by Rob Buckman
"You smoke?" He asked.
"I've been known to once in a while." With care, he sat the food and mug down on the floor, placing a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches on the bed. Taking his automatic out, he held it against his side, staying out of the line of fire from the FBI man.
"Reach your hands out slowly." Mike knew what he meant, and complied. Bonner unlocked one cuff, stepping back the moment it was open. He moved across the room and sat down on a box, holstering the weapon. Hands tingling with returning blood flow, Mike tried to massage enough feeling into this with little success. The other one was as bad.
"Could you unlock this one back a notch?" He asked, holding his hand up. Bonner took one look, and threw the key onto the bed. Gritting his teeth.
"You put them on him?" He asked the FBI man.
"No. My partner did."
"You asshole! Get the fuck out of here!" he said. "I'll watch him until he’s finished.
"I was told..."
"I don't give a flying fuck what you were told. Get out before I throw you out!" The man didn't argue a second time. Mike finally restored circulation enough where he could pick up the plate without dropping it, fumbling with the fork.
"You want to tell me something?" he asked after the man had left.
"Depends." Mike answered, savoring the food and coffee.
"You went down that shaft, didn't you?"
"Yes." Bonner didn't have to explain which shaft.
"Then how in God's name did you get out of there?"
"You mean, after you blew the lake down on top of us?" He asked softly.
"Not my idea." Bonner said, as a way of apology. "Had to do it. There was no way we could get down to you after some idiot dropped a grenade down the shaft."
Mike chuckled. It must be bugging the hell out of him to know. For the price of the first hot meal in days and a cup of coffee and a cigarette, he decided to tell him. The story lasted through the meal and into the first smoke. Bonner sat there, saying nothing, occasionally nodding his head.
"So the girl survived?"
"Hell yes, she's a lot tougher than she looks.
"In a way I'm glad."
"Thanks."
"If anyone else had told me that story I would have called them a liar to their face. Why is it, that with you, I believe every word?" Mike shrugged.
"You were there."
"Why the hell did I have to take this job?" he asked the ceiling.
"Like I said, you pay your ticket and you take the ride."
"Shit! It stinks."
"You can always get off." Bonner gave a bark of a laugh.
"To late for that my friend, way long too late." Mike finished the meal and the coffee, lighting a cigarette, savoring the taste. "I need to put the cuffs back on." Bonner said after a while.
"I know, go ahead. The state I'm in at the moment your six years old kid could take me." Bonner gave him a funny look as he snapped one cuff loosely around one wrist. The other he locked around the end post of the bed.
After that, he picked up the plate and cup and left. The moment he did, he was replaced by the FBI man. He sat on the box Bonner had vacated, gun in his lap. Nervously shifting it from hand to hand. If he expected Mike to make some sort of move, he was disappointed. What Mike needed most right now was sleep. So he laid down and closed his eyes. He wanted to escape, but knew that in his present condition he wouldn't get far. Even as the thought crossed his mind he fell into a deep dreamless asleep, dead to the world. Two hours later the guards changed, the new man looking at Mike in amazement.
"Hell! He's sleeping like a baby."
"Yeah. You'd think he don't have a care in the world."
"It won’t matter if he does, he'll be dead for real in the morning." All too soon, someone kicked the bed to wake him up. It was Bonner again.
"You up to breakfast?"
"Hell. Why not?" Mike answered groggily, his voice more of a frog grog than human. He wasn't sure the sleep had done him much good at all. His muscles were sore, and he ached in every joint. Feeling as stiff as a board but the breakfast smelled good. Sausages, bacon, eggs, and pan-fried potatoes, followed by a jug of coffee. At least it would give him nourishment and hopefully some strength. Bonner tossed the keys on the bed and lit a cigarette.
"You sure scared the hell out of Rolass. As soon as he found out you'd been captured and on your way up here he took off like a scalded cat," he chuckled.
"You know where he went?"
"Come on Grainger. You know better than that. If I knew, I wouldn't tell you."
