by Bryan Smith
When he entered the room and saw the look of disgust on Andy’s face, he knew they’d failed in their errand.
O’Day punched the air in frustration. “It’s gone. God, but I’m an idiot. I should’ve thought of it before we left the room.”
Lucien looked at him. “Okay, it’s gone. Now what?”
Andy paced around the room, taking care not to trip over the fallen bodies. He pumped his fist repeatedly and his face was a study in concentration. He looked like he was mulling over an infinite number of possibilities in rapid succession. He looked up when Siegel entered the room.
“Ben, you know this world as well as I do. Better, maybe.”
Siegel nodded. “I’ve spent years at a time here, yeah.”
Andy was nodding as Siegel spoke. “Can you think of anyone or anything--any single person, any sect or organization in this world--that would send assassins like these?”
Siegel’s brow furrowed as he thought about it. He shook his head. “No. Nothing I have knowledge of explains these guys.”
Andy sighed. “I thought as much. I’m fucking stumped, too.”
He knelt and pulled the hood off the head of one of the dead men. He sighed at the sight of the scorched countenance and looked up at Lucien and Siegel. “Here’s another thing we were wrong about. These are servants of hell. The hell of our world. But these would-be assassins weren’t actually dispatched from hell.” He pointed at the unmasked man. “See the way his face is mutilated? This man was a soldier in the service of hell’s most powerful representative on earth. Facial disfigurement is her signature way of branding her slaves and foot soldiers.”
Lucien stared at the dead man’s melted face. “Who is this person?”
“Mona Faust, Jack’s ex-wife.”
Lucien nodded. “I guess you know what you’re talking about, but why were they here? Why now? And what does the Eye of Sylvain have to do with it?”
“I can only guess. The Eye is a valuable relic--priceless, really--and that alone would be reason enough for Mona to send her people after it. Also, Mona must know Jack’s friends are coming to help him. She’s well aware of Ben’s connection to Jack and myself, so she might have sent these assassins here earlier as a contingency force.” With a nod Andy indicated the open service door through which the black-clad men had mounted their attack. “Could be one or more of these hell ninjas held back when it became clear we had the upper hand. Then when we were gone, they slipped in here and made off with the Eye, a token to take back to Mona in hopes she might spare their lives despite their defeat at our hands.”
Siegel said, “I bet that’s it. Goddamn, I just bet it is. Feels right, you know?”
Lucien nodded. “Yeah, it does.” He looked around the room again, then met Andy’s gaze. “Are we through here, then?”
Andy’s answer was non-vocal.
He seized each of his cohorts by a hand. Then he closed his eyes as he began to recite the transference chant. White light engulfed the Red Room almost immediately, making the men in the room--both living and dead--look like shimmery images on a malfunctioning television screen.
Then there was only white light as they moved to the world next door.
12.
Jack Grimm woke up feeling like someone had dropped an anvil on his head. When he opened his eyes he realized there was a very good reason for that. A length of curved metal was clamped around his forehead, cinched a good deal more tightly than necessary, at least by Jack’s reckoning. Then the pressure against his head increased, and he realized he was sitting in a medieval torture chair. It was a big, old wooden thing, equipped with clamps attached to the armrests and legs to keep him in place. Jack had no doubt it was an authentic relic from a time when people burned witches and kings beheaded anyone who offended them. He was also reasonably sure that Mona the she-devil had been around in those times and missed them terribly.
There was a screech of metal grinding against metal and the clamp again compressed more tightly about his skull. When he at last figured out what was happening, he felt like screaming, but all that emerged from his mouth was a strangled, pitiful cry. Someone standing behind him turned the crank again and the head-press tightened yet another degree.
Jack’s heart thudded irregularly and his limbs jerked against the restraints. Before, Mona’s promise of increasingly dreadful methods of torture had been an abstract concept, a threat he didn’t take seriously. He’d felt this way because he’d been certain he was far too valuable a commodity to seriously injure, but now he could no longer be so blithe about it. A cigarette burn to the scrotum was nothing compared to this. That bit of unpleasantness was now something he could recall in an almost wistful way. This pain was something else altogether, a state of constant, unbearable agony.
He wanted to call out to Mona, but there was no sign of her. He was no longer in the opulent hotel room he’d awakened in earlier. This was a smaller, grungier room with unpainted concrete walls. The lighting was murky, but he could see other torture devices scattered about the room. There was an iron maiden, a pillory, a stretching rack, a chair of spikes, and so on. On a wooden table were assorted thumbscrews and foot-presses. Whips of varying lengths and thicknesses dangled from pegs on a wall.
Dungeon.
I’m in a fucking for real dungeon. Fantastic.
He heard a scrape of metal and tensed for yet another tightening of the head-press, but in a moment a stone door at the end of the room swung open and Mona walked in carrying a ring of old-fashioned keys. She’d made yet another wardrobe change and was now attired in shiny black latex. She looked sort of like Catwoman unmasked. Her hair no longer hung luxuriantly about her shoulders--instead, it was pulled back in a tight bun that made her attractive face look more severe than usual. She dropped the keys on the table and went to the row of pegs, where she selected a cat-o’-nine-tails. She slapped the length of knotted leather against her palm and showed Jack a smile so cruel it made him wilt inside.
