Shelter
Page 35
I didn’t like this.
“I’d like to leave,” I said.
The bouncer didn’t reply. He used a key and unlocked the door. He pushed me in and closed the door behind us. We were in an office of some kind. There was a desk and more photographs of girls on the wall.
“I’d like to leave,” I said again.
“Maybe later,” the bouncer said.
Maybe?
A door behind the desk opened, and a short, wiry man entered. His short-sleeved dress shirt was shiny and unbuttoned down to the navel, revealing a host of gold chains and, uh, bling. His arms were knotted, ropy muscle. Have you ever seen someone who gave you the chills just by entering a room? This guy had that. Even the big bouncer, who had to be a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the short guy, took half a step back. A hush fell over us.
The short, wiry man had the narrow face of a ferret and what I can only describe as psycho eyes. I know that you are not supposed to judge people by their looks, but a blind man would be able to see that this guy was serious bad news.
“Hello there,” he said to me. “My name is Buddy Ray. What’s yours?” He had a faint lisp.
I swallowed. “Robert Johnson.”
Buddy Ray’s smile would make small children flee to their mamas. “Nice to meet you, Robert.”
Buddy Ray—I didn’t know if that was a double first name or a first and last name—looked me over as though I were a bite-size snack. Something was off with this guy—you could just see it. He kept licking his lips. I risked a glance back at the big bouncer. Even he looked jittery in Buddy Ray’s presence.
As Buddy Ray approached, a pungent stench of cheap cologne failing to mask foul body odor wafted off him, the foul smell taking the lead like a Doberman he was walking. Buddy Ray stopped directly in front of me, maybe six inches away. I held my breath and stood my ground. I, too, had a foot on him. The bouncer took another step backward.
Buddy Ray craned his neck up at me and renewed the smile. Then, without warning, he punched me hard and deep in the stomach. I doubled over, the air whooshing out of me. I fell to my knees, gasping for air, but none would come. It felt as though a giant hand were holding my face underwater. I couldn’t breathe. My entire body started craving oxygen, just one breath, but I couldn’t get it. I dropped all the way to the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
Buddy Ray stood over me. The psycho eyes had lit up like something in a video game. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. “Tell me what you know about Antoine LeMaire.”
I gulped but still no air would come. My lungs ached.
Buddy Ray kicked me in the ribs with the toe of his cowboy boot.
I rolled away, the pain from the kick barely registering because I still couldn’t draw air. That was all I could think about. Breathing. Every cell in my body yearned for oxygen. I just needed time to gather one breath.
Buddy Ray turned to his big bouncer. “Pick him up, Derrick.”
“He’s just a kid, Buddy Ray.”
“Pick him up.”
Air. I finally managed to gulp down a few breaths. Derrick’s big hands bunched up my shirt near the shoulders. He lifted me as if I were a light load of laundry.
“Pin his arms back,” Buddy Ray said.
I could tell Derrick didn’t like it, but he did as he was told. He laced his massive arms through mine and pulled back so that my stomach and chest were totally exposed. He tightened his grip, locking me in place. I could feel the tendons ripping across my shoulder sockets. Buddy Ray was still licking his lips, enjoying this way too much.
“Please,” I said as soon as I could gather enough air to speak. “I don’t know Antoine LeMaire. I’m looking for him too.”
Buddy Ray studied my face. “Is your name really Robert Johnson?”
I didn’t know how to answer that one.
He reached into my pocket and took out my cell phone. “I bet this will give us your real name and home address.” Another smile. “So Derrick and I can visit you whenever we like.”
I struggled, but that just made Derrick mad. Buddy Ray flicked my cell phone on—and then his face froze. He looked back at me, his face twisted in rage, and then he turned the camera in my direction.
It was the picture of Ashley.
Buddy Ray’s body started quaking. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying to me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Where. Is. She?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for her.”
“So you’re here for Antoine?”
“I’m here,” I said, “for me.”
Buddy Ray took a few deep breaths, and I didn’t like what I was seeing on his face. He looked at Derrick. “We should take him to the dungeon.”
The dungeon?
Even Derrick looked shell-shocked when he said that. “I don’t know, boss.”
Buddy Ray turned back to me. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Buddy Ray said to me, again his voice a quiet lisp. “With Derrick holding you in place, I’m going to sock you in the gut again. Harder this time. Then, much as you’re going to want to bend and fall back on the floor, Derrick is going to hold you up. And then, if you don’t talk, we will take you to the dungeon.”
The fear on my face made his grin widen. “Wait,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But really, I should be sure, right?”
I started to buck, but Derrick held me firm. Buddy Ray took his time, milking the moment. He licked his lips some more and then he took out a pair of brass knuckles.
I shuddered.
Derrick said, “Uh, Buddy Ray?”
“Just hold him.”
Buddy Ray slipped on the brass knuckles and slowly made a fist. He showed it to me, like it was something I might want to study before he unleashed it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to tighten my stomach muscles, but really, how would that help? Then, with the maniacal grin at its widest, Buddy Ray began to cock back his fist. He was just about to let it go when the door behind him, the one he had come through a minute ago, opened. A bikini-clad dancer entered.
“Buddy Ray?” she said.
“Get out!”
It was now or never.
As I mentioned before, I had been trained in combat. In most martial arts schools, you are taught how to punch or chop or kick, how to grapple or use holds or escape them. But for the most part, a fight is about the early tactics. It is about distraction and camouflage and surprise and timing. The girl opening the door had shifted attention away from me for a brief second.
