Hustle Page 8

  Big Rich lay sprawled on the floor, barley conscious. His cell phone and wallet were flung behind him, scattered on the floor. He moaned a little, still not sure what had happened. He felt two thin streams of warm blood trickling from his nostrils down his cheeks and into his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was safe to get up. The first thing that crossed his mind was, is my cell phone broken? The second was, shit, I’d like to get high.

  “Who the fuck is this now?” Dustin asked, almost to himself. The boys had no answer and Bear was keeping an eye on the gun. “What is this, a party now? Get in the house. All of you. Get away from that door.”

  Dustin wasn’t lowering the .45, so Bear felt he had no choice. He kicked Rich’s legs back into the house and stepped over him. He shut the door behind him.

  Dustin bent over carefully, keeping the gun trained on the big bearded intruder, and picked up Rich’s wallet and cell. When he straightened back up, he said, “The three of you, back to the couch.”

  Big Rich rolled over with a groan, feeling the damage to his face, and slowly got up. Bear waited for the two boys to get to the couch first before he sat down.

  “You, big boy, in the middle.” Dustin stood in front of the coffee table waiting for the three to settle in. “You, Dumbfuck, put your wallet and cell back on the table where they belong.”

  Donny complied and the three of them sat in silence, watching their captor, waiting for the next instruction. Dustin only stood there. He lowered the gun. He was thinking. His face tightened and slackened. Three against one was too many, even with the gun.

  “Get up,” he said.

  The three began to rise.

  “No, wait, siddown.”

  They sat back down.

  “You, the big one, stand up.”

  Bear said, “Are you sure this time, Dustin?”

  Dustin’s eyes lit up, “How do you know my name?”

  The boys both looked at the bearded man between them. They had no idea who the freak with the gun was, or this biker who had burst in to foil their escape.

  “Oh, I know all about you, Derek. You’re practically famous.”

  Dustin pointed the .45 at Bear with one hand, “Well, keep it to yourself. If you know anything about me, you know not to fuck with me.”

  Bear was becoming less and less convinced that he would shoot. “Where’s the old man?”

  “Up your ass,” said Dustin, then, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, added, “You know so much, why don’t you tell me?”

  “Me? I thought he was here. That’s why I dropped by. Is he here? Why don’t you let him know? Where’s he at, in the shower?”

  To the boys, this big biker seemed awfully confident now, not worried about a gun being pointed in his face. Rich said, “I already asked him, he ain’t saying shit. He pulled a fucking gun on us. We don’t know where Gabriel or his wife are.”

  Bear turned his head to the left to face Big Rich, acknowledging him for the first time after the punch, “How’s your nose?”

  “It hurts. I think it’s broken.”

  “Good. Now shut the fuck up before I push what’s left of it up into your skull.”

  “He’s hurt,” said Donny.

  Bear turned to Donny, “How’s your nose? You need an adjustment?”

  “It’s fine.” Donny let it drop.

  Bear faced Dustin again. He wanted to focus on the threat, the problem. He still had a job to do. “So? Where is he?”

  Dustin still looked like he was thinking about it, trying to get a story straight. Finally he said, “Stand up?”

  “Who?”

  “You,” he said, pointing the gun at Bear’s face. “Empty your pockets.”

  Bear stood up and pulled out his wallet, cell, the stun-gun, a fold of cash, a lighter, and a pack of Camels.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Turn around.”

  Bear turned. The blue surgical gloves were still sticking out of his back pocket.

  “What are those for?”

  “I don’t know what kind of god-awful bugs you got.” Bear pulled the gloves and tossed them on the table with the rest of his stuff.

  “What about this?” said Dustin, pointing to the stun-gun. “What is that? Some kind of taser?”

  “Yeah, I don’t need it.” Bear still sounding casual, letting Dustin know he planned to kick his ass—.45 or no .45.

  “Oh, so you think you’re a tough guy, huh?”

  Bear smiled and said, “I’m not the guy walking around with a goddamn swastika tattooed on my chest.”

