Last Stop

by Lou Harper

  Jay tipped his head sideways and turned on his sex-kitten voice. “You don’t have to be. I can give you the best blowjob of your life. If you close your eyes you won’t know it’s not a girl sucking you.” The reply was aimed at Gino, but Jay kept his eye locked on Joey’s. As if he was going for seducing the guy.

  “Girls have tits and cunts,” Nicky remarked.

  Turning his head toward Nicky, Jay chanced a quick glance at Sam. He thought he caught a movement. “I can’t help you there, but how many women do you know who can deep-throat? I can. I’ll suck your nuts for you too. I’ll give you head like you never had in your life, or your money back.” Jay winked at Nicky, who looked back at him with a mixture of disgust and anticipation—no doubt at the impending violence. As a bunch they were easy to read, but would never make book of the month.

  “Maybe we should wake up your boyfriend, have him watch,” Joey suggested.

  Jay didn’t want them to even look at Sam, so he heartily agreed. “Oh, he’d like that, he’s into that.” Jay lowered his lashes for effect and to hide the glimpse toward Sam. Jay’s heart thudded as he realized Sam’s figure wasn’t hanging limp anymore—he was standing up straight, straining, and appeared to be glaring at Jay. Jay turned his attention back to Joey. Jay gave the gangster a vampish look.

  The reverse psychology worked, as Joey’s eyes stayed on Jay. “Is he now?”

  Joey acted the role of the tough guy playing with the stupid little fag before beating the shit out of him, but his eyes were dark with more than just menace. He was turned on. Jay didn’t miss the bulge in Joey’s slacks. He knew the type—for Joey, sex and violence were the same thing.

  “Yeah, he likes watching me being used. You know what he’d love?”

  “Tell me.”

  “One of you fucking me while I sucked the cock of the other.”

  “So that’s what you and Robbie do for entertainment?”

  Joey took a step forward, and Jay knew from the way the other two were practically salivating that they were nearing the finale. Jay sent Sam mental pleas to hurry the fuck up.

  “And other things,” he said, not daring to take his eyes off Joey, no matter how much he wanted to look at Sam.

  Joey took another step closer, effectively blocking Sam from Jay’s line of sight. “How about him watching us rough you up a little?”

  “Yeah, he’d definitely like that.”

  Jay tried to keep up the act, but his fear started seeping through. Joey saw it and loved it. The thick scent of arousal hit Jay as Joey took another step forward.

  “You like it rough, don’t you?” Joey snarled.

  “I do.”

  “I can give you rough.”

  Joey’s face was split in two by a wide, canine-flashing grin. It was probably the most blood-chilling thing Jay had ever seen. He lost it.

  “No need to be prickly like a PORCUPINE!” Jay practically shouted the last word. He couldn’t see Sam but hoped Sam was ready.

  When the fog cleared Sam was glad for having a thick skull. Realizing that there were three figures circled around Jay, his first instinct was to shout at them, but cold logic stopped him. Jay was handling them for the time being. Even if Sam got them away from Jay, their fate was a slow and painful death while they were both bound. Sam had to get himself free. It wasn’t easy. He could just reach the buckles of the cuff around his right wrist with his fingertips. It was a good thing he was more or less ambidextrous. He was so focused on the task that without realizing it he lost touch with what else was happening in the room. Jay’s voice, shouting his safe word shocked him into awareness just as he loosened the last buckle. Sam knew he had to get Joey away from Jay by any means necessary.

  “Hey, Joey!” Sam shouted at the top of his lungs.

  The three were so focused on Jay that for a second they seemed surprised to remember Sam was there too. It didn’t last long—a moment later they were twice as pleased to have Sam participate in their little game too. Gino and Nicky stepped back, but Joey stayed where he was, his grubby hand holding Jay’s chin. It felt like a lifetime since Sam had last seen Joey in that Chicago courthouse. The fucker hadn’t changed much—his hair had thinned and he’d put on some weight, but overall he was pretty much the same. With his fleshy cheeks and thick lips curved into a permanent smirk, Joey had always reminded Sam of a petulant child.

