by Len Melvin
Simon rose and almost fell. He held one hand over his shoulder trying to stop the flow of blood as he stumbled to the table. He leaned against it, his vision blurring with pain. “Now what?”
“Put these on.” Number Eight threw a pair of handcuffs across the room. They landed at Simon’s feet.
“What?” Simon stalled for time. He was losing blood fast and felt a tinge of dizziness.
“Put one wrist in, sit down and then wrap the cuffs around the leg of the table.” Simon hesitated and then bent and picked up the handcuffs. “Hurry up before some other Fascist pig comes out one of them tunnels.”
Simon slapped one of the cuffs around his wrist. “Now what?”
“Sit down, wrap them cuffs around the leg of the table, put your back against the leg, and then put the other wrist inside the other cuff.”
Simon glanced at the different tunnels leading into the cavern, hoping that Number Eight might be correct about someone else coming through one of them. It might be his only chance. There would be no mercy from someone who had just gunned down one of his own mates and now had the chance to do the same to someone who had just shot him. “Do what now?”
“You heard me. Do it or I’ll shoot your sorry Fascist ass right now.”
Simon nodded, sat on the floor, and rested his back against the leg of the table. He reached behind his back, let out a moan as he stretched the injured shoulder and stuck his free wrist into the empty cuff. Number Eight approached cautiously, stuck the gun against Simon’s head again and peered behind Simon’s back. He felt along the length of the cuffs and with a smirk and a hint of a flourish, clicked the cuff into place around Simon’s wrist.
Setting the gun on the ground, he ran his hands through Simon’s pockets. “Hmmm.” He took the leather wallet from Simon’s pants, rubbing a finger over his shiny, star-shaped badge that said ‘Secret Service’ and then sat back and stared at Simon, his eyes narrowed under eyebrows that moved rapidly up and down. He pulled Simon’s shirt back, saw the microphone and ripped it away. He threw it on the floor of the cavern, placed his boot on top of it and pressed it into the ground.
He knelt, grabbed Simon’s ponytail and jerked it upward. He moved his head close to Simon as he held him. “You don’t look like no Secret Service agent to me.”
“That’s kind’a the idea.”
He grunted and then tossed Simon’s badge against one of the walls of the cavern. “No one’s coming to help you, Secret Service man.” Still holding Simon by his ponytail he pulled his fist back and struck Simon viciously across the face. Simon fell over to the side, spitting blood, his head almost to the floor of the cavern.
“There,” Number Eight said, sitting back on the floor, “I guess I don’t have to worry about no Kung Fu shit from your Secret Service ass.” Number Eight grabbed the table and used it as leverage to get to his feet. He laid a hand over his hip and blood oozed from in between his fingers. He looked down at his wound and then kicked Simon in his ribs.
Simon cried out, groaned and struggled to sit upright. Number Eight left him there, checking the perimeter of the cavern, stopping at the entrance of each tunnel, listening and looking for any hint of someone approaching. “They’ll be coming soon. Some of them were right behind me.”
Number Eight turned and glared at Simon, then paced back and forth, pausing at intervals, his head poised in an upward position, as he stood in front of the dark opening of one of the tunnels. “You know, you might be the only one that got down in one of the tunnels. There was so many killed and so much confusion.” He took the Zombie Knife from his belt. “That just might make you the most unlucky Secret Service agent ever.” Number Eight’s face broadened in a smile. He held the knife up in the dim light of the cavern and ran a finger along its edge. “I always liked this knife. Always thought it was a waste being in the hands of a girl.” A small chuckle came from his throat and he looked from the knife to Simon. “Maybe I should test it out.”
“You should get out of here while you can. There will be other agents here soon.”
Number Eight shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Secret Service man. I think you was the only one dumb enough to come down in here.”
“Look, you killed the President. You achieved your goal. You can get out of here and get away now.”
Number Eight pointed the knife at Simon. “I got a hole in my hip because of you. And it just occurred to me that you’re the only one who’s seen my face. And,” Number Eight limped slowly toward Simon, “that’s not good for you.”
