Pawn, page 7
*******************
Chapter Six.
The room was good, the meal room service had provided was excellent, and the shower, the glorious high pressure shower with its endless nozzles was a marvel. Just the thing for a badly bruised body. Stepping out of it and drying himself off, Rufus felt almost normal for the first time in days. Something about the heat of that water soaking in to his aching flesh, had washed away more then just the pain of his injuries. He liked that. Maybe even enough to let himself enjoy a little telly instead of worrying the night away.
He pulled his jeans back on, they were all the clothes he had left for the moment, and headed out into the main room and the waiting coffee jug.
“What the -.” At least that was what he tried to say as he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hotel suite’s main room. But he couldn’t get the words out. Not when someone had somehow looped something around his neck and was squeezing it tight, cutting off his air as well as his voice. Try as he might he couldn’t get his fingers under it. All he could do was gasp and struggle desperately against the choker. But even that was futile. The chain, if that was what it was, wouldn’t let go, and the harder he struggled the more it seemed to cut into him.
The man, whoever he was, had clearly done this before, and no matter which way Rufus tried to launch himself against him, he was always ready, and the chain never loosened. Instead he just kept choking and gurgling, unable to help himself, warm blood running down his front, and in time as things began to go a little dark, wondering if this was it.
It wasn’t though. He discovered that as he felt his knees starting to go a little weak, and the man loosened his hold, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to let him breath again. Rufus took that chance, dragging in the delicious air in huge gulps, amazed at how wonderful it felt.
“Feels good doesn’t it? Breathing.” The man was whispering in his ear for some reason, a disturbingly intimate conversation that Rufus hated with every fibre and sinew of his being. But there was nothing he could do about it except try to breath.
“Want to keep doing it don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, just a statement of where things were at. Of course he wanted to keep breathing, the man was just pointing out that he had the power to stop him. Permanently. He had all the power, and worse, the dark heart of someone who would be happy to kill him. Rufus could feel his breath against his face and it sickened him. The man stank from garlic and far too much mouthwash, while the feel of his cheek against his neck was disgusting. It was almost like being sexually assaulted, and somehow he didn’t doubt that the man was enjoying it.
“What?” He gasped it out, all he could really manage just then, and it seemed to be enough. Probably because his attacker had expected the question.
“What do I want? Why am I here?” Rufus couldn’t see his face, but he was sure that the man was smiling, enjoying his game, rather like a cat playing with a mouse. “You know that.”
“No.” It was the wrong thing to say of course, and he felt the chain tighten again, terrifying him. But it was only for a moment. Just long enough for the man to remind him that he had complete control of his breathing. He owned him.
“Come now Mr. Hennassy. You know better than that.” God how he hated the man and his mocking tone. But he already knew that he couldn’t fight him. He just had to bear up under the strain until he could find a way out of his hold. And then he could beat him to death.
“But I’ll play.” Play being the operative word. The man was really enjoying himself. Rufus could hear it in his voice. He got his jollies from torturing people.
“My employer has asked for your help. Not a lot of help, just a little bit. In fact all he really wants is a little information. The knowledge you have that you could give me in a couple of seconds. And for that information he’s willing to be very generous.” With a shove he turned Rufus around until he was facing the bed, and there on top of it he could see an open briefcase, and in it money. Lots and lots of money.
“Half a million, not bad for a few seconds work. But of course he can also become upset very quickly.” And just to emphasise it that man gave him another quick lesson in breathing as he tightened his grip for a second. Just enough to remind him that he didn’t really have a choice. Carrot and stick.
“Now where is it?”
“What?” It was a stupid thing to say, and Rufus wasn’t surprised when the choke chain tightened again momentarily. Yet even if he’d had time to think about it Rufus wasn’t sure that there was anything else he could say. He had no idea at all what he was speaking about.
“Don’t be like that Mr. Hennassy. The painting. Where is the painting?” For once he didn’t tighten his grip. He didn’t have to. Rufus was scared enough. But there was still nothing he could say.
“What painting? I don’t have a painting.” Knowing what was coming he launched himself as hard as he could backwards into his attacker, hoping against hope that it would work, that he would smash him into a wall and the man would lose his grip. It didn’t work naturally enough. The man knew what he was doing, he was ready for it. But it did give Rufus a chance to let off a small, strangled scream, that maybe the neighbours heard. If he even had neighbours. He had no idea if the hotel was fully booked or not.
“Oh, a hero. I like that. I like heroes.” Rufus was certain the man was grinning broadly as he said it. And worse, that he actually meant what he said. He liked his victims to struggle, just like a cat liked his prey to try and run so he could enjoy the chase. “But not too much.”
“Now tell me what I want to know and you can live. And in fact not just live but be handsomely rewarded for your help.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Or your life can end here and now, in my hands.”
