The Killing Games

by Antony J Woodward

  There was the sound of car doors opening, then Chris was grasped by the arm.

  “Keep the blindfold on…”

  “How mysterious…” Chris quipped. Why all the cloaks and daggers? It was all a little theatrical wasn’t it… Chris had fathomed he was being taken to Sam, to his hideout. But why was Sam being so protective of his whereabouts? He was a drug dealer, not a crime lord. He was guided around the car and tugged in the direction of the warehouse. The loose gravel threatened to trip Chris, and it eventually did. He fell from the thug’s grasp, landed on his front and bashed his knee.

  “Fuck!” he cursed as his knee smarted.

  “Fuck’s sake…” the thug not holding Chris’ arm groaned, “Take the fucking blindfold off…”

  He sounded annoyed that Chris was still wearing it, but he was only following instruction from the other one. He tugged it off and squinted. He seemed to be at an abandoned warehouse. Why had Sam brought him here?

  He glanced around and saw the mass of Melun below. He was high up in the hills, what did they call them? Some pun on Hollywood… Hollyleaf? Hollytree? Something like that…

  “Come on,” the thug in the yellow t-shirt commanded. The other thug, dressed in orange, helped him to his feet. It might’ve been a nice gesture if Chris wasn’t uncertain why he’d been escorted to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.

  Was he going to die here? But what he done to deserve such a fate? He climbed to his feet and tried to rack his brain for something he’d done that Samuel would kill him for. It surely wasn’t his part in Jason’s death, surely not…

  Chris reached the door with the yellow t-shirt wearing thug in the rear.

  A man nearly crashed into him as he exited. The man was dressed in a black trench coat, black trousers and a pale blue shirt. He was at least in his late fifties, perhaps older. He looked rough; very tired and haggard. He appeared to be the type of man who’d just plummeted out of his prime. His square and manly features had turned to grey, become fuzzy with ill-kept grooming and soured his whole image. His watery blue eyes were tired, red and puffy. His beard and short hair was salt and pepper. He had a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and as Chris brushed past him, he smelt like an ashtray. A week old ashtray at that.

  The man didn’t say a word, he just carried on in his direction. Chris glanced and saw him climb into a car. When he turned his attention back to the warehouse he was astonished. It was a full-scale operation of drugs. His eyes widened as he took it all in. Several workers were lugging boxes back and forth, some were weighing individual sacks and adjusting the amount of white powder inside, and a pair of black men were mixing several separate piles of white powder. A peculiar and acrid chemical smell drifted across to him and he spied a kitchen. There was a collection of men decked out in PPE busying over chemicals cooking away. Chris had seen the popular TV programme, he was looking at a meth kitchen.

  “Fuck me…” he whispered. He had thought Samuel Le Bont was nothing more than a drug peddler, not a bona fide drug mastermind. He readjusted his view of the man.

  His eyes drifted up and he saw Sam himself stood at an office window. He was wiping his mouth with one thumb, he noticed Chris and turned away.

  Chris suddenly wasn’t sure what the purpose of this visit was. Was he going to die? Or was Samuel inviting him into this drug underworld…?

  He glanced at the thugs, but they offered no response. Instead they continued to guide him through the warehouse, towards a backroom.

  Inside, the room was a little damp and moderately lit. A young thin male was sat tied to a chair with a black sack over his head. Lining the walls were all sorts of tools and other building paraphernalia.

  Now Chris was really confused. The thugs deposited him in this room and swiftly left. They didn’t tie him to the chair, they simply just left. Chris watched them leave and then turned his face back to the man tied to the chair. He was dressed in an ill-fitting blue hoodie and baggy black jeans. For a moment Chris thought it was Pierre, but he deduced that this male was way too thin to be him. So who was it?

