Pay Up and Die (19 page)

Martin moved in closer until he was hovering over Graves. His eyes were wide and his breath warmed Derrick’s face.

“You know what I did to someone else who talked to me like that?” Derrick rolled his eyes and looked to the side. “This person also called me names and made me feel bad. I kept my mouth shut for years and took it. I took it all. Whatever he dished out, I asked for seconds.”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much. I’m actually shocked that you can bunch sentences together into a full story.” Derrick laid the sarcasm on thickly. Martin ignored him and continued.

“I worked hard to build up my courage, my plan, my body. Then one day, a day much like today, I decided that I wasn’t going to be the whipping boy anymore. So I cut him open while he was still alive. I strung his guts around the room as he watched me reach inside and pull everything out. I made sure I took my time with him so he could experience every minute, just like I did. And the whole time I worked him over, not once, not once, did he say he was sorry. You wanna know who that person was, Graves? My old man.”

“Oh spare me your mommy issues and sob stories. You think you had it tough. Well everyone has it tough growing up, pal. You. Me. Everybody. But the real difference between us all, Martin, is brains. Some people have brains. Like me. And others? Well, let’s just say you won’t be on Jeopardy any time soon.”

Martin shoved Derrick. Derrick stumbled backwards almost sprawling over Michael before he caught himself. He came back in open defiance of Martin.

“I have done all your dirty work for years. I’ve taken your shit and you have disrespected me for the last time, Graves. I ain’t taking orders from you anymore.”

“No, you’re not taking orders from me anymore. Because I’m going to find a real man who knows where his bread is buttered. But you WILL help me clean up this mess you created.” Derrick’s voice began to quiver. “My wife is dead. The kid is dead. There is a shit load of fallout from this and it is all your fault. You have a chance to redeem yourself and help me clean it all up so I can still get that fucking job. The job that I have worked my whole life for so I can take care of my wife.” He started to cry as he thought about Rachel.

“Funny you brought up your wife, Graves.”

Derrick’s sobs slowed and he looked at Martin.

“Wright’s backup didn’t kill your wife.” He paused as those words hung in the air like a model plane. “I killed her. That one was on the house.” As Martin said it he hooked his thumbs back to take all the credit. Derrick hyperventilated at the terrible news. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Derrick sprung into Martin with a lowered shoulder. The lunge hardly moved the larger man from his position. Martin wrapped his arms around Derrick’s waist and hurled him through the air like a rag doll. Derrick crashed into one of the gazebo posts and flopped to the floor in pain. The wind completely knocked out of him. Martin picked Derrick up by the throat with both hands and lifted him to the ceiling. Derrick felt Andrew’s cold body against his back. He also felt a few nails scratch through his clothing. Each prick brought trickles of blood.

With the lack of oxygen getting to his brain, Derrick grew desperate to free himself of the big man’s clutches. He swung a knee into Martin’s chest with ample force. But Martin only had to shift one foot back to maintain balance. So Derrick adjusted his aim and brought another knee forward with as much force as he could manage. The well-aimed knee caught Martin in the throat. He instantly dropped Derrick and fell to his own knees, gasping for air.

Derrick landed hard on his back. The pain rocketed from his tail bone up to his skull and back down. He grabbed his lower back and rolled onto his stomach. He, too, was gasping for air after Martin nearly choked him out. Derrick lowered his head to the gritty cement floor, attempting to fill up with air while burying the shooting pain in his back. He looked left and saw Martin choking on his knees. The sight of the large man struggling gave Derrick a second wind. He hunched onto all fours before standing up. The pain spiraled up and down his spine. Derrick managed to stand, wobbly at first, and then more steady. He walked gingerly over to Martin and kicked him as hard as he could in the stomach. The big man dropped from all fours down to the cement, rolling over in a ball while clutching his mid-section.

After the kick, Derrick rested with hands on knees, deciding what to do next. He knew he had to take care of Martin completely or else Martin would kill him. Martin wasn’t the kind to just hurt people for the fun of it. Even though he enjoyed hurting people, the end game was always death. Derrick knew Martin’s intent would be to finish him off. He stumbled over to the toolbox and grabbed a meat tenderizer. Then he dropped it back into the box, knowing a bludgeoning would take far too long and too much effort. So he grabbed the serrated hunting knife and unfolded the blade. It locked into place with a silent click that he felt through his hand.