Rufus didn’t answer him. He didn’t know how. And he had no idea at all what painting the man was talking about. Desperately he weighed his options and found them few. Lying wasn’t going to get him out of this, but the truth was probably going to get him killed faster.
“Let me go and I’ll tell you.” In the end it was the only thing he could say, and he knew it wasn’t going to work. The man had probably seen those same B movies he was trying to remember. For an answer he just laughed quietly.
“Think again Mr. Hennassy. I have you right where I want you, and you will tell me everything. One way or another.” He chuckled quietly. “You’d be surprised how free a man’s tongue gets when his air is running out.” Actually he wouldn’t. Rufus already had a very real idea of how desperate he was becoming, and what he was prepared to tell the man if it could get him out of this nightmare. He just had nothing he could tell him.
“I can’t tell you anything if I’m dead.” Desperate he tried another backwards lunge, and this time was pleased when he felt the man flinch as he was driven into something solid. The wall maybe. But it didn’t hurt him much and he didn’t even bother to tighten the chain.
“Ahh but there’s a world of difference between life and death. An eternity of pain. And you will tell me. Soon. Or you’ll discover just how slow and torturous dying can be.”
“Now, take the money and live. After all, who are you trying to protect? Your family? They wouldn’t thank you for your silence.” They wouldn’t thank him for anything was Rufus’s thought. They’d kill him if they got the chance. They’d probably already tried according to the police.
“I haven’t seen my family in over a decade.” It was the truth of course. But he doubted the man would believe him. After all, the inspector hadn’t. And he’d had the case reports in his hands. But at least he was starting to understand what was happening. His family, probably his father had stolen a painting, and someone wanted it back. Just as the inspector had suggested earlier that day.
“Oh come now -.” The man was about to tell him something completely useless when he was interrupted by a huge crashing sound as someone large hurled himself against the door to his room. Probably the same person who’d broken down the door to his home that morning Rufus realised. The crashing sound was titanic and the door had only held on by a few splinters. It wouldn’t take a second hit.
“The police!”
But it wasn’t the police. Rufus discovered that as his attacker spun him around to face the door just in time to see it almost explode as someone truly huge burst through it in a shower of splinters. A heartbeat later the living mountain was in the room with him, staring at him from a distance of maybe six feet, with the largest handgun he’d ever seen pointed straight at him.
“Let him go.” The man had an accent, Russian maybe though Rufus wasn’t really concentrating on it as he stared at the gun and realised he was being used as a human shield.
“Now -.” His first assailant was about to negotiate. It was a mistake.
There was a huge explosion as the cannon in the man’s hand went off, ending the conversation before it began, and Rufus feared, his life as well. But he didn’t feel shot. In fact as he tried to think of something to do, he actually felt free, or at least the collar wasn’t quite as tight as before. Had the big man shot his first attacker? Lord he hoped so. If there was someone who needed to be shot it was him.
If he had though, it obviously wasn’t a deadly shot. Rufus knew that when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and watched as a knife flew out of nowhere to bury itself in the big man’s shoulder. But that just made him mad, and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of thunder as he let off three or four more shots.
His first attacker suddenly dragged him backwards, away from the big man with the gun, back towards the bathroom, and Rufus suddenly understood that he didn’t want to go with him. The big man was undoubtedly there to harm him as well, but for the moment he was his ally.
Inspiration finally came out of nowhere and Rufus suddenly knew what to do. He went weak at the knees, letting all his weight sag, and unready for it his first attacker was dragged downwards on top of him. And just like that he was exposed. That was enough for the big man to start shooting again, and this time he didn’t stop until he’d emptied the clip. But from the fact that he was shooting wildly in all directions and the fact that his collar had gone completely limp, Rufus guessed the first attacker was simply ducking and dodging. He wasn’t dead unfortunately.
Still that gave him the chance to stagger to his feet, leap over the bed to hide on the other side, rip the chain off and hurl it away with absolute hatred, and then try to run away. The only problem was that the big man was standing between him and the doorway, and as Rufus tried to sprint past him, he caught him and threw him back. One handed he simply grabbed Rufus around his middle and threw him back against the far wall, which broke around him.
“Where are you going little man?” The big man laughed, a huge belly rumble of not very good humour, even as he slotted another clip into his gun, while Rufus wondered if the lack of air hadn’t affected his mind. No one could do that. But even so the big man had wasted too much time, and the first man was on him, knife drawn before he could raise his weapon.
After that things became very confused. There was gunfire and screaming from both the men as they danced around the room, trading blows and curses. Rufus could see the strangler striking the big man repeatedly with his knife, but it didn’t seem to bother him, and in turn he was landing huge punches on him, trying to smash him away far enough that he could get a good shot off at him. The air was filled with smoke and plaster from the walls, which were taking a hammering, and feathers from the goose down pillows and money were flying everywhere. But Rufus didn’t care about any of that as he suddenly saw his chance and took it. He bolted past the two grappling men, unnoticed, and finally made the door and the hallway beyond. From there it was just a mad dash to safety, and he sprinted as he had never sprinted before. Tearing down the hallway with every ounce of speed he could muster.
