Kit Ehrman - At Risk

"Shit, no," Harrison continued. "I didn't need askin'. Hell, he didn't even have to pay me, you being such a prick and all, checking the hay like it was your own damn money you was partin' with. And if that wasn't enough," his voice vibrated with anger, "I see your stupid little announcement stuck up on the bulletin board like you're some kinda Dick Tracy, and I can't use my truck and trailer no more, and all because of you, you fucking piece of shit. Imagine what I thought," he coughed and choked on his spit, "when I get your fucking stupid letter in the mail."

I didn't say anything.

"I decided, then and there, that I was gonna kill you. Kill you and make you pay. Make you suffer."

Behind him, Robby stood in a wide-legged stance, jiggling the coins in his pocket as he watched me with interest.

"Every day that went by," Harrison said, "it was all I could think of. Getting my hands on your scrawny neck and making you pay."

He let go of my throat and backed up. I could still feel his fingers on my neck.

"Lie on the floor, face down."

I took a shaky breath as Robby coiled the rope in his hands. He was wearing gloves. They both were. No fingerprints. No clues. I wondered if I'd end up in the woods, too.

"I said, 'lie down,' damn it!"

I wouldn't have a chance, not tied up.

"Lie down, or I'll shoot you right now." He raised the gun and pointed it at my face.

I got on the floor.

"Robby, make it tight," Harrison said. "I don't want him getting out of it this time."

Robby… Robert. Same as my father, same as my brother. Ironic. If they killed me-when they killed me-I wondered if the old man would somehow blame me. "He should have stayed in school, gotten an education and a good job, then none of this would have happened."

Robby was going to make sure this time. He yanked the poncho off and roughly tied my hands. When he was finished, he stood up and rubbed his hands together.

Harrison jammed his knee into the small of my back, grabbed a handful of my hair, and pulled my head off the floor.

Something touched my throat. It was cold and thin and sharp. I hadn't seen it coming. Maybe it was just as well. I closed my eyes. He pressed the knife harder against my skin. I tried to move away from the pressure but couldn't.

Blood trickled down my neck and soaked into my shirt.

Without warning, Harrison loosened his grip on my hair, and the blade cut deeper. I groaned with the effort of keeping my back arched. If I lowered my head, the knife would cut deeper. He shifted more weight onto my back. I gritted my teeth and grunted.

The bastard. I couldn't hold it much longer.

"Say something," he growled.

I wouldn't. Not if I could help it. He was going to kill me anyway. I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg… or cry.

"You should of heard Peters," Harrison said as if he'd read my thoughts. "He cried like a baby, didn't he Robby? And boy could he scream. Screaming and crying for me not to hurt him, the old fart. Guess he shouldn't have reported me, the stupid son of a bitch."

Harrison took the knife away, and my face smashed against the cement.

He moved his face close to mine and whispered, "You're going to beg for mercy, scream for it, before the night's out."

My back and shoulder muscles trembled uncontrollably as the chill of the cement seeped into my sweat-soaked skin. I clenched my fists to stop the shaking.

Robby said, "Let's get going. It's not safe here. Anyway, you can take your time with him at the farm."

I closed my eyes and felt sick.

"Yeah, well… I want him to beg." Harrison kicked me in the ribs. The blow knocked the breath out of my lungs. He nailed me again, this time on my shoulder.

"Don't kick him in the head," Robby said. "I don't want to have to carry the bastard."

"Say something, damn it."

He kicked me again and again, and in a very short time, I lost count. I gritted my teeth to keep myself from groaning. Maybe I could talk my way out of it. It was worth a try.

I struggled to regulate my breathing and said, "The police know you murdered Peters."

"Yeah right." He punctuated his words with kicks. "They don't know shit."

Each blow seemed to merge with the next. My skin burned, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

I gulped some air. "And they know that you helped Sanders with his insurance swindles. Do you think he's going to keep his mouth shut when they come down on him?"

Harrison became very still. Somewhere in the room, flies droned above the drip of a faucet. He began to pace, and it seemed that his agitation increased with each passing second. His boots scraped across the grit on the cement, and his breathing grew louder, faster, out of sync with the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.

Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. He came to an abrupt stop a foot away from my nose. I had a close-up view of his boots, scuffed up cowboy boots with sharply-pointed toes.

"In that case, you're gonna pay. You're gonna wish you'd never been born."

He leaned over, and I felt his breath on my hair. "As a matter of fact, by mornin', you're gonna be in so much pain, you'll be beggin' me to put you down."

Robby laughed.

I closed my eyes and swallowed.

Harrison grabbed my arm, clenched his fingers in my hair, and yanked me to my feet. I could see the knife then. The blade was easily four inches long, a hunting knife.

"If you kill me, it'll be harder for you," I said and hated the tremor I heard in my voice.

"Awh… now he's worried about me. Better worry about yourself, you little shit. Where," he waved his arm, "where are they, huh? I don't see no cops round here."

He turned toward his brother. "They don't have squat."

"They know you're Drake's cousin," I said, "and Timbrook's brother-in-law and that T amp;T Industries has been wanting to buy Foxdale and-"

Harrison snatched the front of my shirt and shoved me against the wall. "It's all your fault."

I didn't say anything, and after a moment, he said, "Beg, damn it. Beg for your miserable life."

The faucet dripped into the lengthening silence.

Harrison looked over his shoulder. "You have something to soften him up, don't you, Robby?"

Robby had been watching us with about as much emotion as I would have expected if we'd been discussing a hay shipment.

Harrison yanked me off the wall and shoved me down the aisle toward the back of the room. He turned me to face the last stall.

"Kneel."

Oh, God. It can't be- I thought back to the guard's phone call. Why had I assumed it was him.

I stiffened.

"Kneel down," Harrison screamed. His words echoed in the tiny room.

He kicked the back of my knee and pushed down on my shoulders, forcing me onto my knees. In my peripheral vision, I saw the knife in his right hand, his fingers curled loosely around the handle.

"Robby, open the door."

A slow smile spread across Robby's face. His eyes were curiously blank as he watched my face. He pushed back the stall door.

The security guard was slumped in the narrow space between the wall and toilet.

I swallowed and clenched my teeth.

His throat had been cut, and his head hung at an angle that could only be achieved in death. His eyes were open, staring without sight at the top ledge of the door frame. The stall walls above him and to his left were streaked with a spray of blood.

Bastards.

Movement caught my eye. Every muscle in my body tensed. Something crawled across the glistening white cartilage where his trachea had been severed. A blowfly. Another crawled along his uniform's sharply-creased collar. Others buzzed above our heads and bumped against the ceiling. Saliva flooded my mouth.

Fucking bastards! A scream in my mind.