  A vicious grin flooded Joey’s face at the sight of a conscious and concerned Sam. Sam had seen that expression before and knew it meant danger.

  “This will be fun. How nice of you to live in this dump. We don’t have to go to the trouble of dragging you into some abandoned warehouse—we’re already in one.” Joey’s voice oozed like an infected wound, while he tightened his grip on Jay. Sam’s skin crawled seeing Joey’s fingers dig into Jay’s flesh. Suddenly Joey let go, lifted his hand, and hit Jay across the face backhanded, strong enough that Jay got knocked back into the wall. Sam couldn’t smother the growl that broke out of his throat. It amused Joey immensely.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this. Back in prison I went to bed every night thinking of the things I’d do to you. You won’t believe the plans I’ve got. Of course, I only planned for you, but this…you bringing me a present is even better,” he said, gesturing at Jay. “With you watching, this will be more fun than that faggot lawyer friend of yours.” Joey turned to Jay with the expression of a hungry predator.

  Sam knew he had to get Joey away from Jay immediately.

  “It turned you on, didn’t it?” he snarled at Joey, whose head snapped toward Sam. “I bet you were rock hard. Did you think of fucking his mouth when you jerked off that night?” Sam intentionally lowered his voice and made it fill with lecherous intimacy. “Or did you think of fucking his ass? No, no, that’s not right…that’s not really you. I bet you were dreaming of a big fat dick up your own ass, weren’t you, Joey boy?” Sam purred.

  The murderous flash in Joey’s eyes told Sam that he’d hit a nerve. Joey rushed Sam, who just had enough time to tighten up his stomach muscles before Joey’s fist slammed into them. He would’ve doubled over if he wasn’t trussed up like he was. At least he could yank hard on his chains. He could have pulled his right wrist out of the cuff, but it was too soon. At least could feel the bolt of the other one loosening in the plaster. Just one more big pull…

  “Leave him alone! You sick son of a bitch!” Jay howled.

  Shut up, Tiger, shut the fuck up! Sam’s mind screamed. “Hey, Joey, want me to fuck your fat ass?” he leered, but it was too late—the fucker got his self-control back.

  “You keep an eye on this one,” Joey told Gino, pointing at Sam. “Shoot him in the knees if he says another word.”

  Gino eagerly complied, switching the blade he was clutching for a gun to demonstrate his enthusiasm.

  To Sam’s alarm, Joey took a few steps back and closer to Jay. His face was grotesquely twisted with excitement and anticipation, pupils dilated. He was fucking enjoying himself. It was almost orgasmic. “You won’t fuck with me, Robbie. I waited for this too long; we’ll do this right. You’ll just stand there while we have some fun with your little fuck buddy. I wonder how he’ll like a baseball bat up the ass. He probably enjoys that, doesn’t he?”

  Gino pointed his gun at Sam’s knee, in case Sam opened his mouth. Sam gritted his teeth but kept silent. Unfortunately, Jay didn’t.

  “Fuck you, you dickless asshole!” Jay snarled at Joey.

  For a second three savage pairs of eyes turned to Jay, and Sam used the moment of distraction to make his move. He wrenched his chains as hard as he could. He felt the left one give a little, but not quite enough. However, his right wrist slipped out of the cuff. He grabbed for Gino’s hand, the one holding the gun, and twisted it hard. A surprise of pain flashed over Gino’s face, and a loud bang echoed in the room as the weapon discharged.

  Everything happened lightning fast. Sam registered Nicky’s out-of-focus shape in the background sway and slump to the
floor, but his main attention was on not letting Gino go. He kept his right hand on Gino’s wrist and twisted it harder till the gun fell, skittering on the ground. It skidded roughly in Jay’s direction, but Sam couldn’t pay attention to that either. He gripped the chain still holding him to the wall and yanked with all his might. It gave in a shower of plaster, and Sam stumbled forward, on top of Gino who still struggled to gain control. Sam grabbed him with both hands, spun him around and slammed him into the wall headfirst.

