’ve been beefing for territory out there with the Cartels,” I say. “Let’s give them an added worry.”

  “That’s a well-thought-out idea,” Lucifer says.

  Shrugging my shoulders after a moment of silence, I say, “We could also always drop him off at the pig farm and let them have their way with him.”

  “No. A long-term plan like this would work better for us,” Lucifer says firmly, putting an end to the debate.

  “Alright, time to work,” I grin and look to Andrew. “You’re going to need to keep him alive through the questioning. The rest of the maiming… I figure we can knock his ass out for that so he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest or some unlucky shit.”

  Sighing loudly to us all, Andrew’s big ass looks over to Lucifer and says, “We need to find a real doctor. It seems to me, every day we’re heading into deeper and deeper waters. Right now, I’m pretty much fucking drowning in an ocean of medical shit I just don’t know how to do.”

  “Out of curiosity, has your GI Bill for tuition gone out of date?” Lucifer asks him with a grin.

  “Fuck you, and hell yes it has,” Andrew says. “I’m too old for med school, and while my hand is all fucking healed up from the damage I did to it, it isn’t scalpel-wielding worthy.”

  “I think Andrew does have a point,” Simon says.

  “Agreed,” Lucifer says with a frown. “We’ll need to be on the lookout for candidates.”

  I slap Andrew on the shoulder and say, “Let’s go, Andy. Time’s a wastin’ on that old fuck.”

  There’s dead silence all around me yet again. Even Lucifer doesn’t make a sound.

  “I’m going to castrate you like a fucking bull if you ever call me that again,” Andrew says to me.

  “Good to know,” I say with a laugh.

  Heading back over to the old man on the gurney, I ask, “So, Andrey, how’s life on the cot been?”

  He mutters something in slurred Russian, and I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with my mother and a donkey.

  Can’t be sure, but I think that’s what he said.

  “English, asshole. No Russian. I hear a word of Russian, I take a rivet gun to your shinbones,” I warn as I stroll on past him.

  Then I ask the guys around me, “Can two of you move him from the bed? Put him on the metal table. I need a firm surface to work on.”

  Walking over to the rivet gun, I grab it and turn on the air compressor. There’s a loud racket as air fills the machine up, but I grin when it slowly quiets down.

  This is going to be fun.

  I’ve been dying to do this to someone’s shinbones and I’m positive it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker.

  Strolling up to the table the old man’s been moved to, I tilt my head to the side.

  This fucker is completely naked.

  I really didn’t need to see old wrinkly balls today. Not one fucking bit.

  “Gross, old man balls,” I mutter as I grab an oily cloth from a nearby bench and cover his dangly bits.

  “There, now that I’ve given you some modesty, let’s start again. I’m Doctor James, you’re Andrey,” I say to the old man.

  “Fuck you,” he rasps out to me.

  “You sound dry, want some water? This will go much easier for you if you talk to me. Otherwise, I’m going to cause you a shit ton of pain. Either way, you’re going to talk,” I say while staring into his eyes.

  He gives me no response.

  I guess he wants to show me how tough he is. From all the old gulag tattoos all over his chest and body, I can guarantee he’s seen some shit. Probably been in even more.

  I’ve got all night though and a lot of methods to make someone talk.

  Pain isn’t my only option.

  I might just try waterboarding… That shit’s fucked up too. Or maybe the carding method.

  A metal comb pulled over his old, paper-thin skin would do a decent amount of shredding…

  Fuck, the only problem is he has to be living at the end of this. Fucking dumbass me just had to be smart and now I gotta do the work.

  “Okay, since you’re not talking, I’m taking your toenails. Next, I’ll take a finger. The whole fucking thing, not just the nail,” I tell him with cold honesty.

  “You will not,” he hisses at me in stuttering English before he mutters something in Russian.

  “Just remember that the next time I ask you to talk.” I grin.

  Glancing over to the table with all the metal tools, I remember what I said about the rivet gun.

  “But first, to show you I don’t lie and expect the same from you…”

  I press the gun into his shin and quickly pull the trigger.

  The rivet gun makes loud whapping sound.

  For a split second, there is only silence.

  Then a murderous scream rips out of Andrey and resounds throughout the building.

  “Ah, such sweet tones, Andrey!” I shout over his screams and pull the trigger again on a new spot on his shin.

  For some reason I can’t explain, “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” enters my brain right as I pull the rivet gun away from the screaming old man.

  I chuckle quietly to myself at first, trying to keep it together.

  Then fail miserably.

  Bursting into laughter, I slap the guy on his freshly riveted leg.

  “What the fuck is so funny?” Gabriel asks.

