"Tell me what I want to know," said an angry
voice from the shadows of the darkened room.
In the middle of the room sat a middle-aged man
strapped to a wooden chair under a bright spotlight. Dried blood lined the man's
face and matted his hair. Barely
conscious, his head rolled slowly from one side to the other. His tired eyes squinted when he looked up to
the glowing bulb.
"I don't know.
I swear to you," pleaded the bound man.
"Boss, I'm tired of askin'," said another
grumbling voice. "By now, he woulda
spilled. I’m getting’ tired of punching
his guy around."
An angry voice replied. "Very well. I agree he doesn't know. We must get the brat. He will know."
The bound man could only see the feet of the man talking. He didn’t have to see him to know who it was.
Through squinted eyes, the bound man saw them leave. The door shut. He heard two pairs of echoing
footsteps out in the hallway. The bound man was alone. As he slumped forward in
the chair, the bindings tightened across his chest.
Outside in the dimly lit hallway, they stood for a
moment.
“Now what, boss?” one said.
"Send Vincent and Quince. They are to place the object. Ha! Like they
can. They have only one brain between
them." He gritted his teeth and
flexed the muscles in his temples.
"Where and what?"
"Check with Dreda. She has the details. She may also know the
current whereabouts of the old lady and the brat."
With his instructions, he walked away.
The other popped his knuckles and marched to the end
of the hall, unaware of the cloaked figure hiding in the shadows, listening in
on their conversation. When the hallway
fell silent, the figured slipped through the door where the bound man sat.
Oh yes it's getting good!
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