  “I thought seeing as I’d intruded upon your studio, ‘your sacred space’, that I would return the favour…” Samuel stepped into the room via the door the thugs left. He seemed a lot calmer and more composed than the last time they’d met. He sauntered into the room with confidence and power, perhaps because he was on his own turf? “I thought you could see where I work…”

  This wasn’t quite like comparing workplaces…

  A very tall and imposing figure came in behind him. He looked a little Hispanic, but it was hard to see around the facial tattoo that encompassed the right half of his face. Whatever his ethnicity, he was a shocking giant of a man. He was at least seven foot and at least three times as wide as Chris. Intimidating was putting it lightly. He was dressed in a dirty black overall with a dirtier black apron over it. His long black hair was tied back in a greasy ponytail. He took station in the corner of the room without acknowledging Chris.

  Sam dragged a metal chair from a different corner of the room and placed it in front of the young male he held captive. He didn’t gesture for Chris to sit, instead he sat on it. He cocked his head as he studied the young male before him.

  “Well… it’s impressive,” Chris answered after a long pause.

  “It’s my works of art I guess. Different medium, but the same principle. A creation from hard work, sweat and tears…” he didn’t face Chris.

  “-Please,” the male pleaded.

  “-Shut the fuck up,” Sam silenced him immediately.

  “This is my empire. My creation. My ‘studio’. I thought you might like to see it. Maybe even appreciate it.” With that Sam leant to one side, he hocked a glob of phlegm from his throat and spat it on the floor. Chris wasn’t disgusted but he was intrigued to see the globule was rather whitish. It appeared, or so it seemed, to be partially semen-based. Had Samuel Le Bont just performed oral sex on a man?

  What would Alexis think of that? It was an interesting thought.

  “Well, I appreciate the gesture…” Chris answered as non-committal as he could manage. He glanced around wondering how best to make his excuses and leave.

  “But have you ever had someone disrespect your art?”

  “Plenty, comes as part of the territory…” Chris answered hesitantly. Where was this conversation heading? He was anxious to admit that he failed to understand Samuel Le Bont. Once upon a time he thought he’d figured everybody out, now he knew he was wrong.

  “Well, I’ve had someone disrespect my art… haven’t I Andrei…” Sam poked his captive, who shrieked in terror.

  “I don’t know what you mean…” the voice whimpered from under the sack.

  “Think about it Andrei, think about what you’ve been doing and how it could be seen as disrespectful…”

  “I-I…”

  “-Don’t lie. Let’s be honest…” Sam’s friendly tone was unnerving, exactly as it was intended to be.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t-”

  “-You see, what our dear little Andrei here has been doing is ripping me off. Charging more for the product and keeping the slice of profits for himself. Very. Fucking. Rude…” Sam may have started the sentence at Chris, but he finished it with three jabs in Andrei’s shoulder.

  “Please…”

  “-And I don’t like disrespectful little shits. And I especially don’t like thieves…”

  “Please…”

  Sam rose from the chair and smiled at Chris. Now Chris understood, this elaborate show was to intimidate Chris because he’d said no to the drugs. Sam must’ve decided that he needed to teach Chris to be afraid of him. Only Chris wasn’t afraid, he was concerned that he might end up embroiled in some messy drug business, but he wasn’t afraid. No matter how erratic and random Samuel Le Bont got, he wasn’t ever going to be bowed down into submission.

  “And do you know what I do with people who disrespect me?” Sam had a glint
in his eyes that was aimed at Chris.

  Andrei began to cry out hysterically.

  “Is this about the drugs?” Chris decided he would just confront the issue square on.

  Sam recoiled in surprise. “No, not at all…” but who knew if it was a lie.

  “Please Sam, please… I’ll pay you! I’ll do anything! PLEASE!” Andrei began to sob hysterically, he was fighting with his binds but it was to no avail.

  “Too late,” Sam answered. He nodded at the behemoth who had been waiting in the corner like a sentinel. The giant closed in, Chris felt his pulse quicken a little as the brute took hold of Andrei’s hand. There was a short snipping sound and then a primal scream from Andrei. Chris saw the tip of his finger bounce on the floor.

  His eyes drifted from the bloodied fingertip to Sam, who was smirking darkly.

  “Let’s see what you’re made of…” he spoke softly when Andrei’s scream of agony fell into muffled sobbing. He extended a knife towards Chris. What the fuck was he doing now?

