by Luis Samways
‘You shouldn’t have come down here Detective. Now you will die down here,’ says the thick New York accented man.
They both proceed in kicking Mullins as he is down. A few hard kicks later, Mullins vision has returned to blackness as he drifts further away from reality.
Twenty Five
Humphries is sitting quietly in the car. The back seat is the usual seat he finds himself in. Tinted out windows and Champaign is the usual experience he indulges in most car journeys. This one seemed different. He felt on edge. He felt ignored. He taps the Plexiglas in front of him. The driver rolls down the window, his eyes meet the tired and strained eyes of his boss. Humphries throws the driver a look of contempt.
‘When are we getting there?’ Asks Humphries
The driver is about to speak, then Antonio sticks his head out of the passenger seat, pushing the driver out of view.
‘There has been a hold up. Apparently there’s been a chemical spill at the depot,’ Says Antonio calmly
Humphries doesn’t look impressed.
‘So what? Just get me there. I need to talk to the mayor. He’s supposed to be coming down for a late lunch.’
Antonio holds a firm but forced smile at his boss.
‘I’ll do my best sir,’ He says
The window slowly goes back up, bridging the gap between Humphries and Antonio and the driver. Humphries watches as the glass squeaks its way back up and firmly suck into its upright position. The window was Antonio’s idea; he convinced Humphries that it would allow his boss to make phone calls in private while the window was rolled up. The glass was sound proof and bullet proof at that. Humphries wasn’t too high on the window; he thought it was over the top. He didn’t know that Antonio wanted the window there for other reasons, although he suspected his right hand man in some sort of suspicious capacity. Antonio was never one to hold his breath; he would say what he wanted when he wanted. It used to piss Humphries off something rotten. Humphries suspected that maybe Antonio installed the window so Antonio could speak freely without him getting in trouble with his boss. Either way, Humphries was determined to obliterate the window at some point, maybe even today if the time allowed it.
Antonio remained still in the front. The driver didn’t take his eyes off the road leaving Antonio to read the text messages that had been going off in his pocket for the last hour. The driver momentarily gave Antonio a side look; he catches him looking at the phone.
‘So you just want me to keep going around in circles?’ Asks the driver
‘Yes,’ says Antonio, not even relinquishing his eyes off the cell phone.
‘What are we going to tell him?’
Antonio finally looks up and puts the phone away in his inside suit pocket.
‘Keep to the story. They have the cop back at the depot. They are going to probe him for information. We need to give them time to do their jobs.’
‘I just don’t get it, why are we not telling him?’
‘Because he will go off the rails. He’s gone soft, he would never agree to something like this. His job is to look the part, mine is to be the part. That Detective back at the depot has information on us. They worked a case on us, and now we need to find out what they know. They could still have the place bugged, our phones tapped, or God knows what. We need to put a stop to this, even if it means taking out the cunt’s teeth.’
‘What if he doesn’t talk?’
Antonio breaks a rigid smile.
‘Oh, they always talk, without fail…they always talk.’
Twenty Six
‘Hey you! Wake up, your safe now,’ Roxanne says as she tries to jolt the girl on the cell floor awake. She’d been by the girl’s side for the last hour or so. The girl hadn’t moved much but she had moved enough for Roxanne to realise that she was alive and in a deep sleep, most likely a forced sleep that involved narcotics of some sort. The girl’s eyes kept flickering under her eyelids. The lucid movement made Roxanne edgy. She didn’t want the girl to stop breathing. In her mind, she had convinced herself that the girl wouldn’t make it, and now that she had made it, she was utterly convinced that the girl would die of an overdose. It’s safe to say that Roxanne didn’t believe in luck, for it wasn’t a very lucky four years that she had been having. She was certain that any good that could possibly happen in her current dismal situation would be overshadowed by the inevitable bad that would follow. Suddenly the girl’s eyes flicker open. The whites of her eyes lighten up as the many veins surrounding her dilated pupils bulge into focus. She slowly sits up and looks around the prison cell. She finally glances at Roxanne, who by now is more than glad to see her. The friendly look from Roxanne and the seriously scary surroundings counteract each other and confuse the young girl.
‘Hey there!’
The girl looks on still in confusion.
‘Yes….Where am I?’
Roxanne shakes her head.
‘I don’t know. I was captured and kidnaped four years ago. I’ve been here ever since. He doesn’t let me out, nor will he let you out. If you’re lucky then you will live for a while longer, but if I’m realistic about the situation, then you’re more than likely going to die down here.’
Roxanne wanted to get maximum effect regarding the shock the girl would be in. She needed the girl to be scared for her life, that way, when she told the girl that she had a plan, she would more than likely be up for getting out of the dungeon they found themselves in.
‘I doubt he would kill me,’ the girl finally says.
Roxanne looks on in dismay, alarmed at the clear sound of confidence in her voice.
‘Why not?’ Roxanne finally asks.
‘I’m far too valuable.’
