by Paige Dearth
“OK, but…” Maggie hesitated, worried that John William would find out where they lived.
“You just do what I’m tellin’ ya. Everything will be fine,” Tony assured her.
It took Tony and Vincent forty-five minutes to get from South Philly to the bowling alley in the suburbs. Maggie saw them before they saw her. In fact, she wasn’t sure they saw her at all because they didn’t acknowledge her. She watched them enter the bar. Then she told Joey it was time to leave.
“But that asshole is still in the bar,” Joey argued. “What if he follows us home?”
Maggie could see John William sitting on the barstool closest to the door. He gave her a menacing wave.
“We have to go, Joey. We can’t stay at the bowling alley forever. It’ll be OK. Trust me,” Maggie assured her.
Maggie and Joey went up to the counter, paid for their lane, and then proceeded out to their car. Sure enough, John William was starting his date-rape, child-stealing, murder van when Maggie backed out of the parking space. As she drove slowly back to her apartment, she watched him following in the rearview mirror. She didn’t know what kind of car Tony and Vincent drove. She began to worry that they hadn’t recognized him in the bar, and John William had managed to get away from them. Maggie pulled into a space at her complex and led Joey up to their apartment.
She watched John William from the window until finally he drove off.
Maggie didn’t dare call Tony again to confirm they had followed John William. She only hoped they had, and they would threaten him enough that he would never think about going near her or Joey again. Maggie could not conceive of what Tony and Vincent had planned for John William to keep him away from her.
Chapter One Hundred Forty-Eight
Tony called his boss, Salvatore, from the bowling alley. Tony and Vincent had told Salvatore all about Maggie and her trauma as a young child. Salvatore also knew that Maggie was Emma’s only good friend from Double Visions, and Salvatore adored Emma.
“Sal, ’member that girl we talked about? Emma’s friend, Maggie, from Doubles? She’s the one who lost her little boy not too long ago to AIDS,” Tony explained.
“Yeah, Tony, I remember. Why? What’s going on?” Salvatore asked.
“Well, Maggie called us. She and her kid were bowling and that mother-fuckin’, child-stealing ass-wipe shows up. This is the same guy who kidnapped her. Now the bastard is lurking around and threatenin’ her. The girl was real scared, so Vincent and me drove here to the bowling alley. Now, we’re sittin’ here, watchin’ the douche bag drink a beer at the bar. You know what we talked about if it ever came to this. We’re gonna move on it this time,” Tony said.
“Yeah, do what you have to do. But stick to the plan. Keep things clean and simple. Are you bringing in soldiers to take care of this?” Salvatore asked.
“Nah, me and Vincent are gonna enjoy takin’ care of this one on our own. I’m gonna call a couple of the guys to help with the heavy liftin’, though.”
Tony and Vincent sat in the bar and waited for John William to finish his beer. As he stood to leave, the two mobsters followed. They saw him get into his van and follow Maggie back to her apartment. They watched as he scowled at Maggie and Joey as they got out of their car and rushed into their apartment. When John William drove off fifteen minutes later, Tony and Vincent followed him.
Tony and Vincent already knew where John William lived. They had followed him home from the Melrose. But today, they trailed him to be sure he didn’t go somewhere other than his home.
John William parked in front of a row home on Erie Avenue in Philadelphia. The two men sat and watched as John William heaved his lanky body up the broken cement steps to his equally broken-down home.
The front porch was littered with broken chairs and large, warped, cardboard boxes filled with old car parts and rusty appliances.
“Let’s give him ten minutes, then we’ll move,” Vincent said.
Tony looked in his rearview mirror at the men who came to help them. The men watched the house as dim lights illuminated the first floor and then the second floor.
“That must be the dipshit’s bedroom,” Vincent commented, pointing to the second floor.
Tony nodded. “It’s time to move.”
Tony, Vincent, and two of their meanest soldiers crossed the street. The front door was easy for one of the soldiers to unlock. Inside the house, there were pictures of naked children strewn across the ripped, busted-up sofa. It wasn’t lost on Tony or Vincent that the pictures of the innocent young children were actual photographs.
