Unearthed (2 page)

He started back toward the hallway, full head of steam and fury, ready to give them a whispered version of a piece of his mind. They damned well better have found some good shit by now; once he was done he meant to ransack the bitch’s bedroom, start tossing it for everything. He glanced at a photo hanging on the wall and paused, feeling his cynicism close in around him even tighter. It was the mayor and some lady in a pantsuit who looked late forties, with dark sunglasses and platinum blond hair. She wasn’t very tall next to that lank motherfucker, but she looked sorta serious for a bitch who probably made her living on her back.

He tore his eyes off that obvious display of prestige and worked back down the hallway. “Early?” he hissed. “Mike?” There was no light from any of the rooms because they knew better than to turn them on. Cops saw flashlight beams dancing around in a Central Park West penthouse, they tended to ask questions. And the evening would, again, come to a premature end.

No one responded, which was smart on their parts. He walked past the first couple rooms, ducked a head into each, looking for them. That perfume smell lingered in the air here, too. He figured he’d gotten used to it in the main room, because it had faded and he hadn’t noticed it for a while, but apparently not. It was heavy in the air here, sweet and strong, lashing him across the face like a hard slap, like he’d walked into a public restroom after someone sick dropped a deuce.

He pulled his head out of the second room and went on. Passed the locked door and ignored it, looked into the art gallery. Everything looked normal here, fainting couch still there for clutching pearls, pretty pictures all still on the wall. He looked into the next bedroom, saw a couple drawers open like someone had started tossing the place. The door to the stairwell was pulled to, light shining through the crack where he’d broken it open with the pry bar. It just didn’t fit together anymore, but it looked sorta okay like that.

They hadn’t left, had they? Anthony crept on to the door and fiddled with it. It squeaked open a crack and he looked out. The hallway was lit all the way to the stairwell door, and he shut it again, resting the bolt back in the broken jamb.

“What the fuck?” Anthony said aloud quietly and turned toward the last door. It was an office, and here too some drawers had been opened up and rifled through. A big black trash bag was discarded on the floor, mostly empty and sagging sideways, like it had a couple things in it and no more. “Where the fuck are you clowns?”

There was a subtle noise, like the scrape of a shoe, and Anthony felt a little jolt run down his back, like he was out after midnight and realized someone was watching him that shouldn’t be. He’d felt that a few times when he’d dealt on the corner. That sense that something not so good was about to go down. Squeal of tires on the pavement, voices from an alleyway, gunshots in the night.

Creepy noises, and that scrape reminded him of the warning sounds. He reached for his belt and pulled out the snub-nose .38 he kept for just such occasions. If he had to use it, he’d have to run, too, but at this point he was ready to take a shot at Early and Mike and call it a night. Those fuckers. They were supposed to be tossing the place, quietly gathering up the damned loot, so that they could all get the hell out of here.

There was a scratch behind him, like nail on wood, a slow, painful drag of hard material on something pliable. Anthony whirled, looking for its source.

It came from the hallway.

He took a step, clutching the pistol tight in his hand. He felt reassured by the smooth, checkered grip, its points biting gently into his palm. He cocked the hammer back. He’d used it before, knew what to do.

He was whisper quiet as he walked forward. Kept the barrel pointed straight ahead, like cops in movies. He’d capped a bitch in the head with it once in a burglary in the East Village. She was pretty, but he couldn’t leave a witness behind, so he’d done it. Talked to her real gentle first, though. Reassured her. Told her what he wanted. Had her show him everything of value. Made her give up everything she didn’t want to.

Then he’d pointed to something, and when she looked, he blew her brains right out the front of her head.

Anthony stepped into the hall and stared into the darkness. There was no light, nothing from any of the other doors that hinted at Mike or Early. The fuckers were hiding. They had to be.

He started down the hall, glanced back to make sure the door to the stairs was still pulled to. It hadn’t moved. Light streamed around the edges of the door, and when he turned back, he couldn’t see for a few seconds.

And when he could, he had this feeling there was a blank, dark space in the middle of the hall that he couldn’t explain.

