I paused to consider my answer. Given that half my pinkie was gone, I'd lost the ability to bullshit him even a little. He would see right through it, and my own seething anger wouldn't allow it. I decided to cut right to the chase. "I'm here for the same reason I went to see Merric."
At the mention of Merric, Tank Top and the Twins all tensed, but moved no closer as Rifkin watched me. "I've seen the video. If you think you can defeat all four of us and then walk out the front door, you're full of shit."
We both knew that already, he just felt the need to say it aloud. Despite his appearance of being in control, he was OCD and had Little-Man Syndrome, compounded by being in a wheelchair.
"I didn't come in here thinking that," I said. "I came in here because I was told you're the man to speak with. I didn't seek out Merric to kill him and I got no pleasure from doing it."
"So then why'd you do it?" Rifkin asked. There wasn't near the anger in his voice that I expected. The tone belied more annoyance than intensity.
I studied Rifkin for a moment, my mind trying to piece together his reaction. "You don't actually care that I killed Merric.”
Rifkin made a face. "Merric was a piece of shit. A mid-level crony that thought he was big-time. I can have him replaced by lunch. I'm more annoyed that I have to go the trouble than I am that you took him out."
So this was business. Clearly one didn't amass what Rifkin had here by being a hot head and making rash decisions. He was pissed I messed with his operation. Maybe he would be willing to negotiate after all. For better or worse, I decided to lay my cards on the table.
"He stole the wrong kid."
Rifkin's eyes flicked between his men and back to me. A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he managed to keep his face even. "He did what?"
"I killed Merric because he stole my niece. I went to him to try and negotiate her return. He wouldn't talk business and he threatened to kill me, so I did what I had to do."
Rifkin returned his hands back in front of him. He shook his head and muttered under his breath. "That stupid son of a bitch. Wouldn't listen to a thing I said, always thought he was so much smarter than everybody else."
I shook my head. "Stealing the daughter of a local hero isn't very damn smart.”
His eyes shot to me, narrowing a bit. They ran over me again, a tiny trace of confusion on his face.
"Oh no, not me," I said. "She's my niece, but her father was a very famous football player in Columbus. Merric's men put him in a coma and made a hell of a mess of things."
Rifkin switched his gaze to Tank Top and shook his head again. "That son of a bitch got off easy getting shot in the chest. How many times have I told him about keeping a low profile and covering his tracks?"
I realized I was pressing my luck, but I inserted one more comment. My hand hurt like hell and if I could hurry this along before my steaming hatred for everyone in the room exploded, I needed to do so. "His tracks were so obvious I managed to track him all the way to this room in a couple of hours."
His eyes shot back to me, hard. I kept wondering how he found himself confined to that wheelchair and how much I would like to finish the job for him.
"So you did," he said. "And now that you're here, what the hell do you want?"
"I want my niece," I fired back without pause.
Rifkin lowered his gaze to his desk. He reached out with his left hand and straightened a row of pencils lined up in the middle of it, his OCD on full display again. "I realize you probably are a really big man wherever it is you come from, but allow me to make a few things clear. One, I'm the only one that gives orders in my office-"
"I wasn't giving a order, just answering your question," I inserted. Yet again, the image of Annie was the only thing keeping me on the level.
Rifkin held up a finger to silence me, a move that always made my blood boil.
"And two, nobody messes with my business. You've already caused quite an inconvenience for me tonight by removing one of my major suppliers."
"I just want my niece," I said. "I can pay you."
"Stop interrupting me!" Rifkin shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls. Beside me all three men took a half step closer, all of them within arm's reach now. In theory I could snap a quick series of moves, divert one of their guns to hit another, take it and clean house.
In reality, I was about to become a human punching bag. I still didn't really care. Despite that, I said nothing, nodding instead.
"There is no negotiating," Rifkin said. "The clients that come to me offer far more than just their money, they offer their trust and they offer silence. If I fail to deliver, I will have lost all three."
