Honorable Assassin (13 page)

Most of the street-level dealers didn’t know
anybody with the kind of power and authority necessary to order
them tortured and mutilated. There was no formal organization at
that level. The addicts would give up their suppliers and most of
the low level dealers were addicts themselves, selling drugs so
they could get their own supply. This was where the police began
their investigations but they were constrained by the laws. Terry
Kingston had no such constraints.

“Have you ever seen what happens to a man
when this kind of power is run through his body?” Terry asked his
partner, casually.

“Aye, the flesh curls up like paper in a
fire and his muscles spasm like a speared fish. The eyeballs pop
out and start to bleed, the tongue swells up and the man often
bites it off. Sometimes they can’t talk afterward so we just kill
him and leave him there.”

Terry and Ginger were both dressed in white
painters’ suits with butchers’ aprons. Their heads were covered
with grotesque leather masks that covered their features. They both
wore gloves, though Ginger’s were driving gloves and Terry had
welding gloves on. The man taped to the chair was obviously
terrified, though he couldn’t speak through the tape over his
mouth.

“It makes a horrible stink too, as the flesh
burns.” Terry concluded as he fit the welding rod into the clamp.
“An arc welder is not the greatest of devices to extract
information but it is as effective as anything else. The real
trouble is it turns the subject into a gimp.”

“Aye. The muscles never work quite right
afterward. The damage makes them limp and stumble. They have the
shakes forever and tend to piss themselves. No matter, this one
doesn’t deserve considerations.”

“Soak him down.”

Ginger poured a pitcher of water over the
addict’s head at Terry’s request, and Terry affixed the ground
clamp of the arc welder to the man’s left foot. Walking behind the
victim Terry pulled out a battery-powered stun gun and gave the
bound man a shot to the back of the neck. After squirming about for
a while, the man slumped unconscious. When he revived he was more
than willing to tell the men anything he knew about everybody he
knew. There was only one name that held any significance, Demetrius
Marlowe. Demetrius dealt in cocaine and moved it in ounces. He had
been in business for quite some time but had never been caught
because he kept it in a different location from his residence. The
victim did not know where that was but he did know Demetrius’ home
address and phone number.

“Should we kill him?” Terry asked.

“I’m not sure. Do we need to kill you?”

The victim answered emphatically that they
did not, that he would never tell anyone what had happened.

“Bear in mind, you little shit, that if we
ever find out you told anyone about this we will release the
information that you are a stool pigeon working with the police,
and then we will kill your mother. I believe she lives on Cooper
Street.”

The man could say nothing more. He had been
broken. He began mumbling promises as his torturers packed up.

As a final assurance, Terry returned to cut
the dealer loose and stuck the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth.
“You will never know who is watching and who is one of ours. If you
speak to the police we will know. If you speak to your friends we
will know. If you speak to your sainted mother we will know and our
vengeance will be swift and brutal. You will watch what is left of
your pathetic family die before we kill you and your death will be
so much worse than death itself.”

Demetrius Marlowe was not as easy a mark to
apprehend. He was the owner of a small stamping plant in the
Rosebery area and he made sure his businesses never overlapped. He
never walked anywhere and spent little time in the pubs. On the
surface, he was a very respectable man in a respectable part of
town and he never involved his family in either of his business
ventures.

Ginger was quick to tell Terry that to
involve the man’s family in their little operation was to court
disaster. “Women always want to go to the police. Especially in
this case, she would run screaming to the constabulary proclaiming
her husband’s innocence and demanding justice. We must be more
careful than that, or the notoriety might end up killing us.”

“We could kidnap her and make demands on her
husband.” Terry opined.

“No, too complicated. We need to keep it as
simple as we can. The more people involved, the more people who
know, the more likely that the affair gets exposed prematurely.
What we want to do is to get in and get out with the information.
We can threaten his family, but I do not want them to ever see us.
Pictures of the family should be all we need to facilitate the
flow, along with some of the cruder and messier methods. Any time
you can convince somebody of something, without having to actually
do it, that is the way to go. Convince somebody of a consequence,
and you get his undivided attention. He may roll over easily, or he
may require more convincing, but if he is the only one who knows we
were there, the chances are he will be silent after we are
gone.”

“I see what you mean. So we should do it
right away, before our junkie friend loses his fear and opens his
mouth?”

“Agreed,” Ginger said as he relit his
cigar.

“His home, in Summer Hill, is undefended. I
do not feel good about abducting him there, however. They call it
The Village because everybody is looking out for everybody else’s
business.” Terry pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “I think there
are too many busybodies and that we should grab him in the
industrial district.”

“Agreed, Rosebery is more appropriate. At
the end of second shift would be best, but his manager locks the
place up. He doesn’t show up at that time of night.”

“He would if there was an emergency.”

Demetrius Marlowe got the call that night.
Someone had driven the forks of the fork lift through the oil tank
on one of the Bliss presses. It was an above ground tank unlike
most, which were under the floor. He rushed to the factory to take
care of the situation.

Nobody would admit to the accident, even
when he promised no repercussions would be issued. He spent a
couple of hours trying to determine what had happened and then he
left. He did not get far, however, because his car overheated. He
pulled over to the side of the road and a van pulled up next to
him. He thought they were there to help an unfortunate citizen but
such was not the truth. Two men in executioner masks grabbed him,
shocked him unconscious, and stuffed him, bound, into the van.

“We are going to make this as painless and
simple as possible as long as you cooperate with us. Currently, we
have two men outside your home on Carrington Street. These men are
not civilized in the traditional sense of the word. They will, upon
instruction, invade your home and murder your children with your
wife watching. Then they will repeatedly rape her, torture her, and
then disembowel her while she is still alive. I’m sure this is
nothing you had planned for her this morning but unless you
cooperate, this is precisely what will happen.” The speaker was the
shorter of the two men. The location was a motel room, looking like
any other motel room.

