Break Free & Be Broken (18 page)

What the hell is happening? How is this going so wrong?

"What do you think you're doing, Quinton? You don't know me! You're making a mistake!" I yell.

Quinton laughs. "I'm well aware of the fact I don't know you, but worry not. I plan on figuring all that out and more."

The bouncers start pulling me toward a back hall. Shit! I renew my effort to escape. I put out a max effort attempt to get free, relax for but a second, then ramp back to max effort. The force/pause/force tempo catches them off guard, and I actually get free a second time. I don't waste the opportunity.

I stampede toward the closest door I see: the emergency exit. I ram my full weight into it, fully expecting to burst on through to the other side-maybe to the sound of an alarm-but fuck it, they already know I'm here, right?

Wrong on all counts but the last.

No alarm sounds, I don't burst through, and I don't make it outside. The door doesn't budge, and I don't get a chance to choose another route. Hundreds of pounds of flesh descend upon me in the form of four men and I'm thumped down into the earth. Some of the flesh is simply on me, crushing me down. Some of it is coming at me in a striking motion, knocking around my head, bruising my sweet ribs, and all around just making me feel crummy. They somehow beat me right back into a standing position and pummel me toward the stairs.

Only two things are going through my mind: I failed Jade...

And I'm fucked.

Strength all but lost, I offer very little resistance as I'm dragged up the stairs and into the small office room at the top. I get slammed onto a chair and am held down tight by the four men around me. I don't want to say I endured this willingly, but the truth is, I had very little fight left after my debilitating failure to escape.

Lack of strength lead to a lack of will, and lack of will lead me here: stuck in a chair, face to face with a very livid and very scary looking Quinton. It isn't his physical presence that's frightening, but the amount of rage brewing in his soul and the clear message in his eyes that tells me he is willing to dole out any punishment I may require.

For a long time he just paces back and forth, staring at the duffle bag. Finally, he pulls out his phone and, as he puts it to his ear, I catch a glimpse of the source of his violent fury: he's scared. He fidgets uncomfortably while waiting for the sound of ringing to become the sound of a voice. When it does, the voice he sends out in greeting is shrill and jumpy.

"Hi, Mr. Schultz, did the girls come?" Even from here I can hear the roar coming from across the line. "Hey, hey, look, I don't know. I have no idea! I don't know, I haven't tried to call him. What? You're sure? What about the men? WHAT? All of them? But hey, calm down." He blanches when more shouts pepper his ear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! But listen! I've got the money. Some kid just showed up with it, all covered in blood. I don't know! I haven't talked to him yet. I wanted to call you first, make sure it wasn't some weird mistake. The way he came trapezing in here like he owned the place-okay, okay. You sure? I can question... Okay! I'll send him now." The phone falls from his ear. He has to take a few deep breaths to compose himself before he is ready to hop back into action. When he’s ready, he takes a long look at me.

"I hope you didn't have any big plans for the rest of your life. My boss wants to talk to you personally. You're going to see him right now." He turns his attention to his men. "Ricky, Tim, can you handle this guy? I'm being dead fucking serious. Don't feed me any egotistic bullshit. If you think it will be any sort of problem at all, I can send Carl with you."

One of the goons, either Ricky or Tim, sneers and spits. "You fuckin kiddin? It won't be a problem sir. This punk tries anything and boom! No more face." He slams the barrel of his pistol into my temple as he talks, emphasizing what will happen to me if I don't behave.

"Are you fucking stupid Tim? Mr. Schultz wants to talk to him. That means he
has
to talk to him. You gotta get him there alive."

"I know that, sir. I was jus-"

"Then quit dicking around! This is serious! Can you two handle it or not?"

The other goon jumps in. "We can handle it, boss."

"Thank you, Ricky. And you know how Mr. Schultz is. Don't rough him up too much or it will piss him off. And if he asks why I didn't come, tell him... I dunno, just tell him I had stuff to do. I don't want anything to do with this. He didn't ask for me so I'm not going."

The two bouncers pull me to my feet and start dragging me toward the door. Tim leads the procession, and Ricky follows. For the most part, I comply without defiance. This is all too much. I'll take this fate as a stoic.

