"There are only two forces in the world, the sword and the spirit. In the long run the sword will always be conquered by the spirit." - Napoleon Bonaparte
Chapter 12
Come Around
Sam's sense of irony kicked in when he woke up to someone playing Green Day on a boom box. Hearing the crackling static of a bad AM reception playing
When I Come Around just as he was coming around and waking up made him want to laugh, except there was a stabbing pain in his ribs. He was handcuffed to a water pipe in a rundown building that smelled of desert sand and mildew mixed with freshly brewed coffee and garlic. Blood had dripped from his head all down his neck and bare chest, then dried and crusted. He could tell just by taking a deep breath that a rib was broken.
"Jesus, Sam," came Al's apologetic voice. "I...I don't know what I can do!"
Hearing his best friend that helpless was all Sam needed for him to know that the situation was truly grim.
As the full sensation of being conscious buzzed through the blissful numbness, memories of torture flashed into his mind. He had been hit numerous times, stomped on, something hot applied to his skin. A boot to his chest had cracked a rib. His tongue felt the raggedness of a broken tooth in that too-perfect smile. Then the worst memory: sitting in a hard chair, one arm strapped down, while a fingernail had been removed with pliers. He shook his head, hoping the blurred memories would sink back down into oblivion. Then perhaps he could sink as well and avoid the pain by sleeping.
A man nearby shouted over Billie Joe Armstrong's vocals. "Aldo, turn off that damn music."
"This is the only station I can pick up that's singing in English," another man complained. "It's all damn Spanish out here. Fuckin' state of Mexico that wants to leech off the American people."
"Hey, I said turn that thing off. He's coming to."
"Sure thing, Tony, sure." The man called Aldo laughed and sang over the radio music, "When he comes aro-o-ound!"
Sam was still wishing he could simply drift back off to sleep when someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. He opened one swollen eye to a square jaw with a deep scar on the side up to the corner of his lip, a crooked nose, and flinty eyes. His white teeshirt already had blood speckles dried on it. The man behind him with thinner, his black hair slicked back, narrow features with high cheekbones, but by how he walked Sam guessed he was the more deadly of the two. This thug Aldo was the muscle, but the thin man named Tony looked like someone who...specialized!
"You ready to tell us?" the man who had him barked.
"Tell you...what?" Sam asked, cringing already.
Aldo slugged him in the stomach. The cracked rib shot pain all through Sam. He could barely breathe, let alone cry out.
"Shall I get started on your other fingernails?" He grabbed Sam's hand and pressed into the bloody nail bed of the one already ripped out. Sam howled at the agony and kicked at the floor.
Al bolted forward ready to slug the brute, but his fists went right through him. "You leave him alone, bastard!" He kept kicking, but to no avail. Al's wing-tipped shoes kept passing right through the man.
"Now, now, Aldo," Tony grinned, tugging the other man aside. "Maybe he just forgot. I told you not to be so rough on the first go. It was too much for him. He repressed it all, see?"
Sam was pale and sweating with lingering pain. He wished he could simply will himself into unconsciousness. "Al?" he panted too quiet for the Mafia goons to hear.
"Yeah, Sam, I'm here. I'm not leaving you to face this alone. Just hang on, okay? Gooshie is working on something..."
Sam heard Al's words, but he hurt too bad to respond or comprehend the details. Tears streamed down his face with no attempt to stop them.
Tony pulled out a riding crop and tapped Sam's chin up. "Teddy...can I call you Teddy?" he asked playfully. "You took something from my boss. We want it back. Now," he laughed blithely, "you're gonna die one way or another—we have our orders, after all—but the boss wants his money, and only you know where it is. So you see, we can't kill you until you tell us. Hold out on us, and Aldo gets to keep having fun." He waved to his partner, who snarled hungrily. "Tell us truthfully, and you get to sleep...eternally."
"When you screwed around with the boss's daughter, you picked the wrong little girl, you pedo-perv," Aldo sneered, and spat on him. "There's a special place in Hell for people like you."
"Oh, don't be too hard on him about that," Tony chuckled. "Francie was spreading her legs for anyone stupid enough to have a go with her. Poor Teddy here was unlucky enough to knock her up. Stealing from the boss was your biggest mistake. Trying to make a run with the money was even stupider. You had your fun, and now you're paying the piper. You saw what happened to your wife."
"Wife?" Sam asked, still straining to overcome pain so bad it made him feel sick.
"Did you forget that too?" Tony laughed and shook his head. "Poor Teddy! Aldo hit you too hard. Your wife was screwing us out of millions while you were off screwing fifteen-year-olds. Bet you thought you'd be the next Bonnie and Clyde, huh? Do you honestly not remember Elena's screams as Aldo slit her throat?"
The bullish man nearby chuckled gruffly.
"You...you murdered...my wife?" he asked in shock. His eyes turned to Al. Why hadn't he told him any of that? Why did he not say anything about having a wife? Then he remembered a name Al only briefly mentioned. "Elena...Elena Ryder...Nyt Ryder."
Al looked apologetic and chewed worriedly on his cigar. To avoid Sam's pleading eyes, he checked something on the handlink. "Ziggy, tell Gooshie to hurry."