‘Okay….what makes you think that?’ Asks Roxanne
‘My dad’s the Mayor. I’m sure he would want to trade me for something, most likely money. He pretty much must know that I am the Mayor’s daughter, seeing that he hijacked the convoy of limos that were taking me and my dad to a lunch. He beat my dad up and then let him go, telling him that he would be in contact. He took me and now here I am.’
‘What do you mean he hijacked a convoy of limos? He’s just one guy. He couldn’t have managed to take on everyone.’
The girl smiles.
‘It wasn’t just him, sure he was the leader, but there were plenty of men by his side. Over twenty guys at least, all in suits. They all had their own limos, so it was pure confusion when it happened. The armed guards that were escorting us didn’t know which limo was which, and by the time they realised what was happening, it was too late. Me and my dad were riding in the back of a speeding limo, heading towards the train tracks. The car stopped, and my dad was thrown out. He was given a piece of paper with a number on it and then attacked. He was kicked and punched. Then one of the goons dropped a red rose on my dad’s lifeless body.’
‘So your Dad is dead?’
‘Nah, he was just beaten up. They kicked and punched him a few times. It’s like they wanted him to know who they were and what they wanted. Besides from that, he would have been found in a matter of minutes. He has one of those government V.I.P trackers on his ankle. They all wear them when they go out, just in case something like this happens.’
Roxanne stares at the unflinching nerve of the girl and finally gets to the point.
‘I can get you out of here.’
Twenty Seven
Mullins wakes up to a burning sensation on his legs. He can smell the searing heat coming off his body. He can feel the shattering pain that’s bouncing off his bones. He finally screams, letting out a tremendous tirade of anguish and pain.
‘What the fuck are you doing to me?’
The pain continues to intensify. The numbing sensation in his head throbs as his eyes feel like they are about to burst through his skull. The only thing he can do is shut his eyelids tightly, trying to avoid eye contact with his adversaries. He can hear their footsteps on the cold basement floor. The pitter-patter of violent feet surrounds him.
They scatter around him like prey surrounding their kill. Each step grows ever more menacing in his mind as he feels the scorching pain once more. He can’t bear to keep his eyes shut anymore. He opens them and sees his worst nightmare. The Italian man smiles at him. His eyes pierce through the protective goggles he’s wearing. He pushes them up, pulling the strap behind his ears as the goggles rest between his hair and forehead. The Italian man brushes the sweat off his brow and puts the goggles back on. The sound of the strap hitting the skin behind his ears jolts Mullins into a panic. The next sound frightens him even more. The Italian man flicks the switch on the flamethrower. It hisses as it sucks in the air. He points the nozzle at Mullins’s scorched feet. Mullins tries to move, but the burnt in fabric of his trousers are sticking him to the floor. He knows that this may be his last couple of minutes on earth. He looks down at his legs; he can see the extent of the damage. He’s sure that one more gust of fire aimed at his legs will render them ever useless. He knows the two men in the basement know this. They are toying with the Detective. They want Mullins to fear for his life. They want him to question whether he will walk again.
‘This may hurt a little,’ The Italian man says as he flicks the trigger on. The flames engulf the floor next to Mullins. He can feel the heat coming off the grainy concrete surface. The Italian man starts to aim higher, every second inching his way closer to the downed Detective.
‘Fuck it, he isn’t going to tell us what we want,’ the other man says as he approaches the flamethrower wielding Italian man.
‘So what? We will just need to MAKE him say something’
The man whispers something into the Italian man’s ear. The look of disappointment is evident on the small man’s face as he drops the flamethrower on the floor carelessly.
‘Fucking watch it man, you could set us on fire with that thing.’
‘That’s the idea. Fucking Antonio must think we are going soft or something. I would never dream of going half and half with these things. What’s the point in torching some guy’s legs only to stop before we get to the good bit?’
The Italian man takes his goggles off and throws them over his shoulder; much like a chef would throw salt over his shoulder. He bends down and grabs Mullins by the hair once again.
‘You got lucky cop! If it wasn’t for the understanding and compassion of the Boston Mafia, you wouldn’t be walking again. You’d have some charred stumps to hobble on for the rest of your life. Some skin graft will take care of that burn you got there. I’m sure you will be just fine. Taking into account the factor of us letting you go that is. We still have a lot of toys we can play with in here. I can assure you we are going to have a lot of fun!’
Twenty Eight
‘Are you telling me that we can’t get in contact with Detective Mullins?’
‘We’ve tried Frank, but it seems as if his radio is down,’ says Shaw as he eyes Frank’s aggressive stance. He knows what Frank is like when angry after him being on the wrong side of the Detective a few times.
‘Can’t we pinpoint his location using the GPS in the two way radio?’
‘We already have. He’s still in Humphries cleaning building downtown.’
Frank sits down on the chair facing Shaw’s desk. He takes out a cigarette and lights it up. He gives Shaw an intense but respectful look.
‘Let’s go in and get him,’ Frank says.
Shaw smiles as he too lights up a cigarette.
‘Already working on that. The new DA has given us a warrant. All we need is a team.’
