My knuckles are bleeding... (770 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.53 on 15 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by shadow (View user info) at 2008-01-25 11:58:59 EST
I'm staring down at the jagged pale remnants of skin which seem to have exploded away from the bone. Blood is drying across the back of my hands, but it's still pouring fresh from the centers of each wound, making a pattern of slick dark red radiating out to rusting brown. Thick drops of purple fall like corn syrup from the circular cut above my right eye making a small pool on the stained concrete floor where I rest, on all fours. I guess that's why the movie guys use corn syrup for special effects, it really is quite similar.
Nikki said this place was a warehouse, but I'm starting to think it's a slaughterhouse. Those stains on the floor didn't come from machinery.
"Who the fuck do you work for?" The voice is a raspy baritone, echoing in the small space, reverberating through my mind. I think I may have a concussion. Time passes slowly, eons in each second as I ponder just how I can answer that question, just how can I make the beating stop... It's no use and I know it. I'm going to die here and no piece of information I betray or hold will change that fact. Best to just keep silent. Wait it out. Wait for the sickening click of the nine millimeter and the inevitable bang to follow. I wonder if I'll hear the bullet coming.
My knuckles are bleeding and so is my lip, split a little off-center when it ripped over my crooked bottom tooth. I close my eyes, and I try for all I'm worth to take a deep breath. The pain in my ribs is too sharp, too fresh, leaving me to gasp instead. I laugh. Not on purpose, I don't find anything particularly funny about this situation, it just rumbled up from my center involuntarily; I guess on some level I can appreciate the absurdity of the moment. I laugh low and hollow and open my eyes just fast enough to catch the sight of a boot from the corner of my eye. I have enough time to wince before it makes contact with my face, sending me sprawling on my side.
"I asked you a fucking question! Who the fuck do you work for, nigger?" I don't like being called that. Principally because it is a word meant to incite anger and hatred, but also because it shows the ignorance of the person using it. I lay on my side looking at the floor where it meets the wall, wondering how many victims' blood it took to turn that whole patch of concrete black.
"Get him up. Put him in the chair." Another one speaks and a moment later there are hands on my shoulders and arms, pulling me away from the splatters of my own blood. I give no resistance, it would be fruitless. On a good day I could take two of these guys, I'm sure, but there are four and they have guns, and I'm beaten up pretty good. The world spins in my vision as they deposit me on a metal folding chair which creaks sharply under my weight.
"Can I get you anything?" I squint with my left eye to make out his face. Navy blue suit, a nice one too, olive skin, two scars on his right cheek, brown eyes, black hair slicked back into a pony tail. Short trim goatee and the look of a man who lost his temper one too many times. I've seen his face in the paper... If I didn't already know I was dead, this would have sealed the deal. "How's your head?" He's playing the good cop I suppose; two thugs to beat the truth out of you, two suits to outsmart you.
"What can I say, sir, this just isn't my day." I say the words slowly, carefully articulating around my swollen lip.
"You know, this could all be over right now. There's no need for anymore pain," he leans down to meet my eyes, a practiced false concern etched on his face, "honor has been satisfied, nobody would fault you for giving in now. Just tell me who sent you, we can figure everything else out." That is quite a tempting offer, but I know I can't take it. If I told them how I came to be here, Chris and Nikki and Charles will be dead in a day. I simply cannot let that happen. The longer these goons keep me here, the more likely Chris and Nikki will figure out that I'm dead and skip town. Charles won't have to worry about anything, this can all end with me.
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have anything to give you." He sighs. I close my eyes and wait for the next round of blows. Nothing happens just yet. The thugs lean against the wall, the skinny one in a brown coat lights up a smoke, the chubby guy starts talking to him about the Superbowl, wagers, bets, and speculation. Just like two regular guys meeting at the water cooler. I'm sure if you met them on the street you wouldn't take them for killers. I bet they have wives, or girlfriends. Maybe kids.
The suits conference in the corner by the door. Navy blue suit, I'm pretty sure his name is Anthony Giovanni, leans in to whisper to the black pin-stripe. Oh hell, I know both of these guys; the pin-stripe is a Mafia sub-boss, Kristof Werner, he was arraigned on drug charges two months ago. I guess the charges didn't stick. I guess Charles was right, we really were dealing with shit that was over our heads. Foolish.