  Gino’s skull made an ugly sound, but it was immediately outdone by the loud bang of another gunshot. Sam twisted and threw himself in its direction in sync with the frantic beat of his heart, in spite of knowing the futility of it. It was already all over—there was a nasty little hole in the middle of Joey’s forehead and a stupid expression on his face, caught between surprise and disbelief. For a sliver of a second that felt like time standing still, he stayed upright, then crumbled to the floor. At the same moment a boulder rolled off Sam’s chest, and finally he could breathe freely.

  Sam gently took the gun from Jay and wiped it down with his T-shirt. He made sure only his own fingerprints were on it before putting it on the ground. Jay stood watching Sam as if in a daze. Sam took Jay’s hands, and with his thumb he softly stroked the angry red welts on Jay’s wrist.

  “He used plain old zip-ties. Amateur,” Jay croaked out the explanation.

  Sam was even more grateful for Bill Harlan and his lessons. He should call Bill and thank him. It was also good to know that he himself did at least one thing right by Jay, by making him train with Bill. Sam was about to do another thing right by keeping Jay’s role in this mess to a minimum.

  “You don’t say anything to the cops, not even the time of day. Whatever they say, you tell them you want to talk to Special Agent Arlen Jones. You don’t talk to anyone else. You especially don’t tell anyone that you shot Joey. Got it?”

  Jay nodded but he looked pretty out of it. “He’s dead,” he murmured, eyes locked on the lifeless lump that was once Joey Gianco.

  “Yes. It’s over,” Sam said, stepping between Jay and the body.

  “I was so scared that I was late and he’d already killed you.”

  A scraping sound made Sam spin around. It was Nicky, pushing himself onto his elbow, hand stretching for the gun he’d dropped. In a few swift steps Sam was there and kicked it far out of Nicky’s reach.

  “Go to hell, Nicky,” Sam growled and pushed Nicky back down with his feet.

  It took little effort. Sam suppressed the urge to do more. It wasn’t him, not any more. Nicky opened his mouth, but instead of words, blood spilled out. Nicky glared at Sam but the gleam went out of his eyes fast. At last they were just staring blindly at nothing in particular. He was still breathing, but wouldn’t be for very much longer.

  Nerves still dancing on the edge of adrenaline, Sam checked on Gino and found him still unconscious. A thin stream of blood trickled from his ear. Sam left him as he was. Finally, becoming aware of the chain dangling from his left wrist Sam undid the cuff and dropped it on the ground.

  Jay was sitting on the concrete floor, hugging his knees. Plainly, he was trying to keep it together, but was having a hard time. Sam knelt behind Jay and pulled him into his arms. Little shivers ran through Jay, so Sam clutched him tighter and kissed his temple, his hair.

  “Shh… It’s over now. It’s all over,” Sam hushed, rocking gently.

  His ears picked up the sound of police sirens in the distance—they were getting closer.

  When the door banged open and the SWAT team poured in, guns drawn, shouting, Sam tightened his arms around Jay. Fortunately, tight on their heels a man in a rumpled suit followed and made the gung-ho cops leave them be.

  “About time you showed up,” Sam said wearily to Special Agent Arlen Jones.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jay was asleep. Without that brassy front he put on, Jay showed all his youth and vulnerability. It woke a fierce protective urge in Sam. He just wasn’t sure he had the right to think of himself in that role. Not judging from the vivid purple shiner around Jay’s eye. Jay’s physical injuries were minor. The doctors were more concerned about the shock. They’d given him painkillers and mild sedatives, but that was enough. Once the adrenaline drained out of him, Jay crashed hard. The doctors had tried to crowd around Sam too, but he told them to mind their own business.

  Jones suddenly being in the picture had the advantage of making Sam and Jay all important, worthy of a private room in the hospital. It also got them out of the reach of local law enforcement—the Feds trumped all. Sam caught the frustrated looks from a couple of plain-clothes detectives. Not surprisingly, Jones was busy and had to rush off after exchanging just a few words. Once the doctors and nurses stopped fussing around, Sam lay down on the settee under the window and closed his eyes.

  Sam only meant to rest for a minute, but he too was tired to the bone—probably worn out from more than just a lost night of sleep. He woke with a start to find the room dark and quiet. Sam leaped up, heart pounding, and his first instinct was to check the silent figure on the bed. It was all good though. Jay was still sleeping, his breathing steady and strong. Sam exhaled, deflating like a balloon.

