“Did you know that Mr. Fawkes kicked her out for getting pregnant with your child?” He pushes his glasses up his nose and crosses one leg over the other as if we’re in some sort of psychotherapy session.
“Yes. He approached me a few months afterward. He was back in debt and when I suggested that his daughter could work off his debt again, he told me that she had gotten pregnant and he kicked the slut out. He claims it was mine, but you know how young girls are. Once you give them some good sex they start having it with everyone. He wasn’t going to have an underage whore in his house, he’d said. I was disappointed, but what happens in their family is their business,” I tell him with a slight shrug.
“How did he repay his debt?” the mook says, leaning forward again.
“He tried to blackmail me. Telling me that his daughter was only thirteen or some shit like that. He told me that he would go to the law and have me arrested for child molestation or statutory rape or whatever. So I gutted him in his doorway, then I went to find that useless bitch of a wife and she paid his debt. It took a week, but I made sure she had fun before I gutted her, too.” My blood still boils with the memory. I still would have taken her, even if I’d have known she was thirteen. A debt is a debt and the price was set.
“She was fourteen years old,” he says quietly, looking at me intently. This jerk-off is a hard read. I can’t tell if he really doesn’t care or if he’s just pretending that he doesn’t care.
“So? She was paying his debt. She enjoyed herself. They always enjoy themselves.” I really don’t understand everyone’s problem with age. If she can give birth, then she’s old enough to have sex. At least I know that if they’re with me they enjoy it.
“Do you know what happened to your child?” he asks me, leaning back with his hands in his pockets.
“No, I have no fucking clue what is going on with Maya. You bastards haven’t let me talk to her.” I snarl at him.
“Not her, the other one. The one Elizabeth had.”
“Don’t give a shit. She’s not mine.”
“So, Elizabeth never came to you about Angela?”
“Nope, never heard from her again.” I’m done talking to this jack-off. I already said more than I normally do, but really, he can’t prove anything I just said, and besides, I know exactly who he is. “Look, I’m tired of this jibber-jabber. I’m beginning to feel like a bitch in a hair salon. I answered your questions, so let me go and we can forget this ever happened, okay?”
“That’s the wrong answer, Timo.”
The machine behind me whirs to life and I feel the pressure increase in my ass. I start panicking. “Hey now! No need to bring that into the conversation. You can just stop that right now!”
“I told you what would happen if you lied. You are now stretched one click further. Don’t forget the little spikes,” he deadpans.
“You fucking mook! I’m going to fucking skin you and wear it for Hallow-fucking-ween,” I scream at him.
The machine whirs again and the pressure gets even greater. It was a little painful to begin with, and this hurts a lot worse. Nothing sharp like a stabbing pain, but it’s deep down like a cut in a scar. It can be felt and it registers that it hurts, but it’s still not sharp and sudden.
“I can sit here all day, Mr. Hauer. Eventually, you’ll run out of pear and your rectum will be ripped open. It’s completely up to you.” He takes another drink of water, looking as though we were discussing the latest development of whatever the fuck it is he does.
I decide to sit in silence. Fuck him, he won’t go further, he’d be stupid to not be afraid of the Scarellis.
He looks at me. His eyes are dead. He has eyes like Phillip had when he’s interrogating a scumbag. Both of their eyes are emotionless and obviously they have no care about that person or their well-being. Except when it came time to make them die, then Phillip’s eyes would light up with a sick kind of glee. I wonder if the good doctor’s would, too. He pulls the remote out this time and sets it on his leg and pushes a button. Again, the machine comes to life, the pressure increases, and I can feel what I can only imagine is blood dripping down my balls.
“Do you realize who I fucking work with?” I ask him.
“The Scarelli family. You’re an underboss to Silvestro Scarelli, who’s old and retiring soon. His son Antonio will be taking over as boss and you’ll essentially be a dead man because you killed his sister.” He talks like he’s reciting a textbook. What’s up with this freak?