Anthony blinked, his eyes adjusting slowly back to the darkness. There was a shadow, a shape, something vaguely like a person, right fucking there in the middle of the hall.

He squinted, stared, tried to see features. Was it Early? Was it Mike? His eyes focused, showing him a slim figure. Way too skinny to be either of those idiots. Too short, too.

Anthony raised the gun. Just like last time he’d had to do this, then. “Don’t move.” Steely calm was half the battle.

The shadow held. It didn’t move, didn’t stir. Just loomed there, like the four-poster bed, a big fucking hole in the world. No sound, no sight, nothing.

Anthony waited, gun held out. The silence was maddening, the lack of motion disconcerting. “What the hell are you doing?”

When a voice answered, it was high and smooth. A woman’s voice. “You said not to move.” She was just a little too coy, a little too playful.

“Yo, Early!” Anthony said, calling down the hall. “Mike!” He didn’t even want to say their names out loud, but there was no doubt this lady was going to die here tonight. What she heard wouldn’t amount to a spilled cup of a piss—just another mess he wouldn’t have to clean up. He refocused on her silhouette. “Where are they?”

She didn’t move. “Who?”

“My boys,” Anthony said with annoyance. He brandished the gun, pointing it at her harder.

“Oh, them,” she said finally, like it was humorous. “They’re in here.” She pointed toward the closed door.

What kind of crazy bitch with a death wish would think it was funny, being held at gunpoint?

Anthony took a breath, and sweet perfume flooded in through his nose, so heavy it almost made him want to spit it all out, like he could taste it on his tongue. “Show me,” he said. This lady was getting the bullet, and soon. He had no patience for rich, but rich and crazy was even worse.

She moved, slow and easy, and he saw the crack of light appear as she opened the door to that room he’d tried earlier. It had been locked, hadn’t it? Had she been in there then?

The door swung open a few inches and light came out, red like a neon sign. It hadn’t come through the crack at the bottom of the door, hadn’t seeped through the frame like water spilling into the hallway, not until she’d opened the door.

Anthony moved closer as she stood there, framed in the light. She was the woman from the photo with the mayor, long blond hair up in a bun. She wasn’t wearing sunglasses, though; she was just wearing a severe look. He couldn’t see her eyes, the light shadowing dark pools under her brow. She had sharply-defined features, though, like a hard point to her nose and a chin that was pronounced. Old aristocracy, Anthony remembered reading somewhere once, maybe. They had the pronounced features. Considered it a mark of their particular, irrelevant species.

This whore, she was one of them. She stood in the light of the doorway, still a shadow, and held it open invitingly for him. Playing games. Like she was in control here.

“Get in,” Anthony said, pointing the pistol at her. She shrugged expansively and stepped closer into the light, opening the door a little further. He was only a few feet away from her now. She was still playing it cool. “Go on.”

“Waiting for you, dear,” she said in a hushed whisper. She pushed the door open a little wider, let a little more red light spill out. It imbued the dark wood floors with an evil tinge, made them look like they’d soaked in blood. They glowed, that red light pouring out onto them like spilled Merlot.

“Bitch, you better be listening to me if you want to live through this,” Anthony said and cocked the hammer. That was the sort of move that inspired fear. She’d have to be shitting herself by now, pissing in her lace panties. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, her eyes still covered in darkness and her lips a thin line. “Do you want to live to see the morning?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then get … in there,” he said, and took a couple more steps forward. “Get on the floor. I’m gonna tie you up.”

“Okay,” she said, amusement just dripping from her words.

Anthony felt a violent surge of anger and came the last few steps forward to take her by the elbow. He shoved her inside. She fell to the ground, to the stained tile floor that lined the inside of the room. She hit with a crack, head to ground, and did not stir.

Anthony stood there, looking down at her fallen form. She wore panties, only, cotton and comfortable, with zero sex appeal, and a bra that did not match. No amorous visitors staying overnight, then, not in that getup. He stepped in, looking her over. He hadn’t noticed she was near-naked in the hall, he’d been so focused on getting her to open the door and get inside, to show him where Mike and Early were. Now he was noticing her, skin up and down her legs laced with veins. Anthony figured maybe they were the kind even a good plastic surgeon couldn’t fix.

