Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror (21 page)

“
Tell
me about Victor.”

That
same line. No pleasantries, just straight down to business. This was
his chance to keep her talking. He’d already regained control
of his fingers, and was exploring the knots of the ropes, looking for
a weakness in them.

“
That’s
a broad question, what do you want to know.”

“
You
work for Victor, no?”

“
Actually
no, not anymore. I used to do… errands for him, a long time
ago.”

She
smiled, but there was no humor in it.

“
You
speak of errands like you speak of your God, lapdog!” she
barked as she scribbled something in the notebook.

“
I
must tell you that it would be unwise to lie to me... I have no
desire to hurt you, and am perfectly willing to set you free as soon
as I have the information I require. However, you must tell me the
truth or there will be repercussions.”

Alex
was familiar with this game and knew his chances of leaving that room
ever again were slim.

“
Look,
I’ll be honest with you—I have no loyalty to Victor. Not
anymore. And I have no interest in whatever problem you have with
him. I’ll answer your questions if you will set me free.”

She
nodded curtly. Game on. Cat and mouse. Tit for tat.

“
I
appreciate your willingness to assist. Let’s do this quickly
then, so we can put this unfortunate incident behind us.”

Bullshit.
They both knew it. One of them was going to
die in this room, and Alex was determined that it wouldn’t be
him.

“
That’s
all I want,” he said, adding a tremble to his voice. Let the
old bitch think she had rattled him.

“
Very
good. Now tell me, when did you last work for Victor?” She
waited, pen poised, watching him carefully.

“
I
don’t remember the exact date, but it was over seven years
ago.”

She
wrote it down and then her vulture-like eyes were upon him again.

“
When
did you last speak to him? Directly I mean.”

“
The
day of my last job. I never spoke to him again in person after that
morning.”

“
I
see, and this job you refer to would be the assault of a…”
she referred to her notes, leafing back a few pages.

“
A
Tony Valentine, is that correct?”

He
had to be careful here, had to keep playing the game. He had to
appear weaker than he actually was.

“
I
can’t remember, it’s been a long time,” he lied. He
remembered all too well.

“
And
during your time working for Victor, you had training yes? Specialist
training?”

“
No.”

She
closed her book, sighing deeply.

“
I
thought we had an agreement, preacher. Now I will ask again. Did you
have training?”

He
wondered why she kept calling him preacher. It irritated him.

“
I
don’t know what else to tell you. I had no training.”

Another
lie. He’d received lots of training. Victor liked his boys to
be on top of their game. Hand to hand combat, explosives, torture
techniques, marksmanship. He could give the average army commando a
run for his money—or at least he could have back in the day.

She
pursed her lips and glared at him, shaking her head slowly.

“
I
told you not to underestimate me, yet you lie through your broken
teeth.”

“
I’m
not lying, I received no training!”

She
had stood and was now walking towards him.

“
I’m
afraid, preacher, that until you begin to appreciate the severity of
this situation, you and I will be quite unable to engage in any kind
of meaningful conversation, eh lapdog?”

He
could feel the crazy coming off her in waves. She flicked her sunken
eyes towards the tray beside her chair and considered carefully. She
decided on the pliers and approached him, the maddening sounds of her
slippers on the carpet now secondary to the terror.

“
Mrs.
Bendtner, please….”

“
I
think that you and I are not so different, lapdog. Many years ago, I
too used to work for a powerful man who demanded results—and I
was very good at getting results. Tell that to your Master, eh.
Woolph!”

She
was behind him now, gibbering and insane, and armed with the steel
pliers. He flinched as she leaned close, her foul breath hot in his
ear.

“
You
stupid Americans are all the same. Overconfident fools. Let me tell
you something, mister preacher man—you think that you know of
pain, yet you know nothing. I have extracted secrets from better men
than you, puppet of Victor! Now tell me what I want to know!”

She
sounded like one of those clichéd Russian villains from the
movies trying too hard to sound authentic, but this was real.
Thickly, frighteningly real. He knew he had to tell her the truth, at
least to keep her talking in the hope that he could regain control of
his limbs.

“
Yes,”
Alex said with a sigh. This time the tremble in his voice was not an
act.

“
In
which fields?”

“
Weapons,
explosives, hand to hand combat.”

“
And
torture, yes?”

She
was still behind him, and although he couldn’t see her, he
could feel her smile as she spoke.

“
Yes,”
he said with a sigh, lowering his head. He knew then that he couldn’t
win this. Somehow the world had gone crazy, and he was massively out
of his depth with this frail old woman. He waited for the sting of
pain, for the cold feeling of steel on flesh, but nothing came. She
seemed to be satisfied and returned to her chair, setting the pliers
down and picking up her cup of tea, which she slurped loudly.

“
Who
the hell are you, lady?” he croaked as she continued to drink
noisily.

“
The
questions about things are mine to ask, eh?”

He
didn’t understand and was about to speak again, when she
twitched and blinked, then said it again more calmly.

“
I
will ask the questions. You will answer.”

Back
to playing the game. He needed to buy time.

“
At
least be fair. What were you ? Russian intelligence? KGB?”

She
chuckled and shook her head. “Nothing so dramatic I’m
afraid. I worked for an agency that dealt with traitors, enemies
careless enough to be caught on our lands. They would be sent to me
and I would make them talk.”

“
And
if they didn’t?”

“
They
would talk or die. Something you may wish to keep in mind, preacher.”

“
My
name is Alex.”

“
Does
it really matter?”

He
broke her gaze and lowered his head. He needed to keep her busy, keep
her mind off her questions.

“
How
did you plan all of this? I mean, how did you know I would come
here?”

She
smiled, taking another long sip of her tea and lighting another
cigarette. He saw with dismay that her hands were rock steady. His
wouldn’t stop shaking.