“He was fucking my wife! He was fucking his own sister!” Spittle flies from my mouth.
“Yes, there is that, but still, he hasn’t forgiven you for it, has he?” He leans forward and smiles slightly. “Do you think they’ll honestly miss you? Talk has it that Silvestro is moving Stefano into your position anyway, why would it bother them to do it sooner?”
He doesn’t know about the Russians moving in. If he did, he’d know that moving Stefano in now would weaken the family and would cause the fucking Ruskies to move into Hartford. I smile back at him. This asshole doesn’t know everything, he just likes to think that he does.
“It probably wouldn’t bother him, but Si isn’t going to move me out. I am too useful to him. I am too valuable to him. So, keep this up. If you intend to kill me, know that whatever is done here, Si will reap ten-fold from you. I hope you have your children’s last moments taken care of because he’ll probably have his men rape their fucking eye sockets in front of you.”
He simply smiles, and this smile reaches his eyes. This fucker is demented. He’s willing to sacrifice his children, and for what, the location of a briefcase? Dumbass.
“Did Elizabeth ever contact you again about Angela?” This asshole is like a dog with a bone. He just won’t let it go.
I remain silent. Fuck him.
The pressure builds again as the pear opens my ass further. I can hear drops below me, and I glance down and see blood beginning to pool on the mirror below my feet. I don’t know what’s worse, feeling it run down my legs, or seeing it on the mirror below me. This time the pain is so great that I can’t help but scream out. My body is trying its best to close my rectum but it only causes more pain. And the more I hurt, the more it happens.
I try hard to breathe through the pain. I can handle this. I’m built to handle this. I’ll be damned if I let this weak-ass dildo see me break down. I’ve faced harder than him.
He sighs. “I can see you’re going to be like your daughter on this…”
“What the fuck have you done to Maya?” I shout at him, twisting around as much as I can, only to fall back down in agony, crying out.
“I’m not talking about Maya. I’m talking about Angela.” He leans in close enough that I can tell that he has gold and green flecks in his eyes. I can only pant through the pain I just put myself through.
“You see, she’s the one who stole the car. I had her in here first, and she thought that being silent over something so petty as the name of a business was okay. I had to keep hurting her until the name was less important than her pride. She was a lot like you in that regard.” He leans back again and pushes his glasses up his nose.
“So, I’m going to give you a choice. You can talk or I can hit this button, but soon the pain is going to be too intense.”
I spit at him in response. He shakes his head and the screams tear out of me until I can’t breathe. It feels like I have a huge boulder in my ass and I can’t get it out. The dripping on the floor comes faster. I can’t help myself but to look down and the pool grows under my feet. The mirror surface becomes slick and my feet begin to lose their grip on it. With my ankles tied down, my feet are only acting as supports. I don’t want to lose that, though, because the thought of my weight bearing down on that fucking thing in my ass terrifies me.
Gasping, I start talking to him. “Yes, Elizabeth came to me about Angela. It was…I don’t know how many years ago. Anyway, the bitch came to me and said that her daughter was a smart girl and deserved better tha
n being in Crossbine School. That only derelicts and pushers deserved to be in that hellhole, but that her daughter could go places. She said I needed to set aside money for her college education. I told her to fuck off and that I only had one daughter and she was taken care of. How the fuck am I supposed to know that bitch-ass kid is mine? It could have been anybody’s. Her father did call her a whore, so who knows who else she fucked after me.”
“The DNA results have you at a 99.99% match of being her father. So, Elizabeth was right. Angela was very much your daughter.”
“Who gives a shit? I don’t want her.”
“So, what happened with Elizabeth after she came to you about Angela?”
“She wouldn’t quit coming to me about her. So, I told Phillip to control her. They got married and Phillip wasn’t able to control his bitch, so I told him to take care of her. He fed her lead until she died.” I pant my way through this. I feel like I’m being ripped in half from my ball sack up.
“Did you know he raped Angela after her mom died?”