  Chris took it, if only to show he couldn‘t be intimidated. He was surprised by the offer, perhaps this wasn’t an intimidation tactic but an initiation? Or maybe it was all to see if he could break Chris? Chris felt the weight of the knife in his hand, perhaps Sam didn’t think he would have the guts to do it? Was he testing his mettle? Oh how little Sam knew.

  “First, as fun as knives are, they’re not the only thing you can use,” Chris remarked. He handed the knife back to Sam, he then stepped around the drug-dealer. Sam was surprised, but pleasantly so. He watched Chris scan the many tools hung on the walls. Chris was aware of Sam’s attention as he plucked a hammer from the wall, then collected a pair of nails - relatively shorts ones. He deposited them on a dirty work bench, he then retrieved a plank of wood. Both Sam and his behemoth were mesmerised as Chris set about fashioning himself a weapon from the wood and nails. When Chris had finished there was a collection of inch long nails poking through one end of the plank.

  “Why not go for the stab and the strike?” Chris turned to both men.

  “Please… stop…” Andrei pleaded weakly.

  Chris modelled the makeshift bat for Sam’s benefit, he then casually walked up towards Andrei. Sam was utterly captivated when Chris suddenly and swiftly raised his weapon over his head, he then brought it crashing down onto Andrei’s back. There was a loud slamming thud and then a scream of agony as Chris tore the nails free. Because the nails weren’t too long and all positioned at different angles they had a tearing effect on the boy’s flesh.

  The sudden violence painted the room. Changed the atmosphere to something indescribable.

  “Try it,” Chris turned back to Sam with a dark smile. He extended the weapon for Sam to take.

  “That’s what Big J is here for…” Sam remarked pointing at his giant.

  “Too big to dirty your own hands now?” Chris challenged.

  “Please… please…” Andrei cried pitifully.

  “You looked like you was having fun, I would hate to deprive you of that…” Sam deflected.

  “So here I was thinking you was seeing if I would be strong enough to join your little…” Chris looked around the room as if it would inspire the appropriate word, “…crew. If I had the guts to stand up to the task. Well dear Samuel, I do. The question now is, do you?”

  Sam laughed a little. He didn’t fall for the bait.

  “I don’t need to prove myself…”

  “And neither do I. I don’t want in, on any of this. It doesn’t interest me…”

  “Are you sure? Think of all of the things you could achieve…”

  “Oh please, being a lackey in your drug empire? Not part of my future plans thank you,” Chris tossed the weapon onto a nearby bench.

  “But what if you can’t say no?”

  “What, you think because you brought me here that you can pressure me into joining your crew? That because I’ve seen too much I’d be more agreeable for you…?”

  Sam didn’t answer, but he was a little disappointed that Chris had deftly understood his agendas.

  “Like I fucking care that you own a drug empire. Like I care that you’re gonna torture the shit out of little Andrei over there. I seriously don’t give a fuck…”

  “People don’t say no to me…”

  “But I’m not just anyone, and it doesn’t mean shit…”

  “I could kill you…”

  Chris laughed a little. “Go ahead. But we know you won’t… You have no reason to and I‘d just be a complication you don‘t need to deal with,”

  Damn little bastard called his bluff and Sam’s face pinched up into its self.

  “So, lets just pretend you never asked me to join your crew. I never said ‘no’ and we can carry on like nothing ever happened…”

  “Christopher Bourgh, you don’t get to call the shots…” Sam could feel his temper was beginning to flare.

  “Fucks sake!” Chris cried out in dismay. “Seriously? You just implicate me like that?!”

  Sam was surprised by the sudden ferocity that bellowed from Chris’ mouth. In a blur of moments that he failed to interpret quick enough; Chris had turned, collected the weapon and then swung it nail first into the side of Andrei’s head. The sound of the swipe was violent and it reverberated through the room. Andrei hit the deck, the plank still nailed to the side of his head.

  Chris then turned a thunderous glare on Sam, “You fucking jerk…”

  Sam couldn’t believe what had just happened, he opened his mouth but no words fell out.