I paused to make sure he was done speaking and said, "Only two. I can pay you, and I'm sure you can have another child here in no time." I almost said he could have it here by nine, but I caught myself in time. I wasn't sure if he knew I'd seen the text message, but I couldn't afford to tip my hand.
I felt like a first-class asshole even insinuating that he find another child and put their family through what he'd done to ours, but I didn't really care. Just like I don't believe people should be sending all their money to starving people overseas when there are starving people down the street, I believe in taking care of your own.
Annie was my own.
"You're not getting it," Rifkin said. His tone was really, really starting to grate on me. "These people are buying far more than just a child. They are buying peace of mind and they are buying a relationship. The people I do business with aren't just interested in children, they are interested in drugs, cars, merchandise. The amount of money they represent is worth far more to me than your entire life."
Again he felt the need to put into words what we both already knew. "So there's nothing I can say?"
"Nothing at all," Rifkin said, shaking his head. A smug smile traced his lips. "But thanks for stopping by. Tracking down Merric's killer would have been a pain in the ass."
I lowered my eyes to the ground as Rifkin laughed aloud. He raised his chin towards Tank Top and made a flippant motion with his hand. "Get his ass out of here. Take him down to the water, you know the spot. Be sure to weight him down so the catfish take care of the remains for us."
I raised my eyes to stare in malevolence at Rifkin. Every nerve in my body stood on end as I squeezed the bloody stump of my pinkie tight in my hand. Across from me he stared back and smiled, even going as far as to wave as the Spandex Twins tugged me backwards.
I let my gaze linger on him halfway across the room before turning and heading for the door. The Twins fell in a few feet behind me as Tank Top led the way, parting the doors in the middle for me to pass through.
Just before I got there, I shuffle stepped to the side and pulled a thick volume from the bookshelf. Rotating on the ball of my foot I flung it as hard as I could, the book spinning in flight like a makeshift Frisbee.
The back covers fluttered open as it flew, a few pages flapping in the air. Rifkin flailed with his arms to try and move his wheelchair but was too slow as the book slammed into his shoulder, knocking him to the floor. His chair went to its side in a clatter, the sound of cursing and fumbling limbs filling the air.
The Twins both sprinted around to the backside of the desk as a cocksure smile crossed my face. I opened my mouth to make a smartass comment to the bald bastard flopping on the ground like a seal, but I never got the chance.
The butt of Tank Top's gun beat me to it, connecting flush with the base of my skull. One second I was enjoying Rifkin getting a tiny sliver of comeuppance, the next the world was completely black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A splash of lukewarm water hit me square in the face, waking me from my slumber. It soaked the front of my hair and washed across my face, dripping down onto my shirt. A few droplets found their way into my nostrils and the familiar smell of ammonia came to mind.
Piss.
The bastards threw piss on me.
I shook my head hard to the side to thro
w the vile liquid off of me, a poor decision on my part as the world started spinning. I stopped moving and stared straight ahead for a few moments, willing my eyes to focus on the toes of my boots in front of me. When finally they receded from three pairs to just one I exhaled hard, sending a plume of urine and spittle into the air.
"That was pretty fucking stupid on your part," Tank Top said, standing over me with a small bucket still in hand.
I was seated against a short concrete wall behind the house, my back flush against the cold blocks behind me. Dawn was now upon us, the sky lightening towards gray as a heavy swath of clouds overhead kept the sun from peeking through. The docks to my left were void of life. I could see a few faces looking out the windows of the second floor towards us, but we were the only two people around. The sounds of the river lapping against the docks and the occasional call of a gull were the only sounds.
"Why's that?" I grunted. I made no attempt to stand, as it was hard enough just to mutter those two words. The back of my head throbbed so badly, it wasn't until I noticed the wad of white gauze wrapped around my pinkie that I even remembered it wasn't there anymore.