"No harm in trying." Bonner watched in silence until Mike finished his meal and re-locked the handcuff to the bed rail before dropping the other shoe. It wasn't until later that Mike figured out that he done him a favor. If he'd told him before, he'd never have been able to eat.
"Mike! I have to tell you." He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should say something or not. "When Rolass bugged out he took your girl friend, Kat Ballard with him." He said the last few words almost in a whisper, as if ashamed to say them.
Mike lunged up off the bed, then stopped. It took every ounce of his will power to control the black anger that grabbed him. Wanting nothing more than to grab Bonner and tear him apart. Bonner straightened up, half raising his weapon. He watched in part surprise, part admiration as Mike slowly sat down again. With shaking hands, Mike picked up the packet of cigarettes from the floor and took one out.
"You got a light?" He asked, looking at Bonner.
"Yeah...Yes, sure." He took a book of matches out of his pocket and tossed them onto the bed. It took two tries before he got it lit. He sat there fighting down the impulse to scream. Images of Kat flashing through his mind and what he was going to do to Roland Hawkins when he got his hands on him.
"When does the execution take place?" he said at last.
"Don't know." Bonner snapped, then changed his tone. "All I know is, Rolass wants to talk to you tomorrow." This whole shitty deal was beginning to get to him but he knew he shouldn't be taking it out on Mike. He turned to leave, giving the FBI man a nasty look before opening the door.
"Whatever happens," he said over his shoulder, "I promise it'll be quick and painless" and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
"Me too Bonner, me too," he muttered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
"So Mr. Grainger, we meet again." Mike had expected to see Roland Hawkins in person, not on TV. "Thanks to the wonders of this technological society we live in, I get to see you one more time."
"I can't say the feeling is mutual." Mike tested the chair he was handcuffed too, but found little movement.
"If I was in your position, I doubt that I would either," he smiled slightly. "I arranged this teleconference hookup for your benefit, so I could thank you for all the damage you did to my property." Hawkins was in an office somewhere, sitting at the head of a long conference table but where, Mike was unable to tell.
"No need thank me. If I had to do it again, I wouldn't change a thing." Mike saw the blood rise in Hawkins face.
"You might change your mind before my associates are through with you." He didn't bother to hide the anger now nor keep up the air of sophistication.
"Blow it out your ass shithead." Was Mike's contribution to the discussion.
"Ah yes! That's better. I expected a little profanity from someone of your breeding or should I say inbreeding." Mike's raised eyebrow was the only comment he felt like making. "I see you are one of those stoic people who takes life as it comes." A thin smile crossed his lips. "I doubt very much that you value your life very highly. What about someone else’s?
"As I said before, blow it out your ass." Mike dreaded what was coming next.
"Quite so, but completely beside the point.” His laugh turned into a sort of titter. Like something you hear young boys making when they tell dirty stories to each other. "Ah good, our other guest has arrived." He said, looking off camera. It took a supreme effort of will. Yet Mike show
ed no outward sign of emotion as Kat was forced into camera range by two men. Inside a black fire raged, burning his soul.
"Dirty rotten son of a bitch!" He heard someone mutter, recognizing Bonner's voice.
"Strip her!" Hawkins ordered, and Mike watching in seething anger as bit-by-bit they stripped Kat of her clothes. The camera automatically adjusting focus as she fought them back and forth across the room. She did manage to get in a few good kicks and bites before they got her clothes off.
There was something evil in Hawkins laugh as his head flicked back and forth between Mike and Kat. If he expected to see Mike explode, he was disappointed. He didn't expect Mike to watch the whole scene, never blinking or taking his eyes of the screen. It wasn't Kat he was watching, but Roland Hawkins. Knowing without reason that he was going to kill this man. Kill him, and for once in his life really enjoy it.
"Still feeling stoic are we?" Hawkins asked.
"Why her?" Mike asked.
"Why not her?" Roland Hawkins answered. "I know that nothing I do to you would make the slightest difference. You would never scream or beg for mercy. You'd just die, without giving me one iota of satisfaction."
"You got that right asshole!" It slipped out before he could stop it.
