A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  There was a degree of annoyance. The port officers would be searching for a non-existent body floating in their waterway, but it would keep them away from the warehouse which would be used for Strickland’s interrogation.

  It was after 5:15pm when Strickland pulled up outside the large dockland warehouse and turned to look at his armed guide. It mystified him as the large double doors opened to allow access, but he drove on slowly into the dark cavernous space without lights and parked as instructed. He took the black canvas hood handed to him and pulled it over his head obediently.

  There was a jarring sensation and then it felt as if the car was moving. Strickland wasn’t sure if it was going up or down at first, but after a moment, decided the car was descending. He couldn’t hear the electric motor, but he heard chains and pulley wheels. When the car stopped, he was told to drive forward slowly. He didn’t question the wearing of the hood and drove forward, feeling the wheels bump down from some ramp.

  “Cut the motor and get out,” Honey said, “put your hands behind your head, and clasp your fingers.”

  As Strickland obeyed, he heard the sound of chains rattling again. He tried to work out what was going on, and the hood moved left and right. There was silence and with the hood in place he couldn’t see anything. He was left to stand in one position for what felt like an hour, but was no more than 20 minutes.

  Honey said, “Turn to your right and walk forward.” A few seconds later she moved behind him and shouted. “Faster! Open your fucking legs and move.”

  Strickland obeyed and tried to walk as fast as normal although he couldn’t see anything. Within a few paces, he was walking confidently and within five more paces he walked straight into the side of a metal freight container.

  “Fuckin-,” he started as he stumbled back, shaking his bruised head.

  “Oops,” Honey said and pressed the gun into the small of his back. “Now move left three paces.”

  Tentatively, and still shaking his throbbing head, Strickland moved left.

  “Stop there,” Honey said. “Now, remove all of your clothing, but keep the hood on.”

  “What the fu-,” Strickland started, but was silenced when the automatic was pressed to the front of his pants. He unclasped his hands and slowly started to undress, dropping his clothes on the litter and glass covered floor. He could hear things crunching underfoot.

  Honey said, “Step forward two paces. Stop. Turn right and step forward three paces.”

  Strickland obeyed, but now naked, he was feeling cold and vulnerable. His bare feet were subject to the pain of small pieces of glass, concrete chippings and other debris. When his toes touched something, he lifted his foot and realized he was stepping into, or onto something. He continued slowly. There was a stench of rotten meat.

  “You’re now in a confined space,” Honey said. “I have a man sitting about 20 yards from here with a gun. He only has one brief, and that is to shoot either of you if you try to leave.”

  “Either-,” Strickland muttered and then stumbled backward when the gun touched his abdomen. He stood in silence shivering for about 20 minutes and then he released his clasped fingers and let his arms hang by his sides. When it seemed that his captor had left him he spoke quietly.

  “Hello, is anybody else there?”

  “Shhh,” a man’s voice whispered. “Keep your voice down and don’t take your fucking hood off.”

  Strickland said, “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Well,” the other man said. “I don’t know why you’re here, but when they got me, there was already another guy in here. They put us both in here two days ago.”

  “They?”

  “Yeah, I think there are about four guys and one woman.”

  “The young blonde?”

  “Yeah, but don’t let her age or looks fool you, she’s a fucking lunatic.”

  “Is your buddy still in here?” Strickland asked, shivering more violently.

  “Nah,” the other man said. “He wasn’t my buddy; he was a rapist or something.” The man paused for a moment. “Anyway, he made the mistake of calling her bluff and took his hood off. He tried to run, but I only heard a few footsteps before a single shot.”

  “They killed him with a single shot?”

  “Nah, unfortunately for him they didn’t. I heard him groaning for a long time and then I heard something quite disturbing, but you don’t want to know.”

  “Fuck it man,” Strickland said in a panic, “what did you hear?”

  “Well, I heard the guy crying and asking for help.”

  “So, did they get him out of here then?”

  “Nah, I just heard one of the blonde’s men saying something like, ‘shut up rat food, you should have come clean,’ and then a short while later I heard screaming. It was fucking hideous.”

  “So they killed him and fed him to rats?”

  “No man, he was fucking eaten alive.”

  Strickland stopped trembling for a second while he puked. He raised his hands to lift the hood, but the voice in the dark whispered a gentle reminder.

  “Just remember, don’t lift the fucking hood man. They’re all fucking crazy.”

  There was a crunching of glass as footsteps came close, and both men fell silent.

  Honey said, “I told you there was to be no talking.” She paused. “Okay Trent, you were warned. Get out here now, and if you touch the hood, I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out.”

  “Please, not the cage again,” Bert whimpered as he pretended to stumble past Strickland in the darkness. “Shit, my fucking muscles hurt, and my feet are bleeding again-,”

  “Just get out here,” Honey said. “The wounds will give the rats something to lick. Come on, move it.”

  Bert started sobbing and as he walked out of the large container he nudged Strickland with a piece of damp, stinking rag and the smelly substance rubbed off onto Strickland’s skin. The hooded man quickly moved to one side but didn’t say anything.