  Dustin wasn’t falling for it. He wasn’t going to get pulled in. This guy was playing games with him. He raised his gun and slowly backed into the kitchen. When he came back in, he had a roll of silver duct tape in his hand. “Okay, get up. All three of you, get up. We’re going downstairs.”

  Chapter 10

  From the shower stall upstairs, Gabriel Thaxton heard the front door open and shut; he thought he heard muffled voices. The bathroom fan drowned out the sound. The steady whir seemed to breathe, pulsate. He wanted to scream out, but when he tried he felt the gag in his mouth. He listened to himself whimper. With his face against the cold, wet base of the shower stall, it sounded like someone else making the sound.

  In the delirium of pain, Gabriel had lost track of time completely. Dustin had turned off the bathroom light and he had no way of knowing what time it was. Only that it was night. He lay in a fetal position, feeling the burn of all the torture he’d endured so far: cigarette burns, short and shallow razor cuts, throbbing contusions, and the trauma of having unidentified objects forced into his rectum. And Gabriel felt, on some level, that he deserved it, had brought it on himself.

  He heard footsteps now, coming up the stairs toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut when the bathroom light came on and braced for more pain.

  “Gabe.” He heard Dustin’s voice. “Gabriel, are you awake?” He then felt the sharp sting of a kick in his ribs. He grunted and opened his eyes.

  “What the hell, Gabriel. Your house is filling up with strangers. I want to know who these people are. What the fuck they’re doing here. Gabriel, you listening to me?”

  Gabriel grunted. Dustin bent down close to his face, “Did you send for these assholes? Did you have something to do with this?”

  Gabriel grunted again before Dustin realized that he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. He reached down and yanked the gag from his mouth. “Well?”

  “Dustin, please. Help me up. Untie me. I’m too old for this, I can’t take it. I need help. It’s too much, I can’t take it.”

  Dustin hit the old man in the temple with the heel of his hand. “Are you gonna tell me who these fuckers are, or what?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, help me.” The old man’s voice disintegrated into sobs. Self-pitying sobs.

  “They’re in our house, Gabriel. They both say you sent for them. Were you expecting company? I thought you were going out tonight? Who are these people?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what people you’re talking about. What people?”

  Dustin had bound all three of them before taking them to the basement. The biker first, with his wrists behind his back, then more of the duct tape around his elbows. Then he moved to the bigger of the two boys. When the biker tried to head-butt him while he worked on the first boy, Dustin gave him a shock with his own stun-gun. That seemed to quiet him up. When all three were bound, he forced them to walk, single-file, down into the basement. There was a space down there Gabriel used for a wine cellar that had a locking door. To keep out whom? Dustin didn’t know. Gabriel was the only alcoholic in the house.

  When the three of them stood in the tiny cellar, complaining about how tight the tape was, Dustin figured he’d better finish securing them. He walked behind the biker and hit him as hard as he could on the back of the head, right at the base of the skull. The big man dropped to his knees, but didn’t pass ou
t. Dustin hit him again, just as hard, and the bastard let out a, “Motherfucker.” After a third hit, the guy went down—face first. Dustin prodded him with his foot to make sure he wasn’t faking. The two boys looked terrified. They were waiting for their turn.

  Dustin told them, “Get on the floor, on your bellies, feet up.” First, he taped the biker’s boots together—tight. Then, the boys. No need to knock them out, the biker was the threat. The boys saw what had happened to the biker and they did exactly what Dustin told them to do.

  Dustin checked the room for stuff they might use to break out, tools, utensils, whatever. The place was bare except for the wine. No window, just the one door. Good enough till he knew what to do with them. He thought about killing them, but the idea of dragging their dead bodies back up the stairs didn’t seem too appealing. Especially the big one. If he killed them and left them, they wouldn’t be found for weeks, months even. That seemed like a better option. He thought about telling them this, threatening them, but decided that it might make them too desperate. Leave ‘em with some hope, till you were sure how to kill them, he thought. He locked the door behind him and went up the stairs.

  “What the fuck, dude, who is that guy?” said Big Rich.