“Sick fuck,” Vincent whispered.
The four men quietly made their way up to the second floor and to the room at the front of the house. All of the lights were off by now, and the creeper lay sleeping in bed. The men followed the sound of snoring in the dark.
They moved swiftly to the four corners of the bed. Once they were all in position, Tony bent over John William and grasped him around the throat. John William drew in a quick breath as his eyes snapped open.
“What do you want?” John William managed.
“We wanna talk about a girl named Maggie and a little boy, who just died of AIDS, mind you, named Seth. You remember ’em, don’t cha?” Vincent said.
John William began to struggle. But the four men had him pinned to the bed.
“Yeah, we thought you’d remember ’em, since ya was at the bowling alley today watchin’ Maggie,” Tony remarked.
“So ya see, we understand ya took them when they was just little. Ya remember doin’ that, right?” Vincent said.
John William remained still. He began breathing deeply through his nostrils, and then he broke into grotesque laughter. Without knowing who Tony and Vincent were or that they were high on the Philadelphia mafia food chain, his thoughts gravitated to the creatures he worked for and their ability to get even. John William smoldered with defiance, and his eyes narrowed with evil amusement.
“You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” John William stated.
The lines around Tony’s mouth tightened. Then he lifted his chin slowly and took a long, exaggerated breath in through his nose.
“See, now, you probably shouldn’t have said that,” Tony said, “’cause now you’re just instigatin’ us to make things even more painful for ya.” Tony rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Although, I ain’t so sure that what you have comin’ to ya could be any more painful.”
Tony looked to Vincent and the other two mobsters, who all returned his contagious smile. John William struggled against the men who held him to the bed, and in an instant, Vincent snapped a cuff around John William’s wrist, pushed him up on his side, yanked his other arm behind his back, and cuffed the other wrist. John William kicked at the men until Tony pulled a jagged twelve-inch blade from the holster at the back of his belt and jammed it into John William’s thigh.
“You stop kickin’, or I’ll cut your fuckin’ legs off,” Tony threatened.
Finally, John William realized that he was in deep shit. Fear replaced the arrogance on his face. His wide eyes and the downward turn of his sloppy lips were telltale signs that he was scared. The four men quickly moved John William from the house into Tony and Vincent’s car.
“Try not to leave any pig scum on my seats,” Tony remarked to John William.
“Fuck you!” John William yelled.
With the car still in park, Vincent leaned over the backseat and clobbered John William in the face with a nose-splattering punch.
“Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut,” Vincent warned.
“You didn’t get any of that Chester-the-molester blood on my seat, did you, Vin?” Tony mocked.
“Nah, but I got some on my hand,” Vincent responded. He pulled a towel from under the front seat and wiped off his fist.
“Ya think we should cover his eyes, Vin? Or should we let him see where he’s goin’?” Tony asked, tormenting John William.
“Nah, I think we oughta keep the sick pri
ck guessin’. I’ll cover his eyes. That way, it’ll be a big surprise.” Vincent laughed.
Vincent leaned over the front seat again, cut John William’s dirty undershirt from his chest with a knife, and tied it around his head, over his eyes.
“You like this whole blindfold thing, don’t ya, scumbag? You’re into kinky shit, right?” Vincent taunted.
John William remained motionless in the backseat of Tony’s car; blood oozed from his nose and dripped over his fleshy, misshapen, swollen lips. His mind whirled as the car drove at a high rate of speed. Then they began to turn—left, left again, right, left…Where are they taking me? John William wondered.
Then gravel crunched under the tires as the car inched its way toward Tony and Vincent’s destination. Tony stopped the car and turned off the engine. John William focused on getting through whatever torture they had in store for him and then getting back home to let Myles know he’d need help to get even with these thugs.
“Let’s go, you dimwit,” Vincent snarled. He roughly pulled John William from the backseat of the car.
