Ordinary Hero

by Ellis Michaels

  I dragged the guy deep into the warehouse, leaning his limp body up against a large support beam. It wasn't easy dragging him all that way and I was thankful that Melissa chose the smaller of the two guys who had talked to her. I'd bought a roll of duct tape when we stopped at the store on the way to Southie and used it to make sure our new friend wouldn't be able to get away when he woke up. I pulled both of his arms behind the support beam, securely taping his wrists together. Then, I duct taped his ankles, wrapping it around them several times. Finally, I ripped a few inches of duct tape off the roll and slapped it on his mouth.

  “Okay,” I said. “I don't think this guy's going anywhere anytime soon. Why don't you wake him up now.”

  “Or,” Melissa said in a seductive tone, putting her arms around my neck, our faces very close, “we could have a little fun first and then I could wake him.”

  “Under any other circumstances,” I replied, “I'd absolutely be down for a little action. You're gorgeous as is but, in that outfit, you look unfathomably sexy. But we can't be wasting any time – not even a few minutes. I need to find out where Kasie is being held before Carter calls me to set up the exchange with Amber.”

  “I understand,” Melissa said, just a touch of disappointment in her voice. After a few seconds of silence, she looked me in the eyes and asked, “You love her, don't you?”

  “I mean, yeah, she's my best friend.”

  “No, I mean you love her. Like, you're in love with her. I can hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes when you say her name. Whether you realize it or not, whether you're willing to admit it to yourself, you love Kasie.”

  I didn't respond right away. We stood in silence for a moment while I considered what Melissa had said. I knew that I loved Kasie as a friend – no doubt about that. And I knew that I was attracted to her, physically. But was Melissa right? Was I in love with my best friend? Just thinking about it caused my emotions to start stirring. That was definitely something I needed to do some serious thinking about, but it wasn't the right time.

  “We need to wake this guy up,” I said, breaking the silence and changing the subject.

  Melissa stepped away from me and pulled a syringe out of her purse. She flicked off the orange caps as if she'd done it a thousand times before and injected the stimulant into the guy's carotid artery, just as she'd done with the sedative. As soon as she pushed the plunger all the way down, Melissa took a few steps back. A moment later, his eyes started to open.

  “Mmmmmm,” he groaned, breathing through his nose.

  “He might seem a little out of it for a while because, well, we pumped him full of uppers and downers,” Melissa said. “The guy's basically speedballing right now. It might actually make him a little more likely to talk.”

  “Let's hope so,” I replied. “I really don't want to have to hurt him too badly – but I will if I have to.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Melissa said. “I understand that you have to do what you have to do to get him to tell you what you want to know. But, I don't want to see it myself. If it's alright with you, I'm just going to wait in my rental.”

  “That's fine. I understand. Hopefully, this won't take too long.”

  Melissa gave me a kiss on the lips and disappeared out the door we came in. I couldn't help myself: My eyes were glued to her body as she walked away. Her perfect butt swayed from side to side as her heels clicked against the cement floor with each step. I wished that I'd had more time because I would've loved to do her right there on the warehouse floor.

  I waited patiently for several minutes until my taped-up friend seemed conscious enough to start answering some questions. Pacing in a circle, I walked around him several times trying to figure out the best way to start questioning him. I decided that a direct approach would be best.

  “Where's Kasie?” I asked, then ripped the duct tape off his mouth in one, quick pull.

  “Ahhh,” he screamed when I pulled off the tape then, a moment later said, “I ain't tellin' you shit.”

  “You say that,” I said, pulling a small knife out of the bag with the duct tape in it, “but we'll see if you're singing a different song in a few minutes.”

  “There's nothin' you can do to me that's worse than what the boss will do to me if I tell you anythin'.”

  “Again, you say that...”

  I flipped open the pocket knife and held it up to his neck. The man didn't even flinch. I didn't know if he was really brave, really stupid, or just under the influence of drugs. But, whatever the reason, he didn't show the slightest sign of being afraid to die.

  It forced me to think of other ways to get him to talk. Threatening his life didn't seem like it was going to work. He knew that if he talked, Carter would end up killing him anyway. In his mind, I'm sure it would've been more honorable to die by getting killed by an enemy than to get killed by his boss after betraying him. I needed to threaten him with something else, something even worse than what Carter would do.

  I slowly moved the knife from his neck, down his chest, and stopped at his crotch. The guy might not have been afraid to lose his life, but I suspected that he might've been afraid to lose what was between his legs. Sex was obviously important to him. After all, he did try to pick up Melissa first thing in the morning. Looking him right in his bloodshot eyes, I smiled.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  Without saying a word, I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. His eyes widened and I could tell that I was at least getting his attention. I pulled his pants and underwear – tighty whities, in case you were wondering – down as far as I could. I couldn't pull them off because of the duct tape securing his ankles together.

  “What are you doin'?” he asked, anxiously. “Why are you pullin' my pants down?”