  Honey leaned forward, and her face was within inches of Strickland’s hood.

  “If I hear a sound out of you, I’ll break your legs. Understood?”

  “Understood, understood,” Strickland said quietly and then swallowed hard.

  The large metal door of the container closed with a loud clang.

  *

  Bert waited until five minutes after the container door was closed and then he pressed play on a tape recorder that was a few yards away from the container. The volume was set. It was a 30-minute session of prepared questions by Honey. The questions related in reality to some of the people in the ring of predators that she had already dealt with.

  Bert played the part of a new member of the deviant group who’d joined just before the house-fire in Pinewood. He said that he’d managed to get a job at the college.

  For the sake of the tape and in reality, the tape mentioned Brett, Higgins, the Carsons and Sorrenson. Gillian Carson was known to have died in a traffic accident in Pittsburgh, but nobody had heard from her husband, which was true. The fictional part of the interrogation made out that Bert was a man called Stuart Trent. His name had been one of several on the list kept by DI Tony Morgan.

  Occasionally there were sound effects used like slapping or glass breaking. Twice, an electric drill sounded and on those occasions, Bert was heard to scream and say that he would be willing to talk, to give names. He said that his wife did worse things than him. Honey told him that if he were telling the truth, she’d let him live, but he’d be sorry if he lied.

  While the tape was playing, Honey and Bert were in the disused office on the floor above in the warehouse, enjoying coffee from a thermos, and sandwiches that Bert had picked up earlier. As they had been doing throughout, they discussed the next stage once again. Measured phases would be needed to make the idea work.

  Before going back to the container, Bert poured some foul-smelling liquid over a rag and carried it with him. He would once again rub it against Strickland as he passed him on the
way into the dark container.

  On the way back, the tape was stopped. Honey and Bert waited five minutes before approaching the freight container.

  *

  “I don’t know if she’ll find a list,” Bert sobbed as the container door squeaked on being pulled open. Strickland was still standing exactly as he had been half an hour earlier.

  Honey said, “If your loving wife doesn’t find the list Trent, you’re marriage will be over.”

  “My marriage-,” Bert cried out.

  “Yeah?” Honey said. “I haven’t decided what to do with your disgusting wife, but it will be over for you because you’ll be fucking rat food like that other asshole that was in here earlier.” She paused. “Remember, I don’t want to hear you two talking.”

  Bert brushed past Strickland and rubbed the stinking damp cloth against his naked body. Once behind the other man, Bert made himself comfortable on a packing case that was in the back of the container. Honey half-closed the door and the metal on metal screeched.

  The only sound for ten minutes afterward was Bert sobbing and praying for forgiveness, and Strickland blubbering about the cold.

  “Please bring a list,” Bert whispered in the dark, “don’t let me down darlin’,”

  “Shhh,” Strickland said quietly.

  “I don’t care anymore,” Bert said. “I’m in such a mess she’ll probably kill me anyway.”

  Strickland said, “Are you and your wife the couple that went missing in Indianapolis?”

  “Nah,” Bert said, “that was the Carsons, but I’m sure there will be people looking for us. I bet there are people all over Cincinnati asking about us.”

  “They might be looking for you in Cincinnati man,” Strickland said. “but we’re in a fucking warehouse in the New York port district.”

  “New York?” Bert asked, sounding incredulous. “You’re fucking joking.”

  “Look, I’ve not been here long, but I know where I am, and I’m in fucking New York.”

  Bert remained silent and hoped his knowledge of such lowlifes would work. It took less than 15 more minutes of silence in the cold and dark to produce results.

  Strickland said, “Do you think there’s a chance of getting off the hook with this crazy bitch?”

  “I don’t know,” Bert whispered, “but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He paused. “All I know is, I’d rather take my chances in a courtroom than with this bunch of sadistic bastards.”

  “Why do you think they are doing it?”

  “I reckon they’re vigilantes,” Bert whispered. “You know the kind of people that the families of victims will pay thousands of dollars.”

  “Shit,” Strickland said. “You’re right.” He paused to think. “Damn it Trent, you’re fucking right man.” He went on. “I heard a news bulletin this afternoon about some detective attacked while on his boat. The reporter said the details were too gruesome to explain?”

  “If it was gruesome, I reckon I know who it was,” Bert said. “There must be a few of these people working together. They can find anybody, anywhere.”

  Bert would now occasionally sob, but only speak if Strickland initiated the conversation. Bert checked his watch and knew it wouldn’t be long before the next scene.

  There was the grating sound of metal on metal as the large door started to move on the hinges and then there was a slight pause.

  Honey said, “Keep the hood on Trent and walk forward real slow.”

  “Please,” Bert sobbed, “I’ve told you everything I did-,”

  “Shut up. Your wife produced a list of victims, so lucky for you; my men are going to deliver you and your wife to a local police precinct. I’m afraid I’ve ruined her pretty face. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Bert lifted the stinking material from the floor and rubbed it against Strickland’s body as he passed him. Strickland moved to one side in the darkness of the container.

  Honey said, “I’ll be watching your trial Trent, and if you and your wife don’t get jailed, I’ll find both of you. I don’t expect you to try for one of those protection schemes.”

