by Saul, Jonas
“I want to see my sister,” Aaron said.
Clive pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the saliva from his face. “Your sister is dead.”
“Are you fucking stupid?” Aaron shouted.
Clive stopped wiping his face. “What did you just say?”
“I asked if you were stupid. I know my sister is dead. Kill me, so I can see her again.”
Clive took a deep breath. He tossed his handkerchief aside and moved behind Aaron. The blood had congealed around the split skin of the wrist, a piece of bone protruding with a jagged edge.
Clive leaned in with his finger and thumb, gripped the small bone and held tight.
“This is what you get for your disrespect.”
He twisted hard, yanked down and pulled as if he was using a joystick to play a video game. The effect was more split skin and a renewed gush of blood.
Aaron’s wail chilled Clive, but also rekindled his spirit. He didn’t get to do this that often anymore. There were always too many people around. The boys Jessica had brought him routinely were almost always smothered, a quiet closure to the pleasure they offered him in their short time together.
The real joy was in torture, and at Palamidi he could have Aaron yell as loud and as hard as he wanted for days. Even if a police officer drove up the access road to investigate a noise complaint, Clive’s men would apologize and excuse it as rowdy partygoers.
The Greeks are the noisiest culture I know. They won’t care or notice.
His whereabouts were covered too. When the private plane landed in Rome, he officially exited the plane. Anyone searching for him would assume he was lost in Rome somewhere and search among the ruins of the Coliseum and the Spanish Steps. No one would think he was in Nafplio, once the capital of Greece before Athens took that title.
He released Aaron’s wrist bone. Aaron had passed out.
“Pity. I was just getting started.”
Clive left the room and stepped out into the sun.
“I’m going for a nap. Is my room made up?”
The guard at the door nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll be back when the sun sets. It’s just too hot for torture, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Make sure he is awake when I return and have smelling salts available. I will need a hammer, too. It’s going to be a long night.”
Clive almost started singing to himself. He had been lucky to get away from his pursuers in Moscow. Now he was in Greece, and no one would find him. He had access to millions of dollars in accounts that couldn’t be traced to him and a private jet sat on a runway not far from Nafplio, awaiting his return.
The world wasn’t just his oyster, it was his play toy.
Clive entered Aaron’s prison cell as the sun dipped below the Greek mountains behind him. In preparation for the evening’s festivities, after waking from his nap, he had dined on dolmades, vine leaves stuffed with rice, saganaki, a breaded and fried cheese, and moussaka, a traditional Greek dish. He even sampled red wine from the nearby Nemea region.
Aaron had been given nothing to eat. Clive wanted him in a weakened state. It was Aaron’s strength in Toronto that brought him here and it was Aaron’s strength that would cause his death. Clive had devised a way to cripple Aaron’s martial arts abilities and was excited to start the evening off with a wonderful show for his men.
The only thing that still concerned Clive was that he hadn’t been able to get a hold of Nick Sturnam after he had followed Aaron to the Quality Suites Hotel in Toronto. His men had delivered Aaron to the waiting plane at the Island Airport as ordered, but Nick had failed to report in.
On the plane from Rome, Clive had called his Russian legal team and informed them about the raid. He wanted to know what they were looking for and what possible charges they had.
Then he had contacted a man he had known in the RCMP in Canada for over fifteen years. He asked him to check into the Toronto situation and report back to him on Jackson, Hugh and Nick Sturnam. Last he had heard was Nick had gone to the Quality Suites Hotel by the Toronto International Airport. He asked his contact to find out what he could and call him back on his encrypted cell phone. That particular contact had proven difficult and protested, but Clive reminded him that he still had men in Toronto that could cause a most unusual accident.
Last he heard was that Jackson and Hugh were still in custody and the staff from the strip club were all still alive and kicking.
Maybe I’ll have to go back to Toronto and handle everything myself.
A large fan was connected to a long black extension cord that roped through one of the windows, over the outside wall, and plugged into the main building that handled the ticket sales for the fortress. Temporary lights had been brought in.
Aaron, paler than before, sat in the same position. His skin had taken on a white tone as his body weakened from a lack of food and the intense pain he had endured.
The dirt beneath the wooden chair had darkened where Aaron’s urine had collected over time. Feces had been cleaned up on the outside, but no one had changed Aaron’s underwear. The smell was overwhelming when he stood too close. If not for the fan that was aimed at Aaron, Clive wouldn’t have been able to get near him without holding his breath or wearing a mask.
But he’d asked his men to leave Aaron in this condition, so Clive couldn’t show his disgust.