  “I got no idea. You think he’s got Gabriel up there?”

  “How should I know? Is this guy okay?”

  Donny said, “How should I know?”

  “Hey, buddy, you okay? You alive?”

  Bear was motionless, not making a sound. They could hear creaking on the floor above them, the sound of someone walking around. Back and forth, pacing. They heard the loud thump of things being dropped. Then it was silent again. The boys listened, but the footsteps had ceased.

  “Donny, see if you can kick him, nudge him or something. See if he’s breathing.”

  “I can’t reach him. I can’t even fuckin’ move,” said Donny. “What do you think that guy’s gonna do with us?”

  “I got no idea.”

  They lay there for a few minutes, squirming, wriggling around on the cold cement floor, trying to loosen the tape. Then, they heard a scream. It was a long, baleful howl. It sounded distant, but they knew it was coming from inside the house. They knew it was Gabriel. There was silence, then, another scream.

  “You think that’s Gabriel?”

  “Of course it is,” said Big Rich. “He’s torturing the poor bastard. We gotta figure out how to get outta here or it’s gonna be us that’s screaming.”

  Bear made a noise—half grunt, half snore—as though he were deep in a fitful sleep.

  “Well, I guess he’s alive,” said Donny.

  “Can you see his face? Hey, buddy, you alive? Hey. Yo. Wake up.”

  Bear moaned again. Donny rocked back and forth till he tipped over and rolled into Bear.

  The old biker moaned, “Motherfucker,” as if he were experiencing the worst hangover of his life. He turned his head to get his face off the cement, opened his eyes and let them adjust to the pale light. “What the fuck?”

  “We’re tied up, taped up,” said Donny. “We’re in the basement. You remember what happened?”

  Bear’s voice was full of gravel and pain, “Yeah, I remember. Where is that little shit, Dustin?”

  “He’s upstairs,” said Donny. “We think he’s got Gabriel.”

  “We heard screams,” added Big Rich. “Like, torture shit. Lots of screams.”

  “Who are you guys?”

  “We’re friends of Gabriel’s,” said Donny, talking because he was the closest one to the man.

  “Oh, I know what the fuck you are, don’t worry. I’m an actual friend of Thaxton’s, so I know exactly what you two are. I mean, what are your names?”

  “I’m Donny and that’s Big Rich behind me.”

  Rich said, “Can you move? At all? Can you get us outta here?”

  Bear ignored Rich, “How long I been out?”

  Donny answered, “Not long, maybe twenty minutes max.”

  “My fucking head.” Bear wiggled around for a few moments and then asked Donny, “Kid, can you move? Even a little? See if you can push your feet against the tape on my ankles. Wedge ‘em in there and shove down.”

  Donny did as he was asked and the two began the process of loosening each other’s binds, feet first. After a few minutes, Bear’s hunting knife slipped out of the inside of his boot and fell on the cement floor.

  He said, “Ah, there she is.”

  The three worked at getting the tape off. Bear instructing them with such precision, the boys wondered if the man had been in this situation before. They had to get intertwined, lay on top of one another, use their teeth, and hold that big hunting knife with their mouths. Every once in a while they’d hear another scream from upstairs, the unmistakable imprint of pain.

  As they worked, the boys tried to find out what they could about their new friend. Bear told them as little as possible. He was a friend of Gabriel’s; he was there to evict Dustin from the premises. They asked about Dustin. Bear didn’t tell them much, didn’t tell them about the murders. No, he didn’t know what Dustin was doing there in the first place, and, when they asked about Mrs. Thaxton, Bear scoffed and said, “Long gone.”

  Bear didn’t ask them anything. He figured out as much as he needed to know for the moment. They didn’t know him, they didn’t know Dustin, and, judging by their question about Mrs. Thaxton, they didn’t really know much about Gabriel either. He stayed focused on the task of freeing himself. Soon it became easier, they were on their feet, cutting at each other’s tape while they stood back-to-back. Then when they were free, Bear walked to the door, not surprised to find it locked, and then to the tall wine rack. He took a bottle and said, “Either of you got an opener?”

