Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov
19
Jack had argued back and forth with himself about whether to attempt striking up a conversation with the blond capo. As the man who’d dragged in a whole pile of claw hammers, saws and drills, Enzo was unlikely to be the friendlier one of the two. But Enzo was playing with his toys so much that Jack couldn’t resist. Later, he blamed his tiredness.
“Robbed a hardware store, I see.” Just a quip because the clanking was getting to him, but not the way Enzo likely thought.
He hadn’t expected the reaction he got. Enzo’s eyes narrowed, he dropped whatever he was toying with, and kicked him so hard against the chest that Jack lost his breath and then his bearing when the chair twisted and overbalanced and Jack hit his head again. Second time in so many days, but this one seemed worse—it came with searing, splitting pain high up on his forehead, and Jack tried to blink his vision clear and held onto consciousness, but just barely. He smelled blood, and felt it run into his hair and ear.
Enzo crouched before him. “Sal thinks you’re smart, but that was pretty fucking dumb.”
“Agreed.” He didn’t have any more than that.
Enzo grabbed the chair and using a foot to ensure the chair legs couldn’t skid away, hoisted the chair and Jack into his original position. The blood now ran down the side of his face and into his shirt collar. Jack focused on blinking and keeping it out of his eyes.
Movement and voices refocused his attention.
“You said he wasn’t hurt?” A long-haired man in his late twenties walked up to him and cast a long glance at Jack’s forehead.
“That doesn’t count.” Sal crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Enzo?”
“I wasn’t in the mood for sass,” Enzo stated.
Rausa looked at what had to be doc, and shrugged with a “See?” expression.
It took all the concentration Jack had to make sense of the interaction, but he had to. Everything depended on him assessing the situation and the players. Nothing had changed. The doc crouched by Jack’s side and checked on his wrists. He then stood and studied Jack’s face with interest, specifically the aching side, and prodded his upper arm.
“I see you’re working out. Any heart conditions?”
“What?” Jack lifted his head. “No.”
“Asthma? COPD? Any other pulmonary issues?”
Mistake. He hesitated, head pounding too much to think fast enough. If he managed to pull off a lie, surely they’d have to go easier on him.
“He’s fine,” Rausa said. “Trying to weasel his way out again.”
The doc turned to Sal, and only then did Jack fully compute what was going on. Shit, he was definitely getting slow and careless. Seemed he’d been medically cleared for something?
Rausa nodded grimly, unfolded his arms, and Jack noticed he’d taken off his shirt again. He stepped up to the Jacuzzi in the corner and opened the tap. The noise of running water went straight to Jack’s bladder, and he gritted his teeth. Not the time or situation to ask for that toilet break. Rausa’s jaw muscles tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, while his fists remained clenched.
The doc took position near the windows, leaning against them, while Enzo completed the uneven triangle with the long-haired guy and the Jacuzzi at the apex. The hairs of Jack’s neck rose under all that attention from three men who were going to hurt him. Well, hurt him more.
The water kept gushing into the Jacuzzi, while several minutes passed. Then Sal set himself into motion. “Remember, you can stop this at any time.”
“Same goes for you,” Jack said.
“Oh, I know.” Rausa vanished from his view and stood behind him. “Break’s over. Now we’ll work.”
Suddenly a pressure against the plastic ties around his wrists, and his hands were free. Jack swallowed and noticed that Rausa was also freeing his legs. “Get up. Slowly.”
He couldn’t have moved fast if he’d tried. His muscles were tight, his body exhausted and tense from the restriction, balance hard to maintain from hitting his head yet again, but above all, one against three was never going to work in his favor. He briefly rubbed his wrists and rolled his shoulders, but Rausa already took his arms again and put fresh ties around his wrists.
“Let’s go.”
Jack realized with growing horror that Rausa was pushing him toward the Jacuzzi, and pushing him hard so Jack struggled to climb in because his balance was so off. “Kneel.”