Quinton stops us before we exit the room. "Hey, kid, a word of advice. Whatever Mr. Schultz asks you, just tell him. It will make your life a whole lot easier." The message flows directly from his heart to mine. He gave me that as a genuine talisman of advice; a potential shield from the horrors to come. What an unexpected act...

I'm removed from the room before I have a chance to fully process the kindness or offer any type of thanks. But what am I thinking? Why would I thank the man who is sending me into the hands of a monster? Some advice is hardly compensation for the deed being performed. It's like he is throwing me into a cage with a bear and saying, 'Offer up your throat! Make it easier on yourself.' I could figure that out on my own. But he did show me a small amount of kindness when he didn't have to, and I suppose that is what touched me...

It dawns on me that the only reason I'm latching onto it like it's a big deal is because that could very well be the last kindness I ever receive. What an ugly, awful thought. In fact... it's too ugly. Too awful. I think of Jade, her eyes, her embrace. The last kindness I receive is not going to be an unnecessary warning from some scummy gangster!

It's not yet time to give up.

When we reach the stairs, I lurch forward into Tim's back, sending him rolling downward. Everyone was lulled into inattention by my docile behavior and I slip from their grip with ease. I leap over Tim and the remaining stairs and dash for the exit. The real kindness Quinton gave me was letting me know that they couldn't kill me, so I'm able to charge away without extra fear. I push through some doors, slice through the crowd, and just like that: I'm outside.

My feet slamming concrete is the thunder and I am the lightning. I gave those men a taste of my strength; now let them choke on my speed! I take a quick glance back-not because I think they might be close-but because I want to see the grim hood of defeat shadow their eyes when they grasp that they'll never catch me.

Ho fuck.

It isn't Ricky or Tim behind me, it's the bouncers, and they're merely steps away. I can practically feel the ground shake with each pump of their giant legs, but big as they are, I know they won't be able to keep it up long. Their massive thighs may have power, but even a horse couldn't carry those bellies a great distance. Still, they're a little too close for the time being.

I round the edge of the building, boosting myself onto a side street, then take another peek back. In the span of just a few seconds I managed to gain ten yards on them. They're steps have become clunky and drawn out, and they're sucking up air with the full width of their lungs. They're done. As their engines give out and they slow, I decide to do the same. I overcame their strength in grappling and made them look like bitches on the feet. I need to gloat.

"What, you guys done already? You're fucking weak!" I yell. For some reason, I'm legitimately getting pissed they didn't put up more of a chase. I'm not even winded. I almost want to run back and take the attack to them, so high I am on feelings of superiority. They couldn't contain me with a full tank and now their exhausted. I could probably take them. Might even be fun.

They pull guns. I start to back away.

A
bleep bleep
draws my attention to the rear... a police car just pulled up. Shit. The prospect of being in their clutches seems almost as bad as being in Quinton's. I consider running but they're already getting from their car.

Maybe, just maybe, they'll be more concerned about doing good then digging into every aspect of who I am and why I'm being chased. Perhaps instead of slow witted, power hungry pricks, it's a couple real heroes who just climbed from the vehicle. They certainly look more typical than extraordinary: soft bodies, mean frowns, distended with a sense of authority; but can’t I still hope?

"What's going on?" One of the them yells in a stupid, demanding cop voice. I can tell just by the entitled ring it carries that I don't want anything to do with these porkies. They both shine their flashlights directly into my face despite the fact there's plenty of light outside to see by.

"It's nothing." I start. "I was just-"

One of the officers grabs me roughly by the shirt. "What the fuck?" I yell, startled by the unwarranted aggression. I stumble back, and that one step is all it takes for both of them to pounce. As is natural when being attacked, I pull away, just trying to get enough ground to figure out what’s going on without being molested, but they act as though I'm trying to escape. They become frenzied by the thought of losing me and renew their effort, forcing me to the ground. They're both screaming bullshit about not resisting, and I'm not necessarily trying to, but in my distress, I can't help but flail around a bit. It only gets me more beatings, so like anyone with any pride at all, I struggle against the injustice, which only gets me beaten more.