“
It
was a chance encounter. I saw you at your church.” She nodded
towards the pamphlets, now stacked neatly by the telephone.

“
I
wasn’t entirely sure it was you at first. You’ve lost
weight since you last worked for Victor.”

It
was true. After he’d left the business he’d slimmed down,
cutting out the steroids and paying more attention to his diet.

“
I
had already been following Victor and his affairs for some time, so
finding you by chance was something of an unexpected bonus. I’m
sure you of all people understand that, preacher man.”

He
tried to process the information, but as she spoke, only more
questions came to mind.

“
I
still don’t understand! How did you know... How did you know I
would come here, right to your door?”

“
Oh
it was simple educated guesswork. This is a nice street, and within
the catchment area of your church. I knew you were doing a drive to
recruit new members for your parish. It was just a matter of time
before you knocked on my door. And what else does an old woman like
me have but time to wait.”

“
But
why? What do you want with me? I haven’t had dealings with
Victor for years. You probably know more about him than I do!”

He
was frightened and angry, and had let his guard slip. The old woman
smiled, knowing she had the upper hand. She continued as if he hadn’t
even spoken.

“
The
strange thing is that, even when you knocked on my door, I still
wasn’t sure that it was you. You have changed in appearance
quite dramatically, and look quite different up close. And in your
defense, it seems that you do genuinely love the work you do for your
church… It wasn’t until I saw the look of recognition on
your face when you looked at the photograph of William that I knew I
had the right person.”

He
was confused, and tried to recall earlier that day. It already felt
like a lifetime ago. It was true that he had seen the old black and
white picture as he walked in, the man and woman on their wedding
day, both smiling proudly, the small child in the woman’s arms
not quite looking into the camera. A small pang of recognition had
come over him, but he dismissed it as a false memory, perhaps
confused with another old photograph of similar content. One thing
was for certain, he didn’t know the man in the photo. He had
never seen him before.

“
I
don’t know any William, you have the wrong person,” he
pleaded.

In
response she sneered, rushing suddenly from her seated position. He
tried to recoil, but she moved with the skitter quickness of a
spider, and he was rocked by a fresh wave of pain. He didn’t
realize what she had done at first, and then a tight sickness in his
gut overcame him as he glanced over to his horrified reflection in
the mirror above the mantle. She had torn off his left ear lobe.

“
Do
not lie to me again, dog! You killed my William on Victor’s say
so. Well let’s see how brave you are now, preacher. Whore son!”

He
was breathing heavily now and began to squirm in his seat, trying to
ignore the wild-eyed way that she was staring at him.

She
sat back down in het chair calmly, settling in again. He glanced at
the mirror once more and barely recognized the man he saw there. The
sweating, puffy-eyed, bloody-nosed stranger. And yes—he could
see it. The flap of skin that used to be his ear was stuck to the
shoulder of his blue suit.

“
Look,
no bullshit ok, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”

She
had picked up the screwdriver now and was walking back towards him.

“
I
know you will.”

She
jabbed him in the arm, and although it still hurt, his suit jacket
cushioned most of the impact. She realized immediately, and without
hesitation, reared back and drove the metal shaft into his thigh. He
screamed as a white-hot pain surged through him, clenching his
remaining teeth, breaking off more of the damaged ones in the
process.

“
Tell
me why Victor ordered you to kill my William.”

Despite
the horror, she was calm. Her voice flat and toneless. This was
nothing new to her—an ordinary day. He wondered how many she
had killed. Tens? Hundreds? Thousands? He began to writhe now, but
the knots were holding firm.

“
I
don’t know him, I didn’t do anything!” he was
sobbing now, a bloody mucus bubble forming in the left nostril of his
crushed nose as he tried to force air through it.

“
You
had him drowned. You took his money. His pride. You took everything,
lapdog—eeeee!!”

“
I
didn’t have anyone drowned! That was never my style!” he
pleaded, trying to ignore her gibbering.

“
Then
give me Victor, tell me where he is!”

“
I
don’t know, you crazy bitch!”

She
wriggled the handle of the screwdriver back and forth where it still
lay nestled in his leg. He could feel it scrape against the bone and
a wave of nausea overcame him. He thought he was about to faint.

“
It
was you. You and Victor together. For two weeks they didn’t
find him, bloated and fat.”

“
It
wasn’t me!!! You have the wrong man!”

She
was no longer making sense, her eyes like saucers, and her chin was
lined with slick spittle. She was leering over him now, her face
inches from his. He couldn’t stand to be near her and lunged
backwards, pushing off the floor with all the force he could muster.
The chair pitched backwards and tipped over, his knees connecting
with her chin as he tumbled painfully to the floor. She fell away,
grunting as she landed on her side. Horror overcame him as he twisted
to see where the old hag was. It was as he did this that the chair
finally gave way under the strain, freeing him.

He
came to his knees and managed untie his hands. Trying his best to
ignore the pain in his face and thigh, he looked to his left and saw
that she was already up, coming at him again with the screwdriver.
She lunged towards him, slashing at his face. Instinctively he rolled
to the right, knocking his shoulder hard against the armchair. He
tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs were still too weak, and
he stumbled back to the floor with a grunt. He knew she was on him
now. He could smell the mothball stench and could hear her shuffling
slippers. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the screwdriver coming
towards his face. He managed to flinch away, but the metal shaft
gouged into his cheek, tearing open a large wound. Fueled by
adrenaline, he turned and shoved her hard with both hands. She
staggered backwards and he saw the screwdriver skitter across the
floor as she lost her grip on it. Unable to walk, he crawled towards
the sitting room door, hoping he could make it to the front of the
house and the freedom of the lush gardens and picket fences of
Sycamore Street.