  “You’re edgy.” Sam heard a voice from a dark corner of the room and nearly jumped out of his skin again, before realizing it was just Jones.

  “Fuck. Don’t do that. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry, wasn’t intentional.”

  “It’s okay. How long have you been here?” Sam said as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

  “About an hour—needed some rest myself.”

  Jones pushed himself up from his chair and stepped into the soft light of the night lamp. He looked wiped.

  “Want to get some coffee?” Jones asked.

  “I don’t want to leave him alone,” Sam said, looking at Jay.

  “There’s a uniform by the door.”

  Sam cocked his eyebrow at Jones in a wordless query.

  “There are concerns about your propensity to run,” Jones explained.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Let’s say I do. My boss doesn’t. So, coffee?”

  Sam nodded. He could use some pick-me-up.

  The cafeteria was mostly empty, but a hospital never shuts down completely. There was no regular food service, but a bank of vending machines lined one wall ready to dispense refreshments of dubious quality to anyone unlucky enough to be stuck there at such an unsociable hour. They got coffees and a couple of muffins wrapped in plastic and settled at a table in the corner.

  Sam took a good look at Jones. His eyes were red and the stubble on his face was way past being a five o’clock shadow.

  “You look like hell,” Sam said.

  “Thanks. So do you.”

  “Long day. Where the fuck have you been that you couldn’t even answer your phone, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sam demanded, while peeling the plastic wrapper off his muffin.

  “Deep undercover. Didn’t even know something was wrong until about a month ago. Technically, I’m not even your handler anymore.”

  “So how did you find me just now?”

  “Remember that last time you called?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess you threw the phone away. Some homeless guy fished it out of the trash. Agent Coldwell called back and got his location out of him. Then your young friend called and left a message with the address. I guess he did that just before going after you. I was on the plane, about to land, when the call came in, so didn’t hear it till after. I called the local police right away, but apparently some ‘crazy woman’ was already harassing them about a disturbance at that address.”

  “I see.”

  Sam’s muffin looked sad and sticky. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but couldn’t remember the last time he ate, so he dutifully tore off pieces and shoved them in his mouth. They didn’t taste much like anything. Jones didn’t even unwrap his.
r />   Instead he raised a couple of bloodshot eyes at Sam. “Tell me, why didn’t you just call the fucking FBI?”

  “You kidding me? Without knowing how Joey found out my supposedly super-secret new identity?”

  Jones sighed. “I guess you weren’t completely off. Well, it doesn’t matter now. What’s important is that the whole fucking mess is over.”

  “Will there be a trial?”

  “I doubt it. We picked up this private detective that Joey had on the payroll, Rapalski. Are you familiar with him?”

  “Yeah, we’ve met.”

  “Well, he’s singing like a bird. The charges of accessory to murder, attempted murder and kidnapping loosened his tongue. And that bloodbath at your place is a pretty open-and-shut self-defense. Nobody’s crying over Nicky Torino or Joey Gianco.”

  “How about Joey’s father?”

  “Sal Gianco passed away last week at Chicago Memorial. The whole Gianco family is history. Joey managed to piss off all the wrong people, settling old scores after his release. Apparently, while in the slammer he’d been nursing all kinds of grudges—half of them only existing in his head. He managed to incite a turf war.”

  “He’s always been a stupid fuck and a psycho.”

  “Yeah, you told me that last time. In the end it works to your advantage. By the time the dust settles, the lines will be redrawn and nobody will remember you. You’d do well not visiting the old stomping grounds though—someone might still shoot you on principle.”

  “I have no intention of ever returning to Chicago,” Sam said, leaning back. The rubber-wrapped legs of his chair squeaked on the tile floor.

  “That’s wise.”

  “What about Gino?”

  “Gino? You brained him well. He’s in a coma. The doctors don’t think he’ll come out of it. Even if he does, he’ll likely be a vegetable.”

  “What a pity,” Sam said dryly.

  “You could say that.” Jones wasn’t any more heartbroken over the fate of Gino Rizzi than Sam.