George Chesbro - Shadow of a Broken Man

But there was someone else in the basement with me; I was sure of it; I felt it. Someone, or something, Death? Suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown, the pain was gone.

I assumed it was madness, that the sensory paths to my brain had finally, mercifully, burned out. At the same time there was a soft, steady buzzing in my ears; the sound was soothing, like white noise blocking out the terrible pain. The sound suggested that I sleep. It was a good suggestion, and I took it. I let my head slip down onto my chest; I sighed and closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift away into the warm, welcome embrace of death.

Fooled again. I wasn't dead, but I was still hurting, my body wrapped in a blanket of torment. But the pain was not the same as what I'd experienced before; the difference was that I was lying on the cool concrete of the cellar floor, and I could breathe. I drank in great drafts of the cold night air.

I rolled over on my back and looked up toward the ceiling. One of the ropes that had held the iron bar had parted, and I'd been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. The only explanation I could come up with was that my thrashing under the deadly tickle of the electricity had done the trick. The wires were still attached to my body, but they'd been torn away from the phone terminals when I'd hit and rolled. I couldn't tell if there were any bones broken-there was too much pain all over my body. But I was alive. I waited for some kind of elation that wouldn't come; I felt as though I'd already died.

There was a dial tone when I knocked the phone receiver off its hook with my jaw. The area code on the plastic disk in the center was for Rockland County. I dialed "0" with my nose. My throat felt swollen shut and I wasn't articulating too well. Still, I managed to make the operator understand that I wanted to get through to the New York City police department. I got Garth's precinct, but Garth wasn't in. I talked to another detective, garbled a truncated version of what had happened to me, told him I was somewhere in Rockland County, and asked him to trace the call and send someone out to get me. Then I passed out.

Later, I became dimly aware of sunlight falling across my face. A big man was standing over me, calling my name. It was Garth. I wept. Garth cut away the ropes from my wrists and ankles, then picked me up in his arms and carried me out.

It was night again, and somewhere a phone was ringing. I tensed, waiting for the terrible pain that didn't come. Finally I hurled myself through the darkness toward the sound of the ringing, hit the phone, and knocked it off the stand. I landed on the floor of the room as the lights came on. Blubbering, I blindly scrambled on my hands and knees to the telephone wall socket and ripped the cord out of the wall.

Strong arms lifted me off the floor and forced me back into bed, then held me down until I was calm enough to look at my surroundings. I was in a hospital, and Garth was standing over me. His hair was rumpled and greasy, and there were dark, purplish rings under his eyes.

Garth grinned crookedly and poked me gently on the arm. "I've heard of people getting pissed off at the phone company, but this is ridiculous."

Nothing came out when I opened my mouth to speak. I felt trapped inside myself, surrounded by mushy walls of soft, fleshlike rubber that would absorb any sound I tried to make. A lump welled in my throat. I could barely move my elbows now, and I had a terrible thirst. I suddenly broke into tears, sobbing like a child. Garth stood quietly next to me, his arm around my shoulder, waiting for the spell to pass. It ended with a short fit of hiccuping. I took the tissue Garth handed me and blew my nose.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Garth shook his head. "My fault. I told them to put the phone in here. I just wasn't thinking."

"What day is it?"

Garth looked at his watch. "We're a couple of hours into Friday. You've been out awhile."

"I'll bet it's raining in Acapulco."

Garth swallowed. "They hurt you bad, didn't they, Mongo?"

I wanted to cry again; the lump in my throat, the tears in my eyes, and a terrible self-pity all kept creeping up on me. I choked them back; I wondered if there would ever again be a time when I could be sure of speaking a sentence without a sob. "I've never been hurt like that, Garth. Never. I didn't think there could be pain like that."

"Who did it to you, Mongo?" Garth said in a savage whisper.

"I don't know," I said without knowing why.

Garth's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't bullshit me, Mongo. The doctor says you've been shot, hung up by your elbows, cut, and subjected to electric shock. Somebody did that to you, and you're telling me you don't know who it was?"

"He was wearing a hood."

"I don't believe you. Who's Kaznakov? You kept screaming his name."

Tears came again without warning. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

"Kaznakov ," Garth persisted. "That's the man's name, right? He killed the other two, then went to work on you. You must have had a special place in his heart."

The fit of sobbing passed as quickly as it had come. The speed with which my emotions were darting out from behind corners frightened me. "I don't know where I got the name," I said. "I must have been babbling nonsense."

"Your brains are scrambled, Mongo, and I can understand why. But I want to find out who did this to you."

Haltingly, I told Garth what had happened, leaving out Kaznakov's name. I didn't want my brother involved with the Russian. There wasn't anything that could be done legally; Garth just wanted to look Kaznakov up personally, and if he did that he'd be dead. Kaznakov was absolutely invulnerable as long as he was attached to the Soviet U.N. Mission. Also, I wanted to keep my own options open concerning Kaznakov.

Garth shook his head. "Christ, brother, you really put your ass in a sling this time."

He had a point. Something was happening to me that I didn't understand. I was getting flashes again: memories of hanging on the pole, of having my muscles and bones pulled out of shape, not being able to breathe, the telephone ringing, electricity coursing through my body. I began to shake. Garth reached for me, but I pushed him away. In a few minutes the tremors passed. Maybe I was dead after all, the person I had been destroyed.

"I'm afraid, Garth," I said simply.

"You may be able to walk around in a few days, Mongo, but it's going to take a lot longer than that for your mind to heal. You have to expect that and accept it. You're only going to hurt yourself if you try to push things."

"What I need is work. You fall off a horse, you have to get right back on again."

"You didn't fall off any goddamn horse! You got taken apart. You don't need work, you need rest. Take it. You feel you owe somebody for this; forget it. No vendettas."

"It's more than that. They've got the Fosters in the Russian consulate."

"How's that?"

My memory seemed to be on the bum too; I couldn't remember whether or not I'd told Garth about the Fosters. I solved the problem by going through the whole case, from its inception.

If Garth had heard the story before, he didn't let on. "What do the Russians want with the Fosters?" he asked.

I told him, and asked if the police could do anything about getting them out.

Garth slowly shook his head. "There's no way, Mongo. I'll see that the State Department is notified, but from what you tell me, they probably already know. The problem is that the consulate is sovereign territory. We have no jurisdiction there, so there's no way we can get in. I'll call some people, though. Maybe we can shake things up."

"Don't," I said.

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. It just seems that the more people who are in on this, the more people die."