"I see that I have your attention. Now we can proceed." He turned to the two men holding the struggling, now naked Kat. "Would you be kind enough to bring Miss Ballard closer and kneel her down?"
They did as ordered, forcing Kat to her knees beside his chair by bending her arms behind her back. Roland Hawkins sat back, enjoying the sight of Kat kneeling at his feet. Before he was finished with her today, she'd be kneeling, voluntarily. He reached over and opened a drawer and lifted something out, keeping it out of sight for the moment.
"You might not know this, but before you broke up my little weekend party Miss Ballard had sold herself to me to pay off some outstanding debts. She is now going to be returned to her rightful owners, dressed accordingly." At that point, he reached over and quickly snapped a black leather slave collar around Kat’s throat, locking it in place. As an added jab of the pure hatred, he broke the key off in the lock, making it almost impossible to get off. Hawkins looked at him and laughed.
"What! No obligatory words of anger? No, I'm going to kill you..." He mimic. "I'm a bit disappointed." He said with a sad shake of his head. "I had expected the usual outpouring of threat and dire predictions. Like, what was the latest one I heard? Oh yes '...they won’t even be able to identify you by dental records. Etc. Etc." He laughed again. "No! Well then, let’s see if we can change your mind." Mike could only grit his teeth and hold on, praying his emotions didn't get the better of him. Roland Hawkins was enjoying himself. Though there was no outward sign. He suspected Mike must be seething inside.
"Now we get to the good part." He stood up, opening the drawer again. "Lay the bitch across the table." He snapped at the two men. He looked directly at Mike, grinning.
"Seeing as you're not here to receive punishment, Miss Ballard will take your place, before she's shipped off to the whore house where she belongs." He stood back so Mike could see everything, and began whipping Kat across the back with a riding crop. The ordeal lasted for fifteen agonizing minutes before Hawkins stopped to catch his breath. Kat's screams had started after the first two strokes, and Mike's heart went out to her. Suddenly someone grabbed Mike by the hair and jerked his head around, it was Bonner.
"How did you like that asshole? He yelled. His free hand came up and slapped Mike back and forth across the face hard, then grabbed him by the chin.
"You're a prick Bonner. Get your fucking hands off me." His voice choked with emotion. Bonner did, but out of sight of the others, he quickly wiped the tears out of the corner of Mike's eyes with his thumb. If anything, a slap across the face is guaranteed to bring tears to a man's eyes. It also covered up that he was crying. Mike said nothing. The time for pay back would come later, he hoped. At last, Hawkins got his breath back and turn to face the camera, just in time to see Bonner's slap.
"Thank you Mr. Bonner. But I do not need any help from the likes of you to break this man."
"Break him! Shit! You couldn't break him in a hundred years. You're wasting your time and mine."
"When he sees what happens to his girl friend he'll break.”
"Girl friend. Ha!" Bonner put as much contempt into his voice as he could. "He kidnapped her, you stupid asshole, he just wanted to fuck her to piss you off. He thought she was your girlfriend you idiot."
"What!" It was a lie, and Bonner was betting Hawkins had no way of knowing.
"If you think beating that girl is going to break him, think again. He used her as a human shield up on the mountain. That's why we couldn't shoot him the few times we had him in our sights." Mike had to admire Bonner. He was a cool customer. "Hell, you could shoot the bitch for all he'd care. Look at him! Does he look like a man whose watching his girl friend getting a beating?" They could all see the doubt in Hawkins face. He turned and looked at Kat.
"Is this true?" he asked her.
"If I ever get my hands on him I'll rip his fucking balls off." She spat at the camera. "I hope this heap of dog shit rips you apart before he kills you." She yelled lunging at the camera. Mike didn't know how much it took for her to say that. But he could guess.
"Damn! Get the bitch out of here." He snapped at the two men holding her. "Bonner! Dispose of Mr. Grainger permanently this time."
"Yes, sir." Bonner gave him a nasty smile, pulling his gun out and sticking it in Mike's ear. He slowly cocked the hammer.