"Is it all coming back to you now?" Tony asked with a sly smile. "So see, there's nothing left for you. You and Elena...screwed with us...and now...you're going to die," he explained slowly, enunciating each part with glee. "No one came to save her. No one's coming to save you. The boss doesn't care how far we take things." He waved the riding crop over to a desk, where Sam saw pliers that were already bloody, knives, a hacksaw, and meat hooks. "Now, if it were up to me, I hope you
never tell us where the money is. I'd love to test one of my great experiments: how long can a human survive by eating only his own flesh? You ever wonder that, Teddy?" He picked up a butcher knife. "If we carve you up, little bits at a time, how long would you last? Could the body regrow muscle in time to supplement what was cut away? It'd have to be surgical, of course. Simply hack off a leg, and you're down a large amount of mass. But carefully slicing, allowing an area to heal...would the muscle in, say, your calves regrow by the time we finish with your stomach, your back, your arms? It all depends on the health of the patient and the skill of the doctor."
"Tony," Aldo grimaced, "just hearin' ya makes me wanna puke."
Tony rolled his eyes. "When he tells us, it's then up to you. Until then, I am the interrogator." He looked exasperated at Sam and waved back to his partner. "See what I have to work with. My guess is I could keep you alive for over a year. Aldo here wouldn't want to wait even a week. Meanwhile, that money is sitting, rotting, when it could be in a bank making interest."
Sam just wanted to pass out already.
"You hear him,
pompinaio?" Aldo shouted, and he punched Sam across the face. "Tell him where the fuck that money is or Tony the Chopper's gonna spend a year makin' ya eat yer own guts."
"Al?" Sam asked. He spat out a stream of blood.
"Owl?" Aldo asked. "Could he mean the Owl Bar?"
"They do think he passed through San Antonio," Tony mused. He knelt down to lean in closer so he could hear Sam's faint voice. "Is that where you hid it, Teddy? The Owl Bar?"
Sam kept his good eye on his friend. Al looked helpless and furious. He had witnessed this thing from the beginning. Sam faintly recalled seeing the hologram try to pummel Aldo and Tony as they whipped him, punched him, and slowly plied off his fingernail. Nothing Al did could stop them, and there was no way to call for help.
"Money," Sam said thickly through his swollen mouth. "Where?"
"That's right," Tony smiled. "Tell us where you hid it."
Al frowned in despair. Did Sam realize what these men were talking about? Tell them where the money was, and they would kill him! Unless the pain was already so bad, he was at the point of not caring anymore. "Your motorcycle...that chick Araceli hot-wired it and took off. She has your duffel bag, and we have no idea where she went."
Sam dropped his head and smiled faintly. "Good. I'm glad. She's safe." That meant Araceli got out of Carrizozo. Hopefully, she was halfway home by now. She probably could use that money, too.
Tony looked annoyed at waiting. He lifted his riding crop and whipped it hard across Sam's chest. "She's safe? Who? Did you give the money to a girl? Maybe that
señorita you were talking to earlier?"
"I don't know," Sam tried to yell, but his mouth was swelling up again. "It's gone. I don't know where it is anymore."
"And where was it last?" Aldo said, looming over him threateningly.
Sam knew, if he said it was in the bike, they would hunt that Harley and find Araceli. He could not involve her in this. "Wallet." He spat out more blood. "I lost my wallet."
Aldo aimed a shoe to his stomach. That injured rib cracked again more dangerously. "
Vaffanculo! Sei un coglione. You think we're stupid? You think we'd believe you could fit three million dollars in a goddamn wallet?" His knee slammed up into Sam's chin and knocked his head backwards.
Al bolted. "You son of a..." Before he could throw another punch, he realized the futility. All he could do now was be moral support and keep Sam's spirits up as he suffered through this torment. "Sam, you okay? Dammit, a kick like that, he could've snapped your neck."
"Easy, Aldo," Tony smiled, pulling him back before he could aim another kick. "I'll get to work on him. He'll talk soon enough. Even if it's gone, if he passed it off or if it was stolen, we'll find out where to look." He leaned over and right into Sam's face. Al glared daggers at him but was utterly ignored. "And you better tell us precisely where to look. Otherwise, it's fried Teddy from here on out, capisce? Have you ever tasted human meat, Teddy? Tastes like bacon." He chuckled softly as he walked to the desk of instruments. Tony lifted a scalpel, inspected it closely in the dim light, and turned a frightful grin to Sam. "Aldo, prepare the table."
End of Chapter 12
A/N: Yikes! I'll skip what happens next. TV wouldn't show it, so I won't either.
The week of February 11, 1995 (this week in the story) Green Day's "When I Come Around" was #2 on the Weekly Pop Top 20 Countdown. Within two weeks, it replaced Hootie & the Blowfish's "I Only Wanna Be With You," which held the #1 spot this week. Green Day would round out the MTV Top 40 Songs of 1995 at Number 4, just beating out Hootie. Yes, I researched what music was popular at this time. No, I have no life. My inspiration comes from the graphic novel "A History of Violence" by John Wagner and Vince Locke. They made a movie of it, but I haven't seen it. I heard it was way more tame than the book. If you like dark thrillers, I highly recommend this graphic novel. Tony the Chopper...Tony Tony Chopper... "One Piece" fans are probably giggling at the idea of this guy wearing a fuzzy pink hat and speaking with a squeaky voice. (Neither one's the case, but it's funny.) To be accurate, human meat differs in taste depending on the country of origin. Americans and Europeans taste like bacon, while Africans and Pacific Islanders taste like veal. I bet you always wanted to know that (yuck!) Rest assured, I'm not a closet cannibal. I was a morbid little child who once researched this out of curiosity.