  “I’ve been working on the railroad,” I say and wag the rivet gun at him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Gabriel groans and shakes his big blond head at me. “You got a screw loose?”

  Lifting my left shoulder up at him, I say, “Probably, but you’re doing the finger work.”

  “What?”

  “The finger work. You get to snip, snip, and give ‘em to Simon. New guy gets the fingers, it’s the rules or something,” I explain.

  “Whatever,” he grumbles while I put the rivet gun down.

  Grabbing a couple packs of smelling salts, I crack them open and put them under the old Russian’s nose.

  “Once you’re clearheaded, we’ll continue. Bec
ause whether you want to hurt or just talk, you will answer my questions,” I say to him as I pick up a set of pliers.

  Checking the pliers to make sure they’re nice and oiled, I ask, “Why were you in your son’s basement in a medically induced coma?”

  His eyes glaze over for a moment, and while I’m tempted to cause more pain, I doubt he has a clear answer for my question. I’m betting he doesn’t know why or when he was put there.

  “Fuck you,” he snaps almost instinctually before he looks at me quite seriously. “Where is here?”

  “America,” I answer simply.

  No need to give him more than he needs to know.

  There’s real surprise in his eyes as he takes in my words.

  Looking back at John, I ask, “Water bottle?”

  Nodding his head, Johnathan walks over to a mini fridge in the corner, grabs a bottle, and tosses it at me.

  I catch it.

  Looking back at the old man, I stare at him for a couple of minutes, letting him sweat at the thought of what I’m holding in my hand.

  “Water?” I finally ask him.

  “Fuck you.”

  He tries to spit but he doesn’t have the saliva to do it.

  Or the breath, apparently, as he starts coughing.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I say as I wait for him to finish.

  Watching the old man cough and wheeze, I figure I might be able to get more out of him than he wants. He’s definitely got questions. I can satisfy him all I want with answers. It’s not like he’s going to be able to talk after we’re done with him.

  Even if he could talk…

  Fuck him. He’s lucky we’re not killing him.

  Well… maybe not exactly lucky since he’s going to live inside a shell of a body with no way to ever communicate to the outside world.

  Tipping my head back and taking a long swig of the water, I wait for him to watch me. He needs a dependency here because I really don’t have the time to dig deep enough into his brain to fuck with it.

  I wipe my mouth off with my forearm and ask, “Ready to try that again or would you like to drool like a useless old fuck?”

  The daggers he stares at me are pretty fucking funny if you ask me. He’s only torturing himself, honestly. He knows it and his pride knows it.

  Moving the bottle next to his lips, I allow a small amount to dribble onto his eager lips and tongue.

  No need to drown him yet. I can do that later with a bucket…

  Pouring a little more into his mouth, I say, “You get to say fuck you one more time then we need to talk.”

  “Fuck you,” he says with a small laugh.

  “Good, now let’s get down to the business at hand. Just tell me when you need another drink,” I say.

  “Where am I?” he asks again.

  “America. Garden City to be precise,” I answer. “My turn, where were you?”

  He takes a long time to answer. Probably gauging his chances on getting away with dishonesty. “I was in Saint Petersburg.”

  That’s a lie.

  No clue how I know, but I do.

  “Gabriel, remove the big toenail on his left foot. Lies aren’t allowed here today,” I say and motion to the pliers.

  “One big toenail coming up,” Gabriel says.

  Good, he’s playing the part I need him to play. I’m the boss to Andrey right now and he needs to know it.

  “No, no. I tell truth!” Andrey stammers.

  He lets out a bellowing scream as Gabriel rips the toenail from his foot.

  Looks like the numbing agent fully wore off.

  Good.

  “Now,” I say quietly to Andrey as he whimpers in pain. “No more lies. I can tell.”

  Moving away from the table with the bottle of water in my hand, I walk over to Simon and murmur, “He’s going to lie a bit more. A truth serum might work. See if you can get me a water bottle dosed with it. Preferably sealed.”

  Nodding his head without saying a word, Simon stands up from his laptop and heads out of the room.

  Walking back to Andrey, I take another swig of the water before helping the whimpering man take another drink.

  “No lies,” I say. “Where were you last?”

  “Tirana,” he says.

  “Albania?” I ask, and I know I’m right.

  “Yes,” he says quietly.

  “Why?” I ask.

  No answer.

  “Gabriel, remove the next toenail,” I say.

  “No, no! I was there visiting a doctor,” Andrey stammers quickly.

  He’s partially telling the truth. But why go there for just a doctor’s visit?

  I nod to Gabriel and he yanks out another toenail.

  The scream goes on longer this time, but it does eventually end.

  I glance down at the toe and see that Gabriel took a bit more toe than nail.

  “Oops,” Gabriel grins at me.