"Not in the house, you moron. Take him outside somewhere. I don't want any evidence he was ever within ten miles of the place. Make it look as if he was shot while trying to escape.”
"Yes Mr. Hawkins." He snarled, looking at Mike. "You get a few minutes longer to live shithead. Isn't that wonderful."
"Fuck you Bonner!" Mike put as much venom in his voice as he could muster.
"If you even did, it'll be the greatest peace of ass you ever had, and you'd never go back to women,” he said with a chuckle. Bonner stuck his gun in Mike's ear as he undid the cuffs.
"Mr. Hawkins. That's not a good idea. I think...."
"You're not paid to think Mossel. Just do as you’re told.
"But..."
"Just go back to your nice clean office and get the cover story straight. I want this buried so deep that no one will ever ask questions about it again. Do you understand?"
"But... yes, sir." Mossel realized that it was not good talking to Hawkins in his present state. He'd been cheated out of his prize and was as liable to take his anger out on the next person to piss him off. Desecration is the better part of valor. Bonner continued unlocking Mike from the chair.
"Stand up!" He ordered. "Snap the cuffs together between your legs. You know the drill." Mike did, complying with the instructions.
Placing one hand behind his back, he reached between his legs for the handcuff, locking the two sets together. In this position, it was impossible to do anything. You could barely walk, let alone run. With your hands in such a position that it was impossible to grab a gun or hit anyone. It was also a humiliating position and a potentially painful one should you try to straighten up or make any sudden movement.
"Where are you going to take him?" Mossel asked, a worried note in his voice.
"Do you really want to know?" Bonner asked with a sneer.
"No... no, not really. You're right, I don't."
"Then why don't you and your boy friend fuck off back to Denver where you belong." Mossel gave him a dirty look. The last Mike saw of Kat was as she was half walked, half carried out of the room.
"Well. Good-By Mr. Grainger. It was a pleasure doing business with you." Roland Hawkins said, having regained his outward composure. He didn't bother switching off, just walked out of the room.
"Let’s go Grainger." Bonner snapped. Mike hobbled through the ranch house and stepped out the front door into the daylight; Mike blinking to a
djust his eyes. A few of the others followed, including Mossel and his men.
"Bonner! Don't take any chances with him. The first chance you get, blow his head off and dump the body." Mossel called.
"Fuck you Mossel,” he said softly. He gave Mike a shove with the point of the gun. Directing him across the driveway towards a 'Blazer' parked on the other side. Mike deliberately walked as slow as possible, trying to think of a way out.
At least he was out of the house with only Bonner to take care of. Could he bribe Bonner? He never had a chance to work it out. The moment they were clear of the house gunfire erupted from the bushes. A shit storm of lead smashed into the front of the building from all directions.
"Oh shit, here we go again." Bonner yelled.
Bonner grabbed Mike, spinning him around. He ducked, catching Mike in the gut with his shoulder as he lifted him up and ran for the bushes. Instinctively, he knew that the house was going to be the worst place to be in the next few minutes. It was. Everything from an AK47 to a .50 caliber sniper rifle opened up. This was followed a moment later by an RPG that took out the front door and most of the front wall, exposing those inside to a barrage of gunfire, those that weren't dead already, that is.
They hit the bushes on the other side and Bonner dumped Mike to the ground, adding another bruise to his collection. He started dragged Mike through the bushes in an attempt to get as far from the house as possible. Cursing bitterly.
"It's over Bonner. Give it up."
"Shut the fuck up. I told you that it's too late for me. I got a job to do and damn it, I'm going to do it." But his heart was no longer in it. It hadn't been since he'd ordered the wall blown out, and the lake dumped down the shaft.
"What the hell for?"
"For the fucking money man. I need it!" The words sounded like a cried of despair. Anger, frustration and something else warred inside him. "I need it to save my daughter’s life." Without warning, a dark brown blur smashed into Bonner. It was ninety pounds of angry wolf bent on ripping him apart. All three landed in a heap, Bonner kicking and punching, trying to keep the wolf off.