John William’s ankles had been tied together, and he hobbled to keep his balance. Vincent, Tony, and the other two mobsters lifted John William and carried him feet first into an old, deserted house in Bucks County that was owned by the mob family.
“Take him downstairs,” Tony barked. “We got everything waitin’ for him.”
Down in the basement, Vincent removed the shirt that covered John William’s eyes, and Tony switched on the flashlight.
“Nice place, ain’t it?” Tony growled. “Probably a step up from that prison where you were taking those kids.”
John William followed the beam of light along the splintered ceiling rafters to the cinder block walls. Then the light went to the dirt floor, which was dotted with puddles of stale water where rain leaked in through eroded cinder blocks. He breathed a small sigh of relief; it was a nasty, rotten place, but no worse than the prison where Maggie and Seth had lived.
John William looked up at Tony. “What do you want from me?”
Tony smiled wickedly. “Well, now that’s a good question. We want to know who your boss is, that’s all.”
John William returned an evil smile. “You don’t have a chance in hell of getting me to tell you anything.”
“Oh, I see,” Tony said calmly. Then Tony lifted his arm and shone the flashlight at a chair ten feet from where they stood. “Move him closer,” Tony said.
Tony and Vincent could feel the fear in the air as John William gawked at his future.
“Yeah, you ain’t such a smartass now, are ya?” Vincent said.
“This here is called the Judas chair—some medieval contraption we like to use on special people like you,” Tony said in an icy voice.
As John William got a better look at the chair, his body began to shake. Over a thousand sharp, metal spikes covered the back, armrests, seat, leg rests, and footrests. John William had seen a lot of sick shit in his business, but this was altogether different. The chair screamed pain and agony.
Then, John William reverted to the nine-year-old boy tied by his parents to the chair under the stairs. His phobia of being in tight spaces, tied up, or confined, came crashing down on him. He suddenly felt as though he was being choked. His legs began to tremble.
“So, here’s what’s gonna happen…you’re gonna tell us who the boss of your kiddy ring is. ’Cause if you don’t, guess where you’re goin’?” Tony said. “Right. You’re gonna sit in that chair, and all those sharp, spikey things are gonna rip through your rotted flesh.”
Through the thick fog of his anxiety attack, John William considered his options. If he told them what they wanted to know, Myles’s organization would surely kill him—they’d probably shoot him in the head. However, if he didn’t, these guys were going to strap him in the chair and make sure his death was long and excruciatingly painful. He decided quickly that he’d rather be shot in the head. He might even have a chance to run before Myles and the other sex traffickers could find him.
“Speak fucker!” Tony yelled, his patience wearing thin. “You want to remain silent, huh?”
“If I tell you, then you’ll let me go, right?” John William asked, eyeing the chair with pure fear.
“Like I said, ya tell us who the head guy is or you’re gonna have a seat in dat chair.”
“His name is Myles Cabello,” John William admitted.
“Oh yeah?” Vincent said. “And where does this asshole, Myles Cabello, live?”
“In New York City,” John William confessed.
“Is this Myles guy the same guy who made Maggie his girl?” Tony asked.
John William nodded.
“Let’s just review here for a minute. This Myles guy, dis grown fucker, took Maggie, an eleven-year-old kid, as his girlfriend, right?” Tony asked, his voice becoming low and steady.
John William looked at him. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“I see. So then let me get somethin’ else straight. You’re the lick-ass that took Maggie away from her family, and then you brought her to this guy, Myles, who had sex wit’ her all da time. Do I have dat right?” Tony said.
John William nodded.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear ya,” Tony said with rage.
“Yes…yes. I took her because Myles was the boss, and he told me what to do,” John William said, trying to deflect the blame.
“Hmmm, that’s interesting. So, are ya sayin’ that when ya forced Maggie to have sex down in the basement of some house where ya kept kids in dog kennels, this shithead, Myles, made ya do that too?” Vincent asked.
John William shook his head. “That was a mistake, and I’m sorry I ever did that to her. I’ll apologize to her, I swear I will.”