The suits are turning back to me. Discussing my fate no doubt, planning their next move.
"Are you sure I can't offer you anything?" Giovanni asks. He gives me a long serious look. I glance over at the skinny thug, the one who struck my face with his boot.
"What brand does he smoke?" I ask, turning back to Giovanni. The left corner of his lip curls up ever so slightly.
"Looks like Camels. Full flavor, is that right Joey?" Joey nods, putting his hand over his pack. "Give a cigarette to Mr. Grey over here. Light it for him." Joey snarls, giving an indignant nod, and walks over to me, opening the pack. He takes one out, blowing loose tobacco from the filter, and hands it to me. I take it gingerly with my right hand, closing my busted fingers around it slowly. He pulls out his lighter, a gauche gold contraption with little rhinestones stuck to one side in a pattern I can't make out behind his hand. A flame erupts as he opens it, and I pull the cigarette up to my lips, to the side that is not swollen with blood.
I take a deep draw from it, feeling the thick smoke burning all the way down to my lungs. The hot particles spike my senses painfully, and I must try hard not to cough. I let the smoke out slowly, curling it above my lip to take it back in with my nose, savoring it. I quit eight months ago, but today I find myself unconcerned with the health repercussions.
I am reminded of an old gangster movie. I hated those movies when I was a kid, but my dad loved them. I can't remember if it's Godfather or Goodfellas or something else, they all seemed the same to me after a while. I got an idea in my head now, an awful wonderful idea.
"Thank you my brother." I say as Joey deposits himself back against the wall.
"I'm not your fucking brother." He spits back.
"Oh yes," I begin, taking another deep draw from the cigarette, "you are. You see, back in the heyday of Mediterranean trading, people were bought and sold on both sides of the sea. Traders from Europe and Africa transferred not just goods, but flesh. There were invasions on both sides, women were taken as trophies, you get the idea. You never wondered how you got that nice tanning skin, that black curly hair? It's because at some point back in your family line, one of your ancestors fucked a nigger." He looks at the bronze skin of his hands, then at my chocolate exterior. "How does that sit with you, brother?"
He explodes with anger, lunging at me. Giovanni steps in the way, quaffing his rage with a stern expression. "Well I am glad to see your appreciation for diversity and history, Mr. Grey," he turns on me, no amusement in his eyes, "but it's not doing you any favors to piss these men off." I smile, the smile of a dead man, and take another long drag. "Well, it looks like we're done here." He walks back to the pin-stripe, Werner, who hands him the gun formerly tucked under his jacket. "Any last words?" He asks, walking back to stand in front of me.
"No, sir. I believe we are done here."
I can hear the abrasion of metal on metal as he pulls the slide back, the soft chink of a round entering the chamber, the sickening click...
User Reviews
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2008-02-19 11:45:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-01-25 12:35:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
MISS YOU.
If you come back, I'll bake cookies.
Just think about it... mmmmm cookies...
~~~~
*hug*
Submitted by DonovanMD (user info) at 2008-01-28 20:02:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Automatic real writing +2. And it was good too.
Submitted by His_Infernal_Majesty (user info) at 2008-01-28 19:37:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Nevertheless, I like it in both places; sorry for the -2
Submitted by His_Infernal_Majesty (user info) at 2008-01-28 19:15:39 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
I liked it better when Dennis Hopper said that in True Romance. Hack.
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2008-01-27 10:30:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2008-01-25 16:32:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Director (user info) at 2008-01-25 15:46:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
cool.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-01-25 14:45:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
My knuckles RARELY bleed when I'm done masturbating.
You must not be doing it right. Want me to help?
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2008-01-25 14:32:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fun Fact: I laugh when I hurt, too.
Also, anyone who inflicts large amounts of physical injury during interrogations is a complete amateur/idiot.
...
Isn't psychology fun?
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2008-01-25 13:39:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2008-01-25 12:53:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-01-25 12:42:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I was pulled over on my way home last night, given a work order for all the busted shit on my car; it looks like one night in North East DC is going to cost me $480.
Bastards.
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-01-25 12:18:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome with a capitol A.
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2008-01-25 12:08:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
he must've missed!
Submitted by HadToBeDone (user info) at 2008-01-25 12:05:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
WTFINRAT
Actually, this was good. It seems strangely out of place.