by Donald Wells
Thorne sat at a round table in the back right hand corner of the club, three bodyguards stood on either side of him and the woman sat on his left. Despite the crowd, the nearest occupied table was twenty feet away. Bill and I took seats across from Thorne, while Trent stood by my left side. I noticed that Thorne’s bodyguards watched Trent more than they did either Bill or me, but then, Trent was a little hard to ignore.
I talked loudly, to be heard over the blaring music and the murmur of voices.
“You seem happy to see me Thorne, that’s an odd reaction considering I’m here to kill you.”
“I am happy. You’ve let that blond Satan of yours do your work long enough. That fool chased me from Hong Kong to Australia to here and I knew it was just a matter of time before you tired of his bungling and came after me yourself.”
“That ‘blond Satan’ as you call him, Dashiell, is the reason I’m here and not Ahmed. But I never hired him to kill you, only to find you, and he did.”
“Do you like my beard? I wear it because of you. That rock you threw at me in New York, the damn thing scarred me for life. I owe you for that Faron, and for so much more.”
“You were too pretty anyway; it’s probably why you started wearing dresses in the first place.”
Thorne’s face darkened. “Those dresses were just a disguise.”
“Sure,”
Thorne looked over at Bill and frowned.
“I thought I killed you.”
Bill sent him a cold smile. “Enjoying your drink Thorne? It will be your last.”
“How’s Felicia, Faron, how’s my wife?”
“She’s my wife now, and she asked me to tell you something.”
Thorne leaned forward expectantly. “What?”
“Go to hell.”
His face twitched in a spasm of dejection as he straightened in his seat again, after taking a deep gulp of his drink, he spoke.
“To hell with Felicia, she was an insipid bitch in bed; she would just lie there and take it. Oh, except for our first time. Our first time together she was like an animal, and she begged me for it,”
I smiled. He was trying to anger me, but I had him, at last, I had Thorne and Hannah was going to be all right.
Thorne smiled back at me. “She doesn’t love you, you know? Felicia’s only with you because it’s convenient. When I left, I left in a rush; she was pregnant, homeless and had Sophie around her neck like an albatross. She only married you because you have money.”
“Thorne, Felicia loved me before, during and after you; you’re the one she never loved.”
He made a dismissive sound. “What the fuck does any of it matter? Women are only good for one thing—giving pleasure.” He seized the woman by her arm. “This bitch, this is a true whore, why if I asked her to, she would blow me right now, right at this table. Isn’t that right Ling?”
The woman just smiled at Thorne and nodded her head.
“She doesn’t speak a word of English, but she sure can fuck.”
“Even before you killed Tori, I promised you that if you ever hurt Felicia I would kill you. I’m here to keep that promise. I’m going to kill you Thorne, for Tori, and for Felicia.”
He looked to either side of him.
“My men may object to that.”
“Six men, yes, I was told that you traveled with a small army.”
Thorne began laughing and turned to the man at his immediate left, to say a few words in what may have been Cantonese. The man then made a swirling hand signal in the air.
Immediately, throughout the bar, fourteen men, mostly Caucasian, raised their hands and made the same signal back, they then took out yellow bandanas and tied them on their heads.
Thorne smiled. “That’s my army Faron, now, tell me again, who’s going to kill whom, eh?”
“Trent, I count twenty, including the six at this table.”
“We got the same count John, just say the word.”
Thorne laughed again. “You think this giant fool can take on twenty men? The first one he touches will shoot him dead.”
I said, “Now!” and Trent made his own hand gesture.
Everything stopped.
The music died. Couples that were dancing stopped dancing and stared in our direction. At the other tables, at the bar, conversations ceased, and again, all eyes turned toward us. Then everyone reached into a pocket, a purse or a bag and pulled out a cap, centered on the cap’s front was a decal of the Faron Engine with a capital F atop of it, the Faron Engines logo, next, they all brought out guns and Thorne met McCarthy’s friends.
I smiled at Thorne.
“My army, everyone in the building, except for your people of course,”
Thorne’s eyes were wide. “What the fuck?”
“I bought the bar yesterday. Congratulations, you’re our first customer.”
Thorne glared at me, his eyes revealing not fear, but loathing.
“Then we both die, that’s all this means, and I’ll order my men to kill you first.”
The man at Thorne’s immediate left slowly raised his hand.
“This man Phelps, or Thorne as you call him, he pays me five hundred Euros a day to protect him. I’m not dying for five hundred Euros.”
“Smart man,” I said. “You and your friends will be disarmed and held in the kitchen until we leave, and then you’ll be free to go. Fair enough?”
The man stared at me for several seconds and then he slowly pulled out his gun with two fingers and passed it across the table to Trent. The other five men followed suit, and around the bar, Thorne’s army handed their weapons to my people.
“And just what is it that you plan to do with me?” Said the woman, in perfect English, and Thorne turned and gaped at her, as if she were a dog playing the piano,
“Same deal.” I told her. “Are you armed?”
“No, I’m not even wearing underwear.”
“Trent, let’s secure them first and then I’ll deal with Thorne.”