  Looking back to Andrey, I say, “I’m bored with your lies and partial truths. We’re going for the fingers next. Whole fingers. And I’m taking the middle finger first so you can’t flip me off.”

  “What day is this?” he asks me out of the blue.

  “Wednesday,” I lie.

  Why would he care?

  “What year?” he asks.

  “Twenty-twenty,” I say with a smile.

  He’s been out for a while, I bet, if he’s asking this.

  Big round eyes look up at me. “This cannot be! What month? What month?!”

  “April,” I answer. “Your son had you out for a long time before we got to you, huh?”

  Just like that, Andrey falls into himself, devastation clouding his features.

  “What was the deal you were making in Albania?” I ask suddenly.

  “It was…” he says before he shuts his mouth firmly.

  Yep, he just slipped there.

  “Remove the finger,” I say.

  “Shqiptare!” Andrey screams out to me after we take off the third finger and cauterize the wound.

  * * *

  Albania, that’s new.

  We’ve heard of the Albanian mafia, but we’ve never actually run up against them. They’re scumbags if you ask me. Dealing in drugs, arms, human organs, and human trafficking. They’re also crazy fucking violent and walk around with huge chips on their shoulders.

  Plus, they can hold a fucking grudge like no other.

  Somehow the Rastovs have formed a little camaraderie with the Albanians.

  That’s not good for us.

  “Well, all we’ve got left is the eyes and ears,” I say to Andrew as he finishes cauterizing the wound where the old fuck’s tongue used to be.

  “Thank fuck,” he laughs. “I’m done with this shit for the day.”

  Cracking my knuckles, I grab a clean coat hanger, some leather gloves, and a blow torch off the tool rack.

  This is where shit’s going to get smelly.

  “Antibiotics?” I ask Andrew.

  “There’s enough in him right now that he should be good,” he says.

  Standing up straight, I use the blow torch to heat up the coat hanger until it’s glowing

  “Hey, can someone hold the eyelids for me?” I ask as I glance down at the old man.

  We put him back in a medically induced coma and he’s sleeping peacefully now.

  “Got ‘em. Let me get a glove on,” Johnathan says.

  The hissing then the quiet pop of each eyeball is a bit of a stomach turner. Haven’t done this in a long time and I wish I didn’t have to again.

  I won’t be eating grapes anytime soon, that’s for fucking sure.

  Doing the ears is only a matter of cramming the red-hot coat hanger in there far enough to reach the eardrum, then pushing in further to the inner ear.

  Rotating the hanger around just enough to make sure it’s completely ruined, I smile.

  Job well done.

  Dropping the metal coat hanger in a bucket of cold water, I head over to the waiting guys.


  Lucifer’s big smile for me makes me feel almost giddy inside. I did good and I didn’t have to do anything with severed fingers. I got the information, and I figured out the best place for us to send this asshole to.

  “We’ll all meet up soon,” Simon says as he begins to put up his laptop.

  “Sounds good,” Andrew says. “I’ll stay until Harrold gets here. Lucifer, you said he’s good with the transporting?”

  “Yes, he’ll be taking Andrey to Portland,” Lucifer says. “Then a separate service will leave him in front of one of their restaurants.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Andrew says with a nod of his head.

  A thought occurs to me as I look at Andrew. “Hey, you guys remember that doctor at Garden City General? The one who got prison time for letting that child molester die?”

  “Yes,” Simon says. “He was sentenced to 15 years to life, I believe.”

  “He was a trauma surgeon,” Lucifer adds.

  “Why not get him a pardon and a job?” I ask.

  Again, everyone looks at me like I just did something strange.

  All silent then smiles.

  I must be on a roll today or something.

  * * *

  Right as I’m about to get into my BMW and head back to watching over Sophia, I hear the loud thuds of John’s feet stomping behind me.

  Turning to face him, I lean back against my car. “What’s up?”

  Johnathan raises an eyebrow at me. “Sophia’s dad’s funeral is in a couple days.”

  “I know,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

  “You gonna do something that gets me in trouble with the wife?” he asks me.

  “Define the word something,” I say with a smirk.

  Shaking his bushy head and beard at me, he says, “Beth is already going fucking crazy trying to help her. Just wondering what kind of interference I’m going to need to run for you.”

  “You think I’d kidnap a girl from her dad’s funeral?” I ask.

  He stares hard at me for a moment then says, “Yeah.”

  He’s not wrong. That’s exactly my plan.

  My thoughts are a little fucked up when it comes to this.

  Am I crazy enough about this woman to take her from her own father’s funeral? Am I that sick and twisted?

  Of course I am.

  I’m absolutely going to take her.

  I just need to figure out the timing.