  Dustin had dragged Gabriel from the bathroom into the bedroom. He paced back and forth in front of him, mumbling and trying to make up his mind about what he was going to do. He paused and stood at the dresser, taking a couple of deep hits off the glass pipe. He held it in and blew it out, moaning softly to himself. It sounded like someone had tickled him, just a little. When he was done, he turned to Gabriel and said, “Get up, we’re leaving.”

  Gabriel moaned, “I can’t get up. I can’t move. I’m still tied up.”

  Dustin had forgotten the old man was still bound. He looked at him, curled up in the fetal position on the floor, looking pathetic, broken. First, he took another hit from his pipe, then he untied the old man. He was rough and quick and when he was done he jerked Gabriel up by the arms. “Get dressed, fast. We’re leaving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You know where we’re going. Now hurry up. Grab the rest of that speed from your safe, too—and whatever cash you got in there.”

  Gabriel had no idea where Dustin intended to take him.

  Bear was staring at the door.

  “Don’t bother, it’s locked,” said Big Rich.

  Donny said to Rich, “He knows, he already tried it.”

  The boys were looking for something to open the wine with. They figured they’d be here a while. Rich thought, if they could drink a few bottles, it might take the edge off the on-coming sickness. If they had to piss, they could do it in the empty bottles. His mind was already gearing up for an extended stay.

  “Hey, you think you could use that big knife of yours for opening one of these,” he asked, bottle in hand.

  Bear said, “I got a better idea.”

  The boys watched as Bear went to work on the door with his knife, using its point like a flathead screwdriver. “This thing,” said Bear, “was built to keep people out, not in. The goddamn hinges are on the inside.”

  Bear had the door off in no time. They’d escaped, but as soon as they got upstairs, Bear knew the house was empty. He could feel it. He opened the front door and saw that the Bentley was gone.

  “Shit.”

  Big Rich was in the kitchen, still trying to figure out how to open the wine. Donny was behind Bear at the door, “What is it? Are they
gone?”

  “Yeah, they’re gone.”

  “You sure? Shouldn’t we check?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure. But we’re gonna check anyway, see what we can find. You look around down here. Anything hand-written. Phone numbers, addresses, whatever. I’m gonna look in the bedrooms upstairs. Tell your friend not to steal nothing and don’t go anywhere.”

  Bear walked up the stairs, knife in hand. He opened each door. There was a guest bedroom, untouched. Another bedroom, obviously reserved for the grandchild—kid posters on the wall, a gaming system, toys neatly placed. He moved along down the hallway. He opened the bathroom door. The first thing he noticed was a funk, a musty, sweaty smell. The next thing he saw was the blood on the floor, in the shower stall, on the toilet seat, and streaked out of the bathroom back into the hall.

  He followed the streaks of blood to the master bedroom. He opened the door slowly. This room stank worse than the bathroom, cigarettes, sweat, and the odd chemical smell of speed. There were crumpled-up papers all over the floor. Bear picked up one and looked at it. A pencil drawing of a man with his dick cut off. The dick lay at the man’s feet and from his groin there were angry streaks representing blood. Bear tossed it on the ground. He picked up another. This one a portrait, a man’s head with daggers stuck into each of the eye sockets. More angry blood was scratched in with pencil, streaming down the man’s cheeks like tears. The floor was covered in these drawings. Maybe hundreds of them, crumpled up like trash.

  He moved to the dresser. There were empty baggies with what looked like speed residue inside of them, an overflowing ashtray—Marlboro Lights—three or four Bic lighters, and a heavy wooden box that, when opened, revealed three dildos in assorted colors and sizes and different kinds of lube. “Fuckin’ weirdoes,” mumbled Bear. He reached down and pulled open the drawers. Underwear. Pants and T-shirts. Then, there it was, a fat, black, overstuffed address book. The old-school kind that people kept before everyone owned computers. There were scraps of paper sticking out of each edge. It was packed so tightly the little leather strap seemed strained with the contents.