The Kill Read online

  He was lying. He had to be. “How would having us call the police help you?” she asked.

  He laughed and shook his head a little. He had bad teeth and five-day old beard. The guy looked unkempt, and yet he acted cocky and cool like he was in disguise.

  “You really don’t know who we are, do you? You aren’t aware of our world? How men like us have police on the payroll? How politicians, back home in Canada, do what we want? You live in your ivory towers and look down at us, not having any idea that we’re the ones who make the world go ‘round. You fucking whore,” his voice rose in volume. “You fucking slut. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

  Rosina didn’t think of herself as stupid or naive. She knew there were people like the man in front of her in the same world as her. But why would they hurt innocent, regular folk like Darwin and her. She was barely twenty-five years old. She’d never even been in a fight except for a little hair-pulling in grade school. As far as dealing with difficult people, Darwin had only ever dealt with his stepmother. But now these people were on their case. Apparently, they had Darwin. Now they had her. What was next? They would kill Darwin and her? No, she wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it.

  No way. I will deal with this and I will walk away. Darwin and I will live a long life together and men like this will be the ones who die young.

  She watched Rome flash by.

  “My name is the Harvester of Sorrow,” the unkempt man said. “I’m the distributor of pain. Do you like that?”

  Her disgust rose. They wouldn’t intimidate her that easily. She committed to herself that she wouldn’t show fear. She learned years ago in an after-school rape class that these kind of people relish the control they have over you. They yearn for the fear in your eyes. Don’t fight to get away. Don’t give them the pleasure. It may save your life.

  “No, can’t say I like that.”

  “Well, the shortest straw has been pulled for you.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Those are lyrics from the best Metallica album ever, And Justice For All. Harvester of Sorrow is a wicked tune. I took my name from that because I’m the guy that gets to hurt you.”

  “Calm down,” the man in the suit beside her said. “We don’t touch her until the boss says we can.”

  The two men looked at each other. “I know that. What the fuck you think I’m doing here? You best watch yourself, Gabe. Your time’ll come, and when it does, I’ll do you something special.”

  “Fuck you. I’ll be here long after you’ve rotted in an unmarked grave. Watch what the fuck you be saying to me. You’re not bulletproof.”

  The Harvester sat back and smiled like he owned the world. Rosina could barely control the fear inside her. But as long as they had her husband and they were taking her to see him, she was sure they’d work things out together.

  I feel stupid thinking this way, but these men are completely putting on a show. They don’t torture people and kill them anymore. Only in random cases.

  It took ten more minutes of negotiating Rome’s traffic before they pulled into an underground garage. The driver wound down and into an open, empty parking area except for three black vans.

  The limousine came to a stop beside the vans. Men approached the vehicle and opened all the doors in the back.

  “Get out,” one of the men ordered.

  Rosina decided to stay silent and do her best to show zero fear.

  She followed the line of six men as they walked her to an elevator. She almost felt like she was in a Quentin Tarantino movie with six mafia men standing around in expensive suits, in Rome, the home of the Italian mafia, escorting a helpless young woman to her final meeting. Then she banished the thought as soon as it entered her head. Quentin’s movies got a little bloody at times and there would be nothing final about her meeting upstairs. Nothing at all.

  Ding.

  The elevator doors opened. Three men filed in and turned around. Rosina entered and then the other three followed, with the Harvester standing closest to her.

  The ride was quick, a relief as the thick air in the confined elevator was beginning to get to her.

  The doors opened onto a gorgeous floor. The walls were marble, the carpets plush. Before they got too far, the Harvester stuck a key into the elevator panel and twisted it, locking the elevator out of service.

  I guess we aren’t to be interrupted.

  The men escorted her through a pair of glass double doors and into an office that would resemble any high-paid lawyer’s domain back in Canada.

  They continued down a hallway and walked, one by one, through a smaller door.

  The door was small, but the room was large. It would easily seat fifteen men. Couches lined the walls, armchairs and tables sat at random places. It looked like a luncheon room for the rich.

  In the far corner sat a large banker’s desk and, behind it, a man who appeared from a distance to be at least seventy-five years old.

  “Come, sit,” he said, with a flourish of his hand.

  Rosina was directed to a solitary chair positioned in front of the big desk. She walked up and stood in front of it. All the men fell back, some took positions near the door and others sat on the plush couches.

