Barry Eisler - Requiem for an Assassin

He’d wondered many times in his life whether, if the worst happened, he’d fall apart, or if he’d have the courage to go out swinging. He’d heard stories of brave men who’d lost it, their nerve, their backbone, whatever, at the moment of truth. He hoped he wouldn’t be one of them, but he supposed you could never really know until that moment came.

He listened, grimacing slightly with the effort of straining for even the tiniest sounds. Footsteps, a door opening…then a heavy thud, like something big falling to the deck. A body, maybe. Then a door again, this time closing, followed by the click of a lock.

Son of a bitch. It sounded like Fester had dropped the young guy and locked him in a room somewhere. That could mean only one thing.

He felt a hot rush of adrenaline surge through his torso. This was it. His moment of truth was on its way right now.

He took two deep breaths and strained against the chains, first left, then right. He’d been doing what isometrics he could every day since they’d grabbed him, hoping there would actually be some use to keeping his body from tightening up. Well, it looked like the effort had been worth it, and he wanted to be warmed up now. If this had even a prayer of working, he was going to have to go from zero to a hundred with nothing in between.

Half a minute went by. He heard Fester’s footsteps coming along the corridor. Then there he was, smiling his psycho smile through the door window while he turned a key in the lock.

“Hola, maricón,” he said, coming in, holding the battery and wires again. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation.” He turned and used the key to lock the door from the inside. “And now no one can interrupt us like last time.” He slipped the key into his pocket.

“Wait a minute,” Dox said, controlling his voice to keep his pounding heart from creeping into it. “You mean you’ve had a whole day to stew, a hundred options to consider, and the best line you could come up with to get some of your mojo back is-” he switched to an ersatz Mexican accent-“‘We didn’t get to finish our conversation’?”

Uncle Fester looked at him, nonplussed.

“I mean, you might have said, ‘I like the way you talk, now let’s hear you scream,’ or, ‘You’re right, I do like to torture people, but I’ve never tortured anyone like I’m going to torture you.’ What do you think of those? You can try one, if you like. I won’t tell anyone you got it from me. Go on back out, we can start over.”

Fester stood there, his eyes burning with hate.

“Well, shit. If you’re going to get your rocks off with me, at least sing to me. I’m partial to that Lou Rawls number. You know the one…” He paused, then broke into song: “You’ll never find, dah dah, dah dah dah…as long as you live…someone who loves you, tender like I dooooo…”

Fester didn’t move. Whatever script he had in mind, Dox was so far off it the man couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to do next. Which was the exactly the idea. Now the trick was to flummox him even worse.

“You’re crazy,” Fester managed to spit out.

“Come on, man, admit what you’re here for. You want my dick, don’t you? It’s all right. You can have it. Here.”

His heart was pounding so hard now he could feel it in his neck. He stood up and pulled down the front of the track pants.

“What the fuck?” Fester said.

“It’s all right, man,” Dox said, shuffling toward him. “I’m attracted to you, too.”

“You’re fucking sick!” Fester hissed, rooted to the spot.

Dox kept moving forward. Eight feet, six…

“Here,” he said, reaching inside with a manacled hand and freeing what a long-ago girlfriend had christened Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster. “There you go, it’s okay.”

Five feet. Fester’s face was contorted in horror and confusion.

Three feet. Dox let the track pants snap back in position. He bent at the waist, aimed with his shoulder-

Fester’s paralysis broke. He turned to the door as though to escape.

With a wild yell, Dox hit him in the back with his full two twenty-five. Fester slammed face forward into the door and the battery and wires hit the deck. Dox shuffled back, ready to launch himself again, but the chains slowed him. Fester turned. Dox shot up from underneath, and the top of his head nailed Fester in the face with a satisfying crunch. The impact rocked Fester back into the door. He grabbed Dox’s shoulders on the rebound to try to shove him away, but Dox surged up against him, his palms forward, the chains cutting into his wrists. His straining hands found Fester’s package, and he latched on and squeezed for all he was worth. Fester screamed and tried to jerk away, but he was up against the door now, Dox’s weight pressed against him. He managed to shove Dox’s shoulders back but couldn’t break the death grip on his balls. Dox twisted inside Fester’s hands and slammed up against him again, then shifted his grip and squeezed harder, yelling now with the effort.

Fester braced his temple against the side of Dox’s head and tried to lever him away. Dox retracted a fraction and as Fester’s face slipped past him he lunged forward like an adder and bit down on Fester’s nose. Blood spurted into his mouth and Fester, shrieking now, managed to jerk to the side and create space. Dox tried to adjust but again the chains slowed him. An elbow connected with his cheek but he hung on. He could barely hear Fester screaming now, the whole of his being was focused on squeezing, squeezing…it was all he had and if he lost it, if this didn’t put Fester down, where he could bronco stomp him or knee drop him, he was done.

Fester hit him with another elbow, then a third time, and suddenly Dox was falling. He couldn’t break the drop with his manacled hands and took the impact on his shoulder. He brought his legs in, trying to roll away and get to his feet, but Fester stayed with him, kicking him now, wildly, out of control.

Dox kept rolling, but Fester, screaming, didn’t let up for a second. One of the kicks connected with the back of his head and he saw an explosion of white. When the flash faded, Fester had stepped in front of him, and the next kick caught him squarely in the face. He head rocked back but he couldn’t do anything to cover up. He tried rolling away again, dazed, but Fester easily stepped around him and just kept kicking.

Dox managed to roll to one of the walls and fetal up with his face to it, and for the next minute Fester vented his rage at Dox’s back and legs. The blows didn’t really hurt, exactly; he was too jacked on adrenaline and fear to feel much, and anyway there were too many impacts to distinguish. Mostly what he felt was a series of cascading thuds that reverberated through his body, like he’d fallen down under a rock slide.

Finally it stopped. Dox blinked and spat out a mouthful of blood, his or Fester’s or both he didn’t know. He tried to get his feet under him, but he couldn’t move. He wondered distantly whether Fester had cracked his spine. Well, it didn’t really matter now.

He felt the heel of Fester’s boot in his shoulder, easily turning him onto his back. He lay there, numb and exhausted and helpless. Fester squatted next to him, his breath heaving, his nose mangled and his face a bloody mask, and presto-a blade appeared in his hand. He took Dox by the hair and brought his face close.

“You like showing your dick, motherfucker?” he hissed, his teeth strangely white through all the blood. “You know what I’m going to do now? Cut it off for you and stuff it in your mouth. And your balls with it.”

Dox spat a huge wad of blood and phlegm into Fester’s face. He did it without thinking, but he was immediately glad. Without exactly meaning to, he’d answered the question of how he would leave this world, and he’d answered it well. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was all he had now, and he held on to it tight, hoping it would carry him through the rest.