Tank Top stared down at me for a moment, his nostrils flaring. Then he did something that was far more chilling than anything he could have said.
He smiled.
Two gold teeth poked out behind his thin lips as a sadistic smile spread across his face. "On your feet.”
He didn't have to say what he was thinking, the message was already received. If I had gone easy, he would have shot me in the head. As it were, he now got to beat the hell out of me first. He was far from the biggest guy I'd crossed paths with in the last twenty-four hours, but I had no doubt he was more than capable of handling the job. One doesn't ascend to the right hand post of a guy like Rifkin without being able to handle himself in a scrap.
And let's be honest, I was far from one hundred percent. It wouldn't exactly be a fair fight to begin with.
I considered a smart ass remark, but the words eluded me. The only things I could think of were the pounding in my head and the impending situation I was about to find myself in. I rolled to my side, braced my hands on the ground and pulled my feet up beneath me. I rose to full height as slowly as I could, but a massive bout of spinning still hit me full on. Unable to steady myself I staggered several steps to the side before sagging against the wall. Behind me I heard Tank Top smirk as I took in deep breaths and waited for the pressure in my head to recede once again.
Unlike earlier in the evening, it didn't really subside but more like evened out. I guess there are only so many shots one can take in a night and expect to keep bouncing back. Once I was content that I could walk without keeling over, I stood to full height and turned to face Tank Top. "Where to?"
He swapped the bucket in his hand for the automatic weapon I still couldn't identify and held it across his torso. With a small jerk of his head he motioned at a set of concrete stairs descending towards a mud path along the water's edge.
Filled with dread, I started walking.
The stairwell descended a half dozen concrete steps before giving way to a muddy trail. It extended in a loose serpentine pattern along the water's edge past the raised concrete landing of Pier Three and on towards Pier Four. The ground to the right was littered with chunks of driftwood and bits of garbage bleached clean from exposure to the elements. To the left the river lapped up onto the bank, a thin layer of slime covering the clay lined edge.
A putrid smell hung in the air, though I couldn't tell if it was from something outside or my shirt still damp with piss.
In silence we walked past Pier Four. Rifkin's base and the warehouses of Pier Three slid from view behind us as we pushed forward. Every few steps I threw a glance up at Pier Four as it passed by, hoping for some sign of life that never showed. The view from the water's edge was even more hopeless than it had been from the street.
The pounding in my head receded a tiny bit as we walked, the blood heading south and dispersing itself in places other than the backs of my eyes. The cool morning air felt good on my skin and several times I glanced up at the grey clouds and hoped for a few drops of rain. I continued to take deep breaths as we walked, trying in vain to clear my head and devise some sort of plan.
For all my effort, nothing came to mind.
Tank Top allowed me to take the lead as we pushed on past Pier Four, exerting no effort to hurry me along as we went. I guessed that killing me was probably the only thing on his to-do list for the morning. He'd already made it clear he intended to enjoy this, that smile on the back porch telling me everything I needed to know. It was not going to be quick and it was not going to be painless.
The concrete wall of Pier Four passed by to our right. Ahead of us Pier Five rose in a matching construction, a narrow alleyway stretching between the two. Measuring almost twelve feet across, the ground was the same clay as the bank. Small piles of wood chips and flotsam were heaped in various locations and two deep ruts wound through it, heavy tire tracks pressed into the mud.
"Stop," Tank Top said behind me. I did as he ordered, glancing around. The concrete piers extended up on either side of us, their walls stretching up almost ten feet high from the muddy river bottom. A heavy iron gate stood closed over seventy yards down at the other end of the alley, the front of it covered in black tar paper. No weapons of any kind were visible and we were completely hidden from the world.
My mind recalled the knife buried inside my boot, but quickly reasoned there was no way to get to it before Tank Top unloaded an entire clip into me. I was as good as dead.
I raised the remains of my hands from my side and turned to face Tank Top. "You don't have to do this you know."
