F Wilson - The Dark at the End

Szeto was gone.

Hank looked at his phone and said, “‘Do not lose him’? Well, fuck you.”

Ahead, the guy’s cab stopped at a light. Hank’s pulled up right behind it. As they idled, waiting for green, Hank watched the silhouette of the guy’s head. And wondered what the hell Szeto was planning. Had to be up to something. He wanted this guy.

The light changed and they started moving again. Hank drummed his fingers on his leg. Well, so far so good. Maybe he wouldn’t need backup. Maybe His phone rang.

“Where are you?” Szeto said. His voice echoed like he was in hands-free mode or using the speaker on his phone.

Hank gave him the intersection.

“Going uptown?”

“You got it.”

“What side he is seated?”

Wondering why that mattered, Hank double-checked the silhouette ahead.

“He’s on the right.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“Just stay on phone and keep me posted.”

Hank felt his steam rising.

“Hey, look. I brought you in as backup. I don’t need-”

“Just stay with him. I will handle this.”

Hank bit back a remark and let it go. Maybe better to let Szeto call the shots. That way, if they came up empty-handed, he’d have no one to blame but himself.

So he kept Szeto informed of their uptown progress, wondering what the enforcer had in mind, and wishing he’d get to it before A bright yellow Hummer roared through a red light and T-boned the right side of the cab ahead of Hank, knocking it a good half dozen feet sideways. Hank’s own cab screeched to a halt. A second later Szeto, carrying a pistol, jumped out of the Hummer. Hank watched, stunned and slack-jawed, as he ran around to the undamaged side. He pulled open the rear door and looked inside, then shoved the pistol into a shoulder holster and signaled to Hank to come help him.

Hank shook off his paralysis and jumped out. By the time he reached the damaged cab, Szeto was dragging an unconscious guy in a hoodie out the door. A van screeched to a halt beside them and the side door slid open. Hank helped load the guy into the van, then jumped in behind Szeto. They roared off, leaving the cab and the Hummer behind.

Every jounce and bounce rammed a spike of pain through Jack’s head. Vaguely familiar voices, one accented, echoed through cottony air…

“… about the Hummer?… Stolen. This is he?… Yeah, that’s him. Think he’s your guy?… We will find out…”

Lying on his back. Where? What happened? He remembered leaving Drexler’s, grabbing a cab, and then… what?

Seemed to be moving. Still in the cab?

No. Hard floor against his back.

God, his head. And his stomach felt ready to hurl.

Tried to open his eyes but the reluctant lids allowed him only a brief glimpse of blurred figures before losing strength and collapsing.

Tried to move but couldn’t. Seemed to be-alarm shot through him as he struggled to move his arms. They’d been tied or taped.

The lump of his Glock was missing against the small of his back.

And then the cab or whatever he was in hit a pothole or a curb and took a big bounce and the world faded away…

Kristof stared at the man blinking up at him from the chair. He was securely taped into it. His Glock and backup pistol had been removed.

He turned to Thompson. “You are absolutely sure this is man who rob you?”

“Sure as shit.” He flung the man’s wallet across the room. “All his ID backs that up. John Fucking Tyleski.” He leaned closer to the man, almost nose to nose. “Ain’t that right?”

Tyleski looked up at him. Kristof was quite sure that was not his real name, but it would do for now. They would know his real name before this night was over. He had seemed confused before but his eyes had cleared and he appeared more alert now.

He blinked at Thompson. “Who are you?”

“You know goddamn well who I am.”

“Never saw you before in my life.”

Thompson bared his teeth as he cocked his right fist. Kristof grabbed his arm before he could strike.

“I do not want him knocked out again.”

“I owe this guy, Szeto. So do you.”

“I want him to talk. He cannot talk if he is unconscious.”

“Talk, huh? You want talk? I saw a hardware store down the block. How about I pick us up a few tools to loosen him up?”

Kristof nodded. The Order had owned this top-floor loft and the one below it since the days before the meatpacking district became trendy. Thompson had kept his distance while Dieter and Erich were dragging Tyleski up the stairs from the street. But he’d gained swagger and confidence once the man was secured to the chair.

Just then Dieter and Erich returned from hiding the van.

Dieter stared at Tyleski. His English carried a thick German accent. “Kristof! I thought he looked familiar before, but now in the light, I am sure: This is the man from the park yesterday, the one who killed Claudiu and wounded Filip.”

“Is he now?” Erich said with an equally heavy accent as he pulled out his pistol.

The revelation triggered an explosion of rage within Kristof but he managed to contain it. He raised a hand and stopped Erich.

“No. We have time for that later.”

He pulled his own pistol from its holster and a three-inch suppressor from a side pocket. He made a show of screwing it onto the threaded end of the barrel.

“How much later?” Dieter asked, looking equally itchy to inflict damage on this man.

“After I have learned what I want to know, we shall play Last Shot Loser, the three of us-and Mister Thompson too, if he wishes.”

“What’s that?” Thompson said.

“We take turns shooting Mister Tyleski with one bullet each.”

Thompson smiled. “Count me in. How do I win?”

“By not losing. You lose by killing him. The one who fires the kill shot must pay each of the other players one thousand dollars.”

Thompson’s grin broadened. “Oh, I’m definitely in. The way I see it, even if I lose, I win.”

“But first, your suggestion about hardware store is excellent. Get whatever tools appeal to you, but for me… you are familiar with something called X-Acto knife?”

“Course I am.”

“Get me one, or something quite like it.”

“Planning a little cosmetic surgery?”

“In a way. First thing I do is cut off eyelids so he must watch whatever we do to him.”

Dieter and Erich slapped palms as Thompson turned to Tyleski. “You are soooo fucked!”

Tyleski didn’t react. Szeto hadn’t expected much from him. A man like this would know better than to show fear, even if he were quaking inside. And the prospect of losing his eyelids should cause deep quaking. Kristof had seen men broken by that alone. Not so much because of the pain, but because of the finality of the mutilation, the realization that even if he survived, his life was changed, horribly and forever.

Thompson turned at the door. “Hey, we forgot about Drexler. Think he might be in on-oh, shit. You think he might have hit Drexler?”

That had occurred to Kristof, but he hadn’t had time to check on it. Not that it would be such a terrible loss. Ernst Drexler had been bypassed by the One. That meant that the High Council might decide to elevate someone else to Actuator status. And since the One was dealing directly with Kristof Szeto, who better to choose?

But until that happened, Kristof would have to play the game.

He pulled out his phone. “You go,” he told Thompson. He pointed to Dieter and Erich. “You two wait outside.”

He didn’t want them overhearing his conversation with Drexler. And he wanted a little time alone with the prisoner.

When the door closed behind them, he speed-dialed Drexler’s number. Kristof couldn’t help a stab of disappointment when he picked up on the third ring.