by B. B. Hamel
“Stay here. Don’t make any noises. We’ll be back.”
“Wait, please. Don’t hurt me.” I was shaking as the reality of my situation was becoming clearer.
“We’re not going to hurt you. Don’t make any noise.”
I heard metal clank and a lock turn, clicking into place. The man’s footsteps receded into the distance then disappeared up the steps. I was still hooded and tied up, so all I could do was collapse onto my side and cry some more.
Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. The most immediate danger I had ever been in was maybe a nearby fight. Nobody had ever wanted to harm me, let alone kidnap me from my own apartment and tie me up in some weird basement cage. Those guys were serious, no joke criminals, and would probably do anything to get at Rex. I hoped they were going to keep me alive. Or maybe they wanted to kill me as revenge. I sobbed, terrified and anxious, for what felt like hours.
My comforting, boring life replayed through my mind. I had it easy, not much bad happened to me. Maybe my parents fucked me up a little bit, but whose parents didn’t? I got mixed up with Rex because I was dissatisfied, and he represented an exciting time. But there was more to him than that, there was a whole depth I had barely started scratching at. I was desperate to get to know him, to feel his body, but part of me was beginning to believe I never would see his face again. I was beyond afraid, shaking and crying, but I wasn’t completely broken yet. I knew that Rex was still alive somewhere out there, and if he was still alive, there was hope. The guys who took me didn’t attack Rex; otherwise, I would have heard gunshots. They were in and out in seconds.
My mind clung to the idea that Rex would appear and save me. I imagined him kicking down Drake’s front door and taking care of every person in the room. He’d beat their asses to the ground, grind their bones with his heel, and finally swoop down the steps to pull me from the cage. I’d spit on Michael as he cried for mercy, but Rex would not show mercy. I felt a little childish having revenge fantasies, but there was nothing else for me to do. I had to keep picturing my escape, otherwise I’d sink into the deepest well of despair imaginable, and I’d be completely broken.
Eventually, I heard nearby footsteps. I was entirely cried out at that point, and could only groan and sob tearlessly. The steps got closer and I heard the door to my cell unlock.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” I said, terrified. I couldn’t see anyone, and for all I knew the person was holding a gun to my face, about to pull the trigger.
“I’m not about to hurt you, lass.” I cringed when I recognized Michael’s voice.
“Please let me go, I don’t have anything to do with this, I swear.”
He laughed, and then the bag was pulled off my head. Light flooded into my eyes, blinding me for a second. I blinked as the world slowly came into focus. My eyes took a minute to fully adjust to the light. I was clearly in a basement in a small cage in the back corner. There were barrels and boxes of alcohol stacked all over the place, and I guessed I was probably right about it being Drake’s. I realized that was a good thing, because Rex could more easily find me. Unless that was exactly what they wanted.
Michael crouched in front of me, his smug grin infuriating.
“Can’t let you go, either.”
“What do you fucking want with me?”
He sighed and looked away. He didn’t speak immediately, and I began to feel anxious at his silence. Finally, he spoke slowly and clearly, but quietly.
“Do you know how I got into this business?”
I couldn’t believe it. Was he seriously going to go into his sob story? There was nothing I wanted to hear less.
“I really don’t care,” I said.
He looked back at me, eyes harsh. He stood and started pacing. “You should try being a little more careful, Darcy. You’re tied up in a basement with some very violent folk, if you didn’t already know.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I fucking lie.” He stared at me for a few more seconds, and I felt my body start to tremble with fear. “Like I was saying, I got into this business at a young age.”
“How old were you?” I decided my best bet was to play along and pretend like I gave a shit. I would rather he kept talking than decide he wanted to smack me around. I had to survive, had to get through the night, and tomorrow Rex would make things right.
“Oh, twelve at most. My dad was a boss near here, owned a few streets, a small neighborhood. Dad brought me on part time, cleaning the shop, and counting the take. I did small runs too, petty sort of thing. The way it worked was, dad paid tribute to the big boss, something like thirty percent of his profit. They pushed him around most of his life, but things were different back then. The right people weren’t united, so the Irish were more like peacekeepers and protectors than what we are now. The mob wasn’t a feared, violent folk. We were beloved by the regulars in a lot of ways, and provided certain services that the cops and the government assholes neglected. When there were potholes in the streets, we filled them. When trees fell or windows broke, we helped fix it. When assholes tried to push around a bodega owner, we took care of them. If a gang wanted to push into our turf and threaten our people, we went to war. In a lot of ways, it was simpler back then. That was my dad’s day, at least. Then, finally, things started to change. I was older, a minor boss in my own right, when dad got killed. I never figured out who did it or why, but one day I woke up and he was gone, sunk to the bottom of the Schuylkill.
“Anyway, after my dad’s death, I swore I’d never get pushed around. I rose through the ranks as fast as I could, and it was a bloody business. I cut throats where I had to, and greased palms when I could. Now here I am, running the show, a trail of death behind me, and only more headless bodies in the future. This business, it’s full of shitbrains, tweakers, junkies, and worse. Back then though, we were a beloved protection force. Now, we sell drugs and run guns. We boost cars and chop them for cash. It’s all about money these days, because the people we used to protect are all drifting away. The neighborhoods aren’t Irish anymore, they’re Poles and Chinese and Koreans. More different people mean more criminals, though it’s still our job to keep the criminals in check. There’s a peace right now because we’ve forced all the local outfits, all the right people, to pay tribute under threat of violence. More than that, we have cash to spread around from all the jobs. If the money keeps flowing, the people stay happy. Every once in a while though, strength is needed.”
He paused, and looked me in the eye. “Do I seem like a strong man to you?”
“Yes, you do,” I said. I was willing to say whatever he wanted. I needed him to keep talking.
“Of course I do, lass. You’re tied up.” He laughed softly then started pacing again.
“Truth is, my power has been waning for a while now. Rex was a big part of my appeal, back in the day. He’s always been a good fighter, and smart. When he was still in my pocket, he was one of my best earners. I tried to get him as my personal bodyguard, but he refused. I guess he liked running around the streets better, stealing shit, and causing mayhem.” He laughed, lost in his memories. I hated hearing him talk about Rex. It was almost as if he tainted Rex’s memory by using his name.
“Then, one day, some shit went down that he didn’t like, and he got clean. That wasn’t a problem in and of itself. He was more reliable clean, anyway. But something changed in him. He didn’t have the taste for the life anymore; he didn’t want the violence and the thieving. He started balking on jobs, refusing outright, and his rebellion sparked some other shit. It was a little thing, him refusing jobs and such, but it was enough to make others look at me twice. I tried to discipline him, but he’s a damned hard man.
“Eventually, I played the debt card. After years of using my drugs and fucking my women, eating from the palm of my hand, he owed me hard cash. That worked, until he forced my hand in front of a big meeting of the local bosses. He’d fight in my ring in exchange for debt reductions, unti
l he was free. That’s what he proposed and, for whatever reason, the other bosses backed him. They didn’t give a fuck and probably liked it that someone was standing up to me. I agreed, under the condition that if he lost, even once, he was mine. And the bastard hasn’t lost, not since. Nine hard fights in a row. He’s become a kind of rallying cry for those that want to see me fall. I know he doesn’t give a fuck about the politics of this, and that he wants his freedom, but he’s stuck in it whether he wants to be or not.
“I took Rex in, you know. When he was a little shit, homeless and broken, shooting up every night and begging all day, I gave him work. I gave him a place to live and a purpose in life. I turned him from the sad little urchin he was, moaning about his mommy running out on him and his dead adopted father. I made him a man and taught him everything he knows. I saved his miserable ass, and how does he repay me? With this rebellious teenager shit? I can’t have it. I can’t let it go.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, genuinely wondering. Although I still thought he was a violent piece of shit, I saw something more in Michael. He was a human at least, and was struggling with his decisions. I wanted to see him dead, but at least I understood his motivations.
He sighed and looked off into the distance. He seemed conflicted.
“Good question. It’s safe, I suppose. Not many people to talk to when you have to constantly be strong. Even my closest allies are jockeying for my position. They think they can do things better. Some people even want to bring us back to the old days and quit stealing cars, quit selling drugs. But there’s no going back now that the right people have had a taste of the green it all brings in. There’s no going back anymore. In this business, if I don’t hold on to what I have, I’m dead. I can’t give up control right now, not while I’m still young. Maybe one day I can retire, but now it’s either win or die.”
I didn’t respond, and he continued to pace. He sounded genuinely sad as he spoke, as if the good old days were a real thing that he missed. I watched him move, and saw the violence, the destruction in his gait. I knew he was a dangerous person, but worse than that, he was desperate. He wanted to hold on to his power, but felt besieged by his allies. He was like a wild animal pushed into a corner, forced to fight with everything he had. In a lot of ways, he was like Rex. They both found themselves in a position where it was win or die. Except Rex was forced into his spot by Michael, and Michael was doing what he did to protect his own interests. Rex wanted to be free, and Michael wanted control.
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.
He stopped and looked at me, a smile on his face. “Ah, finally she asks the right question.” He crouched back down in front of me, and I could smell the sweet stink of whatever cologne he was wearing, and the rotten food on his breath. “Truth is, probably nothing. We can’t afford to kill someone like you, with friends and family and such. Too much heat when people start investigating. You’re lucky you’re a regular person; otherwise, you’d be easily expendable. But Rex, we can kill him. He’s a bullshit street urchin, a piece of shit junkie.”
“He’s clean now,” I said quietly.
Michael let out a long, loud laugh. “I’m shocked you’re still defending him, the man who got you in this cage.”
“You put me here.”
“No, lass. I didn’t put you here. I never got you involved in this. Rex, he knows what sort of man I am, and he still brought you into this life. Rex knows what I’m willing to do to hold on to power, and the threat he poses to me. Does that sound like some great hero?”
I didn’t respond. Michael didn’t know what he was talking about. Rex really was clean, I saw that for myself, and he was fighting for his life. He had tried everything to get me to stay away, and it was my own fault that I had ended up in a cage.
“Rex is a junkie, don’t ever forget it. And a junkie will do anything to keep himself safe. Even if he’s not using anymore, he’s always a junkie. To him, you’re just another score.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said. But the doubt was planted there, deep in the core of me. Was it possible that Rex was just using me for a safe place to stay between fights? Could he really be as cruel as Michael seemed to think he was?
“Believe me or not, Darcy, it doesn’t matter. But he’s the reason you’re here. I can’t just forgive him now. If things were more stable with the right people, if my power weren’t waning, I probably could let him walk. Now though, he’s put up too much of a fuss, forced my hand. I need to win against him, or else I’ll look weak to my enemies. And once I look weak, they’ll all pounce. Hopefully, he’ll be forced to do something fucking dumb today, and give me the excuse I need to kill him. And if he doesn’t, I’m hoping you’ll throw him off enough during the fight for my guy to win. I have to admit, the kid is strong and a damned good fighter.”
“So I’m just bait.”
“That’s exactly right, good job! You’re just bait.” He smiled like I was some idiot first grader who got a spelling question right, and it made me want to vomit.
“And you’re not going to hurt me.”
“No, I’m not going to hurt you.”
I looked at him long and hard, and in that silence I knew he was a liar. He had said it himself. There was something in his face that told me the truth: if Rex lost his fight, Michael would kill us both. He couldn’t afford to let me go, not with everything I knew. He needed me against Rex. He needed me to throw Rex off as much as possible. I had to buckle down and remain strong.
“Fuck you then,” I said. I was disgusted and angry and terrified, but Rex was still out there, and Rex could fix everything. It was my own fault that I mixed myself up with those people, but Rex wasn’t the kind of man to let me die. He’d keep his cool and win the fight. I had to believe that.
Michael laughed. “That’s the spirit. All you need to do is stay pretty. Rex will do the rest to himself.” He stretched and grinned at me. I wanted to scream at him. “I’ll send someone down with some water and food. You just stay right there.”
He closed and locked the cell again, but he didn’t put my hood back on. I felt incredibly relieved to have my vision back, and realized how stressful and hard it was to be unable to see. He kept my hands and my feet bound, which were beginning to ache. Even though Michael was clearly a maniac, at least he wasn’t cruel enough to keep me blinded.
Michael waved and then disappeared up a staircase. I looked around my cell and noticed a small, thin mattress in one corner, and a bucket toward the back. I replayed the conversation in my head, and was amazed at the insight Michael had given me into his life. He must have assumed I wouldn’t have a chance to tell people about what he said, or at least people wouldn’t believe me. Rex clearly was the last straw in this man’s tenuous grip on his gang, and the fight would be the turning point for everything. I didn’t think he would hurt me, because I was worth more to him alive and in one piece than I was dead.
I sat there, alone and cold in my thin morning clothes, with my back against the hard steel bars, and continued to imagine Rex smashing Michael’s face in, over and over.
Chapter Twenty
I don’t know how long I sat down there. Time was hard to keep track of without a clock or the sun. Maybe twenty minutes after Michael left, the lights flickered then went out. He had promised some food and water, but none came.
It had to be at least a few hours. I felt my stomach growl, and I was incredibly thirsty, but I didn’t want to cry out. The longer I went without drawing attention to myself, the safer I was. A few hours in a cage with no food or water was possible; I knew it was nuts, but I was totally prepared to gut it out. I thought about the hours I had with Rex, the days we spent together in and out of bed, the way I felt like I knew him better than anybody before. I knew that he was my best chance at getting out of the situation alive, and all he had to do was win his fight.
The last time I saw him, Rex still wasn’t fully healed. The swelling was mostly down, but the bruises
were still dark and bloomed yellow across his body. Between the tattoos and the pooled blood, his body was a mottled canvas of different colors. I had to be careful when we went to bed. He wasn’t the kind of man to take things gently, but even he had to admit that it was a good idea to give his smashed body a rest.
He wasn’t in great shape. He was still in pain even when performing simple tasks. For the first two days I had to help him undress and shower, which I couldn’t complain about one bit. I loved pulling his shirt slowly from his body. But the blooming yellow and blue along his ribs always hit me right in the chest and took my breath away. I couldn’t begin to understand the kind of pain he was in, and the kind of strength it took for him to carry on. Soon though, he was feeling better, and was up and about on his own, but I could still see the suffering on his face every once in a while.
I was worried. He had to win, he could win, but he was coming into the fight injured. Whoever Michael got would be in perfect shape, and probably pretty motivated. What if Rex lost? I knew Michael would kill him, but what would happen to me? I was afraid he’d keep me around, force me to be a part of the gang. I imagined horrible scenarios, like becoming a sex slave, or a forced prostitute addicted to drugs. But he couldn’t actually do that, could he? I had Shane and Amy, and they wouldn’t let me disappear. Shane Green had enough disposable income to tear the city apart trying to find me. I had to assume that Michael and his people didn’t know about my relationship to Shane, which was a good thing. If anything went wrong, I needed to get a message out to him and Amy. They were the aces up my sleeve, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to involve them.
My mind wandered over all of the horrible possibilities as the time slowly slipped by. My body was stiff and a pain shot up along my spine, but I refused to lie on the disgusting mattress. Besides, there was nothing I could do.
Suddenly, as I got lost in another fantasy where I tore Michael’s spine from his gross body, the door to the basement opened and the light flicked on. I heard boots stomping down the stairs, and the wood creaked under somebody’s weight. The person turned the corner and came into view. I recognized him immediately: he was either Spud or Clutch, one of Michael’s personal goons. He repulsed me powerfully as he moved closer. His head was shaved and his pig face curled into a disgusting grin. He was holding a tray with a sandwich on it and three bottles of water.