  “So good to finally meet you,” the old man said. “Please, have a seat.”

  “I’ll stand, thank you. But I think you have it wrong here. I’m the one who is happy to finally meet you.”

  He cocked his head a little. Someone behind her laughed under his breath. The old man raised his hand and the laughter ceased instantly.

  “Why would that be?” he asked, his voice firm.

  “You, or at least I’m assuming it’s you, have been terrorizing my husband and making his life a living hell for too long. It has to stop and that’s why I’m here. To make some kind of deal, some kind of arrangement so this petty bullying will come to an end. Then we can all move on.”

  This time it was the old man who chuckled.

  “Where do you people come from?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He stood up, reached for a cane beside the desk and limped around it. He stepped closer to her, studying her face. He bent a little to the left, then the right, and gawked at her as if he was attempting to figure something out.

  “Do I have something on my face?” Rosina asked.

  He stood to his full height, which was still an inch shorter than Rosina’s five-nine, and shook his head.

  “Not yet.” He lifted his cane, put it in both hands, like he was about to bunt a ball with a baseball bat, and shoved forward with the strength of a boxer in the ring. The cane smacked into her chest so hard, she had no time to recover. Her balance lost, she fell backwards, into the chair.

  “I told you to sit down when you first entered my office. The next time you disobey me, the consequences will prove to be more severe.”

  The old man turned away and walked away on both legs, without a limp, and without the use of the cane.

  Rosina sat there, breathing rapidly as her heart rate shot up.

  Concentrate, breathe, no fear. Concentrate, breathe, no fear.

  “You and I have a unique problem,” he said. “You, personally, have done me no harm.” He reached his desk and sat down again. He picked up what looked like a gold-colored letter opener and started tapping it on the desk. “But I have to do you harm.”

  “Why?” It was out before she could stop it. Her voice was weak, frightened and limp.

  No, be honest with yourself. That’s fear.

  “Because Darwin Athios Kostas does not have any children for me to kill.”

  What the fuck?

  “I can see by the expression on your face you either don’t understand the gravity of the situation, because you don’t understand what’s happening here, or you think I’m a sick and twisted individual.” He stopped talking and ceased movement of his letter opener. He looked down at it and then, after a moment he looked back up at her. �
�Or maybe you think I am all of the above. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The world is one big machine, living off the foundation of cause and effect. More specifically, I’m talking about consequences.” He started tapping his letter opener again. “You do something, you have to answer for it. There are consequences and there are debts to be paid.”

  “What has that got anything to do with my husband and me? We don’t owe you any money.”

  “That’s not the kind of currency that’ll pay this debt. The currency I want is blood.”

  “What? You’re insane,” Rosina said.

  Blood? Get real. This is crazy. Oh Darwin, where are you?

  The old man dropped the letter opener and stood up, placing both hands evenly on either side of his desk.

  “Get me the water cure.”

  Men scurried away behind her. She had no idea what a water cure was. Maybe the guy had some disease and he needed his medicine.

  “Look, what has my husband—”

  “Silence!” he shouted.

  Two men ran up beside her and grabbed both her arms.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  A man came from behind and wrapped a hand over her mouth. His hand was so large, it completely covered her mouth and nose. Instantly, she couldn’t breathe.

  Real panic set in. She tried to struggle but couldn’t move. All three men had vise grip claws.

  The one behind her inched closer and whispered in her ear, “The boss said to be quiet. I’d advise you listen to him.”

  He eased up on her nose in that second. Air rushed into her starved lungs. She gasped and breathed as fast and hard as she could. Lightheadedness came over her.

  They placed her on the floor on her back. The man who had been behind her let go of her face. She breathed through her open mouth, trying not to make any noise. This would all be over soon. They’d let her go. Cops would come. This didn’t happen in her world. This couldn’t happen.

  One of the men stood over her with a funnel.

  What the hell is that for?

  At a squeaking noise behind her, she leaned her head back and saw the Harvester of Sorrow from the limousine wheeling something that looked like a keg into the room.

  Is this his water cure?

  The rest of the men surrounded her. In that moment, she realized it was for her. She tried to get up, but only made it a few inches before they shoved her back down. Hands grappled all over body, holding her immobile.

  “Hold her tight,” Harvester said.

