I removed the cabinet I placed under the door handle and Psycho went in. Thirty seconds later he handed two rifles out the door. Two at a time not to make noises and a few moments later we had fifteen fully automatic rifles, a few handguns and twelve sleeping beauties of whom the five closest to the door was intimately cuffed to their beds.
– Go for the guy in bed no three on the left. Noticed he has a crescent and a star on his left hand!
– Wow! Maybe it is The Butcher!
Dave’s turn. He went in silent, but we heard the bump when one of them ‘fell’ out of the bed. A fractrion of a second later Dave appeared in the door dragging some bastard by his legs, hardly awake.
I slammed the door and put the closet back under the handle.
Dave took him up, threw him in a couch and slapped his face a few times to bring him up to speed, so to speak.
I initiated our short conversation.
– I assume you are Ramon the Butcher. We are looking for a French boy named Dio. Where is he?
– Who the fuck are you? He asked.
– It is more interesting who YOU are, I said. First of all, as of this moment you are unemployed as your organisation is dissolved. So, no more salary for you.
– Second, if you don’t answer my questions, you will on top of your unemployment also be dead.
– This boy, Dio… his dad Pierre was locked up in the pitt with his wife and a lot of other people. Yes – I said WAS! The roles have changed. All your prisoners are free an YOU are prisoners! Now, where is Dio?
His eyes did that fast movement you know, that revealed he had to come up with an alternative answer fast that could save his ass. The true answer would be a death sentence from his former employer. And the wrong answer could be a death sentence from me.
– I can tell you are trying to avoid the question, I said. You flinched.
At this point all the guards were awake and tried to open the door but the cabinet under the door handle was a formidable opponent! It didn’t budge one iota!
Neither did the guard I questioned. So, I looked around trying to get an idea of some kind. My eyes fell on a garbage can made from aluminum.
That just might work!
– Dave, can you find something to tie his arms with?
I took hold of a wooden chair and smashed it to the floor. It broke – which was intended. I needed a solid stick and picked up one of the legs from the chair.
Our friend in the couch began to look slightly worried about his immediate future.
I placed the garbage can over his head, took a few seconds to get ready and swung my improvised bat which hit the can with well over 100 mph!
The pain inside the can isn’t that big, but the sound is! And the waiting for the next hit is terrifying and exhausting.
– Did you rape Céline?
I heard him moaning. I took that as a confession. And swung the chair leg once more.
A singing twack that left an ambient reverb floating between the concrete walls.
Don’t misunderstand me. I am not a sadist or psychopath. At least not full time. I just hate people that make money on other human being’s sufferings. Yeah – I know! I am no better than them. The only difference – and that is not an attempt to justify anything, is they do it for the money. I do it to stop those who do it for the money.
OK – I enjoyed it a little. The feeling of bringing their own shit to their own doorstep is very enjoyable. Because this way they need to fight a superior and qualified opponent. Not innocent and defenceless women and children.
– Stop!!! He shouted. STOP!
I hit the bucket once more. This time for Céline! His head leaned forward.
– Please stop!!!
– I could go on for ever! Are you going to tell me what I wanna know!
– I am! I will!! We sent a kid back to Mexico yesterday. He shouldn’t even have been here, but the pickup team fucked up, panicked and drove out here. We threw the parents in the pitt and sent the boy back.
– Back? To where? Was it Dio? I was just about to violate the Universal Declaration of Human Rights for the fourth time as I had the strongest urge to swing my homemade bat and smash his skull. Honestly – this one didn’t deserve any kind of protection! Five inches of barbed wire up his ass seemed more appropriate.
– Yes, yes, it was their son. He was in a hurry getting his words out. Obviously afraid of yet another close encounter with my improvised but highly efficient bat.
– Who raped the woman? I asked again.
He gave me four names still with the bucket over his head.
– This is only four, I said. This means you raped her too! You are no. five!
No answer.
I swung the bat one more time for Céline as hard as I could while the sucker’s moaning drowned in the resounding crash from the bucket, that once again waved through the underground hallways.
A very satisfying sound I might add! And the vindictive feeling too!
