Day 10: J - Alleycat II
He couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or closed. The darkness pressed so hard against his lids that it created a gnawing at the back of his brain. He had no idea where he was. It smelled of dampness mixed with rotting flesh. A sticky warm liquid poured from the corner of his mouth and the only sounds were the drops of blood against the floor. The taste of copper settled deep into his tongue.
Phone. He tried to reach for it, but his wrists were bound behind his back, pulling at the skin and burning the flesh. Someone called. She called, he thought. But things weren’t making sense. Bite sized memories flashed through his head, a red lantern, a cat, a pistol colliding with his jaw.
They found him. They knew he was sneaking around, and the Russian woman heard his phone and that’s when he met the side of her gun. A new wave of dread flowed over him. There was no doubt that they were going to kill him. No one would be on the way to save him. And since he didn’t get back, those men watching his family at home would have taken care of that loose end too.
A guttural groan erupted from deep in his chest. How did he get himself in this mess? All he needed was a little money. A little money and they would be ok, but wasn’t that how it always started? A little money followed by a little bit more because wasn’t that new car smell addictive and wasn’t there something else that the wife said she wished they had. The money was more than just jimmying car locks and shifting around change trays and back seats hoping to score a jackpot.
He was a slippery fellow, someone who had an easy time becoming invisible, making himself scarce. They told him he was a natural, just the kind of guy they were looking to add to the team. There was a special job that needed taking care of, and once he was done that, he would be free to move on. The payout was too much to refuse and how hard was it to do a little sneaking around?
And then he found out that it wasn’t for some drug run. That he could live with. No, this was something else. He always heard that there was good money in drugs, depending on what you were making and selling, but if you wanted to play with the big boys, the money was in sex.
A shipment of women was on its way. His job was to find out when. What happened after that, he didn’t want to know. The less time he spent thinking about it, the more he could detach himself from the fact that he was aiding in a sex trafficking ring.
The throbbing in his jaw caused the gnawing to creep up from the back of his head to encompass the whole thing.
They would try to get as much as they could out of him before they decided to kill him. If he confessed to his part, as small as it was, maybe they would let him go. They would realize he wasn’t a threat and they could set him free. But what would he do if he were out? His team would find him. He wouldn’t make it far at all. And what was there waiting for him outside? His family would be gone. They made that very clear. Was there a reason to live without them at all? He was there because of them. He needed so badly to give them everything they wanted, but that costed them their lives instead.
A door at the corner of the room opened, slamming against the wall. The silhouette of a woman was framed in a warm glow coming from a light in the other room. She made her way over slowly, heels slowly clicking their way over to him. She reached out for him, lacing her fingers in his matted hair and pulling it hard back so that his face was angled up toward her.
“Why did I find you cowering behind a dumpster, spy?” her voice as harsh and low.
“You think I can’t break you? You are wrong.” She let go of his head and walked across the room. There was a sound of metal against wood, and she was back in front of him holding something between his eyes. The handgun was poised and steady, daring him to maintain his silence.
What if his family wasn’t gone? What if his team was concerned something happened to him and they were orchestrating a rescue mission? They couldn’t afford to have him question or killed. He may not know a lot, but he knew who he worked for, and he knew that they were planning on stealing a whole shipment of women, which meant revenue lost. Big time.
“I was sent there,” he offered. Her arm wavered for a moment, but then steadied out.
He began to negotiate but she took that moment to force the handgun in his mouth and shove it back toward his throat. The instant force made him gag, but she didn’t ease up.
“You will not be set free,” she stated, already anticipating what he was planning to do. “You will die here. It’s up to you how quickly.” She forced the gun back further and he was finding it very difficult to breath. His jaw protested being popped open and drool and blood started dripping down the side of his mouth.
She removed the gun, going back to put it on a table, and coming back with his phone.
“There’s a voicemail. We checked it. Marie’s worried. You haven’t been home much lately, and she misses you. What a shame.” She deleted the voicemail and continued. “The thing about cellphones, is that they are keys. Keys to everything you’ve ever done, everyone you’ve every talked to. We know all about you. The men you work for are foolish. They should have picked a better spy.”
Her eyes held no mercy, or sympathy. She was not interested in negotiating. All he had was to wait for death.
It didn’t come after too long. She dropped the phone on the ground, pulled out a vial, and grabbed around his throat to force him to open his mouth again. She tipped the clear solution in and it burned all the way down.