  “I’m gonna come clean,” Bert said. “Please trust me-,”

  “Keep walking, but shut up.” When Bert was clear of the doorway, he gave the large door a push to half-close it. He nodded to Honey, and they walked away.

  Half an hour later after coffee and a chat, they both went back to the container. Strickland was walked forward into the middle of the warehouse, and just before he was told to stand still, he kicked something metal with his right foot and cried out.

  Honey said, “Chain him and take the hood off.”

  Bert was already standing beside the captive, so only had to bend down. He used large metal cuffs to connect Strickland’s ankles to an industrial sized chain that weighed half a ton. When the man was standing, shivering and secured to the huge chain, Bert ripped the hood from Strickland’s head.

  Almost immediately, a bright battery-powered inspection lamp was switched on between Strickland and his captors. Strickland closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he could see that standing to his front, and only a few feet away was the attractive blonde, dressed just as she had been earlier.

  To her left was a tall, well-built guy. He wore black T-shirt, black coat, black pants and black shoes. In contrast to the dark outfit, he was holding a large hunting knife in his right hand, and he had a crooked smile. His left eye twitched, and he looked as crazy as the blonde. He continually looked Strickland up and down as he turned the knife in his hands like a tennis pro with a racquet.

  Honey said, “We’ve got places to go Strickland, so I’m gonna expect straightforward answers.” She folded her arms. When she was sure that the prisoner’s focus was on her, she made an obvious appraisal of his shriveled manhood. “If you produce what I want to know, I’ll have you dropped off at a police precinct, but if not, you die here.” She paused. “I had a guy’s dick cut off a couple of days ago because he didn’t respond quickly enough.”

  “The detective-,”

  “I’m fucking talking!” Honey shouted and unfolded her arms. The tall guy moved forward and the knife was brought up quickly and held close to Strickland’s face.

  Strickland turned away and glanced nervously from one apparent lunatic to the other.

  Honey said, “I know sick bastards like you have connections all over the place, so I have some questions I want to have answered.” She paused and looked into his eyes. “First, I want to know your real name, and I want confirmation of all the names you’ve used.”

  Strickland was nodding, and his mouth fell open, but he didn’t speak.

  “Next,” Honey said, “I want to know where you keep your secret list of victims.” It was only theory, but she trusted Bert’s judgment. “We know you have one, because I’ve already spoken to somebody who says you have his list. That’s where I got Trent’s name.”

  “There’s nobody called Trent on-,” Strickland started and then went quiet.

  Bert slipped the knife into the scabbard on his belt and pulled out a pen and notebook. There was enough light for him to see the book.

  Strickland spoke slowly, working hard to remember the five names that he’d used over a long period. “That’s all of the names I’ve used,” he said, and tears ran down his face.

  Honey said, “Who has your list of unfortunate victims?”

  “He’s a cop,” Strickland said and sobbed. “His name is Morgan and he works out of a police station in Indiana.” The man started to sob uncontrollably. “He’ll kill me.”

  “No, he won’t,” Honey said. “I’ll deal with that, you despicable piece of dog-shit.”

  *

  Central Park

  New York

  “Thanks for coming John,” Paul Franklin said and offered his hand.

  “I have a vested interest in what is being reported right now,” John Kelly said as he shook his brother-in-law’s hand. “How are the family doing?”

  “Dian
e is still working at the school, although she’s cut down to four days a week. Andy and Stacy are both at the University of New York now.”

  “Time flies.”

  “It does my friend,” Paul said and placed a hand on Kelly’s broad shoulder. “Let’s take a walk and grab a coffee.”

  When John Kelly’s wife and child were both kidnaped many years before, Paul was at university studying law. His work was affected, and he received a leave of absence to settle his nerves. The death of his sister and her child affected him in a profound way.

  At the joint funeral, Paul had stood shoulder to shoulder with John Kelly, who was then a young patrolman. They went to a quiet bar downtown together, and in the course of reducing themselves to drunken wrecks, they made a solemn pledge. They agreed they would never knowingly allow any man or woman to walk away after committing a heinous crime.

  As Paul went back to his studies and, John returned to walking the beat, the two young men remained firm friends. They met several times a year and followed each other’s career progression, sometimes meeting at official functions. Over the years, it was forgotten by most people that they were related.

  Paul met Diane at university, and they married after both graduating as lawyers. John Kelly never got over the death of his wife and child, so never considered remarrying.

  Now, after many years of applying the law in their respective offices of authority, the two men found themselves sitting in a booth in a coffee bar, silently looking at each other.

  Paul said, “A long time ago we made a pact John. Before we get into any detail, I’m going to ask you a question, and the response to that question will set the path for the rest of our conversation.”

  “Go on,” Kelly said as he lifted his coffee and sipped slowly.

  “Are you still onboard for what we decided all those years ago?”

  “Yes,” came the immediate response, “but you have a lot more to lose than I have.”

  “Nothing can be traced to me John, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve got your back. The Mayor is screaming for paperwork on one of your people and it will be hard to hold him off much longer.”