“Nah. I didn’t care about anything after that bitch died. What he did in his spare time was his business.” I didn’t know that he raped her, but it isn’t like I cared. If she were anything like her mother, it wasn’t technically rape. This age of consent bullshit is a real pain in the ass. If they’re willing, they’re willing regardless of age. When they want it so bad they cry over getting your cock, why does age matter?
“Interesting. It doesn’t bother you that your capo raped a thirteen-year-old girl? If that had been Maya, how would you feel?”
“Maya isn’t a fucking whore so I would kill the bastard.”
“How does rape make someone a whore? This is something you’ve insinuated several times.”
“You can’t rape a whore.” How the fuck can this dumbass not understand that? They’re whores. Whores screw for a living, if you screw them, they’re doing it anyway. I don’t understand how he has an issue with that.
“Ah, I see. We digress. Let’s get to the real subject. When did you find out about the briefcase in question?” He cocks his head to the side, that fucking remote still sitting on his lap.
“Why does it matter about this briefc—” A screaming sob breaks free and shreds my throat.
“The briefcase, Mr. Hauer. You’re in control of this pain.”
“Fuck. You.” My body clenches and I can’t take in any air. When I can finally breathe, I can only gasp.
“The briefcase.” He’s a fucking dingleberry, clinging on for dear life about that goddamned thing.
“A couple of weeks ago now, I want to say. I was,” I wheeze, “in Mapleton and Edward Champlain called to let me know that he’d intercepted this briefcase in the senator’s office. It was very damning evidence concerning me”—I break out in gooseflesh and feel vomit work its way up my throat—“and the senator, and it looked as though it came from my people. He wanted to give it back to me, to prevent a rift from happening between his boss and myself.” My whole body is wound so tight. This experience gives me a whole new respect for those guys who hold out for days.
“So, he gave the briefcase back to you?” He cocks his head to the side like one of those stupid dogs.
“No, he’d given it to Maya, who put it in her safe. He called to tell me that he’d done it, and I retrieved it from her safe. She was out of town when I got back home.” Sweat runs down my face and my back. I would think it is running down my crack, but I can’t tell if it’s sweat or blood or both.
“Where is it now?”
“In a safe place.” He’s an idiot if he thinks I’m going to tell him anything else. There are too many other things that could cause problems, and Silvestro will end me if any of it gets out.
I scream as it feels like my asshole is being ripped in two. Once I could speak, I panted, “You fucker. That was the truth.”
“Yes and no. I’m sure it’s in a safe place, but that doesn’t fully answer the question, does it, Mr. Hauer?”
“Fucking faggot.”
The machine whirs to life again, and this time I don’t remember crying out or anything because the world goes black.
I wake up vomiting. This pungent odor hangs around my head. “The fuck…”
“You passed out there for a moment. We are back to the location of the briefcase. I need you to tell me where it is.” He slaps my cheeks, staring into my eyes. I want to give his to Maya for earrings. I still might.
“My office, where it’s supposed to be.” I know I’m slobbering everywhere, but I just can’t bother to care anymore.
“Good, the senator will be wanting it.”
“If he wanted it so goddamned bad, why didn’t he ask me for it when I told him I had the motherfucking thing?” This whole fucking thing is over the senator wanting his fucking briefcase? We could have fixed this from the beginning. The rage boiling inside of me gives me a boost of energy.
“Hmm,” the doctor says, but in that moment, I know that he didn’t know that the senator knew.
“That’s right, you fucking flunky. The senator knew the location of that piece of shit piece of leather and he didn’t give enough of a shit to ask me for it. Don’t know so much after all do you, you slimy, fucking—” The stretching of my asshole cuts me off. The pain becoming so intense, I scream until I’m hoarse and I still scream.
“Thank you for your cooperation in this, Mr. Hauer. It’s greatly appreciated.” Dr. Miller’s expression is stony and completely unreadable. Not like I could see much past the tears blurring my vision. His calmness is disturbing, though.
