All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  “Yes, boss. I’ll show you the larder. This way.”

  Kieran walked over to the hidden door and stepped through. Heather followed. Despite being tired, she didn’t anticipate getting any sleep tonight.

  ***

  The man seated at a desk observing everything couldn’t have scripted it better himself. The two subjects in his game had met. The only thing missing was the love story that might transpire. He didn’t expect this to happen, for it was clear that his female subject was not interested in a sexual relationship, which disappointed him a little. He imagined losing viewer points for that. But never fear, he consoled himself, in this environment under duress and stress anything can break someone’s resolve.

  He sipped his merlot and smiled.

  He tapped a few keys and the inside of the larder appeared on his screen. From his view the room was a bit askew. His subjects were negotiating their place on the floor. The male subject had made a makeshift bed out of flour sacks and some blankets. He was indicating that the female could have the bed, and he was sitting on the floor next to a shelving unit to prove his point. Out of camera shot, the observer imagined him removing some blankets from the lower portion of the shelf and making up a second bed on the floor. The female subject climbed onto the makeshift bed, pulled her knees up to her chest and got comfortable. The male subject lay down and gazed at the ceiling.

  After a few moments, the woman rolled over and faced the wall.

  The room was still. The male subject closed his eyes.

  The man who was watching everything took out his Blackberry and typed a text message into it. Within seconds it was sent.

  He smiled again.

  “The time is approaching, Heather…”

  NINETEEN

  Rupert opened his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, weighted. He blinked several times before he could keep them open. He took in his surroundings. The lounge drifted into focus. He recognised his leather armchair, his coffee table, his rug, his bookshelf.

  He didn’t recognise the naked man standing in front of him.

  Naked was the correct word in more than one sense. The guy wore nothing. No clothes. And he was hairless. He had no eyebrows, no chest hair and no pubic hair. His bald head shone brightly below the ceiling light, and his arms bulged, looking like condoms filled with walnuts. His erect penis was engorged. Rupert tried to avoid looking at it. On the dining table beside this intruder there was a duffel bag, and Rupert saw the handle of a baseball bat poking out of it. The bald man held a gleaming machete in one hand. He was shaking his arms, flexing the muscles. Veins bulged under his skin. His eyes were fixed on Rupert.

  Sweat was running down Rupert’s forehead.

  He needed to get away.

  He then realised he couldn’t move his arms.

  Rupert looked down in horror. His arms were tied behind one of his dining chairs, a chair he currently sat on. Rough rope, similar to the kind he had encountered on the bridge, bound his arms behind him. He tried moving his legs and realised they were bound too. For the first time he noticed he was wearing a pair of white briefs and nothing else. He knew he hadn’t been wearing these earlier. Had the naked man dressed him?

  He was immobile on the chair, at the whim of a nude madman who had a bag full of weapons. A man sporting an erection. He felt a scream building up in his lungs. Rupert tried not to look the man in the eyes.

  “I wouldn’t scream if I were you,” said the stranger in front of him. “Well, you can if you want, but no one will hear you. I just prefer a silent environment. Screaming will piss me off and trust me, you don’t want that.”

  Rupert finally looked the man in the eyes, and had the feeling that there was no return from this. Having made eye contact with the strange man, he swallowed his scream, choosing to let his breath out slowly instead. He didn’t think he had any tears left in him today. But the situation could change.

  “Why…Why are you here?”

  The man stood silent. He continued to gaze at Rupert, not moving, not shifting. Eventually he walked across to the bag and placed the machete inside it. He turned back to face Rupert and smiled. The smile was grotesque. There were no white teeth in his mouth. His tongue looked as if it had been sliced in two, perhaps as an attempt at ‘intentional body art’. He licked his lips. The man’s tongue looked truly repulsive.

  Rupert repeated his question. He expected no answer. “Why are you here?”

  The man smirked. His tongue shot out, again, suggestive of a snake: of a viper circling its prey. “I’m here because I was asked by God. He has bestowed upon me a quest to end your pitiful life.”