One of them finally gets me to stop by laying the heavy butt of his flashlight against my ear hard enough to split it. Blood sluices down my neck. "What the fuck's wrong with you?" I shout. They don't answer. They roll me over and seal on some handcuffs so tight it halts the flow of blood through my wrists. "This is fucking bullshit! You're lucky you're in those uniforms or I would never have let this happen! I would have ripped out your fucking throats!" I know my words aren't helping my case, but I can't help it: it's the truth. The only reason I hesitated at all is because these men are supposed to be guardians of the law, not simple bullies.

I would have killed them if I knew.

I'm hauled to my feet and unceremoniously tossed into the back of their car. Here I am-the victim-being treated like the criminal, just because I have some blood on my shirt and wouldn't take their shit lying down. They slam the door on me and go over to talk with the bouncers. I can only imagine the lies those two will feed them. Mother fuckers! They're all standing out there, chatting and laughing, while I'm sitting in here, fearing for the life of my hands. These cuffs are way too fucking tight! They won't get away with this.

Mark my words, they will pay.

Chapter the Eleventh

I solve the mystery of the excessive abuse I received at the hands of these 'cops' after about an hour of driving. My first clue came when we drove from town in favor of empty, wide open flatlands. My next clue-the one that cracked the case wide open-came when I asked where they were taking me, and they just laughed and said I was fucked. That's when I knew it was no regular piggies on my hands, but crooked piggies: bent dicks.

At first, I was scared, thinking they were driving me to the middle of nowhere to lay me to rest in a field, but then I remembered the easy, carefree manner in which they held discussion with the bouncers, and I started to think that maybe they were connected. When I inquired whether or not my theory was sound, they gave no answer. After that, I called them both bitches and tried to get comfortable.

Such was not possible.

My shoulders and arms ache from being wrenched behind me in such a contorted position, and the cuffs grind into bone with even the slightest movement of my wrists. On top of that, my hands are ready to pop from lack of circulation. However, other than the very real fear that I'm going to suffer permanent damage from the way they restrained me, I'm oddly calm. More than anything, I'm tired. I haven't known the time since before I robbed Griff, but it's gotta be close to my bedtime.

The memory of Griff brings a light chuckle to my lips. That shit was funny. It almost feels like a different life.

In all the relevant ways, I guess it was.

I never knew how much you could change in a night. I suppose if after all this, I was planted back in the same situation I was in before, I probably would go back to being the same, but if I didn't let that happen, if I kept rolling with this tide of living on the edge and following my heart, I could just keep getting happier and better. Sure, the difficulties stacked before me are beyond anything I've had to deal with before, but I no longer see them as hindrances as much as opportunities for growth. Plus, Sage and Jade could help me with the more difficult parts. They seem like they'd know how to thrive in any situation.

Oh... but I would actually have to survive the night in order for that to happen, and the way things are going, well...

I don't want to think of that just yet.

Sadness starts poking her bony fingers at my heart. I cast my eyes toward the mountains for comfort. I've always loved mountains. I don't know why I didn't spend more time in them. There's barbed wire fence on both sides of the car. It discourages me. Right now, I have less freedom than the cows those fences hold. My freedom is more in line with the cow in the butcher's den, chained down and ready to slay.

God damnit, why I am acting like I'm already dead? It's too early to start thinking like that. I'm not even sure they're planning to kill me, and if they are, well, I'm not dead yet.

I move my eyes beyond the fence, back to the mountains. They aren't too far away, and where there are mountains, there are trees; and where there are trees, there is cover; and where there is cover, there is possibility of escape.

I pull my wrists, testing the tightness of the cuffs for the hundredth time. The mobility of my arms is zero. If I do get a chance to run, I better not fall, cause it won't be easy getting back up. Still, I need to make a break for it as soon as they open the door. I'll head butt the fucking nose of whoever pulls me out and run with full strength of my legs. Neither of these oinking bastards appears to be in good shape. I'm not even remotely intimidated by their round, pudgy bodies or cigarette stained teeth. They shouldn't be hard to get away from, especially considering the competition I've already bested tonight.