“I can’t wait to—”
The machine clicks on and he walks away. The pain is unbearable as it feels like my insides are going through a meat grinder. I look through the hole in the cushion again; the pool spreads quickly and my brain barely registers the sound of liquid pouring onto the floor just before the world goes dark.
“I don’t know where your son is, Linda!” I shout from the bathroom. I nick myself shaving. “Fucking cunt.”
“I haven’t heard from Geoff at all in the past few days. You know he always calls me on Sunday.” Her voice warbles. She hasn’t had her breakfast of Scotch yet. Some people drink coffee, but my wife’s breakfast of champions is a tumbler full of Scotch.
“He’s probably sleeping off a weekend of debauchery. You know that he and Eddie spent the weekend together. They’re both probably sleeping off the drugs and alcohol. Ed didn’t make it into work yesterday either. I’ll see him today and I’ll ask him about Geoff for you.” I clean my face up and splash my aftershave on.
Walking into my closet, I select a blue tie to go with the charcoal-gray suit I am wearing, then slide on my leather shoes.
I walk through the closet, out to the bedroom, where Linda stands wringing her hands in front of her. She’s dressed impeccably already at 6 AM. I finish tying my tie and put my hands on her shoulders trying to reassure her. “Linda, I promise, Geoff will be just fine. He always manages to come out on top. I’ll talk with Ed today and find out what’s going on and I’ll be sure to call you. If I hear from Geoff, I’ll be sure to have him call you. So, either way, you’ll find out something today, I promise you, dear.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead and she sinks into me. I wrap my arms around her, rubbing small circles on her back.
“Thank you, Geoffrey,” she says as she leans back, straightening my lapels. “Have a good day at work. Will I be seeing you for supper?”
“Most likely not, there’s a lot to prepare for the campaign starting in a couple of weeks, and Ed wasn’t at work yesterday so there will be several meetings and projects going on with him. I’m not exactly sure what time I’ll be home tonight.” It takes everything I can manage to not sigh.
Her disappointment covers her face. I don’t have time to coddle her. We’ve been through this more times than not over the years and she still is disappointed. There’s nothing I can or will do for her. She shouldn’t look so wounded every time I can’t spend time wit
h her. If I’d known she was such a “delicate flower,” I never would have married her in the first place.
She steps back and straightens her already immaculate skirt. “I’ll be sure to have the cook leave you something in the refrigerator then, instead of the warmer.” She turns and walks out of my room.
I look in the full-length mirror, making sure that I look presentable. I take note of the graying hair and the lines starting to feather from my eyes. I need to talk with Lacey, my personal assistant and PR person, about whether the graying is a good touch or if I need to have the stylist color it. I leave the room and make my way to the car waiting for me in the front drive.
“Good morning, Senator,” the chauffeur says as he opens the door to the car.
“Hello, Brigs.”
“To the office today, sir?”
“Yes, Brigs. I won’t need you to sit around the office, I don’t plan on leaving until late this evening. So, I’ll call you when I expect to leave.”
“Yes, sir.” He shuts the door and momentarily the car pulls down the drive.
I really hate how Junior has handled things. He’s been a thorn in my side for far too long. This latest bullshit with the car is the last scandal I can deal with. As if it isn’t bad enough that someone had to steal the car, but there was a mutilated body in the trunk. How in the hell did he expect me to handle that?
Why couldn’t I have had someone else as a child? Why was I handed that waste of air known as my son? Edward should have been my son.
Edward is a hardworking man, and at least when he does shady business he handles it in a way that doesn’t reflect on me. The only problem with Ed is his infatuation with that Hauer bitch. He doesn’t understand the hell he’ll have to endure if he’s to become Timo’s son-in-law.
I think that sick bastard is having sex with his own daughter, with the way he watches her. I never asked, but it’s a little unnerving. I just hope Ed knows what he’s getting himself into, messing with that family. I have tried the best I can to make sure he’s aware of our business dealings but none of it seems to have made an impact.
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