A table sat against the wall. It held everything Clive needed. The hammer rested beside a large knife, brass knuckles, and smelling salts.
He motioned for the other guards to enter.
“I want everyone to watch our evening’s entertainment. This will serve as an example to what happens to people who betray me or try to work against me.”
Clive made sure the five guards were close. Two of his most trusted men, whom he had used for over a year, stood just inside the door. One man leaned in the doorway against the rock frame and the other two stood outside, watching from the jagged rock window.
The three-hundred-year-old room made Clive feel he was standing in something Fred Flintstone would have felt right at home in. He grinned as he set his cell phone down on the table.
He walked over to Aaron and studied his features.
“Tell me, how did you figure everything out so fast?”
Aaron kept his head down.
Clive didn’t hesitate or wait for approval from his men. He had them here so they could learn something, not for the benefit of Clive’s ego.
He grabbed Aaron’s hair and yanked his head back. Tear streaks had made lines in the dirt on Aaron’s cheeks. His eyes were half-lidded and his mouth hung slack, as if still drugged. The worst was Aaron’s lips. They were puffed up and cracking as water hadn’t passed them in some time.
Clive pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants.
“Shit … do we have any gloves up here?” he asked.
One of his men ran over and pulled a pair of gloves from the other side of the table.
“Why is he so fucked up?” Clive asked as he slid the gloves on.
“He hasn’t eaten in two days, sir. He was heavily drugged for the first day, and even when he screamed for water, we gave him nothing, as you requested.”
Clive wondered if he’d done the right thing. He had wanted Aaron cognizant for the interrogation part of his session this evening, but that might be asking too much.
“I have questions that need answering. Get this man water.”
He walked in a circle around Aaron, enjoying the breeze from the fan, which alleviated the smell enough to breathe through his nose.
The same man who gave him the gloves bolted back in the room with a bottle of water.
Clive opened it, took a long drink and then placed it at Aaron’s open mouth.
“Drink,” he said. “It’s fresh water.”
Aaron moaned and moved his lips. Clive angled his head back and let a little water trickle past Aaron’s lips. He coughed and spit it out. Clive tried again and t
his time Aaron swallowed, grimacing as he did.
More water flowed down Aaron’s throat, coating his lips. When the bottle was almost half gone, Clive pulled it away and set it on the dirt floor.
“Better?” he asked.
Aaron opened his eyes enough to look at him.
“You … Clive Baron?”
“You know me?”
It was almost indiscernible, but Clive caught Aaron’s nod.
“How do you know me?” Clive asked.
“Your … mother.”
“My mother,” Clive said as he glanced at the men, a smile playing across his lips. He looked back at Aaron. “You researched my mother or something?” He chuckled.
“No …”
“Then how do you know me through my mother?” Clive grew serious, tiring fast of Aaron’s game.
“She showed me baby pictures of you … the night three of my buddies and I spent six hours boning her at the whorehouse where she worked in Toronto.”
This disgusting waste of human life dared to taunt Clive Baron, billionaire, extraordinaire, esquire. A self-made man, someone people like Aaron depended on. Yet Aaron Stevens not only thwarted him in Toronto, he disrespected him in Greece in front of his men, hard-working men who ate people like Aaron for breakfast.
It was time to get the party started. Aaron would learn quite quickly that he had it backward. He shouldn’t tease the pit bull while he was the one chained up.
To the credit of all the men, none made a sound when Aaron disrespected Clive. If they had, they would have joined Aaron.
Clive walked over to the table, examined it for a moment and then selected the hammer.
“Can I have more water?” Aaron asked.
Clive raised his eyebrows. “Sure thing,” he said.
He leaned down as if to pick the water up, but instead brought the hammer down hard on the top of Aaron’s left foot. The sound of many of the human foot’s twenty-six bones breaking was drowned out by Aaron’s screams as they pierced the quiet night.
Clive reared back, pleased with his handiwork. He picked the water bottle up and tossed it to the nearest man standing by the door. He wasn’t going to give Aaron any more water—Aaron wouldn’t ever be getting any nourishment of any kind. Clive wanted to make sure his men were still watching without making it obvious that he was checking on them. They needed to feel that he trusted them, yet at the same time, every employee needed a minder.
He waited for Aaron to calm down enough to talk. Blood collected in the hole in the top of Aaron’s foot. It made it to the top and slipped over the edges, seeping into the dirt below.
To Aaron’s credit, he stopped screaming, closed his mouth to a small, clenched circle in which he breathed in and out rapidly. Clive could see that Aaron was trying to avoid passing out.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” Clive asked.