The smug expression on his face morphed into something bordering on disgust. "Come on now. Incredible stupidity aside, you've been pretty damn ballsy this morning. Don't ruin it now by being a bitch."
In any other situation, I would have thrown myself across the muddy ground at him. After the night I'd had and the situation I was in, the words barely registered with me. "Like I told Rifkin, I don't give a damn about any of you guys. I just want my niece."
"And like Rifkin told me, he wants you dead," Tank Top said.
"I can pay you," I said. "Fifty thousand. Cash. We can go get it right now."
Tank Top made a face. "First off, if I wanted your money, I'd just make you go get it and then kill you. Second, you really thought you could buy Rifkin for fifty K? He makes more money than that before he eats breakfast every morning."
I shook my head. "Not trying to buy Rifkin. Trying to buy my niece."
Tank Top ignored the statement and took two steps back. He lowered the weapon and leaned it against the concrete wall behind him, barrel pointing up. The same sick smile spread across his face as he stepped forward and rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck from side to side. "Let's do this. I don't have all day to stand here talking to you."
My hands dropped by my sides. I had expected him to shoot me a few times in various places, stand and watch as I bled out. Maybe use a knife to remove a few more digits or appendages. Some more fingers, an ear, maybe my nose. I knew all along he would take a few swings at me, but I wasn't expecting him to actually beat me to death.
My mind rifled through my position, telling me what I already knew. I had no options. I was going to stand here and try to fight this sadistic bastard and hope he ended it quick.
Tank Top bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, then fell motionless. His hands swung back down to his sides and he stared at me full in the face. "And just to make sure this is a bit of a challenge for me, we did some digging while you were unconscious. It didn't take long for us to figure out which child was the daughter of a former Ohio State football player. Ricky Borden, I think it was?"
The barbed wire tangle leapt into my throat. Blood began to pump hard through my body and for the first time since I'd woken up, I didn't notice it tearing through the back of my head. My gaze hardene
d, but I said nothing.
The corner of his mouth turned up. "Judging by your reaction, that must be it. And yes, her little ass is on that boat."
I knew the son of a bitch was pressing my buttons, but I didn't care. If he wanted me fighting mad, he had it.
A guttural yell erupted from deep in my throat as the heels of my boots dug into the soft mud and hurtled me forward. I was bent at the waist and covered the ground in long uneven strides, resembling a raptor as I made my way straight for him. He watched me approach with a face that bordered on amusement, easily stepping to the side. As my momentum carried me past he dropped the side of his fist down between my shoulder blades, a sledgehammer blow that almost folded me in half.
"That's the spirit boy!" Tank Top goaded, his hands formed into loose fists by his side as he bounced on his feet. I glared up at him with heavily lidded eyes, his very visage coming to represent everything I'd been through in the past few days. Another cry poured from me as I charged again, aiming for center mass.
This time my shoulder landed square in his stomach. I tried to form my right hand into a fist to throw at him, but the balled up knob of my pinkie was left jutting high into the air. Before I could think to make another move at him his hands were under my armpits and he jerked to the side with one quick movement.
My body rotated as I passed through the air, landing on my right hip and rolling through to my knees. I tried to push myself to a standing position, but he was already on me, snapping down a hard right to my cheek.
The familiar salty taste of blood filled my mouth. The blow barely registered through my adrenaline fueled rage as I spit a stream of red spittle into the mud and pushed myself to a standing position.
Tank Top continued to bounce across from me. It was obvious he was toying with me, but I didn't care. This bastard would not be the reason Annie never went home.
A third time I moved forward, though much slower. I balled my right hand up the best I could and kept my left extended out like a knife, ready to strike with the cast at the first opening. An inch at a time I went forward towards Tank Top, who stayed back without trying to engage me. It would have been easier to play defense against him, but he knew better than to give me that option.
21 Hours Page 14