◆◆◆
Beaux peered into the cavern from the shadow of a tunnel. Simon sat on the floor, his hands bound, while a hulk of a man advanced on him brandishing a knife.
She reached into her backpack for her Glock 19 and then cursed as she remembered it had been taken from her at the security fence. She felt around for any kind of weapon and then her hand came upon a long tubular object. She took it out and looked at it. She had never used it, was not quite sure how it worked and didn’t even know if it had to be charged, and if so, whether it was charged.
She took a deep breath and stepped into the light of the cavern. “Hey!” she yelled. “Hey!”
The man turned, startled at first. He glanced at the other tunnel entrances again, and then gave her a slow, sleazy grin. “Who are you, little girl?”
“Get out of here, Beaux,” Simon screamed. “Run!”
“Well, well, well,” Number Eight took a step toward Beaux, the knife held out in front of him. “A friend of the Fascist. And pretty, too.” Number Eight turned back to Simon. “I hear these Fascist girls really like a big dick.” He groped himself, roared with laughter and turned back to Beaux just as a tip of the black baton touched him in his chest. The laugh caught in his throat, throttled halfway out, then petered out into a soft moan. His eyes rolled back in his head and he twisted as he fell, the big belly hitting the ground just before his face. He lay on the floor of the cavern, his body twitching and then he was still.
Beaux shook the baton, trying to get it to recede.
“What the hell did you just do?” Simon asked.
Beaux hit a button and the baton weaved back to her and clicked into place. “I just batonned him.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. I don’t think so. I think he’s gonna be out for like twenty minutes.”
Simon studied the figure spreadeagled on the ground then looked back at Beaux. “Can you stop grinning and get me out of these?”
“Yeah.” Beaux set the baton down and ran to Simon. She laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay, Uncle Simon?”
Simon nodded slowly. “Yeah, just get these handcuffs off me,”
She pulled at the handcuffs and then sat back. “Where are the keys?”
“Try his pockets.”
Beaux rose and hurried over to Number Eight.
“His pockets?” Her face scrunched in distaste.
“Hurry.”
“Okay.” Beaux kneeled but she turned away from Number Eight’s face as she felt through his pockets. “Hey,” she said as she felt a metal bracelet. She pulled it from his front pocket and held it up to Simon. “There’s another set of handcuffs and it has a key already in the lock.”
“Bring it over here and see if it works.”
“Not so fast.” Beaux froze at the sound of the voice and turned to see a hooded figure staring back at her through thick, dark-rimmed glasses. He pointed a gun at Beaux. A flicker of a smile played at the end of thin lips. The smile broadened to show a set of overlapped teeth that almost obscured the lips.
“Who are you?”
The man waved the gun toward Simon. “Ask him.”
“His name is Miguel.” Simon turned his head to the hooded figure. “She’s got nothing to do with this. This is between me and you. Let her go.”
Miguel shook his head. “Oh, it has to do with her, Uncle Simon,” Miguel said sarcastically. “She’s a relative.” He ran a tongue over his lips as his eye
s moved over her. “And a pretty one. This could be interest on the debt you owe me.” He motioned to Beaux. “Now it’s time for you to put them on.”
“What?” Beaux looked from Miguel to Simon and back to Miguel. “What?”
“Put the cuffs on.” He flicked the barrel of the gun toward the table where Simon sat cuffed. “You get the next leg of the table. That way your uncle gets to watch.” Beaux glanced at the cuffs in her hand and then to Simon. “Now.” Miguel’s eyebrows flicked up and down in amusement as he held the gun up next to his face. “We might not have that much time and I do take pride in my work.” He laughed and the sound bounced hollow off the walls of the cavern. He stopped laughing, the dead eyes fixated on Beaux. “And any sort of movement toward that thing, whatever it is,” Miguel nodded at the baton that lay on the ground, “and your uncle, I swear, gets a bullet in the head.”