“You know what cha are? You’re a filthy little weasel who hurts little kids. Do ya think you’re foolin’ us? Ya think we’re stupid?” Vincent said, clutching John William’s chin in his large hand.
Vincent released his grip and turned to Tony. “What do ya think we oughta do with him, Tone?”
Tony pulled a fat cigar from his pocket, bit off the tip, spit it on the dirt floor, and worked on lighting it. After several minutes had passed, he finally spoke. “Well, he told us what we wanted to know. But he’s a real fuckin’ menace to society, and well, little Seth died ’cause of what he did and all. And, well, Maggie told us a couple of other kids under his care died, too, when they lived in dat house. So I say we do what we said we were gonna do,” he stated.
“Get all of his clothes off,” Tony told the two mobsters, who were there to help.
Chapter One Hundred Forty-Nine
John William’s clothes were cut from his body, and he stood in the damp, dark basement naked and scared. The four men stood around him in a circle, each of them watching him, provoking the same fear that he’d made so many children feel. They knew it would never be possible to match the fear of a helpless child who had been taken from her family, but they wanted him to get as close to that breaking point as possible.
One of the mobsters pushed John William toward the chair. Then the other gangster gave him a hard nudge.
“Please, I told you everything I know,” John William begged. “You said you would let me go if I told you.”
Tony cocked his head to the side and looked at Vincent. “Did we say dat? We never said we’d let him go, did we?”
“Nope, I didn’t hear nobody say nuttin’. Did you two fellas hear me or Tony say we’d let this good-for-nuttin’ little bitch go?” Vincent asked the two mobsters.
They both shook their heads. Their pinched expressions looked set in concrete. They were serious about the work that had to be done.
Tony grabbed John William by the cuffs around his wrists and dragged him close enough to the chair that his knees were touching the edges of the spiked leg rests.
“Now, ya see these spikes? What happens is when ya sit on the chair, those sharp, metal spikes go into your skin. And when dat happen
s, you’ll start to bleed real slow, ’cause ya see, if you’re strapped down real tight to the chair, which ya will be, those spikes will stick in ya, and it won’t let the blood drain outta ya real fast. Eventually, you’ll bleed to death, but nice and slow, see? And when you move around, or we move ya ourselves, those spikes dat are already stuck in your skin—did I mention that?—they’ll hurt like hell. In fact, I’m sure it’ll feel like you’re actually in hell,” Tony taunted to prolong John William’s anxiety.
Even in the cold basement with its dirt floor and cinder block walls, the sweat was pouring down John William’s face, chest, and back. As he stood with his knees touching the formidable chair, he understood his fate. Tony and Vincent couldn’t know that they had picked the one form of death that John William feared most. His memories of when he was a small boy returned, and he could vividly recall his parents tying him to the metal chair naked and leaving him in the small closet under the stairs for hours. John William was finally feeling the fear and panic that the children he had kidnapped felt when they awakened in the back of his van.
Tony stepped closer to John William, who felt Tony’s hot breath on his face as he said, “It’s time, John William. By the way, who da fuck in their right mind calls themselves by their first and middle name? The only people I can think of who do dat are serial killers. Did ya ever notice that, Vin? Those serial killer motherfuckers use their first and middle names so they always got three fuckin’ names. Probably ’cause they’re all crazy bitches like this sorry-ass slob.”
“You know, Tone, I never thought about dat. You’re right, though…they always got three names,” Vincent said, playing along to extend John William’s discomfort.
Tony took a step away from John William. The two mobsters stepped forward and removed his handcuffs. Then they turned John William so his back was facing the chair. They slammed him down into the staked chair. Screams of terror erupted from John William’s very core. He squirmed, attempting to get off the chair, but that only drove the metal stakes farther into his flesh. Then Tony fastened one of the leather armrest straps as tightly as he could; Vincent did the honors on the other side. They bent down and strapped John William’s ankles as tightly as possible to the legs of the chair, embedding spikes into his calves and thighs. Finally, they fastened the strap around his neck. John William was transported into hell, a hell on earth, as he waited for death.