‘Put me on point,’ says Frank abruptly.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’
‘Look I’m over my brother’s death. There was nothing you could have done. I’m ready to go back in the field.’
‘What about the Christmas box case?’
‘They are linked Sir that I am sure of.’
‘How do you work that one out Frank?’
‘I just know it Chief. Trust me on this one.’
Shaw inhales a large drag of his cigarette. He taps the ash into the ashtray and looks back up at Frank.
‘Get ready then. Meet the others in the parking lot. Get a flak jacket and some heavy weaponry. We are going in strong. This is strictly off the radar. We can’t let them know we are coming. These bastards have police scanners.’
‘No problem Sir. I’m sure they won’t even suspect a thing.’
Shaw grins at Frank and takes another toke of his cigarette.
‘Even if they do laddie ,that won’t stop the wrath of Boston’s finest crashing down their walls and cuffing every motherfucker in the building!’
Twenty Nine
Diary entry number Seventy Eight
Dated 25th of December 2012
The time has finally come. It is the day after my reckoning, a mere twenty four hours after all my hard work was pressed upon the eyes of the world. Now these eyes bore deep into my soul. They claim that I am a mad man, but they do not know of my life. They do not know of the pain and suffering you have caused me. It is time for them to know the full extent of my power and witness the cleansing of this putrid city. They think they can stop me, but they are wrong. You can’t stop fate. You can’t stop the inevitable. For when it’s time for the message to end, so will the heritage of this city. Boston will always be known for the love story between me and you. Will they won’t they? That is the question. I guess people will have to see for themselves. I can assure you I will get my own way eventually, even if I have to slay a hundred more to make my point heard…And they will hear me.
Eli
Thirty
‘What do you mean you can get me out of here?’
Roxanne puts her hand over the girl’s mouth.
‘Not so loud. Do you want to advertise our escape to the whole world?’
The girl shakes her head as Roxanne lets her grip go, the girl breaths in a sigh of relief.
‘So what’s the plan?’ The girl asks as she looks around the tightly spaced cell.
‘The Machete Man sits outside of the cell on a nightly basis. He practically sleeps on the stool. He keeps guard near our cell. He can overlook all of the cells from that spot. Sometimes he falls asleep. He likes to drink a lot. What I need you to do is cause a lot of fuss. He doesn’t like people making noise. He gets irritated easily. He will come into the cell and try and shut you up by force. Meanwhile, I’ll pretend I’m asleep, and when he enters to give you a beating, I’ll stab this into his neck,’ Roxanne says as she palms a crude makeshift shank.
‘Machete Man?’
Roxanne shakes her head in annoyance.
‘Yes…That’s his name.’
The girl laughs.
‘Says who?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just what I call him. What does it matter anyway?’
‘It doesn’t, it just seems a bit, I don’t know, 80’s B movie if you ask me.’
‘Well I wasn’t asking you.’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’
The girl looks around the cell once more.
‘So when are we going to do this?’
‘When he comes out of the killing room.’
The girl smiles at Roxanne.
‘The Killing room?...Never mind.’
Suddenly the Killing room door opens, and the Machete Man stumbles out. He’s holding a bottle of rum as he makes his way towards the stool next to the girl’s cell. He peers into the cell and waves candidly.
‘I hope you two are getting along well,’ he mutters as he sits down next to the cell. The two girls smile at each other as he starts to sing loudly in his chair.
‘Not quite yet. We want him to get as drunk as possible. The guy’s a brick house after all,’ Roxanne whispers.
‘Oh this is going to be fun,’ the girl says quietly.
Roxanne gives the giddy girl a sideward look.
‘This isn’t a game. He’s dangerous. We need to be careful,’ whispers Roxanne
‘I know. Let’s
just get this over and done with.’
Thirty One
Humphries is still in the back of his limo uninterested in the traffic and reeling in anger. He’s fed up of the excuses that his driver has been throwing at him. He’s not stupid nor was he born yesterday. He recognises the tall lawyers building the second time round. He’s clocked the building four times now. That’s four times they have driven around the same road. He suspects them of something, and he is right, but he has to play his cool. It could be a diversion. They could be driving him around to distract him from something. They could also be driving him around because they are expecting something to happen. It could be many things. An assassination, a job they are doing behind his back or it could be the simple fact that they may be truly lost. The window between the driver and him is playing with his mind. Any second now he is expecting the window to come down, and a double barrel shotgun to blast him to pieces. Paranoia has always been a factor in the mental stability of Humphries. Being like that has saved his life on many an occasion. It’s a gut feeling he feels on a regular basis. He’s got that feeling now. He doesn’t know quite what to do. When he does know is that he will react to it and get himself out of trouble.
The problem is he doesn’t know why he’s being driven around in circles. He trusts the driver and most of all, he trusts his right hand man Antonio. They have not shown any signs of cracks or distrusting characteristics since being employed by him. One thing he does know is his men will stand by him till the end, so it can’t be the driver or Antonio can it?