Chapter 2 part 3
I made it back to the warehouse to the sounds of an asshole screaming. Shakes was yelling loudly enough that it was already making his voice hoarse and strained. I had to admit that I was more amused by the whole scene than I was angry. This place was so deep in no-man’s land that even drug addicts and the homeless found it too far to travel to from their sources of survival.
Daria and I chased them out long ago anyway. And anyone that would come out this way would rather stay out of other people’s shit.
Especially when it involves a man tied up and screaming for help.
“Who do you think is going to hear you?” I yelled as I stepped into view.
Shakes stopped mid-yell and looked angrily at me. “Fuck you!” he hissed hoarsely. His voice was nearly squeaking from being so strained. I chuckled a little.
“And to think that you were so close to putting me down for good,” I bemused.
“I ain’t tellin’ you nuthin’, asshole! Fuck you, fucking pig!”
I pulled out the bottles of alcohol and sat them down on a small metal table to the side. There were a few tools that we had used in the past already there. When it all went down and I was disgraced, I didn’t bother cleaning up.
Calmly, yet smeared with the joy I was suddenly having in the turnabout, I interjected with “You don’t have to talk, Shakes. I think that we established long ago that you are a tough motherfucker and that you don’t have to take my shit…” I trailed off a little as I began to pick up some of the various instruments.
Most of the things we used were the unconventional tools. Cigar cutters were handy for removing fingertips. Diamond saw wires made for handy wire-like strapping. There were a few things like box cutters, ice picks, needles for drugs that Daria normally provided. I had only alcohol. Gardening tools like saws and pruning shears were also among the bunch. Scalpels, knives, rope, hammers, pliers, all laid before me. A potato peeler…
A few of them were starting to rust a little. I also noticed that some of them still had some blood on them from the last guy.
Like I said: I didn’t bother to clean up…
As I was standing there Shakes had his attention directly on all of the tools. It was where I wanted him to focus. If he would make the damn thing easier on the both of us, he’d just talk.
Interrogations were always easier if they just talked right away. It happened often in this way.
Despite my best attempts at pressuring each person into talking, to bully and intimidate them to it, some of them always kept refusing. Eventually I would break out the tools.
Doing such things was extremely laborious. Though I was always excited to gain the information promised, torture takes a lot out of me.
Most days after a heavy torture, I would just sit in my kid’s room and stare at her while she slept. Sure, it’s creepy, I know. But all-in-all it was the only way that I ever could bring myself back into focus. It was the only way I ever felt right by doing it. To keep her safe.
Fuck if that worked though.
I didn’t know how I was going to handle this. Frankly I was probably more scared than Shakes. I was at least braver than he was. He had no choice but to be a captive audience; I had to force myself through the show.
“What’s that stuff?” he asked nervously.
I sighed. “Just tell me what you know about them, Shakes.”
“Who, asshole? I’ll have your ass wasted for dis shit if you touch me wit’ dat shit.”
“I wouldn’t worry about telling anyone,” I explained. “I don’t plan on allowing you to talk ever again.”
He cursed at me repeatedly as I said that. I could tell that he was scared as he was stuttering and shaking. Spit was dripping and hanging from his lips. I almost felt some pity for him. Both of us knew what was about to happen, and he was on the wrong end of it.
I picked up the wire saw blade and used some larger wire cutters to break it into four sections, on for each limb. As Shakes continued to curse at me, I wrapped the blade around his wrists and ankles.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” he squealed demandingly.
I ignored him. Once the wire was wrapped and tight, I cut the ropes.
The first thing that I decided to pick up was the cigar cutter. I clicked it a few times and smiled at Shakes. He cursed at me some more.
“So who’s paying for your protection?” I inquired as I grabbed hold onto his hand and slid his finger through the hole in the cutter. He struggled vehemently with me, but I was able to make it happen.
“I’m not tellin’ you nuthin’!” He was being obstinate. With one swipe and click, the tip of his middle finger was laying on the ground.
Shakes screaming and tensed up trying to pull his hand away. I could see the wire begin to tear into his flesh.
“Tell me a name, Shakes!” I yelled at him. I was beginning to shiver. I looked at the finger lying there. I cursed myself. I went too quickly into harming him. I wasn’t focused but I was having trouble controlling myself.
There was no answer again other than the screaming and cursing. I continued until he had only nubs on all of his fingers snapping a little section off at a time. Little bloody bits of finger were littering the floor in a bloody mess.
Shakes was crying more than cursing at the point where I finished. Tears streamed down his face. “Tell me what I want to hear, Shakes!” I yelled.
“I don’t know anything. I can’t talk. I just can’t talk” he pleaded. “Please kill me.”
“Tell me who’s paying to protect you,” I insisted, ignoring his pleading.
I walked back over and picked up a hammer. To keep him off guard as his hands were probably overloaded with pain. I needed to divert it. With a quick swing I shattered one of his kneecaps. Shakes let out a piercing scream.
Next episode: March 3rd, 2015