“Right,” Trent said, he then gestured to the six men at the table, and when they followed, along with the woman, he and about forty other men herded Thorne’s crew into the kitchen where they were checked for weapons. They then locked the door, a new door that was an inch of steel. Inside the kitchen, all the windows were sealed and the back door bricked over. The bar’s front entrance was also closed and locked.
I stared at Thorne. “Checkmate,”
He hissed, “Fuck you,” and downed the last of his drink.
I sat back and said nothing more.
“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?”
“All in good time Thorne, I have many plans for you.”
Thorne then said, “What plans are those?” But it came out as, “Wut plaaans arrr dossss.” He shook his head, and a moment later, picked up his empty glass and glared at it in disgust. A few seconds later, the drug took full effect and he passed out.
Trent checked him for weapons and found an evil-looking knife. He embedded it into the tabletop and then slung Thorne over his shoulder as if he were weightless.
“Everything’s ready John.”
I nodded. so close, so close,.
I gave my thanks to the assembled crowd and we made our way out to Thorne’s limo, which was now being driven by one of our people. Trent dumped Thorne across a row of seats and I sat on the other side. I then lowered the window and talked.
“Bill, call Lieutenant Garner and make him our offer, but make sure he knows it is non-negotiable.”
“I’m positive he’ll take it, but they’ll be red tape involved.”
“If he wants Thorne, then he’ll cut through it.”
Bill looked inside the limo and smiled at Thorne.
“You did it John! Hannah’s going to be all right.”
Bill and I clasped hands warmly for a few seconds, and then the limo moved on, carrying Thorne and I to our destiny.
78
David Michael Thorne was in a room of his own design.
The Killing Room,
I was standing in a duplicate of the room Thorne used in the “Devil’s Dormitory.” A room in which he heinously tortured and murdered at least twenty-three women,
Beneath my bare feet and covering the walls and ceiling was a thick layer of clear plastic sheeting. I was wearing a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt open at the collar with no tie, in my right hand was a gun, this too, was wrapped in plastic.
It was my grandfather’s gun, a .45 Colt, a weapon he had carried, and used, in World War II.
This Killing Room differed from Thorne’s in one respect, there were no cameras, only I would view Thorne’s last moments.
He was hanging naked a foot off the floor, by chains coming down from the ceiling, and his legs were spread wide from shorter chains that were anchored into the floor. A fifth chain with a metal collar held his head erect.
This is how he treated those innocent women; it was how he would leave this life.
Twice, he muttered something, and I knew that the drug was wearing off. I stood ten feet away and waited for him to awaken. When he did so, it was with a start, causing the chains to sing echoes in the sealed room.
“Faron? What the fuck did you do to me?”
“It’s your room Thorne, don’t you recognize it?”
“These fucking chains hurt, let me down.”
“No. I want you to get a glimpse of the horror that you put those women through.”
“Fuck them! Worthless blonde cunts, every one of them,”
“Why Thorne, why the killing?”
He stared at me before answering.
“You wouldn’t understand. Jerry was the only one who got it.”
“Got what? The power? The absolute power of life and death? Oh believe me, I understand. I didn’t until I had you in those chains, but now I understand. I’m going to kill you and there’s not a damn thing that you can do about it. I feel the power Thorne, and it sickens me.”
“That’s because you’re weak.”
“I’ve thought of killing you ever since you murdered Tori with that bomb, and now that I have you, I know it won’t mean a thing to me, it’ll be like taking out the trash. Your life was such a waste David, there was so much good that you could have done, and instead you used your life to torture and kill.”
“Don’t moralize to me, life is meaningless.”
I shook my head at him.
“I can’t believe that. I won’t,”
“You’ve been hunting me for years, if you kill me, people will know it was you.”
“The ones that will know, won’t care; the ones that suspect, will be given another option to believe.”
“What option?”
“Ahmed, evidence is being planted right now that will make it look as if he killed you.”
“So, you think you’ve thought of everything, but what about my daughter?”
“Who’s to say she’s not my daughter? I thought you were convinced that Felicia and I were having an affair?”
“You only started fucking her when she went to that damn wedding, before that I was her only lover. That little girl is a Thorne.”
“She’s my daughter and her name is Hannah Faron.”
“I’ve been keeping track of the lawsuit. You have to take a DNA test. Soon the world will know that Felicia’s child is mine.”
I paced about fretfully in a circle, the mere thought of Hannah having to go through life with the disgrace of this monster’s crimes attached to her, tearing my heart in two.
“Maybe they’ll never know,”
“It’s DNA Faron—oh wait, I get it. You’ve bribed some twenty dollar an hour lab tech to doctor the results.”
“I admit I looked into that, but the safeguards against bribery are formidable, in fact, it’s almost impossible to cheat the security measures against deception.”
Thorne gave me a sarcastic look.
“Let me guess, you’ve figured out a way to do it somehow.”
“I hope so, for Hannah’s sake.”
“No matter what you do, she’s my daughter.”
“No Thorne, she doesn’t even know you exist.”
He swallowed hard with a grimace of pain contorting his face, as he struggled against the chains.