He stepped deeper into the room and blinked at the light around him.

At
what
he saw around him.

This wasn’t a bedroom. This wasn’t a bathroom. It wasn’t an office, or an art gallery with a fainting couch for clutching pearls.

It was a goddamned dungeon.

The walls were covered with toys, with—no, not toys. With implements. Tools. Chain whips, manacles bolted to the floor, shiny metal surgical equipment taken straight out of a hospital. All that and so much more, things Anthony didn’t have names for, all crammed into a fifteen by fifteen space with a tile floor, all centered around a—

What the hell was
that
?

It looked like a chair in the middle of the room, heavily padded, with legs that split off like—what the hell did they call them? Like at the woman doctor, when they did an exam? Stirrups? It looked like the most padded chair for one of those exams he could have possibly imagined, that’s what it looked like. And below it was something else, something metal and painful looking, with chains and steel platforms, something that—

“What the … fuck?” Anthony whispered. It was a like a low buzz in his head, bees crawling in his ears as he stared at that thing. He took another step closer and saw the tile stained, a drain installed in the floor like the entire room was one big shower.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned, gun up, ready to pull the trigger. He kept himself from shooting just barely.

Bound to the wall, with a red ball gag in his mouth was Mike. His eyes were wide, but he said nothing, that big grin of his covered up by the gag. Anthony followed Mike’s gaze down, down to—

Oh, shit.

Anthony felt his legs kicked right out from underneath him, felt his ass hit the ground with a crack of bone that sent pain screaming all the way up his back. He cried out, eyes tightly closed by instinct when the pain hit. Something slithered up him, pulling him to the ground. Another crack filled his ears, and the breaking of his right index finger made him cry out this time. He could feel jagged bone splinters trying to rip their way out of the skin of his finger. It was pain in a place he was not used to pain. It was of a kind he’d never felt. The gun was gone from his grasp.

Anthony screamed. His cry echoed in the chamber, and he thrashed, rolling his head back on the hard tile. His eyes fell open and rested on another figure on the other side of the door. It was Early. In chains and slumped, unconscious, bound to the wall.

“You can scream all you want now.” The lady was standing over him in those cotton panties, leering down at him from above. She put a foot on his chest and shoved him down, hard. His head knocked against the floor sharply, and it hurt. Anthony felt a moan escape his lips. “This room is soundproof.”

“Who the fuck … are you?” Anthony asked, staring up at her. Her bun was askew, blond hair streaming down onto her shoulder.

“Why … I’m your victim, clearly.” She sounded almost serious up to the end, then she let a giggle escape. It was a terrible sound, bereft of any actual joy. “You had a gun on me.” She twirled a long finger, and the pistol rolled around it. “I fucking hate these things.”

Anthony just stared at her, mouth trying to move. He pushed against the pressure of her bare foot against his chest, and she pushed back even harder, heel digging into his belly and her big toe pointed down right under his sternum. It dug in and drew another cry out of him, sharp pressure like a drill boring in. “Ahh! Ah! Stop!”

She grinned and pushed a little harder, making him yell even louder. When she eased up, he opened his eyes and looked into hers. She was looking down at him, her nose slitted with long nostrils that reminded him of a devil. Looking at her from this angle, there was nothing soft about her at all. She looked harsh and angry, amused at his pain. He felt the weight of her on him and did not struggle. Not now. “You’re really just a pathetic little …” She sighed. “See, the time was, I’d say ‘bitch.’ But that’s kind of a slur against the female gender now. I’d argue that calling someone a dick or cock is kind of the same thing, but right now it’s a linguistic argument I’m losing with my so-called friends.”

She leaned down, bending her leg at the knee and sliding closer to his face. “I bet you’ve called a lot of girls bitches in your time, haven’t you, Anthony?” His eyes widened at the use of his own name. There was a subtle increase in pressure from her toe, and he wondered if she was going to break right through the skin and stab him in the fucking heart with it. “Haven’t you?” He nodded as quickly as he realized she was waiting for him.