“I’d like to leave,” I said.
The bouncer didn’t reply. He used a key and unlocked the door. He pushed me in and closed the door behind us. We were in an office of some kind. There was a desk and more photographs of girls on the wall.
“I’d like to leave,” I said again.
“Maybe later,” the bouncer said.
Maybe?
A door behind the desk opened, and a short, wiry man entered. His short-sleeved dress shirt was shiny and unbuttoned down to the navel, revealing a host of gold chains and, uh, bling. His arms were knotted, ropy muscle. Have you ever seen someone who gave you the chills just by entering a room? This guy had that. Even the big bouncer, who had to be a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the short guy, took half a step back. A hush fell over us.
The short, wiry man had the narrow face of a ferret and what I can only describe as psycho eyes. I know that you are not supposed to judge people by their looks, but a blind man would be able to see that this guy was serious bad news.
“Hello there,” he said to me. “My name is Buddy Ray. What’s yours?” He had a faint lisp.
I swallowed. “Robert Johnson.”
Buddy Ray’s smile would make small children flee to their mamas. “Nice to meet you, Robert.”
Buddy Ray—I didn’t know if that was a double first name or a first and last name—looked me over as though I were a bite-size snack. Something was off with this guy—you could just see it. He kept licking his lips. I risked a glance back at the big bouncer. Even he looked jittery in Buddy Ray’s presence.
As Buddy Ray approached, a pungent stench of cheap cologne failing to mask foul body odor wafted off him, the foul smell taking the lead like a Doberman he was walking. Buddy Ray stopped directly in front of me, maybe six inches away. I held my breath and stood my ground. I, too, had a foot on him. The bouncer took another step backward.
Buddy Ray craned his neck up at me and renewed the smile. Then, without warning, he punched me hard and deep in the stomach. I doubled over, the air whooshing out of me. I fell to my knees, gasping for air, but none would come. It felt as though a giant hand were holding my face underwater. I couldn’t breathe. My entire body started craving oxygen, just one breath, but I couldn’t get it. I dropped all the way to the floor, curled up in a fetal position.
Buddy Ray stood over me. The psycho eyes had lit up like something in a video game. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. “Tell me what you know about Antoine LeMaire.”
I gulped but still no air would come. My lungs ached.
Buddy Ray kicked me in the ribs with the toe of his cowboy boot.
I rolled away, the pain from the kick barely registering because I still couldn’t draw air. That was all I could think about. Breathing. Every cell in my body yearned for oxygen. I just needed time to gather one breath.
Buddy Ray turned to his big bouncer. “Pick him up, Derrick.”
“He’s just a kid, Buddy Ray.”
“Pick him up.”
Air. I finally managed to gulp down a few breaths. Derrick’s big hands bunched up my shirt near the shoulders. He lifted me as if I were a light load of laundry.
“Pin his arms back,” Buddy Ray said.
I could tell Derrick didn’t like it, but he did as he was told. He laced his massive arms through mine and pulled back so that my stomach and chest were totally exposed. He tightened his grip, locking me in place. I could feel the tendons ripping across my shoulder sockets. Buddy Ray was still licking his lips, enjoying this way too much.
“Please,” I said as soon as I could gather enough air to speak. “I don’t know Antoine LeMaire. I’m looking for him too.”
Buddy Ray studied my face. “Is your name really Robert Johnson?”
I didn’t know how to answer that one.
He reached into my pocket and took out my cell phone. “I bet this will give us your real name and home address.” Another smile. “So Derrick and I can visit you whenever we like.”
I struggled, but that just made Derrick mad. Buddy Ray flicked my cell phone on—and then his face froze. He looked back at me, his face twisted in rage, and then he turned the camera in my direction.
It was the picture of Ashley.
Buddy Ray’s body started quaking. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying to me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Where. Is. She?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for her.”
“So you’re here for Antoine?”
“I’m here,” I said, “for me.”
Buddy Ray took a few deep breaths, and I didn’t like what I was seeing on his face. He looked at Derrick. “We should take him to the dungeon.”
The dungeon?
Even Derrick looked shell-shocked when he said that. “I don’t know, boss.”
Buddy Ray turned back to me. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Buddy Ray said to me, again his voice a quiet lisp. “With Derrick holding you in place, I’m going to sock you in the gut again. Harder this time. Then, much as you’re going to want to bend and fall back on the floor, Derrick is going to hold you up. And then, if you don’t talk, we will take you to the dungeon.”
The fear on my face made his grin widen. “Wait,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But really, I should be sure, right?”
I started to buck, but Derrick held me firm. Buddy Ray took his time, milking the moment. He licked his lips some more and then he took out a pair of brass knuckles.
I shuddered.
Derrick said, “Uh, Buddy Ray?”
“Just hold him.”
Buddy Ray slipped on the brass knuckles and slowly made a fist. He showed it to me, like it was something I might want to study before he unleashed it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to tighten my stomach muscles, but really, how would that help? Then, with the maniacal grin at its widest, Buddy Ray began to cock back his fist. He was just about to let it go when the door behind him, the one he had come through a minute ago, opened. A bikini-clad dancer entered.
“Buddy Ray?” she said.
“Get out!”
It was now or never.
As I mentioned before, I had been trained in combat. In most martial arts schools, you are taught how to punch or chop or kick, how to grapple or use holds or escape them. But for the most part, a fight is about the early tactics. It is about distraction and camouflage and surprise and timing. The girl opening the door had shifted attention away from me for a brief second.
