Mafia Trilogy 03 - The Scythe (7 page)

He removed his shirt and balled it up. After feeling his way to the bottom of the toilet, he jammed the shirt in the small hole and placed his thumb on the flush button.

One more drink from the non-contaminated water and he was ready to go. Maybe only fresh water would pour over the rim, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

He pushed the button. The water rushing into the bowl had nowhere to go. He waited, then flushed again.

The bowl filled and seeped over the edge.

He flushed again.

Then the unexpected happened. Due to the increased weight of the water and the force of the pump on the inside of the toilet bowl, his shirt got sucked through the hole and disappeared.

He heard it suck and pop through. Using his fingers to feel the level, the water was leaving the inside of the toilet bowl rapidly.

Only a little had made it over the edge where he sat on the floor.

“For fuck’s sake.”

He got up and slid out of his jeans. In his socks and Uomo underwear from Italy, Darwin balled his jeans up and jammed them in the bottom of the toilet.

“I’m coming for you, baby,” he said to Rosina. “We’ve been through worse.”

He got down and flushed the toilet, feeling the bowl fill. He flushed again. Then again.

Soon, water filled the floor around him. He flushed and flushed. After every three or four flushes, he felt the jeans to make sure they weren’t moving. Then he flushed again and again.

Renewed power coursed through him. Tears rolled over his eyes. Energy filled his muscles. He was escaping. He felt it and drank it in. Whatever happened after this, he was leaving the basement of the Russian Mafia, whether he was walking out on his own power or in a body bag.

Any other option was too depressing.

It would seem he was flushing for hours before the water collected to a couple of inches on his underwear where he sat against the glass wall by the toilet.

He flushed one more time and then felt his way to the door.

As far as he could tell in the dark, the water seeped under the door and through cracks around the base.

He slapped the glass. “Damn.”

It would take days to fill the prison, weeks to fill the basement. Water needed to get as high as the electrical panel. Usually basements had drains for water-heater leaks or laundry rooms. Even if the water started to fill the basement, it would simply drain out.

Nothing he had done was working. He’d lost his shirt and his jeans were soaked.

The toilet stopped after his last flush.

The silence was intense after spending over an hour constantly flushing the toilet.

“Rosina, I’m sorry.”

He had nothing else to go on, nothing else to do. No one was here and all he had was the toilet to keep him company. The sound of hunger pains twisted his stomach.

He felt his way along the wall to the toilet and sat down beside it.

He flushed it.

“So that’s how you feel, eh?”

The toilet answered with gurgling noises.

“Do you think I can survive this?”

He flushed.

“That does not sound promising.”

He flushed.

“Will Arkady die soon?”

He flushed.

“Now we’re talking. Thank you. How about Yuri? Is he coming up for execution?”

The toilet responded with a luxurious flush.

“Will everyone who wants to kill Rosina and me die?”

The toilet flushed twice.

“I like talking to you because you have all the right answers.”

The flushing continued, the toilet not willing to offer more than that.

Water pooled around him.

Darwin fell asleep on the floor, lost in despair, blood from his wounded kidneys coloring his underwear as he contemplated what death would feel like.

Chapter 7

Darwin woke with an ache in his neck. His back cried out where he was whacked with the sock the day before and his head throbbed.

Why the hell did I sleep on the cement floor in my underwear?

Last night came back to him in a rush. He looked around in the dim sunlight coming through the basement window. A lot of the water had moved to lower parts of the uneven floor and pooled there. His underwear and socks were damp.

He got to his feet and stretched, moaning as his tight muscles protested. He needed to urinate but didn’t want to use the full toilet as it was still jammed up with his jeans. He walked over to the door and pissed on it, yawning.

When he was done, he stopped and listened. The house was silent.

The mattress was darker on the underside, moist from the water it had lain in. He folded it in half and then placed it beside the toilet like a beanbag-futon chair thing, sat down and set his arm on the toilet.

He flushed the toilet.

Then he flushed it again.

“Imagine, my life has been reduced to flushing a toilet in the hopes that something will come of it to gain my freedom. Fucking pathetic.”

He flushed.

And thought about Rosina. He needed to get more aggressive. He needed to think outside the box. A glass box.

He continued flushing as the water seeped across the floor in rivers and out the cracks at the bottom of the door.

“You’re in for one hell of a water bill, Mr. Gangster.”

What if I take the water to the door?

He cupped water in his hands and rushed to the door and checked the seams. He couldn’t detect where the electrical part of the door was fast enough as the water slipped through his fingers.

There was a silver rectangular block touching the door on the other side near the corner. That must be the magnet that bolts the glass door closed. It would prove impossible for him to get water to that area.

Dejected, he walked back to the mattress and sat down to put his face in his hands.

“There has to be a way.”

Something banged outside the walls of his prison. It came to him with its metal tinny sound.

Someone was home.

He waited, hiding behind the toilet bowl in his underwear.

After a minute, he heard another bang.

Then the basement door opened. Light spilled down the stairs.