Beaux looked around the cavern, searching for an idea. Her attention went back to Miguel who was staring at her. “There is no help coming, little girl.” Miguel slowly removed the hood from his head, the white teeth gleaming, his voice full of false melancholy. “It’s time to pay for the sins of your uncle and the man he has served. They’ll find you both here and blame it on the attackers. Of course,” Miguel narrowed his eyes, so that they became small slits, “after I’m through with you, it will take some time to identify you. I will be gone and the only man who could have identified me will be gone. And the three years I spent in a Spanish jail because of him will be somewhat avenged.”
“How did you get out anyway?” Simon asked, playing for time.
“I suppose that would be of interest to you. They sent me to a prison in Ceuta, the Spanish Province on the north coast of Africa. It’s supposed to be one of the toughest prisons and hardest to escape from. Kind’a like Alcatraz was maybe. They just didn’t count on the prison being overrun by Moroccans trying to get into Spain. After that, I made my way to Tunisia, got work on a trawler headed to the U.S., and then proceeded to look for you. It wasn’t very hard. You’ve been quite the Secret Service star.” Miguel paced the room as he spoke. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You think of me as evil and did everything you could, including flying to Spain to testify against me, but you put your life on the line for one who is maybe not quite as evil but surely has the power to inflict far greater damage to the world. I move slowly and do my work privately in the dark and on a very small scale. You risk your life for a far greater menace than I could ever be.” Miguel stopped walking and glared at Simon. “You fucking hypocrite.” Miguel turned to Beaux who held the cuffs in her hand, unmoving. “And penance is about to be served. Now get over there and on the floor.”
Beaux turned and faced Miguel. “No.” She threw the cuffs on the ground. “No,” she said louder.
Miguel moved his head to the side, an almost imperceptible shift, as if he hadn't heard her correctly. “No?”
“No. I’m not going to put these cuffs on and I’m not sitting on the floor.” She straightened, her hands on her hips. “Whatever happens is going to be with me upright and unbound.”
Next to her, Simon had slouched to the side, his head nodding forward, almost resting on his chest. “Don’t pass out on me over there,” Miguel told him. “I want you to see what’s about to happen.” He smiled at Beaux. “Girl, you’re going to be fun.” He held up the gun. “Get over there.”
“Fuck you.”
Miguel took a quick step forward and grabbed Beaux by the collar of her shirt, jerking her up so that her feet were almost off the ground. He pushed her against the wall, his face close to hers. “You’re going to learn to obey me before today is over.”
Beaux swung at Miguel with an open hand, connecting hard with his nose. He released her and took a half-step back. He touched his face and his fingers came away bloody. He glared at Beaux for a moment and then lunged forward, wrapping his hand around her throat. Beaux swung at him again, but he shifted his head to the side, dodging her punch. He slapped her as she struggled to free herself and then slapped her again.
“This one has spirit.” Miguel grinned over at Simon. He pushed Beaux back against the wall and lifted her up, so that she was on her tiptoes. Her face reddened as she struggled for breath. He released her suddenly and Beaux bent over, her hands on her knees, struggling for breath. Grabbing her by her hair, he pulled her upright and slapped her again, then threw her to the ground.
He stepped over her and picked up the cuffs. Kneeling, he straddled her, grabbed her wrist and stuck it inside one of the cuffs. He dragged her by the cuffs across the cavern floor to the table. In silence, he wrapped the chain of the handcuffs around the table leg and pushed her other wrist into the enclosure.
“Now,” Miguel brushed his hands together, “we can get down to business.”
Next to her, Simon’s eyes had turned glassy and unfocused. “Hang on, Uncle Simon. There’s help on the way.”
“Sad.” Miguel stood over Simon, exposing teeth in a thin smile. “You hear that, Sorenson?” He bent down and tipped Simon’s chin up. “No one’s coming. You remember how I work, don’t you? Normally,” Miguel leered at Beaux, “I do the man first, just to let the girl watch and know what’s coming. But, I’m going to make an exception this time. I think your uncle should see what’s gonna’ happen to his pretty little niece.” He shoved Simon’s head back with force against the leg of the table. He raised an index finger to Simon. “I’ll be back for you in a while. You just pay attention so you can get a taste of what you got coming.”