  Rupert gulped. The sweat running down his forehead was stinging his eyes.

  “I’m yanking your chain,” the man continued. “God didn’t send me. That’s the problem with you religious types. You always expect God to come down and save your arse. Like he’s going to bring the rapture and reveal himself for the sake of one person in seven billion. Well I’m sorry to ruin that illusion but God isn’t going to save you from anything that happens today. He’ll be lucky to be able to identify you at the pearly gates, if indeed you make it to heaven.”

  “What’s going to happen here? You can’t just come into people’s homes and start hurting them. It’s illegal, you’re a criminal. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone saw you arrive and called the police.”

  The man laughed. It was an evil laugh, in every way, tinged as it was with hatred and possibly years of torment and trauma. Rupert felt the goosebumps standing up on his arms and legs.

  Suddenly the man was beside Rupert. He breezed across the room with no sound and held a small blade under Rupert’s chin. The smile had gone from his face. It was replaced by a sneer, his rotten discoloured teeth bared, the lips pulled back above his gums. His left hand held Rupert’s skull in a vice-like grip. The blade felt cool against Rupert’s sweat-covered skin. The Reverend’s field of vision only allowed him to see the man’s right eye, as he was so close. The eye appeared to be a pool of darkness, the pupil dilated.

  “You think I’m a fucking moron?” the hairless man said. “You think I would drive over here with my dick swinging to and fro for all to see, and then walk into a house with a bag of fuckin’ weapons? You think I blasted a fuckin’ air horn the whole time? You think I stood around outside naked and waiting? Well, you would be right.”

  Rupert nodded slowly. He was aware of the blade’s proximity to his jugular vein. More sweat was dripping off him now. He swallowed, unsure whether speaking was a good idea.

  “You have time to get away. It’s not too late. I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can just leave and escape. No one needs to know.” Rupert stammered.

  “That won’t be necessary. You see, the reason I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if anyone saw me or not is this: you aren’t at home. Well, theoretically you are. But this isn’t your actual home, it’s a carbon copy. You don’t have neighbours here. There are no police. You don’t have shit. You have a fake house, and me. I guess you drew the short straw.”

  The man released his grip on Rupert and turned away. Rupert coughed, inadvertently catching a glimpse of the man’s jiggling buttocks as he walked back to his duffel bag. The intruder picked up the baseball bat, practiced a few vicious swings with it, and then placed it back in the bag. Rupert thought it looked like some sadistic pantomime.

  “What do you mean, this isn’t my house? I know my house when I see it.”

  “So you didn’t think that the tunnel outside was the big giveaway that this isn’t your fucking house? Come on! You don’t live beside an abyss of spikes, you live in Pentonfield Avenue in Surrey. You live alone. It’s pathetic.”

  Rupert realised his mouth was open in awe. How did this man know all this information about him? How could he possibly know that? He had never seen this man before in his life, yet here he was, spilling secrets about Rupert that only he and a few close friends knew.

  “How in God’s name do you know that about me?”
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  The man laughed again. “Trust me, I know a lot about you, Rupert Shaw. I know you avoid your mother’s phone calls. I know you cry yourself to sleep some nights. I know you worked for a corrupt clergyman. I know you jack off over old Playboy magazines. I’m sure that’s a sin by the way. Want me to go on?”

  “How?”

  “Let’s just say we have a mutual acquaintance who has a lot of spare time and a lot of money. And after this, I’ll have loads of money too.”

  The man dug into the duffel bag and produced a bowling bag. It was made of red leather and was big enough to hold an XL bowling ball. He placed it on the floor beside him. Seconds later he pulled out a hammer and a screwdriver. Taking infinite care, he placed them on the table. Rupert realised that this man took pride in his art, whatever his art was. Rupert looked on in morbid fascination and fear. The man completed assembling his array of tools by finding a blowtorch. He lit up the flame and then turned it off, placing it on the table. Then he turned to Rupert.