“Goddamn, these fucking things hurt.”
“Yes, now imagine that some madman is slowly slicing pieces of you off onto the floor as you hang from them.”
Thorne’s face went slack.
“Oooohh, their screams, there’s nothing like it. They begged me Faron, promised me anything if only I’d stop.”
I looked over at him and realized he was becoming aroused at the memory of the torture he inflicted.
My God, he’s an even sicker fuck than I thought he was.
I called, “Thorne!” to break his reverie. “I hung you up like this hoping to stir a sense of regret in you, but you have none, do you?”
“They were women Faron; they’re here for our pleasure.”
I hung my head.
Stop talking John and just kill him, he’s remorseless and time is growing short.
“Faron! About my daughter, no matter what you do, someday she’ll find out that I was her father.”
“You’re not her father and you never will be.”
He leapt at me from his chains. “I’m her fucking father!”
I took a deep breath and stepped forward. I then held the gun a foot away from him.
“You’re not her father Thorne; you’re nothing but spare parts.”
And then I shot him.
The bullet entered at the bridge of his nose and exited in a spray of blood, bone and gray matter against the back wall. There was also a scattering of blood across my face and shirtfront.
Once again, the chains sang, this time accompanied by the blast of the gun, and then silence, which was soon followed by the sound of blood dripping upon the plastic sheeting.
I looked up at Thorne’s empty eyes and knew that at last, he was dead.
Moments later, I shook myself. There was no time for contemplation.
I exited the Killing Room and entered a small chamber that was also swathed in plastic. Here, I disrobed and took the plastic off the gun. The plastic would be incinerated, along with my pants and shirt. The room had a shower stall, and before using it, I pressed a buzzer. I took a quick, but thorough shower, and when I emerged, the plastic and my old clothes were gone and a fresh change of clothing was hanging on the back of the door. Lying alongside my gun was the spent bullet.
As I was dressing, Dr. Stu Simon walked into the room.
“Thorne?” I said.
“He’s being processed, in fact, the section of his liver that will save your daughter’s life is being removed now.”
“And his other organs, heart, kidneys, corneas?”
“They’re going into storage. Don’t worry, everything is going perfectly. Your Mr. McCarthy’s friends are quite efficient.”
“You know what to do with the body?”
“Yes, Mr. Healy called while you were… with Thorne. A Lieutenant Garner told him that the Attorney General signed off on the deal.”
I smiled. “That one’s a bonus, but a damn happy one.”
Someone knocked on the door. Dr. Simon opened it partway and a gloved hand handed him two thin, sealed tubes and a scalpel, along with a first aid kit. He thanked them and closed the door.
“Ready John?”
“Yes, time is short, do it.”
Dr. Simon turned me around and swabbed an antiseptic liquid onto my right side; he then made an incision and immediately began to stitch me up. It hurt like hell.
“I’ve bandaged it as well as I could, but it will probably bleed some.”
I held up my fresh shirt for him to see, it was a maroon turtleneck.
Stu Simon let out a chuckle. “You do think of everything, don’t you?”
“I just hope this works.” I said.
Dr. Simon th
en told me to hold out my wrists, after I did, he made a small incision in each arm, and after a bit of maneuvering, I was ready.
I stared at Simon. “Thank you Stu. I could not have done this without you.”
He hugged me then, showing surprising strength for a man his age.
“Thank you John, for my daughter Angelica, thank you for slaying that hideous creature, now go, the car is waiting.”
I went out a door on the other side of the room. After leaving the bar in Amsterdam, I had flown back home with Thorne.
I was now standing in an alleyway in midtown Manhattan.
The driver came to attention and opened the back door for me and I climbed in. Four minutes later, I was at the hospital.
One nice thing about being a billionaire is that you are rarely kept waiting, particularly when you’ve donated millions towards a new pediatric center.
I had a ten o’clock appointment to give a DNA sample and I got to the hospital at nine fifty-three.
Within five minutes of my arrival, blood was being taken from me for the DNA test. When it was done, security escorted me to a waiting room where Felicia was seated.
She grabbed me and hugged me and we stayed like that for long moments, when we parted, I smiled wide at her.
“It’s done baby.”
“Johnny… are you all right?”
I nodded. “I’m better than I’ve been in years.”
“And the DNA test?”
“They’ll have the results soon. They took the sample and immediately placed it in a centrifuge of some sort, but the technician told me that these days it takes less than an hour to get the results.”
Felicia opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, three people came around the corner, two men and a woman. The woman was Miriam Thorne and I took the two men with her to be her lawyers.
Miriam Thorne appeared to be but vaguely aware of her surroundings and I surmised that she must be heavily medicated, probably something for her mental illness.
Ms. Lee had assured Felicia that no matter the outcome of Hannah’s paternity suit, that Miriam Thorne would not be given custody; I now saw why Ms. Lee had seemed so certain.
The taller of the two men, a man with a bushy black mustache and a receding hairline walked up to me.
“Hello Mr. Faron, I’m Davidson Crane, Mrs. Thorne’s attorney.”