  “If your little bitch so much as breathes one fucking word that I was here, I will kill the fucker myself…” Chris growled. He was infuriated. It was one thing to have been dragged into Sam’s lair and pressured into joining his little motley enterprise, but he certainly wasn’t prepared to tolerate being put in jeopardy by some snivelling potential snitch. He couldn’t believe Sam had the audacity, or was it stupidity, to out him like that.

  Chris stormed out of the room, he was so angry.

  After a few dumbfounded moments, Sam sprang to life. He chased after Chris, who had stormed straight past Dom and Tom.

  He caught up with him outside.

  “Chris!” he yelled.

  “Fuck off Samuel…” Chris snapped angrily. He tore open the drivers side to the family estate car he’d been escorted in.

  “Wait… I’m sorry,” Sam heard himself say before he even realised it. The words halted Chris, with his hands on the ignition. His angry expression lifted to Sam. “He won’t say a thing. He won’t dare…” the promise seemed weak, Chris’ expression didn’t change.

  “I get it okay, you don’t wanna be part of my crew. I get it…” he stressed.

  “Then back the fuck off…” Chris hissed.

  “Look…” and Sam trailed off. He didn’t have the words. He was completely gob smacked if he was honest, he had never expected for Chris to be so… What was the word? Dark…?

  He’d sensed there was something special about the boy, it was why he’d decided to try and initiate him. In fact, he’d kind of admired him for having the audacity to deny the drugs Sam offered him. He was a smart and sharp kid, someone with a lot of potential.

  The layer of violence beneath Chris’ skin was astounding, as was the will. If Chris didn’t want to do something he then sure as shit wasn’t going to.

  Sam realised as he looked into Chris’ murderous glare that he’d fucked it right up. He’d tried to strong-arm Chris into joining his ranks, either by intimidation or blackmail. And while it was arguable he’d succeeded in the blackmail, he sensed that Chris wouldn’t be reliable and might potentially be dangerous to the operation. Chris was obviously not someone you could strong arm, or handle with force.

  He was now presented with two choices; kill the boy and undo his mistake, or let him go and try to remedy the situation. How much potential did this boy have?

  The car started underneath his palms, and then a moment later Chris was reversing away
.

  “Boss?” It was Dom.

  “Let him go…” Sam sighed. He watched the car speed away.

  He turned and headed back into the warehouse, his head flooding with potential ramifications from this choice. As he reached his office, locking it behind him, he found himself questioning quite how a boy that profoundly dark ever came to be. There was such a sociopathic nature lurking beneath that pretty skin. How quickly he had turned the switch and brutalised Andrei…

  Sam opened his drawer as he took a seat at his desk. A framed photo of him and Jason smiled up at him from under a pistol and bag of cocaine. For a moment he felt like removing it, but he didn’t. He felt that familiar pang in his chest, that intense sorrow and regret. He had failed Jason Le Bont, failed the one who had been the best of them all…

  He shut the drawer and closed his eyes.

  Fuck. He had fucked it all up, and now he’d turned Christopher into something of a loose cannon. He should’ve just left well alone… He clenched his eyes as Jason manifested in his mind. His dear brother he’d failed, the one who was to be the best of all of them. And that’s where his thoughts remained, on remembering the goodness in his younger brother.

  He didn’t come to think quite how Jason had befriended a dark soul as Christopher Bourgh, instead he let his mind filter out.

  CHAPTER NINE:

  Chris was in a much better frame of mind when he climbed into Pierre’s car the next evening. The anger and fury that had stormed inside him had finally dissipated. He was greeted by the smell of vanilla, aftershave and polish.

  “You look nice,” Pierre greeted warmly. It was such a genuine compliment that Chris immediately felt at ease. Chris had deliberated over his outfit for the date, having changed at least twice in the run up to seven pm. He had settled on a black shirt, a black set of skinny jeans and grey leather boots. He had finished the look with a white tie and swept his hair down one side. He had almost shaved the entire mane of hair off as he paced the bathroom, but sense had prevailed. If he was going to make the plunge he really should get a professional to do it. He just couldn’t make up his mind; part of him felt the long hair was a trait of the old Christopher he’d left back in England, while another part of him felt if he chopped it off he was betraying himself.