Derrick was about to turn around when a huge fist punched the back of his head. He dropped the knife and fell over the gazebo railing. Derrick’s eyes were wide open but the stars he saw had nothing to do with the clear night sky. Hundreds of white hot spots flashed before his vision and he struggled not to piss himself. Martin grabbed Derrick’s hair and swung his head forward and back several times. Derrick’s forehead caught the railing, each time splattering blood on the mulch below. The force behind him was too strong to push backward. So Derrick used Martin’s momentum to his advantage and flung himself over the railing into the small shrubbery.

Martin wasted little time getting after Derrick. He rounded the gazebo doorway and stomped across the landscaping to attack again. Derrick was puking on the ground and in a bad position to defend himself. Martin lifted a huge booted foot and brought it down on the center of Derrick’s back. A loud crunch sounded as the boot stomp re-aligned several vertebra. Derrick squealed and writhed in pain with mulch stuck to his puke-covered and blood-soaked face. Martin lifted Derrick’s head by his hair and dragged him across the mulch. Derrick tried to pry the huge hands from his scalp but the grip was too strong.

Martin let go of Derrick when he reached his toolbox. He lowered his forearm with full force upon Derrick’s nose. Blood sprayed outward with a sickening crunch. Derrick cried out in agony and rolled around on the cement floor. Martin went to work in his toolbox, figuring he had a few minutes to prep the kill now that Derrick was preoccupied. He rifled through the tools and began laying out his favorite ones in the order he liked to use them.

Derrick remained blind to all that was going on around him. His eyes had filled with tears upon the bone crunching forearm strike. The tears were mixed with the blood that ran down his split forehead. His whole faced burned with destruction. But he knew he had to do something. If he didn’t act immediately he would be dead in a few minutes, or worse, in a few hours. With one hand coddling his mashed face, Derrick used the other hand to feel its way along the floor for something to use against Martin. He knew that there were things all over the ground from their struggle but he hoped he could even find a large enough rock or anything that can help him put a dent in the large man’s skull. His fingernails scratched along the cement in a desperate search. He brushed along something that was thin and silky feeling. His hand played upon the object when he realized it was some type of cordage. Rather than feeling for the ends, Derrick snatched it in his fist and rolled over onto a knee. Through his blurred vision he staggered toward Martin who was still fumbling with his toolbox. He lunged forward and wrapped the cord around Martin’s neck and pulled tight.

Martin was so occupied with his thoughts of torture that he never heard Derrick coming. The cord pulled tight around his neck and he immediately reached up to try to pull the cord away. It was too late to avoid the strangulation. The cord bit deep into his throat, cutting off all oxygen. He desperately strained to reach back and gouge at Derrick’s eyes but Derrick had smartly shrunk down Martin’s back as he pulled the cord tight. Such a position made it impossible for the big man to reach up and get at his attacker. So he leaned back all his weight into Derrick. From on top, Martin was able to reign elbows into Derrick’s body beneath him. Each blow stung Derrick badly but he maintained his tension on the cord with every fiber of his being.

After several more seconds of the struggle, the elbows became weaker and slower. Each blow doing less damage. Martin’s eyes bugged out of his face as he gasped for one more breath of air. His grunts of struggle were empty and his arms fell limp at his sides. The dead weight of the large man settled even further into Derrick, making breathing difficult for him too. He continued pulling the cord tight to ensure his quarry was dead. His hands were bleeding from pulling the cord so tight, cutting into his palms and knuckles. He hoped that Martin was finally dead so he could get back to cleaning up this mess. Derrick pulled tighter one more time but got no fight from Martin. So he let go of the cord and gasped for air. He felt exhausted. Derrick fought to climb out from under Martin. He got free and stared up at the ceiling of the gazebo. Seeing Andrew nailed up reminded him of how far things had gone. He thought of Rachel and her crumpled body on the garage floor. The thought of losing Rachel hurt him far more than all the wounds he suffered tonight.

