His Father, My Revenge

Not A Hero

Lucas

***

The scene plays feet away from where I sit in my car. I watch the men who were supposed to be looking for my shipment that they announced had gone missing hours ago.

I have watched them drink and celebrate their newfound fortune from the confines of their room to prevent attracting attention to themselves, bag after bag of drink deliveries before they finally came out of their house driving aimlessly, perhaps to show the movement in their car when they lie to me about looking for the goods they sold.

I was going to let it slide, them letting my goods get stolen I mean, but my instincts told me to come check on them and have a word with them, since they had never met me and were employed by Matt, my second in command.

Their car stopped due to a female roadblock, but now as I watch them, they seem more intrigued by the woman than their primary assignment. Add womanizing to the long list that make up ‘what was Matt thinking when he hired them?’

The two men start leading the lady who looks both scared and drunk at the same time to their car. God knows what these drunk fools would do to a drunk lady.

She runs weakly towards the bushes, most likely looking for a way out, but she must be blind and dumb, or maybe not a resident here if she doesn’t know that bush leads to a fence she looks too drunk to climb.

They eventually catch up with her, while one of them beats her to a pulp, the other starts unbuckling his trousers, his expression jolly as though he was about to take his untainted wife on their matrimonial bed and not a slut on the road.

I may have done lots of worse things, but I'd never condone r**e. It's r**e because there's no way in hell that drunk girl will give her consent willingly, that's if those fools will ask for it.

“Get the men,” I speak into my phone, to my men parked around the scene.

“Yes boss,” a reply comes through and immediately, blinding car lights shine at the scene, destabilizing them. Their eyes are filled with frustration as struggle to wear their clothes while they look around trying to find who dared interrupt their movement.

“Move,” I tell my driver and he immediately knows what I mean.

While the chaos ensues, the girl had run to the road with her torn clothes and bleeding face. my car screeches to a halt beside her. I open the door immediately.

“Get in,” I beckon to the girl whose eyes are filled with terror.

She looks around confused, probably doing the maths of the lesser evil: Her drunk predators or the man in dark shades sitting in the black tinted SUV offering her a getaway, or running away.

She jumps in too fast for someone who had to think, and the door closes after her before we zoom off. She curls up, tucking her knees to her head. Her breathing does not slow down, instead it increases abnormally. Then she raises her face slowly to probably look at the man in whom her destiny now lay, and the first thing I notice is her enlarged black pupils.

I swallow a breath as she struggles to breath.I hate this. I hate the recklessness of youth. I hate the mess. But more than anything, I hate being reminded that I’m the only one left with a damn conscience in this godforsaken business.

“To the hospital” I say to the driver just before her eyes flutter to a close. I feel disgusted. I hate how young people drink without caring for the consequences. I have half a mind to throw her out on the road for drinking without precautions, Her scattered purse and phone lie beside her. The urge to sift through them, to know who and what she is, is there, but we’re already pulling up to the emergency entrance.

We arrive at the hospital and I request to speak to the manager while my driver carries her to the reception

The manager nearly faints when he sees me

“Mr. Aptor… We weren’t expecting you, of course, sir…anything you need.”

I don’t care for the stuttering.

“There’s a girl,” I say. “Treat her. Tell her the bills are covered. And remind her that not everyone gets saved twice.”

“Of course, sir. Absolutely.”

“And don’t mention to the rest I was here.”

“Understood, sir.”

I nod once, replace my shades, and walk out.

. I walk out of the hospital into my car. The animosity was still needed as if this city knew I was here, my plan would fall out of place.

“To the airport.” I tell my driver.

On my phone I call on my men with my victims tonight

“Bring them to the dungeon, ready for me, and importantly, alive.”

“Yes sir” his voice comes in from the other end of my phone.

****

Their muffled cries drift through the thick concrete walls like rats squealing in a sewer.

I step out of the elevator into the underground as Cold air clings to my skin. The light is dim, swinging slightly from the chain above like it’s afraid to stay still. My shoes echo loudly on the wet floor, every step measured and deliberate.

They hear me coming.

They should hear me coming as The steel door groans open.

I walk in and I’m pleased by my view.

The two men are chained up, their wrists pulled high above their heads, and legs barely touching the floor. Their faces are swollen, red with panic and leftover drunkenness. Sweat runs down their necks like tears.

The air stinks. Fear, piss, blood, And the sharp scent of betrayal I know too well.

They freeze when they see me.

No one speaks and I let the silence stay. It won’t be like that ever again in their short lives.

“Boss,” the taller one stammers. “We…we didn’t mean…”

I raise my hand and His voice dies instantly.

“I want to know,” I say slowly, my voice calm but sharp. “Where’s my shipment?”

Their eyes dart to each other. Guilty. Panicked. I already know they sold it, probably for a tenth of its worth.

“Boss, we…we were tracking it and…”

I walk up to him. He stops talking on his own when I get close enough for him to smell my cologne, the last good thing his nose will ever know.

“You drank with my money. You celebrated, Then you touched a woman who couldn’t fight back.”

“No sir, we didn’t use your money, we were looking to for the shipment when she came on to us, she… she begged for it” the shorter one who had to started undressing him self before I intervened, she rambled all at once. Like I wasn’t there?

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a small silver knife, its blades gleaming under the flickering light as I take a step towards him.

“You see this?” I hold it up in front of him. “This was a gift. From a man who begged me not to cut his tongue out. He lied too.”

I flick the blade once across his cheek. Thin, shallow. But he screams like a child, no wonder he lies so foolishly.

Pathetic.

“Talk,” I order. “Where did the shipment go?”

“I—I don’t know where it ended up! We just handed it off—some guys paid us—”

I cut a deeper line under his eye. Blood runs fast.

“To who?” I ask again.

“B-Benny—some guy Matt knew from Queens! He said he had buyers—real buyers!”

I nod once. Back to the taller one

I turn to the second man —taller, thinner. He looks mortified by the admission that he’s trying to disappear into the wall.

“What happened next?”

“I…I didn’t know…he said it was cleared! He said—”

“You touched the girl.”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His lips quiver.

“She was drunk,” I say. “She was running from you.”

“I didn’t—he was the one—I didn’t—”

I stab the blade between two fingers on his left hand. He shrieks, shaking like a dying animal.

I twist it slowly.

“I don’t care who did what. You’re both garbage.”

I pull the blade out and toss it to the floor with a clink. Then I motion to my men.

They move forward. One of them carries a toolbox. It’s heavy, filled with things that don’t kill , at least, not quickly.

They start with the taller one. Fingers first. One by one. Bent back until the knuckles pop like dry wood. Then the pliers, one tooth ripped out with each wrong answer.

The shorter one cries before they even touch him.

I let them scream. I let the pain soak the air like smoke.

“Keep them alive,” I say after a while. “But break every part that doesn’t speak.”

Their screams follow me as I step out, wiping my gloves clean with a black cloth.

Outside the dungeon, I speak into my phone.

“Find Benny. Bring him to me. I want his fingers lined up before sunrise.”

“Yes, boss.”

I hang up, slide my gloves back into my pocket, straighten my coat and walk into the elevator.

Their screams follow me up the elevator.

The girl’s face flashes across my mind for half a second; red dress, torn lace, eyes full of terror.

I shake it off.

She’s not my problem.

But she could’ve been.

And that’s enough to make sure Matt hears about it. Personally.