I went to the office. While I was at the door, two large men came up behind me and one poked me in the back with something cold and hard and very like the barrel of a revolver.
"Okay, bud, don’t try anything silly."
I put my hands on the door, to show I wasn’t going to try anything silly.
"Open the door, nice and slow. We’re going up to your office with you."
I opened the door nice and slow, and we all went up in the elevator, which wheezed and groaned all the way. On the way up, I kept my face to the wall, like I was told to do and didn’t try anything cute. When we got to the fourth floor and the elevator door opened, the one who was doing the talking poked me with the gun again, we marched out and went into my office.
"Turn around," he said. I turned around, and he hit me, a straight jab to the jaw. I went staggering back and bounced off my desk. As I tried to find my feet he came in close and hit me again, two thumping body blows which curled me up on the floor, whooping for breath.
"Get up," he snarled. I lay where I was sucking in air, stars still exploding in front of my eyes. "Get up," he said again, moving in again and raising his foot to kick. I managed to get myself up, first into a squat and then push myself up against the desk, so I was mostly standing. My mouth was full of the taste of blood and my ears reverberated with a thumping sound, the sound of blood being pushed around my body as my heart tried to get oxygen to where it was needed, only I wasn’t sucking in enough air to keep a mouse from suffocating.
Through eyes that weren’t really much good for looking right now, I got a look at the two people in my office.
The one who was doing the hitting wasn’t big, but he hit like it. He was medium height, broad shoulders and a tough, merciless face. He was still wearing his hat, as if he wasn’t in the middle of beating me, or as if beating me wasn’t any sort of trouble at all. The other one was bigger, and watched impassively. He was there as back up, in case the first one got into difficulties, which seemed unlikely, or fancied a break, which also seemed remote – number one had the look of someone who would punch faces all day and think it a fine job. Maybe number two was there to help carry my body out after I was finished. That seemed a likely possibility.
Number one stepped forward again, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to whack me at anytime. "You jack Callaghan?" he snapped.
"Who wants to know?" I wheezed, and as his fist shot out I tried to duck to the side, so the blow which should have snapped my head back and laid me out on the desk bounced off the side of my face, most of the force lost.
Number one stepped back and shook his fist ruefully. "Maybe I need to hit you a few more times before we start talking like civilized people. Is that what you need, Callaghan?"
"I need a drink. Can I …. interest either … of you gentlemen?"
"You shouldn’t drink on the job, Callaghan, it makes you sloppy and slow. Not good in your line of work. Me, I don’t drink on the job. I have a beer, just one at the end of the day. If I had to kill a man that day, I have a shot of Bourbon, with soda, as well. I ain’t killed you yet, so the drink will have to wait."
"You boys … do this for pleasure … or someone sent you?"
Number one scowled at me." I think I need to hit you more. You ask too many damn questions."
He stepped forward and struck me again, another jab to the face. I didn’t try to duck, but roll with the punch. It still hurt like hell, and I felt blood trickling down into my mouth from my nose.
While I was still congratulating myself on avoiding most of the damage, he hit me three more times, a left to the face and two more hooks to the stomach, and then when I went over on the ground, a kick to the ribs. I figured my congratulations had been a bit premature. He was younger and faster than me, and stronger, and enjoyed hurting. Even if he decided to start playing by Queensbury rules, I was probably too damaged now to do anything but stop more punches.
"Okay, Mikey," said number one, "Search this dump while Mr Callaghan rests."
I was aware, vaguely, of the big one moving about, pulling open the filing cabinet and throwing stuff out of the drawers. The pot plants crashed into the corner. The desk was pulled back away from me and then up ended. Mikey was doing a quick, thorough job of winding up my business.
Big hands grabbed me round the shoulders and scooped me up onto my feet. Generously, they held me up as well. Number one thrust his face up close to mine so I could smell his breath, which wasn’t sweet. "We’re taking a little journey, Callaghan. I’d love to kill you here but there’s someone else wants to see you and have a chat before you die."
I kicked out at him, had the brief satisfaction on making contact which his knee cap, tried to break free of the huge troll holding onto me. Number one swore. I butted backwards and felt the troll’s nose flatten. I managed to get a hand free, swung it at number one and got a glancing blow to the side of his head, stamped down on the troll’s toes. For a moment I got free, lunged at number one and sent him staggering towards the wall, tripping over some of the debris of my business.
I bolted for the door, but my legs weren’t steady and I went down. The troll got me and picked me up by the scruff like I was a kitten. Number one got to his foot, looking evil. He hit me three more time, each time to the stomach. Then the troll dropped me and number one kicked up and down my body for a while, as I wrapped myself up on the floor and tried to shrivel away into the floor.
These were Tony’s Santosa’s boys, this was just a taste of what was waiting for me.
I was aware - more or less - of being picked up again, once they were sure all the fight was gone from me. The big one did the carrying, like I’d predicted earlier. I heard the door of the office bang and the wheezing groan of the elevator, though that might have been me. I was thrown into the back seat of a car, my hands wrenched behind me and tied. I passed out there for a while. I came back to consciousness briefly, managed to crane my head up to look out the window – we were out of the city, passing through arid looking land where not much other than scrub grew and there weren’t houses. It looked like a nice day out there. I slipped under again, it was better than thinking about what might be happening to me.
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