“Who are you?” was all Marlowe was able to
say at this point.

“We are the men who have everything you are
and everything you own in the palms of our sweaty little hands. We
can do whatever we wish to you, right now, without repercussions.
My partner is of the opinion we should pop out one of your eyes and
skull fuck you but I told him otherwise. I informed him that you
are a gentleman and will be able to grasp the desperation of the
situation and the dedication of your captors. I’m afraid he is a
bit bloodthirsty, however. He would like nothing more than to begin
carving you up.”

Terry brought out a straight razor and began
sharpening it on a leather strop fastened to the back of the chair.
The aspect was terrifying. The executioners’ masks lent a surreal
aspect to the proceeding.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because, my dear Demetrius, we know you are
a drug dealer hiding under the disguise of a legitimate
businessman. You are a blood cell in the artery of the Sydney drug
trade and you have information that will save your life. You will
give us this information or we will be forced to use methods that
have been banned in all civilized countries for centuries.”

“What do you want… want to know?”

“Who supplies you with your cocaine? We know
you sell it by the ounce. That means you acquire it by the pound or
kilo. We want to know where you get it and who gets it to you.”
Ginger’s voice was as refined and erudite as he could make it. It
sounded incongruous coming from the mouth hole of the torturer’s
mask.

Terry on the other hand was growling like an
animal. It was the most extreme example of good cop/bad cop that
had ever been portrayed.

“Now, are you going to tell us what we want
to know or shall I tell my associates to begin doing what they do
best?”

“Oh, God! You don’t understand. What you are
threatening me with is the same thing they will do to me when they
find out I talked.”

“I’m afraid you do not understand, sir. You
have the opportunity to go on with your boring, pedantic life,
unchanged and unscarred, or you have the opportunity to be mangled
and see your family’s mutilated bodies lying in pools of their own
blood. The decision is yours and yours alone.”

Demetrius Marlowe was an entrepreneur. He
had seen an opportunity to make some clandestine capital and then
regretted it, but could not escape the spiral he was caught in. He
had looked for a way to escape the situation but was unable to find
a way out. His underworld connections had pictures of him hidden
away somewhere, pictures of him in compromising positions. He was
also pragmatic. He could see what was going on. It was obvious to
him that a rival faction was muscling in on the cocaine trade and
that they had their own suppliers or they would have been demanding
he take them to his hoard. He chewed on his lower lip for a second,
trying to get an angle that would leave him and his family in the
clear and yet eliminate his culpability.

“I’m not who you are after. I’m only the
middle man, a little fish.” He didn’t try to deny what he had done
or who he was. It was obvious to him that the time for denial was
yet to come. He did not break down and cry as a lesser man might
have.

“My dear sir, you are precisely who we are
after. My associate wants to taste your blood and the only thing
keeping his barbaric appetite in check is myself. Now, tell me who
it is that supplies the cocaine and you will ensure your continued
survival and that of your family. The alternative has already been
laid before you and, I assure you, without your cooperation it will
be forthcoming.”

“All right, I’ll tell you everything I know
but I need some modicum of certainty that I will be left in the
clear.”

“As you have iterated you are a little fish,
of no real concern to me. Your life hangs by a thread that I will
cut without the slightest compunction if I suspect that you are not
being completely forthcoming and utterly truthful. On the other
hand, if your information is deemed to be worthy, you will be
released to go your own way. I do not feel it necessary to remind
you that speaking of this to your connections within the
organization that supplies you will be absolutely disastrous. They
will at that point do what I will not. Are we in agreement?”

“We are.”

“Good, then spin me a tale of supply and
demand. When I am done you will be released to your lovely
family.

“I got contacted first by Bruno. I don’t
know Bruno’s last name but he is an idiot. I never would have done
business with him but the follow up was Mark Valentine. Mark works
for a man called Randy. I don’t know Randy’s last name either. When
it is time to make a payment or to get a delivery, I call a
receptionist who sets up an appointment for me. It is set up in
deserted offices or public places like restaurants. I show up and
either Mark or Bruno or both is there to meet me. I don’t know
where their houses are, I don’t know where the offices, you know,
the real offices are. I’m just a middleman.”

“Yes, a very efficient operation. So, how
often do you call him?”

“I can’t call him now. They will know it was
me if I set him up and then he will do the same thing you will. I
told you, I’m not the one you want.”

“Tell us where you have met these men.”

“They won’t be in these places. I can’t even
recall some of the spots.”

“Associate, kindly refresh the gentleman’s
memory. No scars.”

Terry made a noise like a disappointed dog
and slipped his razor back into his smock. Then he punched
Demetrius six times, four in the belly and two in the face.

When Mr. Marlowe was again able to speak it
seems that his memory had improved. His attitude was also improved
somewhat. He stopped asking for things that could not be bargained
for and he continued supplying names of streets and locations of
buildings, restaurants and nightclubs.

Terry was behind him so he could not see the
younger man plotting the locations on the map.

“Well, Mr. Marlowe, you have given us
something that amounts to nothing,” Ginger said as he reached over
and picked up the receiver of the telephone. He dialed a number and
waited an appropriate time. “Associate Number Two, you and Number
Three may proceed…”

“Wait. Wait, please. I can give you more. I
can give you what you want.”

“Hold on for a few minutes, Number Two. If I
do not call you within 15 minutes, make sure there are no
witnesses. Yes, you may have your way with the woman.” He hung up
the phone. “As you were saying, Mr. Marlowe?”