She approached the torture chair and touched the end of the cat-o’-nine-tails to his face. “How are you, darling? Mommy got worried after she tossed you through the window, thought maybe you were in a coma.” Her lower lip pooched out in an exaggerated pout. Then she laughed. “So, Jack, are you ready to acquaint yourself with the full range of possibilities my exquisite dungeon has to offer?”
Jack wheezed.
Mona looked at whoever was standing behind the torture chair. “Take the crank back a turn or two. I don’t want him hurting so much he can’t talk.” She smiled again. “Not yet.”
Jack heard a grunt of exertion followed by the now-familiar sound of scraping metal. Instead of yet another exponential increase in the level of pain, however, the clamp around his head loosened considerably. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, followed by a moan of agony.
Mona tapped the side of his head with the cat-o’-nine-tails. “How are you feeling, Jack?”
“Pretty good, I guess, for a guy getting his head slowly crushed.”
Mona laughed again. “Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack.”
“Yep, that’s my name. But the last time you said it so many times in a row, it was accompanied by the words ‘harder’ and ‘faster’.”
Mona tapped the side of his head again, this time snapping her wrist so that the leather struck his skin just hard enough to sting. “Idiot. The more you annoy me, the worse things will be for you.”
Jack sighed. “How much worse can they be, Mona?”
The corners of Mona’s mouth quivered. She wanted to laugh, but was holding it in. That she was bothering to restrain herself disturbed Jack very much. “Release him from the chair and bind him in the usual way.”
The slave turned the crank several more times and the big clamp relinquished its hold on Jack’s head. The slave then moved to the front of the chair, where he undid the wrist and leg restraints. This done, he stood and yanked Jack to his feet. The big man--another of the hooded behemoths--twisted Jack’s arm behi
nd his back and propelled him toward the same wall that was home to the selection of whips. The slave reached for an object that made Jack weak in the knees when he saw it. It was a studded metal collar with a length of chain attached to it. The slave slipped it off its peg and slapped it around Jack’s neck. The studs had sharp ends that were inside the collar and Jack winced as he felt them bite into his flesh. The slave secured the collar, then wound the end of the chain around one big hand.
“Go.”
The base of a powerful hand slammed into Jack’s lower back, making him stumble. He would’ve fallen to the rough concrete floor, but the slave jerked on the chain and pulled him upright.
Standing with her ankles crossed and one hand on the torture chair, Mona watched him cross the floor with that ever more maddening look of restrained hilarity. “I ought to make you get on your hands and knees and crawl over here.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Some people pay good money for this kind of treatment. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the appeal in it.”
Mona smirked. “You’ve always been repressed. I could have so much fun humiliating you, but that’s not why you’re here.” She went over to the table littered with thumbscrews and other fun things and picked up an object Jack hadn’t noticed the first time--a rectangular metal device with buttons on its front and an antenna sticking out of the top. “You’re here because you’ve been foolish enough not to share what you know about that stupid old man and his plans. I played nice, by my standards, but that didn’t work and now you’ve forced me to treat you the way I would any prisoner. Remember that when you’re screaming for mercy momentarily.”
She pressed one of the buttons and Jack heard a sound vaguely like the scraping sound made by the head-press crank. Then he yelped and stepped back as he saw a hole opening in the floor. A circular section of floor about ten feet in diameter descended a few inches, then began to revolve until it disappeared into a recess. Now Jack heard a sound that reminded him of a still day at the beach, the sound of waves lapping gently against the shore.
The slave slammed a fist against Jack’s back, causing him to pitch forward. His body was stretched out almost level with the edge of the hole when the slave jerked the chain taut, choking him and making the sharp ends of the studs dig deeper into his neck. Jack looked down and saw--maybe twenty feet down--a vast pool of liquid sloshing around in a dark chamber. He heard Mona’s heels clacking on the floor and he looked up to see her squatting directly across from him at the opposite side of the hole. She had something else in her hands now, a large white rabbit. She was cooing to it and stroking its fur.
She smiled. “Say hello to Mr. Rabbit, Jack. Isn’t he precious? Isn’t he just the most adorable little guy?”
Jack worked hard to swallow a lump in his throat. Blood from the stud-inflicted wounds dripped into the darkness below, each drop producing a dim sizzling sound as it struck the dark pool of water (or was it water?).
Mona’s smile gave way to a look of wintry coldness “Mr. Rabbit has something to show you.”
She extended her arms out over the hole and let go of the rabbit. When the animal struck the dark pool below, it let loose a short-lived scream that was almost human-like. Jack heard the sizzling sound again and watched as the rabbit sank beneath the surface of what he now understood was a vat of very corrosive acid.
Jack looked at Mona. “Just know that if I get out of this I’m calling PETA on your evil ass.”
Mona smiled and stood up. “Let’s do this,” she said, addressing the slave. “Be quick about it.”