  The immobile victim looked back at him, a wave of fear washing over him, making him nauseous. Imprisoned as he was, he couldn’t move, but doubted if he’d have been able to even if he wasn’t tied up. In fact, Rupert was afraid that he’d have slid off the chair if he hadn’t been held there by ropes. For the first time, he was grateful for the restraining bonds. They enabled him to remain upright and conscious - to plan an attack.

  “Who hired you? I will double whatever he paid you!”

  The man turned to him and laughed. “I doubt it. I’m getting a hundred grand to put your sorry arse in the ground. You got that kind of cash? An ex-Reverend like you? I don’t fucking think so. Even if you are rich enough to pay me, I’m a man of my word. I’ve been paid. I’ll do the job. Simple as that. Now, stop talking. I have to prepare.”

  Rupert tested the ropes on his wrists. Out of sight behind him, it was tricky to gauge their situation, the knots, the position. They were tight, had no flexibility, no give. He couldn’t get out of this. He was trapped. Closing his eyes, Rupert knew he didn’t have a choice. He would have to concentrate like never before. It had been a few years since he had done what he was about to do, but being in this situation left him no choice. He lowered his chin.

  For the first time in two years, ex-Reverend Rupert Shaw had to do something he never thought he would again.

  He prayed.

  ***

  The man had business to attend to. His wager and his erection would have to wait. He’d left his ‘Choice’ in the capable hands of the best sadist that money could buy. He remembered reading the brochure about the guy. It said he kept himself alarmingly calm in the face of his adversary.

  There was also something about him coming back from some war, having seen all the guys in his unit mutilated. He’d single-handedly killed the enemy. The experience had altered him irrevocably. The best torture and killing skills known to man were something this guy practised for fun. A killer, trained by the government. Not a bad investment by any means.

  This character was willing to do anything for the right price. You paid a set fee and then additional for extra benefits. The basic fee was fifty grand. Then twenty grand for a bag of weapons. Ten grand for having him do the business in the nude. Then the final twenty grand for a nice cherry on the cake. He couldn’t wait to see that part. But first, the work had to be taken care of.

  A man writhed on the floor before him. He knew him as Alpha. This man had lived in excess his whole life.

  He had an excellent manicure. Past tense, in fact, for he no longer had his little finger. The small stump that had been this appendage now sat halfway across the room. Alpha’s hair had been pristine. Not anymore. It had been ripped out in clumps mere moments beforehand. The guy wore a dark suit. A decent suit, expensive. The observer was a bit of a connoisseur of suits and he estimated it had cost Alpha at least ten grand. A lot of money.

  It mattered for naught now. Alpha’s face was a crimson mess. His nose was broken, his lip split and his eye swollen shut. The suit was spattered with viscera and blood. A stream of gore still oozed from his broken nose. Alpha’s torturer looked him in the eyes.

  “My name is Charlie. No, that isn’t my real name,” he muttered. “I’ve been tasked with punishing you. It’s been agreed by both Delta and Bravo that I was the right man for the job. Think yourself lucky this was not a team effort.”

  Charlie took a breath and let it out. He picked up a sledgehammer and placed it against the wall beside him. Alpha shuffled uncomfortably on the ground.

  “You made a mistake by calling your Extraction Team. You know they don’t work for anyone but The Company. The second you called them, we had the call recorded and downloaded. Hell, we translated it into seven languages before you even hung up your fucking phone. The Extraction Team did the right thing by bringing you here. The Company pays their wages. You think they would have turned their backs on The Company? They wouldn’t have lasted two days. They aren’t that fucking stupid. Unlike you.”

  Alpha said nothing. A resigned look crept over his face.

  “You tried to run. You know that is beyond the rules of The Game. You have to play and win, and if you lose, you get punished. Shame really, they probably would have roughed you up a bit. Maybe raped your wife and left her breathing. Or taken several of your cars. Or your trust fund. But no, you ran. So unfortunately, you get the worst punishment. Your fault though, you picked a fucking Chink. Of all the Choices on offer, you picked a guy who can’t even say ‘egg fried rice’ properly. He was your plan in this night of wonders? We get to be part of a game of gods and you don’t even pick a strong candidate. And a fucking Parker Pen? Are you kidding me?”