  “I once read a story about a guy,” I started, trying to sound as calm and unemotional as possible, making it up as I went along, “who was getting interrogated by the CIA. They tried everything with this guy – all their usual dirty tricks. They tortured him, drugged him, deprived him of sleep – everything – and he just wouldn't talk. But then, one of the CIA officers had an idea. It shocked and disgusted the others but, since nothing else was working, they decided to try it.”

  I took a lighter out of the bag of stuff I'd bought earlier in the day. I'm not sure why I bought a lighter. I didn't have anything in mind at the time. But I saw them for ninety-nine cents at the checkout counter and impulsively bought one. I flicked the lighter and turned the flame all the way up, making it as big as possible. Then, I held the tip of the knife above the flame until it was really hot.

  “What are you gonna do with that?” he asked again, a little bit of panic in his voice.

  I didn't answer the question. I didn't even look up at him. I just knelt down next to him holding the blade over the flame and continued with the story.

  “CIA agents are generally pretty tough. They go through a lot of training to make sure they can stomach all the awful things they sometimes have to do. But, when that one agent did what he said he was going to do, the other two agents in the room both threw up all over the place. When interviewed about it later, one of the agents said it was the sight that made him vomit. The other agent said it was the smell.”

  “Do what?” he asked, impatiently. “When the agent did what?”

  Again, I continued the story without looking up or answering his question.

  “Much to the surprise of the two agents who vomited, it worked. The unspeakable thing that the agent did to the guy they were interrogating got him to finally tell them what they wanted to know. I'm sure the guy wished that he'd told them sooner, after it was all said and done. But they got him to talk.”

  “You're just messin' with me,” the taped-up thug said. “You're tryin' to scare me into talkin'. You ain't gonna do nothin'. If you were tellin' the truth, you'd be able to tell me what they did to that guy.”

  Finally, I looked up at him. I didn't say anything right aw
ay. I gave him another moment to let his mind run wild while I stared him in the eyes. His pupils were massive. I picked up the duct tape and ripped off a piece a few inches long.

  “I'm not going to tell you what the CIA agent did to get that guy to talk – I'm going to show you. But I don't want the sight or the smell to make you puke all over me so I'll have to tape your eyes and nose.”

  I slapped the duct tape over his eyes, probably a little harder than was really necessary. After ripping off another smaller piece, I stuck it to his nostrils so he couldn't breathe through his nose.

  “I'll give you one more chance to answer the question,” I said. “Where's Kasie being held?”

  “You're bluffin',” he said, his voice very nasally from having his nose taped shut. “You ain't gonna do nothin'. You ain't got the balls.”

  “See,” I said and let out a short, maniacal laugh, “that's where you're wrong. In a few seconds, it'll be you who doesn't have any balls.”

  I re-lit the lighter and held the knife in the flame for a few more seconds. I was really hoping that he'd let his fear get the best of him and answer the question before I did anything, but he didn't.

  “You're blu...” he started, then screamed: “Arrrggghhh!”

  I pressed the side of the knife against the inside of his thigh. He squirmed around in pain, which caused the searing-hot knife to graze his balls. I caught a whiff of burning flesh and wished that I'd put tape over my nose, too. In the center of my vision popped up:

  Skill Increase

  [Social] Ruthlessness: 6/10 (+3)

  “The more you squirm, the worse it's going to be,” I said, as calmly as possible. “Try to stay still.”

  I lit the lighter again, reheating the knife over it. I really didn't want to be doing what I was doing but I was prepared to do whatever it took to get him to tell me where Kasie was.

  “Hmmm,” I said. “I was just going to remove your balls. I'm not sure about the science behind it but there's something about getting your balls chopped off that makes you more likely to talk. I think it's because you no longer produce testosterone – you know, the male hormone. It basically turns you into a girl – a gossip girl. That's why that CIA agent did what he did. But now, I'm thinking I'll take your dick off, too. That'll make it easier to cut off your balls nice and clean.”

  As much as I didn't want to, I grabbed the head of the guy's penis. I really wanted him to believe that I was going to do it. In the moment, I actually might have. I was willing to do whatever it took to find Kasie. Fortunately, the next thing I did got him talking.

  Holding his penis up by the head, I pressed the hot tip of the knife into the base of his shaft. Like before, he screamed out in pain. I slowly started dragging the knife around the base, burning but not cutting it. After making it about a quarter of the way around, he suddenly became a lot more cooperative.

  “Okay, okay!” he yelled. “Stop! I'll tell you what you wanna know. Just don't cut my dick and balls off!”

  “Where is she?” I asked, removing the knife from his skin.

  “She's bein' held in the basement of a deli,” he answered, speaking quickly. “I can tell you where it is.”

  “Then tell me where it is.”

  “It's in Southie near the water, not too far from the pool hall. It's called O'Sullivan's Deli.”

  I ripped the duct tape off his eyes, taking his eyebrows with it. It obviously hurt and he made a face but didn't make a sound. I got down on one knee and, with my face right next to his, looked him in the eyes.

  “If I find out you're lying, I'm gonna come back here and finish what I started. But I'm not just going to stop there: I'm going to cut off your fingers, toes, and maybe even your tongue and ears. Then, I'm gonna tie you up in my bathroom and use you as a human toilet for weeks, months, or maybe even years. Do you understand me?”