“Poison. I don’t want to have to clean up any more of your blood.” She threw the vial on the ground and left the room, not looking back.
Phone. He tried to reach for it, but his wrists were bound behind his back, pulling at the skin and burning the flesh. Someone called. She called, he thought. But things weren’t making sense. Bite sized memories flashed through his head, a red lantern, a cat, a pistol colliding with his jaw.
They found him. They knew he was sneaking around, and the Russian woman heard his phone and that’s when he met the side of her gun. A new wave of dread flowed over him. There was no doubt that they were going to kill him. No one would be on the way to save him. And since he didn’t get back, those men watching his family at home would have taken care of that loose end too.
A guttural groan erupted from deep in his chest. How did he get himself in this mess? All he needed was a little money. A little money and they would be ok, but wasn’t that how it always started? A little money followed by a little bit more because wasn’t that new car smell addictive and wasn’t there something else that the wife said she wished they had. The money was more than just jimmying car locks and shifting around change trays and back seats hoping to score a jackpot.
He was a slippery fellow, someone who had an easy time becoming invisible, making himself scarce. They told him he was a natural, just the kind of guy they were looking to add to the team. There was a special job that needed taking care of, and once he was done that, he would be free to move on. The payout was too much to refuse and how hard was it to do a little sneaking around?
And then he found out that it wasn’t for some drug run. That he could live with. No, this was something else. He always heard that there was good money in drugs, depending on what you were making and selling, but if you wanted to play with the big boys, the money was in sex.
A shipment of women was on its way. His job was to find out when. What happened after that, he didn’t want to know. The less time he spent thinking about it, the more he could detach himself from the fact that he was aiding in a sex trafficking ring.
The throbbing in his jaw caused the gnawing to creep up from the back of his head to encompass the whole thing.
They would try to get as much as they could out of him before they decided to kill him. If he confessed to his part, as small as it was, maybe they would let him go. They would realize he wasn’t a threat and they could set him free. But what would he do if he were out? His team would find him. He wouldn’t make it far at all. And what was there waiting for him outside? His family would be gone. They made that very clear. Was there a reason to live without them at all? He was there because of them. He needed so badly to give them everything they wanted, but that costed them their lives instead.
A door at the corner of the room opened, slamming against the wall. The silhouette of a woman was framed in a warm glow coming from a light in the other room. She made her way over slowly, heels slowly clicking their way over to him. She reached out for him, lacing her fingers in his matted hair and pulling it hard back so that his face was angled up toward her.
“Why did I find you cowering behind a dumpster, spy?” her voice as harsh and low.
He kept his mouth shut.
“You think I can’t break you? You are wrong.” She let go of his head and walked across the room. There was a sound of metal against wood, and she was back in front of him holding something between his eyes. The handgun was poised and steady, daring him to maintain his silence.
What if his family wasn’t gone? What if his team was concerned something happened to him and they were orchestrating a rescue mission? They couldn’t afford to have him question or killed. He may not know a lot, but he knew who he worked for, and he knew that they were planning on stealing a whole shipment of women, which meant revenue lost. Big time.
“I was sent there,” he offered. Her arm wavered for a moment, but then steadied out.
He began to negotiate but she took that moment to force the handgun in his mouth and shove it back toward his throat. The instant force made him gag, but she didn’t ease up.
“You will not be set free,” she stated, already anticipating what he was planning to do. “You will die here. It’s up to you how quickly.” She forced the gun back further and he was finding it very difficult to breath. His jaw protested being popped open and drool and blood started dripping down the side of his mouth.
She removed the gun, going back to put it on a table, and coming back with his phone.
“There’s a voicemail. We checked it. Marie’s worried. You haven’t been home much lately, and she misses you. What a shame.” She deleted the voicemail and continued. “The thing about cellphones, is that they are keys. Keys to everything you’ve ever done, everyone you’ve every talked to. We know all about you. The men you work for are foolish. They should have picked a better spy.”
Her eyes held no mercy, or sympathy. She was not interested in negotiating. All he had was to wait for death.
It didn’t come after too long. She dropped the phone on the ground, pulled out a vial, and grabbed around his throat to force him to open his mouth again. She tipped the clear solution in and it burned all the way down.
“Poison. I don’t want to have to clean up any more of your blood.” She threw the vial on the ground and left the room, not looking back.
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Prompt: "The only sounds were the drops of blood against the floor."
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