David Hosp - Among Thieves

When they’d arrived at the little house, he’d reiterated his threat and told her to walk in front of him to the door. He pushed her into the house and forced her quickly into the basement, which he’d prepared for her arrival. Other than telling her to lie down, he said nothing while he tied her down. He used a last strip of duct tape to seal her mouth.

Now he reached the bottom of the staircase and bent slightly to avoid bumping his head on the flooring above. Moving toward her, he picked up a small crate and brought it over, putting it down next to her head and sitting down. He looked at her for what seemed like a long time, saying nothing. She looked back, searching his face for some sign of pity or compassion. She saw none.

The gun he’d held from the moment he’d grabbed her was still in his hand, and he placed it on the ground next to him, the barrel pointing at the back of her head. He reached out and pried loose a corner of the tape that covered her mouth. He gave a hard and fast pull, ripping it from her face. She gave a short, involuntary cry, and he picked up the gun again, holding it over her. She choked back tears.

There was an air of expectation to his demeanor, as if he was waiting for her to say something. If so, she was determined that he be disappointed. In spite of her fear, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness. After a moment he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off and moved the bottle at an angle toward her, holding it up to her lips. “Open,” he said.

She opened her mouth and he tipped the bottle up, letting the water run down toward her. It was awkward, and most of the water ran down over her cheek, splattering on the floor. It was cold, though, and her mouth was thick with fear. The water tasted good, and she lapped at it, swallowing hard to get as much as she could.

He took the bottle away and reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a cereal bar. He unwrapped it and dangled it in front of her mouth, lowering it so that she could take a bite. “Eat,” he said.

She did. When she had finished the cereal bar, he put the water bottle and the wrapper from the cereal bar into his pocket. “Do you have to use the bathroom?”

She hadn’t even thought of it until that moment; she’d been too scared. “Yes,” she replied.

He pulled a long knife out of a sheath hanging from his belt and cut the tape that was wrapped around her wrists and the pipe to which she was attached. It left her arms taped together, but she was free from the ground, at least. She sat up awkwardly. “Where?” she asked.

He pointed to a corner of the basement. A blanket was draped over a rope tied to the ceiling. It provided little privacy. “There’s a can behind there,” he said.

“Can I use the bathroom upstairs?”

He shook his head.

She could feel the tears running down her cheeks as she moved over to the corner, but she brushed them away. Once she was done, she stepped from behind the blanket. He hadn’t moved.

“Lie back down,” he said.

He wrapped the duct tape around her wrists, securing them again to the pipe coming up from the floor. Then he tore off another strip just long enough to cover her mouth.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’ll be quiet.”

He shook his head. “Close your mouth.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Close your mouth.”

“What do you want?”

He reached forward and pasted the tape hard to her face. “Nothing you can give me,” he said. Then he stood and walked to the staircase, stooped over to avoid the ceiling. The steps groaned as he walked up toward the light from the floor above. It seemed to Sally that the noise was even louder than when he had come down. Then the door closed, and the basement was dark again. She pulled at the tape, just to make sure that there wasn’t any chance that he’d been sloppy and left enough give for her to pull free. He hadn’t, though, and the tape pulled painfully at her skin again.

She put her head down, resting it on the dirty concrete in the puddle that had formed from the water that had spilled from her lips. The tears came freely at last, dripping off the side of her face and mixing with the water on the floor. She wasn’t much for self-pity, and yet there was a point at which even she couldn’t bear any more. She wondered whether she had reached that point.

Sean Broadark was sitting on a stool in the kitchen when Kilbranish came up. It was the first time Liam could remember the man coming off the sofa in the living room.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Broadark asked him. Liam had never heard the man express anger before. Anger wasn’t a soldier’s emotion. It clouded a soldier’s thinking. It was a bad sign.

“I’m getting the paintings back,” Liam replied. He moved past the man and into the living room.

“This was never part of the deal,” Broadark said, following him. “I never agreed to this.”

Liam stopped and turned, facing Broadark. He squinted at the other man, so close to him that the pits on his face looked like lunar craters. Liam wondered which of them had lost the greater degree of sanity. He supposed it didn’t really matter. “You didn’t agree to what, Sean?”

“Kidnapping,” Broadark replied. “The taking of innocents.”

“Innocents?” Liam laughed. “Those are high-minded principles for you to be expressing, friend. Have you never killed children?”

Broadark’s face twitched with rage. “Only when necessary, and never on purpose.”

“Not exactly an altar boy’s motto, is it?”

“I am serious, mate,” Broadark said. “No one approved this. I won’t be a part of it. I was sent to help you, but not in this.”

“I didn’t ask for your help. Just don’t get in my way.”

“That decision isn’t mine. I’m calling this in.”

“Fine,” Liam said. “Do you really think that anyone is going to give up a chance at this kind of money for one girl? If that was the case, the cause never would have carried on for this long. Don’t you understand? These paintings are our lifeblood. They’re our last chance.” Liam moved back into the kitchen.

Broadark stood there for a moment. Then he pulled out his cell phone. “The decision’s not mine to make,” he said. He started walking toward the front door.

Liam moved after him. “Okay,” he said in an even voice. “Make the call.” Even as he spoke, though, he was pulling his knife out of its sheath. He came up on Broadark from behind quickly. At the last moment, Broadark realized his mistake, and he began to turn. It was too late, though. Liam swung his arm over Broadark’s shoulder and drove the knife hard through the rib cage. Broadark stumbled and fell forward. Liam could see the man’s hand searching for his gun, and he dropped to one knee behind him, grabbing him by the forehead and pulling his head back, exposing his neck. “I warned you,” he said. Then he pulled the knife across Broadark’s throat. The cut was deep and effective, and whatever life was left in Broadark’s body deserted it instantly. He fell heavily on his face, his arms splayed out to the side. Liam quickly rolled him on his back and stabbed him once more in the chest to make sure that the heart was stopped. With the body in that position and no further heartbeat, it would limit the amount of blood that he would have to clean.

Liam stood up and took a deep breath. He walked over to the sink and ran some cold water, sliding the knife under the flow, watching as it turned from deep red to pink as the blood was washed down. Then he turned and looked at Broadark’s body. There was nothing to be done about it, he told himself. He was committed. His only option now was success.