He received no answer from Aaron.
Clive didn’t want to wait any longer. “Tell me how you figured everything out. Did you know the Weeks brothers?”
“No,” Aaron said, barely over the sound of his heavy breathing. He kept his eyes staring forward at nothing, focusing, breathing.
Clive tapped the tip of the hammer in his free hand as he paced in front of Aaron. “After the idiot Weeks brothers stole my bag at the airport, they opened it and saw secret documents that led to their death. The only problem was I couldn’t catch up to them before they went to that strip club and spilled the beans. To protect my secret, anyone who came in contact with Frank and Gary Weeks had to be taken care of.” He stopped pacing. “I’m truly sorry that your sister was a slut and gave it up for a couple dollars at that lap dance palace, but hey, maybe I did her a favor. Maybe I put her out of her misery.”
Clive could feel the violence behind Aaron’s eyes. There was something about Aaron that made feel Clive he was standing beside a maniac who, if he wasn’t tied up, would execute every man in Palamidi even with his current wounds.
His step almost faltered.
Too bad I couldn’t have met you on different terms. You’d have made a good addition to my team.
“Are you going to tell me how you worked it all out, or were you at the strip club the night the Weeks brothers were there spilling their guts?” He faced his men and raised a finger. “Aha, that must be it. You were there trying to get your sister to dance for you.” He knelt on one knee, eye to eye with Aaron. “Look, this doesn’t have to be so bad. Tell me what I want to know and I will end this relatively quick. Antagonize me, play games and I will spend the next week breaking all your bones and pulling teeth and fingernails out one by one. Then the real pain will start. I will remove bones from your body while keeping you alive as long as I can. I hope you understand me. It really is your choice.”
Aaron’s breathing was leveling off. It didn’t seem like he’d run a marathon anymore, just a couple flights of stairs.
“Okay, no answer speaks of one thing … defiance. Which tells me you’re into pain. You must like it.”
Clive lifted the hammer, claw end exposed and stopped at the peak of the swing as his encrypted cell phone rang on the side table. He was waiting for two different calls on that number, his legal team in Moscow and his RCMP contact in Toronto.
The phone rang again.
“You are one lucky asshole,” Clive said under his breath. He set the hammer down by Aaron’s chair and moved to the table.
Call display said it was private. He flipped the talk button. “Speak.”
“I really shouldn’t be doing this—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Clive blurted into the phone at the RCMP officer on the other end of the line. “You’ll do it or I’ll send a hundred-man team to your fucking house and blow it up after they all rape your wife. Now quit whining and tell me what I want to know.”
His RCMP contact, Daryl Harper, sounded out of breath. He cleared his throat, coughed and said, “Nick Sturnam is dead.”
“Are you running?”
“No, I just walked up six flights of stairs to get to the roof of the building for privacy. If I got caught talking to you—”
“What happened to Nick?”
“He was beat up pretty bad. He’s missing his left eye completely, like someone pulled it out of his head, and then, it appears he jumped from one of the windows of the hotel. Other than that, the Toronto police don’t have much to go on. They’re still investigating. All I got was that he showed up in the lobby of the Quality Suites, was given a message from a young male and then went up the elevator. The message had room 432 written on it. When the police talked to who was in that room at the time they found a Bulgarian couple on a seven-day trip to Toronto scared shitless.”
“Why? How are they involved?”
“Apparently Nick had shot the door handle off their room, barged in, threatened the man, punched him a few times and then barged back out. Their English is bad, so communication was difficult.”
“And that’s it? Nick just decided to kill himself? Doesn’t add up.” Aaron sat in the wooden chair, his head held high.
“They had a witness who claimed seeing Nick on the second floor but there was no other damage to the hotel and no one else reported a scuffle. The cops are coming up blank on this one. Wish I could help more.”
“Tell me, did they get a good description of the man who passed the message onto Nick?” Clive asked.
“The guy in the lobby described him as mid-twenties, fit, athletic and in a hurry. The report said he had dark wavy hair, but that’s all I got. Is it important?”
“No, it’s fine. I got everything I need. Thanks, Daryl. You will be rewarded for this.”
“Just don’t call me anymore—”
Clive hung up before he heard the rest. He set his phone on the table and collected himself for what he had to do next. He studied Aaron’s wavy, dark hair and his athletic build, and started to put it all together.
“Why were you at the Quality Suites Hotel in Toronto the other night?”
“Who the hell are you?” Clive asked.
He was genuinely getting concerned. Could Aaron really just be the brother of a dead whore? Or were Joanne and Aaron Stevens covers for something deeper?