Miguel turned to Beaux, the finger still pointed upward. “I’ll be right back.” He went to the tunnel on the far side of the cavern and walked the perimeter, pausing in front of the entrance to each tunnel. He stopped when he came to where Number Eight lay. He knelt and picked up the Zombie Knife and held it to the light. He smiled and looked at Beaux. “Girl, I do wish we had more time. You do look delicious.” Miguel’s tongue moved across his lips. He knelt in front of Beaux and pressed the blade of the Zombie Knife into her cheek until her skin turned bright red. “Now don’t move ‘cause I’d hate for this knife to slip.” His other hand moved casually over Beaux’s chest. “You got some big tits, girl, to be so young.” He shifted his hand to the other side of her chest and gave a firm squeeze. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”
He gripped Beaux’s waist, glanced at Simon and laughed. “And I haven’t even got to the good places yet. Now this is going to hurt a little but I don’t want you to scream,” he whispered in her ear, “or I’m gonna make it worse on your uncle. And you better make him think you’re enjoying it.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her on the lips and then pulled back, his face almost touching hers. “You understand?”
Beaux moved her head up and down.
“Good.” Miguel slid his hand between Beaux’s legs. He pressed the knife harder against her face as he massaged her with the other hand. “You like that don’t you?”
Beaux turned her head to the side and was silent. “Tell your uncle you like where my hand is or I’m gonna’ make it harder on him.” Miguel unsnapped the buckle on Beaux’s pants and inserted his hand under her jeans. He began to move his hand back and forth. “Tell him.”
“No.”
“Your uncle will suffer a lot more unless you tell him.” He pushed the knife harder against Beaux’s face. “You got it?”
“Come closer.”
“What?”
“Come closer. Kiss me again.” Miguel smiled, pursed his lips and moved in to kiss Beaux. Beaux took a deep breath and then spat into Miguel’s face.
Miguel recoiled and wiped his face with his sleeve. “You fucking bitch.” He shifted backward as he studied her. “You’re going to pay for that, I promise.” He drew back, then whipped the back of his hand across Beaux’s face. The force of the blow knocked Beaux’s baseball cap off and she lay to the side, spitting and sputtering as she coughed. He grabbed her by her hair, stuck the knife to her face a
nd very deliberately, carved a deep cut in the shape of a crescent moon below her left eye. Blood spurted from her face. “You see how this works now?” He held the knife up. “I’m going to really hurt you unless you’re nice to me.” Miguel began to laugh. “Don’t worry, girl. You’ll come around.” He ran his tongue slowly along the edge of the blade. “They all do sooner or later.”
A pop sounded, as if a small balloon had burst, and a golden blur of movement flashed in the middle of the room. Miguel pulled the knife away from Beaux. “What was that?”
Behind him, a piece of wood appeared out of thin air. Miguel stood and turned as the barrel of a bat materialized and swung around in a long arc. The blow caught him flush on one side of his face. His eyes momentarily crossed and then he crumpled to his knees with a whimper. Blood gushed from his mouth and he knelt over and spit teeth out onto the cavern floor. The knife fell from his hands and he put both hands over his battered face. “Ahhggg,” he screamed.
There was another brief burst of golden color and a man appeared behind the bat. First an arm and then the upper torso were exposed and then legs stepped out from the protective cloak. Malouf dropped the baseball bat and with both hands pulled matted hair from each side of his head and slipped the wet hair behind his ears. “Damn, that thing is hot.” He shoved Miguel’s writhing body over with his boot and then turned to Beaux. “Are you okay?”
Beaux took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” She tilted her head and wiped blood from the side of her face with the sleeve of her shirt. “Get these off of me.” Malouf took the key from the table and unlocked Beaux’s cuffs. “Oh, man, he had them on tight.”
Beaux rose slowly, rubbing her wrists. She looked at Malouf, then ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. “Malouf, oh, my God.” She buried her head in his shoulder. “Thank you. Oh, God, thank you.”
He pulled her to him, held her close, then brought her head from his shoulder and kissed her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.