A strangled wheeze emerged from Jack’s mouth as the slave began to reel him in. Then he was on his feet again and a compulsion to fight and make a stand right now came over him. He wheeled around, gripped the chain with both hands, and gave it a tremendous tug. The slave was caught off-guard and came barreling helplessly in Jack’s direction. Jack stepped aside, planted his feet, and swung with all his might. The slave went flying toward the hole, and Jack thought to reach up and unsnap the collar just in time. A wave of satisfaction swept through him as he watched the behemoth fall screaming through the hole in the floor. The splash made by the big man was large enough to rain acid on the dungeon floor. A drop of it an inch in front of his right foot sizzled on the concrete, boring a hole through it and beyond.
He looked up to see Mona circling toward him. She clapped her hands together three times, slowly, showing her disdain. “Very impressive, Jack. You’re a brave man. But your daring changes nothing.” She came to a stop a few feet away from him. “Unlike that simpleton, I’m not so easily dealt with.”
She lashed him across the face with the cat-o’-nine-tails. Three times in rapid succession. The pain drove him to his knees and he stayed there, staring up at his tormenter.
She smirked. “Do you think you can beat me, Jack? Overpower me and escape?”
Jack was shaking. “I know I can’t.”
She smiled and stroked the top of his head, like a master patting its dog. “Then one last time--where is your father and what are his plans?”
“Blow me.”
Mona sighed. “Very well. You leave me no choice.”
She pushed another button on the device and Jack heard another scraping sound, this time from overhead. He looked up to see a door opening in the ceiling. Mona pushed another button and something began to descend through the hole.
Jack groaned. It was a steel cage.
“Oh, hell. Suddenly I’m in a James Bond movie.”
When the cage had settled on the floor, Mona seized a handful of Jack’s shirt and jerked him upright.
“I think you know what happens next.”
Still holding on to Jack, Mona opened the cage. Then she tossed him in and threw the door shut. Jack heard a click, which he assumed was an automatically triggered lock. Mona worked a toggle switch on the device and the cage moved into position above the still-open hole in the floor. The movement jostled Jack, forcing him to grip the bars and hold on.
Mona said, “Say goodbye, Jack.”
“Aren’t you being a little hasty?” Jack indicated the rest of the dungeon with a wave of his hand. “You still have all these other toys you haven’t used.”
Mona smiled. “Time is short and I’m not interested in wasting any more of it trying to elicit information you’ll never provide. Your friends are en route to The Maverick. When they get here, we’ll take them. And they will tell us what we want to know.”
Jack’s jaw trembled. “They’ll never talk.”
Mona arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, I think otherwise. In any event, it doesn’t matter to you anymore--you won’t be here to find out.”
She pushed yet another button on the device.
The cage began to descend through the hole in the floor.
Jack’s grip tightened around the cage bars. He glanced down at the approaching pool of acid, felt his heart race into overdrive, then closed his eyes, prayed, and made a silent apology to his father.
13.
Somebody had to be the first to say it. No one else seemed willing, so Lucien figured that somebody might as well be him.
“We are well and truly fucked.”
Even the normally unflappable Benjamin Siegel seemed nonplussed. “O’Day, if we manage to get out of this alive, I’ll have to kill you for making me piss my pants.”
It was true--the old gangster had wet himself upon their return to their own world. He’d also reverted back to his true physical appearance, a change brought on by the shock of finding himself in so precarious a position.
Lucien couldn’t fault the man for soiling himself. It was a wonder he hadn’t done the same. “Andy, of all the places in Las Vegas where we might have rematerialized, why here?”
They were perched on a steel girder at the very top of a tall building that was still in the early stages of construction. All that existed of it so far was the vast steel framework. A gust of wind caused Andy to leap for the nearest vertical girder and cling to it for dear
life. The wind stiffened, blowing the tail of his jacket away from his back. Then, mercifully, the wind abated, and Andy glared at the other men.
“Look, transference between realms is an imprecise art at best. I didn’t choose to deposit our endangered arses at this specific location., okay?”
Siegel groaned. “Whatever. I only want to know one thing--how the fuck are we getting down from here?”
Andy steadied himself and leaned his back against the vertical girder. He produced a cell phone from his jacket. “I could call in some favors, maybe get somebody out here with a helicopter.”
Siegel smacked his forehead, a reflex he regretted, because it made him wobble on the girder. When he had himself under control again, he looked at Andy. “That’s brilliant, O’Day. Send a whirlybird up here to blow us off the building with its rotors. Think, you fool.”
Andy looked skyward. “The copter wouldn’t have to get so close. It could hover...up there somewhere...” He indicated a general area above their heads with an upraised index finger. “Maybe lower a rope ladder...”
“Forget it. It’s a stupid idea.”
Bickering over the helicopter scheme continued for a time, but Lucien tuned it out. He studied anew the building’s skeleton. Down below, he could see cranes, ladders, and other means of conveyance from level to level. The trouble was that none of it was anywhere near their vicinity. He was dismayed to conclude that they would likely be forced to walk or crawl from girder to girder until they were able to reach a ladder or platform. But it would only take one moderately strong blast of wind to send them all tumbling down several dozen stories to their deaths. A grim prospect, yes, but Lucien could imagine no viable alternative.