He wasn’t alone. Other people, other guests were running as well, terrified of what was happening and the sounds of gunfire coming from behind him. Someone had triggered the hotel’s fire alarm and it was ringing, deafening them all and adding to the panic. But none of that mattered when he reached the top of the stairs and knew his safety was just down three flights of them.
Unfortunately it wasn’t.
Another huge man was coming up the stairs he was about to sprint down, and as soon as he saw Rufus he raised another massive handgun and fired at him, missing him by inches. Instead of trying to run down the stairs past him, Rufus dived desperately to the side, and then discovered in a moment of horror, that the hallway had ended at the top of the stairs. So instead of finding more room to run, he found a glass window and sailed out through it, screaming.
Three stories up and sailing out into the open air, Rufus discovered all over again that he was going to die, and he simply couldn’t stop screaming in terror. But at least it would be quick. A few seconds of terror and then hopefully peace. Except that it wasn’t.
Instead of hitting the concrete hard and breaking every bone in his body, he hit something soft and yielding, almost like a trampoline, and bounced as easily as a child. It took a few moments to understand, but eventually as he collapsed back into the soft material he realised that he’d hit the hotel’s awning. He didn’t even remember it having an awning, but he didn’t care.
He was going to live!
The excitement thrilled through him as he realised that, until he looked up to the window he’d fallen from and saw the big man standing there, pointing his gun at him. After that insanity returned.
The big man started firing at him, people outside in the street started screaming and running blindly in all directions, sirens and alarms were blaring everywhere, and Rufus desperately found the edge of the broken awning and slid off it, on to the hard cold concrete beneath. Then things got even crazier as from somewhere across the street he heard more guns opening up, machine guns, and they were firing at the big man in the window above. Naturally he fired back, and while the bullets were busy flying back and forth, Rufus suddenly found the strength to find his feet and start running off into the night, away from the nightmare.
Soon, very soon, he was a long way away from the shooting, though the gunfire didn’t seem to be stopping, and with his heart thumping in his chest and the glorious cold night air screaming through his labouring lungs he managed to find some peace. Not a lot. It would be a long time he knew before he was able to find any peace after this, but for the moment as he bent almost double, panting, he was safe.
He had to stay safe.
That was his first priority. Rufus knew that if four different men were all out there, determined to find this missing painting, and happy to kill him to get it and each other as they hunted it, he was not going to be safe. Cut throats, stranglers, machine gunners and overly large Russians, he was not going to be safe anywhere for long. Not when they knew who he was.
He had to find a hidey hole. A place to remain completely out of sight. A place that no one knew about. And a place he suddenly realised that he had available.
It wasn’t his of course. That was why it was safe. It was a colleague’s place, a cottage in Copper Beach near the sea. All his to enjoy while Kirby was overseas for several more long months. His colleague had given him the keys before he’d left, and told him to enjoy the sea air. But he hadn’t intended for him to move in. His job had been only to check the mail and water the plants. But it was a place that no one would be able to find him, and Kirby wouldn’t mind. Or in truth he wouldn’t mind as long as he didn’t know. If he did find out then he’d probably charge him rent, all the while telling him endlessly about what a generous person he was. In fact when this was all over and assuming he survived, Kirby would very likely present him with a bill. But that was a matter for another day.
All he had to do for the moment was get there. But that posed a few problems of its own as Rufus discovered. Half naked, at least he’d been wearing his jeans after washing his teeth in the bathroom, dripping with sweat which was going to freeze on him in the cool night air, and covered in blood, with police sirens everywhere, his chances of not being seen were slim. The cops might catch him, which would undoubtedly be no safer than The Fiddlers had been. The police were probably no better prepared for this nightmare than he was. Not in a small town like Upper Plimmerton. If anything they were probably pulling their hair out as they wondered how to charge him with another crime. The bad guys might catch him too as he wandered the streets, and that would be worse. Or his family might find him, and that might be even worse.
In any case he couldn’t walk to Copper Beach, it was a good forty minute drive, and taking a taxi, even if he could find the cash, would be a mistake. What cabbie wouldn’t remember a half naked guy covered in blood in his cab? And all of them he guessed, would call the cops.
Luckily, he had a car as he finally remembered. It was in his lock up, not yet fully restored but close enough to drive legally, more or less, as long as no one noticed it didn’t have any plates. It wasn’t even that far away.
Desperate, he began jogging the dozen blocks or so to the storage facility, ignoring the surprised looks of the people he passed in the street, wishing only that he was in better shape and could run faster. Much faster.