The car begins to slow. I stick my head against the window, trying to see what we are approaching. Nothing but a turn, as far as I can tell, but a turn toward the mountains! Little do they know each second we drive in this direction is a second closer to my freedom.

"You're both pussies." I declare. Neither shows any reaction. Good. Very good. If they were going to kill me, what reason would they have to contain themselves? I try to remember all the instructions Quinton gave his men about how to handle me. He definitely told them not to kill me, and I'm pretty sure he even ordered them not to rough me up too much. If these gumshoes are connected to the same man as Quinton, they probably have the same orders.

Another card stacks in my favor. Add that to my thickly muscled legs, wide lungs, and iron heart, and we just might have a ball game.

We drive a good distance toward the mountains before finally stopping at a shitty looking little farm house. I dunno what I was expecting, but this... this certainly wasn't it. This is not the kind of place I'd expect a crime lord to be living; it's more like the kind of place you take someone just to kill.

The pigs get out the car. The dick who hit me with his flashlight comes to my door. Oh shit. Okay. Game time, baby. Head butt and run, head butt and run. I can do it. Run to the mountains, run to the hills. I've been running for years. I finally get to use it for something other than health. Although... I guess this is for health, in a sense.

I do this for life.

The door opens and dickface reaches inside. He grabs me by the head and throws me to the ground in a heap-not at all like I was planning-but it's just a minor hitch. I can still make a move when I'm picked up.

A foot burrows into my stomach, followed by another to my ribs, slowing my thoughts of a grand escape. Fuck. I'll still try, but it's gunna be hard to run without being able to breath. Another foot lands upon me, this one catching me on the tip of my cranium. My vision sways as a blinding headache takes residence in my skull. I groan, partly because of the pain, partly because my will to run was crushed.

"Cut that shit out Joe. You know Mr. Schultz won't be happy if we take him in all fucked up." A ray of hope shines upon me. The other cop is somewhat reasonable. I instantly begin to scheme, but the next instant I stop. He may prevent Joe from beating me up, but he isn't going to let me go. I roll toward him for protection anyway.

He picks me up and dusts some snow off my shirt. Joe's hand finds its way to my head and takes a hold of my hair. He yanks my head sideways and starts pushing me ahead. "It's cold," he whines, "let's go."

They don't take me to the front door of the house. They drag me around the side, toward the back. We clear the edge of the house and I get a view of a rundown barn. It's creepy as hell, and I find myself wishing I was being taken into the house rather than that. I try not to consider what sadistic pleasures these men have in mind for me. I don't know if the situation is coloring the scene with more horror than it actually holds, but I can practically see the bloody scene inside the barn: human gore everywhere, severed limbs hanging from hooks, chainsaw blazing, a man with a skin mask waiting to gut me. It's dark inside, but that doesn't mean the haunts aren't there.

For the first time, I become truly afraid and try to resist, gaining myself nothing but a barrage of punches. They beat me straight down onto the ground and don't let up until I can't breathe and am almost unconscious.

"No more of that, you hear! Next time we'll split your head on the lawn and be done with you!" Joe yells.

They pull me back to my feet. Breathing is difficult-almost impossible-and maintaining balance is just as hard. I can barely stay upright. I think they realize they may have gone a bit too hard cause they start carrying me a little more gently. We keep moving, but they don't take me inside the barn. We move past it, into the trees beyond. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

Are they just taking me out here to kill me?

No, come on, we've been over this. Get a hold of yourself. The whole reason I'm here is because Mr. Schultz or whoever wants to talk to me. I'm safe until at least then. I gotta remember that and keep calm: composed.

I focus on my breathing to settle down as they guide me through the trees. There doesn't seem to be any kind of trail, yet we march forward anyway. Big pines stand all around us. They are whispering to me, promising to hide me if I can only break away. I hear the truth in their words. I could easily disappear into these woods. I fake a stumble to see how tight I am being held. I get nowhere. The grip is secure. It's enough to break the last of my will and banish further thoughts of escape.

Guess I'll be going wherever it is they want to take me.