“You sick fuck.”
Rausa grabbed him by the arms and pushed him forward and down. The water was lukewarm and quickly overcame shoes, socks and climbed up his legs. Rausa stepped into the Jacuzzi with him, also almost fully dressed except for his shirt. “I said, kneel.” He pushed Jack forward and kicked him in the backs of his knees so Jack went down with a splash, knocking his shoulder against the rim of the tub. He watched the water rise further in dread. Right now, it only reached halfway up his thighs, but thanks to the very nicely specced Jacuzzi, it was climbing rapidly.
Rausa grabbed him by the neck and leaned closer. “You know what’s going to happen, so why don’t you just talk?”
“Fuck you.”
“Not an answer, but we’ll get to that,” Rausa said in a low tone. He grabbed Jack’s neck harder, and then pushed his head down. There wasn’t enough water to completely cover his head, but plenty enough to push his face under, and now Jack fought, thrashed in a helpless panic, aware that he was burning precious oxygen and lost breath, screaming into the water that was reddening with his blood. He lost control of his bladder; he simply couldn’t help it. More hands were held him down now, but the white-hot panic seared all other thoughts away. He desperately kicked and squirmed, trying to free himself.
He was just getting dizzy when Rausa grabbed him hard around the arms and pulled him up. Jack straightened, gasping and gulping air so fast that he breathed in some water and broke into a nasty coughing fit. He caught a glimpse of the doc checking his wristwatch. When he nodded, Rausa grabbed him and shoved him under again.
Jack had had no time to recover or even take a deep breath, choked off by coughing. Panic swallowed him in an instant, his body out of control and fighting like an animal.
He tried to push back against Rausa, tried to move forward or to the side, wildly seeking any open space, but Rausa held him and further hands pushed down on him, folding him effectively in two, which put pressure on his lungs and kept them from fully expanding. Again, the water and bubbles and cream-colored ceramics blurred with spots dancing before his eyes, and his vision rapidly darkened and narrowed. If he’d been panicked when Rausa had choked him out near the gate, this was a thousand, ten thousand times worse, lungs burning, while he was swallowing water, and they kept him like that for an eternity of horror and fear.
And then Rausa pulled him up again, one hand gripping his arm, another against his throat. “You already pissed yourself. Let me know when you’re fucking done, because I have plenty more of this for you.”
At least this time he had a chance to gasp in air before Rausa pushed him down again. The Jacuzzi was a lot fuller now, pale yellow water well past his belt, and it kept climbing until Jack was submerged to his chest, but Rausa kept pushing him all the way down. Maybe they hadn’t put that hood back on him as a small kindness, because being blinded and drowning was maybe worse, but considering everybody around him simply rolled with it, from the long-haired guy checking his watch and timing it all, to Enzo standing there, half kneeling on the rim, just as drenched as Jack or Rausa, categories such as good or bad simply ceased to exist. All that counted was getting that next breath, or recovering some of the oxygen he’d been robbed of.
And that was the mistake. He couldn’t—wouldn’t live at any cost, and even then just a little longer. Borrowed time. All of it, everything, had always been on borrowed time. One way to go out on his own terms. He felt nothing but the thrashing fear of his body, but inside it and beyond it, he recognized something hard and cold, like a decision. He’d carried it since forever, but he’d first become aware of it that night on the bridge.
Yes, I’m done.
As if he’d managed to step outside of himself, he regarded his body, that bruised, thrashing, scared flesh with an odd mix of compassion and acceptance.
Just a little pain, and everything’s going to be okay.
When he went into the water this time, he forced himself to breathe in. He swallowed water first, and fought the cough that gnawed on his lungs, but finally managed to inhale. And despite the pain, it wasn’t unlike that attack down at the gate. He was aware of uncoordinated movements, and then his vision greyed, dimmed and narrowed, his lungs stung, but a calm settled in his mind. Choosing his path more than twenty years ago had led to this end, and it was all right.