Chapter 44

Michael became aware of the battle that was taking place above him. He opened his eyes and saw the large man choking Derrick. He had Derrick around the neck, lifted up off the ground. Derrick was trying to knee himself out of trouble. Michael hoped that he lost the struggle.

His head was throbbing so hard that it felt as if his eyes would pop out of their sockets. Each pulse shoved the eyes out and then sucked them back in. His face didn’t feel much better. Michael knew his nose was broken and it felt like his left eye was swollen. He rolled his tongue through his mouth and identified a few loose teeth to add to the list. His whole body was numb, but not numb enough to block out all the pain centers from ringing their alarms.

Lying on the cement floor, Michael looked again at Andrew’s body hanging from the ceiling. His heart hammered his chest with sorrow. He tried to imagine the fear and the horror that Andrew had experienced in his last hours. It was too much for any parent to imagine their child’s pain, let alone such a terrifying death such as this. Michael wondered how he was going to explain all this to Stephanie...and Allison. How could he put such a scene delicately? There would be no way to adequately comfort them in this loss.

Michael was so distraught. He knew that everything was his fault. People were losing their lives tonight all because he failed to handle his finances properly. Andrew. Murph. Rachel. And probably himself and Derrick before the night was over. He almost laughed out loud when he suddenly thought that his financial woes were mere child’s play compared to all the death and destruction. But he stifled the laugh as quickly as it arose. He knew he had to remain quiet if he had any chance of getting out of this alive. Michael knew he had to get free if he had any hope of surviving. No matter who won the battle that was currently ensuing, Michael was a dead man. If Derrick survived, which he thought was highly unlikely, then he knew Derrick had plans to take out his family members one by one. He couldn’t be sure the large man wouldn’t do the same, but he had a gut feeling that the guy was only interested in killing Derrick and him. Or at least he tried to convince himself of that notion.

The tides had turned as Derrick kicked the huge man hard in the throat.

Michael wriggled his position an inch closer to the toolbox, which was still several feet away from him. He managed to maneuver himself so slowly while keeping his eyes shut to avoid detection. He wriggled again and his foot tapped an object. Opening his right eye, he strained to tilt his head down to the item that had brushed his foot. He saw that it was a knife. He didn’t understand why it was sitting out in the open but he brushed the puzzle aside to focus on getting the knife. Michael carefully glanced to the left and saw the men struggling over the gazebo railing. He took the opportunity to scooch down so that the knife was closer to his waist. Michael kept an eye on the action above while he rolled quietly to the left so his hands could access the knife. He grabbed it between his fingers so quickly that the blade sliced across his middle finger. He winced in pain as it bit his skin. Michael repositioned his hands to clasp the knife by the handle. His hands were wrapped too tight by the duct tape to slide the knife up and down. So he rested his weight on top of the knife to try to get his body to handle the motion. He rocked himself up and down slowly so as not to attract attention but he had some leeway as both men were fighting outside the gazebo at the moment.

Just when he felt some fibers of tape rip the knife would tilt over on its side. Michael had to re-work the knife to a position where the blade was angled upward, and start the motion all over again. This went on for another minute until Michael felt a bigger section of the tape come free. It was enough for him to wiggle his hands back and forth to stretch the last bit of tape. He felt his right hand come free but he kept both of his arms beneath him as the battle moved back into the gazebo. The large man actually dragged Derrick by his hair right over Michael’s feet. He continued to play dead and bit his tongue down to avoid letting out a scream when they went over his bruised ankle.

Michael’s thoughts returned to getting away. He really wanted to kill Derrick with his own bare hands after what had happened to Andrew and Murph. But rationality told him he should try to escape and get the police involved. Now that his hands were free, he thought he might be able to make a run for it. The two men were fighting to the death and might not notice him running across the field to the truck. And if they did notice, he figured he might have enough of a head start to jump in and drive away before they can catch him. Of course, he realized that plan would only work if the keys were still in the ignition. And he had no idea if they were or weren’t. The thought of getting that close to safety only to be killed because of a half-baked plan ate away at his confidence. He would have to stay and fight. But he was going to fight only one man. So he needed to let these two try to kill each other. Whoever was left standing would hopefully have very little energy left to fight again. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to survive this atrocity.