  “You can't just leave me here!” he yelled.

  I grabbed a handful of his hair, slammed his head against the support beam and said, “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Good. If you're telling the truth, you have nothing to worry about. After I rescue my friend and put an end to your leader, I'll come set you free. But, if you're lying, well, you know what'll happen.”

  I'm not sure why I said that. Whether he was telling the truth or not, I had no intention of coming back for him. I ripped off another piece of duct tape and slapped it across his mouth. After putting the lighter and knife in my pocket and the tape back in the bag, I carried it out of the warehouse and walked outside, joining Melissa in the Tahoe.

  “Well, did he talk?” she asked.

  “Yup. It wasn't pretty, but I did what I had to do to get him to talk. I'll tell you all about it along the way.”

  “Along the way to where?”

  “Back to Southie.”

  18.

  We left the warehouse and drove back down to Southie. I told Melissa all about what'd happened inside after she left. She seemed to be both impressed by my willingness to do whatever it took to save my friend and disgusted by my methods. Melissa was, after all, a healer. As someone who'd taken an oath to do no harm, it wasn't surprising that she was a little turned off by me threatening to cut a guy's balls off.

  O'Sullivan's Deli was right down the street from Side Pocket, just as the thug said it would be. I knew that it was possible he'd lied to me but, as the only source of information I had about Kasie's whereabouts, I assumed it was true. If it wasn't, I was about to go ruin an innocent deli owner's day.

  “You want me to come in with you?” Melissa asked.

  After thinking about it for a moment, I answered, “I have no idea what to expect in there. It could get really ugly, really quickly. Maybe there's just one or two guys in there. Maybe there's ten. I have no idea. All I know is that you'll be much safer if you stay out here. Why don't you stay here and keep the engine running in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

  “Okay,” Melissa replied, leaning over the center console and giving me a kiss. “Please, be careful. Good luck!”

  I smiled at Melissa and got out of the Tahoe. She parked directly across the street from O'Sullivan's Deli. I crossed the street, keeping an eye out for any Southie Soldiers. I was in their territory and needed to be vigilant. Carter had them looking for me and I knew that if they found me before I found Kasie, it would be all over.

  There was nothing unusual about the deli. If I hadn't known any better, I never would've thought that it was owned and operated by the most-feared gang in the city. I walked in and was pleased to see that the guy behind the counter was the only one in there. It was a small deli with only four booths, all of them empty. Behind the counter, I immediately noticed a door leading to the basement.

  “Good morning – afternoon, almost,” the man behind the counter said.

  He was an older man, somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties, if I had to guess. His head was mostly bald on top with short white hair on the sides and he had a thin white beard to match. About the same height and weight as me, maybe a little heavier, I was relieved to see that he wasn't a big, musclebound freak like some of the other guys I'd encountered.

  “Good morning and afternoon,” I said. “I take it you're open for business since the door was unlocked. Are you O'Sullivan?”

  “I am,” he replied. “Pat O'Sullivan. I opened this deli thirty-four years ago and, aside from Christmas and New Year's Day, I've worked here every single day ever since. Haven't missed a single day!”

  He told me that he hadn't missed a single day of work in thirty-four years with such pride. While it was impressive, it was also a little disgusting. There was no way the man never got sick during that time, which means he came into work even when he was ill. If he was, say, a factory worker, that would've be fine – respectable, even. But, he worked with food. The image of Mr. O'Sullivan coming into work while sick as a dog, nose running, coughing all over the food, ca
me to mind. I made a mental note to never eat at O'Sullivan's Deli.

  “What can I get for you?” he asked.

  Pat O'Sullivan didn't seem to recognize me – not at first, anyhow. I didn't know if he was an actual member of the Southie Soldiers or just cooperating with them. Either way, Pat didn't seem to recognize my face. The man I had duct taped in the warehouse knew who I was the second he saw me, so I assumed that Carter had shown all his goons a picture of me. Pat O'Sullivan certainly didn't act like he knew who I was – not at first.

  Even though I had no desire to eat his food, I looked up at the menu for something to order. If Pat was busy making my food, he'd be distracted and I could sneak up behind him and choke him out easier. I didn't think it would be difficult either way but I wanted to make as little noise as possible. There was no telling who was down in the basement and I didn't want to alert them any sooner than was necessary. My plan was to order some food, choke out Pat, and sneak downstairs to look for Kasie.

  “Can I get a large steak and cheese sub with provolone, please?” I asked.

  “Coming right up!” Pat said, then quickly eyed me up and down. “I just need to run downstairs to get you an nice, fresh bun.”

  Something wasn't right – I could feel it. Up until that point, I didn't think that Pat recognized me. But there was something about the way he looked me up and down that made me start thinking otherwise. And I knew he was lying about needing to go into the basement to get a fresh piece of bread. There was a pallet of what looked like recently-opened bread in the back, just barely visible behind a walk-in fridge. I had the strong suspicion that he was going to go downstairs to warn whoever was down there. I couldn't let that happen.

  Popping up in front of me was a new skill. I read it quickly and thought “close,” causing it to disappear. It read: