The Banker Who Died

by Matthew A Carter

  “Look, Shamil. He managed to move!” Gagarin said. “I told you we needed to put a brake on these fucking wheels. Didn’t I tell you? And what did you say?”

  “Viktor,” Shamil answered in his distinctive hoarse, slow voice. “Where is he going to go? He can’t make out of this hangar.”

  “Okay, probably not, but still. Jesus Christ, that’s the same thing I thought when I heard about the missing money. Where could it go? Ah? A bank with a 150-year-old sterling reputation! But it did go missing, didn’t it? They stole it! This motherfucker stole it!”

  Gagarin kicked the cart and swore at the pain of the impact, hopping on one foot. Stanley’s gurney rolled across the rough floor of the hangar. The wheels hit something, and then it rocked back and forth. Stanley had one moment of anxious anticipation before it tipped over on its side.

  “Get him up!” shouted Gagarin. “We can’t have him getting banged up! Get him up. Gala, Biryuza, what are you doing just standing there? Help Shamil!”

  Stanley felt the gurney lifting up, heard Biryuza’s labored breathing and Shamil’s sniff.

  “You see how well we’re taking care of you, McKnight?” Gagarin said, leaning over Stanley again. “Your comfort and health are what matter most to us. You look like you have some doubts about that. Tsk tsk. What’s that you say?”

  Gagarin leaned closer.

  “What? Shamil, I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

  “He’s got a gag in his mouth, Viktor,” said Biryuza.

  “A gag? No! What sadist would do such a thing? Bring him here!” Gagarin shouted as if someone had just slammed his own fingers in the door. “I’ll teach that son of a bitch to treat our dear, precious Stanley McKnight that way.”

  “You put the gag there, boss,” said Gala with a giggle.

  “Me? It’s not possible! I’ve never put a gag in anyone’s mouth. My dick, sure, but a gag—that’s too rough.” Gagarin bent over Stanley again. “Isn’t that right, Stanley? I’ve always been courteous and respectful, even with a fucking scumbag like you. Right? Well? Answer me!”

  At that, Gagarin punched Stanley full force in the chest, then again in the face, then began pummeling everywhere like he was a punching bag in the gym. Stanley screamed from the pain, nearly choking on the spit in his mouth, and the blood from his split lips soaked the gag.

  “He’s not answering!” complained Gagarin to Shamil, lifting his hands up. “He doesn’t want to talk to me. Fucker. All right, pull out the gag.”

  Shamil tore the gag out of his mouth. Stanley turned his head to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood and saliva. He inhaled, and blood, saliva, and mucus went down his windpipe. He started to choke.

  He moaned, rasping and coughing.

  “He’ll die like that,” Biryuza said thoughtfully, observing Stanley’s suffering.

  “I don’t think so,” said Gagarin, shaking his head. He cleaned his hands with a paper napkin. “He’s good at surviving. And fucking. Look at the size of that thing. He’s packing quite the equipment, isn’t he?”

  He reached out to the side, grabbed a rubber baton, and hit Stanley in the crotch. Stanley screeched in pain and began to lose consciousness from the lack of air.

  “Viktor, you’ll kill him,” Biryuza said, his voice strained.

  “So help him! Sit him up and slap him on the back. Do CPR. Mouth-to-mouth. You like that sort of thing. Go on!”

  Biryuza and Shamil cut off the tape binding Stanley to the stretcher, untied his hands, and set him upright. Shamil gave him two hard slaps on the back, and Biryuza held up a napkin for him to blow his nose on, and wiped his face.

  Stanley coughed, hacking up the fluid in his windpipe.

  “Give him something to drink,” Gagarin said. “I want to ask him something before we fuck him up.”

  Biryuza held up a plastic bottle for Stanley to drink from and poured a little over his head.

  “Just drink! You’re so caring, Anton.” Gagarin lit a cigarette. “I’m thirsty too, by the way.”

  Biryuza held the water out to him.

  Gagarin snatched it out of Biryuza’s hand and threw it on the floor.

  “How about a clean bottle, you idiot?”

  “Sorry. Sorry, Viktor.”

  “Ok! Bring me a chair! And tie him back up. No reason for him to sit here watching us.”

  The short time he’d been freed from the tape and ropes on his hands had given Stanley the chance to look around. He was in an empty hangar, possibly built to house small boats. There were metal shelves on the walls. In one corner were tables with bottles of water, some folders and packets, and a multitude of instruments. The bright light was still blinding him.

  “Quickly, quickly,” said Gagarin from his seat. “I have an important meeting soon. And it stinks here. What is that smell? Can you smell that, Stanley?”

  “Viktor,” rasped Stanley. “What is going on? Why are you doing this?”

  Gagarin laughed out loud.

  “What is going on?” he repeated. “He’s got a nerve! This bastard yank steals my money, then sits here asking, nice as you please, what’s going on? So, guys, what’s going on?”

  Shamil tied Stanley’s wrists to the stretcher and stretched the tape back over his chest.

  “Are you comfortable, Stanley?” asked Gagarin. “Your comfort is key, because once we start our serious conversation, man-to-man, it’ll be too late to change anything. So, comfortable?”

  “I didn’t do it, Viktor!”

  “You didn’t do it? Really? Then why did you run? Why did you get involved with some Americans? Who was the guy we shot in the head? FBI? CIA? Or the State Department? Who?”

  “That was just…just my friend. I just ran into him.”

  “And the guy who shot up my people in the parking lot? Another friend who you just happened to run into? Come on, Stanley. I am, of course, as my ex-wife Mila believes, a total fucking idiot, but not to that extent. You simply don’t respect me if that’s what you think of me. Okay, I think we need to wrap this up. Shamil!”

  “Yes, boss!”

  “It’s time!” Gagarin got up and stood over Stanley.

  “You know what it smells like in here, buddy? I said it smelled, right? So, what?”

  “You said it stinks,” corrected Stanley.

  “Ah, so you haven’t lost your nerve. You’re a tough guy. Yes, indeed, I said it stinks in here. Do you know what it smells like?”

  “Paint? Mildew?” asked Biryuza.

  “A man?” Gala squeamishly poked her finger into Stanley’s stomach, then drew her nail down from belly button to groin, leaving a red stripe on his skin.

  “All true,” said Gagarin. “But most of all it stinks of betrayal. What does betrayal smell like? Eh? Who reeks of it? Who, McKnight?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know. I’ll tell you. The stink is coming from you, Stanley. Shamil!”

  “I’m ready, boss!”

  “So go ahead already. What the fuck are you waiting for?”

  Shamil slowly pulled on a pair of latex gloves with great ceremony. He turned to Gala, who unbuttoned his leather jacket and took it off. Shamil was wearing an expensive silk shirt under his jacket.

  “Apron!” ordered Shamil, and Gala helped him put on a blue medical apron, then protective sleeves of the same color.

  Gagarin got a flask out of his back pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took several swigs, then lit a cigarette.

  “Okay, Stanley, here’s how things are going to go. Shamil is going to work on you a little bit. Then I’m going to ask you some questions. Depending on your answers, Shamil is then going to either beat the shit out of you or just knock you around a little, purely as a formality. If you disappoint us, we’ll introduce other procedures. Specifically? Well, I’ll let that remain a secret for
now.”

  “I didn’t do it, Viktor!” shouted Stanley desperately. “I didn’t take the money! I was as surprised as you were.”

  “Gag him!” ordered Gagarin.

  Biryuza held Stanley’s head in place, and Gala stuck the gag in his mouth.

  “This might also surprise you, Stanley, but we’re not going to start with the money. First…but no, I’m getting ahead of myself. Shamil!”

  “Wait a minute,” said Biryuza, “Can I have this asshole’s watch? It’s a museum piece.”

  “Come the fuck on, Biryuza. You don’t have enough money to buy your own?”

  “This is a special collector’s piece,” Biryuza explained apologetically, hurriedly unstrapping it from Stanley’s wrist. “You can’t just go out and buy it.”

  Gala giggled and slapped Biryuza on the shoulder.

  “You’re distracting us, Biryuza! Let us give this American a Russian punishment!”

  Shamil began to strike Stanley, over and over again, like Gagarin had, as if he were a punching bag. But unlike his boss, Shamil’s blows were hard and painful but professionally delivered, so as not to cause lasting injury.

  At first Stanley tried to concentrate, to prepare for each blow, to lessen the pain by even a little, but soon realized that he couldn’t keep up with Shamil’s fists. All he could do was moan in pain. He closed his eyes. Eventually, Shamil stopped.

  Stanley exhaled and opened his eyes. Shamil was holding the rubber baton.

  “Judging by your wide eyes, you’re expecting something bad, Stanley,” said Gagarin. “You’re right. This is going to be bad. But it’s going to get much worse, so don’t pay attention to Shamil; listen to what I’m going to say to you…Shamil!”

  Shamil raised the bat and brought it down sharply onto Stanley’s shin. The pain was so intense, it felt like an electric shock running through his entire body.

  Gagarin lit a fresh cigarette from the end of his first. “Try and pay attention to me, Stanley. I know it’s difficult at the moment, but you have to. Are you listening, Stanley?”

  Shamil brought the baton down on Stanley’s legs at a measured, methodical pace, gradually going higher and higher.

  “Just don’t smash his balls off. Not yet, anyway,” Gagarin said, taking another swig from his flask. “So, we have a lot to talk about. Hey, Biryuza! Where are you? Are you feeling sorry for him? All right, all right. Go ahead, but come back soon. And bring me some vodka. This French cognac is giving me heartburn. And something to eat. Some hamburgers…American style.”

  Biryuza nodded and went out.

  Shamil, breathing heavily, took a break. Stanley’s legs were covered in streaks of blood. The soles of his feet were particularly bad—Shamil had focused a lot of attention on them.

  “What is this? You on vacation? Get to work, Shamil!”

  Shamil wiped the sweat from his forehead and picked up the baton.

  “Okay, Stanley. I’m interested in two things. They’re more important, more significant than the question of where you put my money. First is the question of betrayal. Because you did betray me, didn’t you, Stanley? What are you whimpering about? You’re mumbling. You betrayed me!”

  Gagarin upended the flask, finishing the cognac. Lit another cigarette.

  “I should get compensation for damages,” he said, “Not only do I have to look at you, I have to deal with the stress, all this stress, smoking, alcohol…Where did Biryuza get off to?”

  Stanley started to lose consciousness from the pain. Gagarin’s words traveled to him through a thick fog, clumping into hard blocks that hit him with almost physical force.

  “You, Stanley, are a traitor, and belong in the ninth circle of hell. Have you read Dante? Hmm? Okay, hush, hush. I seem to remember reading that your shitty American schools teach Dante at some point. He puts traitors in the ninth circle of hell where Lucifer sits in the center, the prince of darkness—another traitor, by the way. Lucifer continuously devours three traitors with his three mouths—Judas, Brutus, and Cassius. You’ve heard of them, I think? You’re not on their level, Stanley. You’re a piece of shit on one of their shoes. But you’ll still end up in the circle with them. We’ll take care of that, won’t we, Shamil? Okay, take a break.”

  Shamil sat down on a folding stool, and, following his boss’s example, lit up a cigarette.

  “Do you know what the ninth circle looks like?” Gagarin went on. “I’ll remind you. There’s a huge, frozen lake, Cocytus. Traitors with cold hearts, like you, Stanley, don’t burn in hell—they freeze. But that’s not the worst part. Traitors can end up in that lake while they’re still alive. I remember the lines from years ago, ‘I found one such of you, that, for his deeds, in soul he bathes already in Cocytus, and seems in body still alive above.’ Do you understand? Those traitors experience the torments of hell while they’re still above ground. Like you, for example. Although your earthly life is nearing its end.”

  The hangar door opened, and Biryuza appeared, carrying a large McDonald’s bag. He unpacked its contents onto the table next to Gagarin—a frozen bottle of Russian vodka, cups, four hamburgers on a plastic plate, fries, and pickles, then set down a couple of cans of beer next to the vodka.

  “Now, that’s more like it!” Gagarin said approvingly. “Nice work, Biryuza.”

  Gagarin poured himself a half glass of vodka, drank it, huffed, and followed it up with pickles. Then he bit into one of the hamburgers. Ketchup dripped onto his chin.

  “After I treated you like a son,” Gagarin said, his mouth full. “I really liked you. Smart, handsome, not arrogant. Did everything I asked for. Someone I could depend on. How am I supposed to trust people now, Anton?”

  “You can’t, boss!”

  “That’s what I say. Shamil!”

  Shamil got up and approached the stretcher. He put out his cigarette on Stanley’s bare chest.

  “That’s the way, Shamil! I like the initiative!” Gagarin gestured for Biryuza to pour more vodka into his glass, drank it, ate a pickle, and then finished his hamburger.

  Shamil got down to beating Stanley’s body with the baton while Gagarin was eating. Gagarin wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Now I want to ask you something.” Gagarin opened a can of beer and took several deep swallows. “I’m thirsty, Stanley. I’m dying of thirst.”

  He got up to stand next the gurney, opposite Shamil, who continued to methodically batter Stanley. Small sprays of blood flew up from the stretcher, and some spattered Gagarin’s starched white shirt.

  “You know what I’m dying to do?” Gagarin leaned down to whisper in his ear. “To fucking destroy you!” he screamed, right into Stanley’s ear. “To beat you into a million tiny pieces. But first, you’re going to tell me everything.”

  Gagarin motioned to Shamil, and he pulled out the gag.

  “Tell me, who was with you in the parking lot? Who killed my people?” Gagarin took several fries out of the bag and shoved them hungrily into his mouth.

  “No?” He took out a couple more and shoved them up Stanley’s nostrils. “Here’s what I want to know—is the man we shot the same person who killed my guys?”

  Stanley nodded.

  “Okay, we’re making some progress. Unless, of course, you’re lying to me. So, that was your friend? Where’d he get the gun? Where did he learn to shoot?”

  “He—” Stanley began, then sneezed, and a fry flew out of one nostril. “He served in Iraq, and was recuperating in Switzerland after being wounded. He works for a security firm. He’s either a former Navy SEAL or a paratrooper. He had a permit for his gun. I told him people were following me, that I didn’t know who they were or what they wanted. I told him that people in my bank suspected me of stealing money, but that I was innocent and the police were looking for me. My friend doesn’t like the police. At all. He told me that he’d help me, help me get to
Marseille, that he knew people there that could get me on a boat home. Your people started first, Viktor! They took out their guns, and my friend reacted. I would have gone with your people. I have nothing to hide, but he—”

  Gagarin put his hand over Stanley’s mouth.

  “Okay, that will be our working version for now. Time for act two, Shamil. Look at me, Stanley. Shamil has just stepped away for a moment. Do you miss him already? He’s going to give it to you good now. So, where did you put my money, and where is Lagrange? You can do it, Stanley. I need answers. Go ahead and lie if you have to, but make it believable. Go on!”

  “I…I didn’t take your money. And I don’t know where Lagrange went.”

  “Those are bad answers! Shamil!”

  Shamil rolled a small table on wheels over to the gurney. On it was a small device with a dial, and a handle on the side.

  “Do you know what that is, handsome?” asked Shamil, “It’s called a megohmmeter.”

  “Strange word, isn’t it, McKnight?” Gala put in.

  “See these two wires leading from it? They have clamps at the end that we’re going to clip to your ears, like this, and then we’ll turn the dial, like this.”

  An electrical current shocked Stanley. He felt like his head was going to explode. The first shock was followed by another.

  “Where’s my money?” Stanley heard Gagarin’s voice, as if from far away.

  “I don’t know! I didn’t take it!”

  “Where’s Lagrange?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Shamil!”

  Shamil turned the dial back up. The electrical current hit him with such force that he fainted.

  He came to when they poured cold water over him. Gagarin was no longer in the hangar.

  “He turned out to be weak,” Stanley heard Shamil saying. “He seemed strong, but all Americans are weak.”

  “I can’t watch this!” said Biryuza.