  Charlie turned back to his monitor. After a few seconds, he tapped his keyboard. The screen changed. He then turned back.

  “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  The man on the floor just breathed. Pink snot spooled from his blood-congealing nostrils. He didn’t fight. He couldn’t get up. His knees were shattered: they had met the business end of the sledgehammer. It was the first thing Charlie had done to him after shaking his hand. Just moving sent pain coursing through his veins .

  “Fuck you. I will fucking kill you. Do you know who I am?” The injured man spat at his torturer. The sputum hit his lapel before running down the suit and hitting his shoe. There had been a tooth in the liquid. It rolled off Charlie’s shoe onto the ground.

  Charlie smiled. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sputum from his lapel. He then tossed it at the man lying on the floor. “No, I don’t know who you are! You’re insignificant. The shit on my shoes has more relevance in this world than you do…If I wasn’t so fucking busy, I would take my time with you. I would fucking enjoy it too…but rules is rules. They are there to be obeyed. And I fucking hate cheaters. Anyway, I have more important things to do.”

  Charlie rubbed his hands together and leant in close. The coppery smell of blood assaulted his nostrils. He smiled at Alpha. Alpha looked a mess, but underneath that, he could tell that Alpha was scared. Fearing for his life. He had the ultimate power: that of taking someone’s life.

  “For your impoliteness – and only that – you can blame yourself. The only person getting fucked will be your wife. I’ll make sure that I say hello from you to her, just before I tear her in two.”

  Charlie stood up. He gripped the sledgehammer beside him. Gripping it in two hands he swung with all of his might. The hammer swung down on the man’s head with a tremendous force. His skull split open like a soft melon. Brain, skull and sinew exploded all over the carpet. The body beneath twitched and convulsed, then there was no movement.

  Alpha was dead. Charlie dropped the hammer. He pulled his Blackberry from his pocket and dialled.

  “Yes…yes, I need you upstairs. Yes, fifteenth floor. Just some brains and bone and blood. In fact, you might need to organise a carpet fitter for the morning. Yes, I still want you to clean it up. The shit is messing up my office. I
have to work and I can’t do that with bits of body around me. Yes. Thank you. See you soon.”

  Charlie hung up. Pocketing his phone, he turned back to the monitor. He smiled in glee when he saw the sadist sharpening his machete. He was taking his time. He was methodical, a professional. Doing just as he had been told.

  Charlie sat back in his chair. His erection had returned.

  He sipped on his drink and resumed viewing.

  TWENTY

  Kathryn sipped a can of Coke and waited. The drink felt cool on her lips and it sent a refreshing calm throughout her body. She gulped a mouthful and put the can on the desk beside her, giving a small burp. The new clothes made her feel more comfortable and she didn’t feel as vulnerable anymore. She stood at the top of the first flight of stairs with an open set of double doors in front of her. She stepped through cautiously, unwilling to take any risks.

  The room before her was just an average office. All she could see was row upon row of desks with computer monitors set on top of them, infinitely patient technological soldiers standing to attention. Various corkboards adorned the walls. Random business strategy, graphs and team photos were pinned to these in haphazard fashion. Some walls had transparent Perspex panels, which were clearly used as makeshift drawing boards. Unknown numbers, diagrams and words were written on them with arrows indicating they were related to the next line of text in some specific manner.

  The desks were littered with the individual workers’ possessions: photos, name badges and various other personal items. Some chairs even had coats hung on their seatbacks. On several desks sat identical blue mugs. Judging by the company slogans scattered around, it was clear that these were company branded mugs for the employees. Bulky white printers sat in each corner of the room. Some desks were separated by grey dividers. A huge desk was at one end of the room, looking very much like it belonged to the boss: this desk was not partnered with anyone else’s and it also held a laptop charger dock.