We walk a good distance when suddenly, appearing as if it had just emerged from the forest floor, a large, spectacular cabin looms into sight. The place is all windows and wood. Were it brighter inside, I would be able to see everything. It's three stories, with a decks surrounding the first two levels. There are no lights outside to illuminate the area, but the ground floor is dimly lit from within. What I can see of the inside is a magazine rendition of the perfect high society cabin-the most luxury you can have while still maintaining a feel of the outdoors.

Nothing tonight has gone as expected, so maybe this won't be so bad? I could live here for a thousand years and never tire of looking at it. Surely, whoever created such a place couldn't be
that
bad. At the very least, they must be reasonable: a man of logic. No mindless brute could have concocted such a glorious abode, and if he has a mind, my story can probably reach him. It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong. I got wrapped up with some questionable people and that was that. They got their money back. They have no reason to be upset with me.

Joe pulls me to a stop before we break the tree line. "Think we should clean him up before we take him in?" He asks, sounding a tad jittery.

The other cop clicks his tongue and looks me over but says nothing. A moment later, he says, "Clean him up how? Look at his face. We could wipe some blood off, sure, but there's no way we can hide it all. Let's just take him in and tell Mr. Schultz what happened."

"Don't you think he'll be mad?" Joe asks. There's no mistaking the jitters in his voice this time.

"We can tell him Quinton's boys did it. It's true enough."

Joe nods, tightens his grip in my hair, and pushes me into the clearing surrounding the cabin. I shift my head, hoping to lessen the pain his hold is causing me. I barely pull against his hand but he feels it and takes it as defiance of his power, so he locks his other hand around the cuffs and pulls up on my arms, pushing my weight forward and making it difficult to balance. I'm left in an extremely uncomfortable position. My arms are held high, forcing my body down and forward, while at the same time my head is being pulled up by my hair. I can't tell what hurts worse, the pain in my shoulders or the one in my head. I'd like to focus on the lesser of the two, but standing as they are as equals, I have no choice but to endure both.

I'm lugged up big wooden steps and taken inside. I wish I could get a look around at the place, but held as I am, all I can really see is the floor. I try to twist my head to peek around, but the effort only gets me an increased pressure on my joints and hair. I'm dragged from carpet, to hardwood, then back to carpet before we finally stop. I raise my eyes up enough to see we are standing before a door: the one that holds my fate. Joe's partner knocks, signaling the final countdown.

Good. I'm ready for this to end.

A deep, powerful voice resonates through the door, beckoning us inside. Joe pulls me upright, gives me a sneer, and opens the door. I'm so taken aback by the sight before me I'm pretty sure I actually take a step back; not in fear, but in awe. What I at least half expected to be a torture chamber is not a torture chamber at all. It's a grand dining room, equipped with colorful paintings in ornate frames, lush, exotic plants, and a large wooden table stretched across the room.

It isn't the room that has truly grasped my attention, however. It is the man sitting at the head of the table.

Let me state that again, for I cannot say for sure that the beast staring at me under heavy brows is a man or something more. At the very least, he is a giant: a giant in a dark green suit made of a heavy looking material that struggles unsuccessfully to cover his massive, solid bulk. He's bald on top, but the hair he has around the sides is a deep red that transitions seamlessly into his thick beard of the same color. All of his features-everything about him-is large. He's easily two people wide and two people thick. One of his burly hands is curled under his chin, giving it a place to rest, while the other sits on the table, allowing him to drum his bratwurst sized fingers.

He's fuming. If I had one wish, it would be to dissipate into nothing and vanish into thin air.

"What the fuck’s this?" The deep baritone of his voice rumbles over me. There's a hint of an accent to it, but it's so subtle I can't pick up on the origin.

"This is the guy you asked to see." Joe stammers, "The guy we picked up from Quinton."

The giant puts his thick paw to his forehead, clearly annoyed by the response. "I'm asking why he’s hurt."

Joe starts to shake. His partner has to jump in to answer. "Oh that? He's a live one, sir. He put up quite a fight with Quinton-damn near got away-and even when we caught him, it took a lot to keep him in line."

The giant places his attention on me. I don't like it one bit. "Is that right? You a 'live' one, boyo?"