John Locke - Callie’s Last Dance

Frankie’s tough. He never loses his grip on the gun, and turns it on her. Callie kicks his hand, sends the gun flying. As he watches it sail through the air, she lands a front kick to his temple. Frankie goes dizzy. His head goes upward, exposing his jaw. When she connects with a roundhouse kick, it’s lights out Frankie.

“WHAT TIPPED HER off?” Creed says, hours later, when Callie gets to that part of the story.

Callie laughs. “You’re going to think I’m an idiot.”

“Tell me.”

“The washer and dryer.”

“What about them?”

“They were covered with scratch marks!”

Creed laughs. “Of course. Twenty minutes of hopping from one appliance to the other, with the dog trying to get you!”

“And I never even noticed,” Callie says, “or thought about it. But to Angie, it must’ve looked like a war zone!”

“Especially with her dog lying unconscious on the floor.”

“Digby.”

“Right,” Creed says. “So…”

“So what?”

“Tell me what happened with Frankie.”

Two Hours Earlier…

FRANKIE REGAINS CONSCIOUSNESS in gradual stages of ascending violence. When he’s lucid enough to realize he’s on his back with his wrists and ankles securely tied, he screams bloody murder. Callie turns the lights on so he can see what he’s up against.

Cheesecloth.

She’s holding a small wad of cheesecloth in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. Puts the knife blade against his lips.

“Open up,” Callie says, cheerfully.

“Fuck you!”

She moves the knife tip a few centimeters to the right and jabs it into his cheek. When he yells to protest, she pushes the center part of the cheese cloth into his mouth. When he gags, she forces the knife in his mouth and presses the blade against his tongue to keep him from spitting out the cheesecloth.

He yells and bucks his body, but wisely keeps his head still.

“Hot?” she says.

Frankie makes a pain sound. His eyes bug out. Tears collect in the corners of his eyes and drip down his cheeks.

“You’re tasting distilled habanero,” Callie says, “from the Chili pepper. In its purest form, the habanero tops three hundred and fifty thousand Scoville heat units. Very few people can handle this type of heat on their tongues, and it’s clear you’re not one of them.”

“ Uhhhnnn ! UHHHNNN !” He cries out. It’s the only pain sound he can make without hurting himself worse.

She sighs. “I won’t lie to you, Frankie, you’re in for a bad time. Because while this seems blisteringly hot to you, it’s the weakest extract I brought. And I brought many.”

She lets the heat intensify another thirty seconds, then says, “Okay. Unclench your jaw and I’ll remove it.”

“W-water!” he gasps.

Callie says, “You’re eyes are tearing up. Here, let me help you.”

He closes his eyes so she can wipe them. She does, but when he opens them again, he sees her holding a medicine dropper above his left eye. Before he can blink, she squirts something in his eye that makes him shriek in pain.

“That’s what it feels like in your eyes,” she says. “In liquid form.”

He blinks his eyes and shakes his head from side to side in super speed, like an old cartoon character in distress.

“AHH! AHH! AHH!” he yells, reminding her of a guy she interrogated years ago, before she began packing torture kits in her backpack. That day she boiled a pot of water and poured it on his bare skin a cup at a time. He made this same sound, Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!

When Frankie stops shaking his head he focuses his good eye on the medicine dropper, unaware of what’s in Callie’s left hand.

A second swab of cheesecloth.

The center of which she stuffs in his mouth.

She holds her left hand over his lips to keep it in place.

Frankie makes a moaning sound.

Callie says, “You’re bluffing. You can’t feel the heat this time. Not yet, anyway. But give it another fifteen seconds and see how you feel. While we wait, I’ll tell you that what’s in your mouth is a Bhut Jolokia pepper, which, only a few years ago, was considered the hottest pepper in the world. DNA tests confirmed it’s an interspecies hybrid of Capsicum chinense and frutescens genes.”

The involuntary spasms contorting Frankie’s body tell her he’s begun to feel the heat.

She squirts some in his right eye, saying, “This little baby packs one million Scoville heat units. Can you believe it?”

He can.

Frankie shrieks like a wounded wolverine. His body feels like it’s shutting down.

Callie removes the cheesecloth from his mouth.

After a full minute of blubbering, he forms the words, “Wh-what do you w-want ?»You know what really pisses me off?” she says. “You haven’t even bothered to ask about your wife.”

“Wh-what have y-you…wh-what’s h-happened to An-An-Angie?” he sputters.

“She’s resting quietly,” Callie says. “Thanks for asking.”

“P-please,” he says. “S-Stop!”

“Frankie, listen to me. In a few minutes I’m going to ask you some questions. You’ll want to answer them because I’ve got lots of these vials, and trust me, some are particularly nasty.”

A few feet away, on the laundry room floor, Digby starts twitching. Callie shakes her head and says, “Your dog is getting on my nerves.”

She removes the syringe from her backpack and gives Digby another dose. Then puts it up and gets another length of cheesecloth and says, “Open your mouth, Frankie.”

“N-no! Ask y-your qu-questions. I’ll tell you wh-whatever you w-want to know.”

“Not yet. You need to know how bad this can get. Will you open your mouth for me? Or no?”

He shakes his head.

“I figured you’d say that.”

She removes a can of lighter fluid from her backpack and a long-stemmed lighter. Squirts the fluid on his crotch and sets his pants on fire.

When he opens his mouth to scream she stuffs another swatch of cheesecloth in it. He bucks his body up and down and twists from side to side. Tries to spit the cloth out, but his lips, mouth, and tongue won’t cooperate. They’re blistered and raw.

“I’m going to let your pants burn for a minute, Frankie, while I tell you about the Naga Viper. This is an unstable hybrid of three peppers. A devil’s trifecta, if you will.”

She squirts some in his left eye and he begins speaking in tongues.

“This one registers one-point-four million heat units.”

She notices he’s wet his pants.

“You put the fire out all by yourself!” she says. “That was really clever.”

Callie feels her cell phone vibrating softly in her pants pocket. She opens it, reads the text message. Call me. Midnight?

She smiles, texts “Yes,” closes the phone, puts it back in her pocket. Then she unbuckles Frankie’s belt, pulls his smoldering pants and boxers down to his knees.

She says, “I’d hold still if I were you.”

She uses the knife’s sharp edge to scrape a layer of skin off his nuts. Then she opens the vial of Naga Viper extract and pours it on his nuts, and Frankie goes unconscious.

When he comes to she says, “Now that I’ve got your attention, I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you I’ve got two more vials. One is the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion, the current world’s hottest pepper. It weighs in at over two million heat units. The other is pure capsaicin, a hydrophobic compound that registers a whopping sixteen million Scoville. If that doesn’t get you talking, I’ll dump a jar of acid on your penis. It’s really up to you.”

“Please,” he begs. “Put the fire out.”