Adrenaline surged through him. The moment had come. He was ready. This was his gladiator moment, his UFC time in the spotlight. If he succeeded, he would win his freedom and get the girl.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered to his wife as the first pair of legs started down the steps.

Only one other person followed the giant Russian down this time. They stopped at the bottom and flicked on the lights.

“What the hell is this?” the giant asked in a gruff voice. “What have you done?”

He followed the water trail until it led him to the side of the glass prison staring down at the toilet.

“It got plugged,” Darwin said, shrugging. “I didn’t have a mop.”

“It didn’t get plugged. You’re naked because you jammed your clothes down there.”

“That’s good. Are all of you that smart?”

He didn’t know how far he could push this large Russian without just getting shot for his trouble.

He suddenly realized who the Russian was—The Scythe. Yuri had talked about him at the restaurant. He called him Scy for short.

Scy walked around the glass walls until he reached the wooden cellar door in the far wall. He opened it and stepped inside. The man who had followed Scy down the stairs leaned against the wall and picked at his teeth.

“I bet you like to bugger little boys,” Darwin said to the man.

“Fuck you. Talk all you want. You’re the one who’s dead when this is over. I’ll still be drinking vodka, fucking the whores and killing idiots like you for years to come.”

Darwin knew he had to push them hard. He needed them blinded with rage so when they opened the door they wouldn’t be thinking straight.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Darwin whispered.

“What was that?” the man asked as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer to the glass.

“I said, not if I have anything to do with it. If I had it my way, I would put you on the ground right here in front of me and step on your face. How would you like that? Can I step on your fucking face?”

“Oh, you little …”

“Don’t talk to him,” Scy yelled from the back room.

The man pulled out his gun and clicked the safety off.

“If I get the chance,” he said, his voice low, “I will use this.” He shook the gun for emphasis. “I will put holes in your body for hours, keeping you alive long enough to go for a record. Would you like a new hole in your ass? Maybe you want a new hole in your balls?”

“What, so you can fuck me like the women you never get? No thanks. A bullet in the forehead will do me just fine.”

The man slapped the glass. “I will kill you for that.”

“You know, they say homophobia is produced in men who have gay tendencies. You must be attracted to cock and want one in your ass. But you think it’s wrong and fight that side of you. I say go for it. Let yourself be free. Fuck all the men you want. You look like the type.”

The man smiled on the other side of the glass. “All you got is your mouth.”

“I took my clothes off for you,” Darwin said. “Come and get it. I’ll let you take my underwear off. Come on.”

“When Scythe opens this door in a minute, I’m coming in and I’m going to put a bullet in your face.”

“I said no talking,” Scy yelled. He stepped back into view, exiting the little room. “And you will not shoot him. Those aren’t our orders.”

“You should hear the shit he’s talking.”

“I don’t fucking care what he says. Don’t worry, he’ll get his. Now shut the fuck up.”

Scy disappeared in the little room again.

“See, I proved my point,” Darwin said.

The man stepped away from the glass, clearly agitated.

“You’re the woman here, taking orders from your husband. What, you can’t stand up to him?” Darwin waited, then added. “Fucking pussy.”

Scy stepped out, this time pulling a cart of some kind. Wires and netting stood at least six feet tall and had a small square table attached to its side. It looked like the inside of a mattress with all the cloth material missing. As Scy dragged it closer, Darwin saw the control box on the table with the large single dial.

An electrocution grid of some kind.

Two rings for the wrists were bolted into the top two corners. The base of the wire wall had a bowl that Scythe had added water to.

They’re going to electrocute me.

Darwin flushed the toilet. Water seeped over the edge. He flushed again.

“Stop doing that,” Scythe yelled through the glass. “We’ll all fry if there’s fucking water everywhere.”

Darwin flushed again.

“You little punk.”

Scythe pulled a small plastic fob out of his pocket and pushed a button. The glass door began moving on its rollers, opening slowly. He set the fob on the little table by the wire grid.

Darwin still sat on the mattress by the toilet. He flushed one more time. He took a deep breath and tried to remain as calm as he could, even though he shook all over.

“When I’m dead, what will Yuri say?”

“We’re not going to kill you.” Scythe stepped into the cell, followed by his accomplice, who still held the gun. “Just hurt you real bad.”

Darwin pointed past Scythe. “He said he was going to shoot me. You heard him. Something about someone I killed being in his family.”

Scythe stopped halfway across the cell and turned around.

“That true?” Scythe asked.

“No, he’s just fucking with you.”

“You heard him yourself,” Darwin pleaded.

Scythe stepped closer to Darwin. “Stand up.”

He flushed the toilet. “Fuck you. I stand up, this guy is going to shoot me.”

“No, he won’t,” Scythe said as he grabbed Darwin’s wrist and yanked him to his feet. Then he slapped Darwin across the face so fast he didn’t see it coming. His face stung and he saw stars for a moment.

This was trouble. He couldn’t get tied to that electrical unit and fried for fun.

He opened his eyes wide and looked past Scythe’s shoulder. Then he ducked back and yelled, “No! Don’t shoot.”

The man had stayed in the center of the cell, giving Scythe room to pull Darwin to his feet.