  A hand clamped over her mouth again. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything but watch Harvester bend over with the funnel and a plastic tube that came from the keg.

  Fingers parted over her mouth. They were going to make her drink whatever was in the keg. She redoubled her efforts to get away, but to no avail.

  The funnel entered her mouth. At the same moment water flowed through the funnel, the hand on her mouth clamped her nose shut. In order to breathe, she had to use her mouth. In order to do that, she had to swallow.

  Rosina tried to hold out, but lasted all of three seconds. She took swallow after swallow, as fast as she could, in the useless attempt to rid the water from her mouth in order to breathe. She also drank as fast as she could to avoid drowning. If one breath was forced into her lungs, it would be filled with water.

  As fast as it started, it stopped. Both the hand on her face and the funnel were removed.

  Rosina sucked air in. She couldn’t believe how tasty it was. She blinked away tears and then the hand returned. The funnel jammed into her mouth so hard, she thought one of her teeth chipped.

  Water coursed past her lips. She couldn’t take anymore. Her stomach was filling up. Her lungs were starving. She was going to pass out. Consciousness wavered, and yet she swallowed. They held her longer this time, and still she swallowed.

  Her eyes rolled back. At the last second, when she was about to breathe and drown on the floor of the expensive office, the funnel was removed and she was bodily lifted into the air. Water sloshed out of her mouth and hit the carpet. Her stomach felt bloated to the point of bursting. Blackness hovered around her peripheral vision. She saw stars and coughed a few times.

  The men carried her to the side of the room where a large bucket had been placed. No one talked. She heard nothing but the rustling of their clothes.

  They stood her up. She remained conscious but groggy.

  Harvester stepped in front of her and smiled.

  Smug bastard. Wait until you’re in jail for this. We’ll see how much you’re smiling with some big guy calling you his bitch.

  Without warning, he drove his fist into her bloated stomach.

  She couldn’t believe it. Why would he do that? She doubled over and coughed, on the edge of throwing up. Her eyes watered and she fought to keep everything down. Breathing became an even greater task.

  The men on either side righted her and Harvester whispered, “Harvester of Sorrow,” as he rammed his fist into her gut even harder.

  She couldn’t hold it back. Everything she just swallowed rushed out of her mouth and into the large bucket in a torrent. She gagged and threw up again. When she thought it was almost over, the men raised her one more time and Harvester kicked her in the stomach.

  She doubled over and threw up for the fourth time, wondering if someone could die from a kick to the stomach.

  She gagged so much, she couldn’t catch a breath. So this is what getting the wind knocked out of you means.

  She couldn’t breathe. It felt like her stomach had closed up shop. Her diaphragm wouldn’t cooperate.

  Without warning, men jumped on her again, tossed her to the floor, and held down every movable part. Even if she wanted to struggle, she had lost any resolve to give a good fight. She could barely breathe, her world going black.

  Then the funnel was jammed into her mouth. She tried to shout the word ‘No’ but the water flowed and she couldn’t swallow anymore. She couldn’t breathe, and consciousness was coming to a close.

  She felt the curtain dropping, the show over. Could this really be it? Were these men going to kill her? Would her stomach explode from the force of the water shoved into her body?

  “Stop!” someone yelled off in the distance.

  The funnel yanked away. She was manhandled to her feet but couldn’t hold herself up anymore. They let her fall to the carpeted floor, where she curled into a ball and tried to get her breathing back to a steady rhythm.

  The wheels of the water keg squeaked away, much to her relief. She thought for a moment she was dying. Whatever the reason for the reprieve, she was thankful.

  The chore of regular breathing took some effort, but once she felt better, Rosina opened her eyes and looked at the old man behind his desk.

  “You come into my office, disrespect me by not sitting when I ask you to. You argue with me and call me insane. You’re Italian by descent. Have you no manners? Do it again, disobey me again, and you won’t walk right for many years to come, even if you live through your torture.”

  Real fear, the kind you eat and digest, consumed her. She wasn’t in the company of men. She was listening to, and being dictated to, by a man Lucifer would consider a friend.

  “Now, let’s see if you have learned your lesson. Sit up in the chair that was provided for you. Do it now.”

  It’s interesting how fear could also be a motivator. She had no strength to move, no will to get up, but knowing what would happen if she didn’t listen to him, somehow she found the strength. Rosina turned and crawled to the chair. She used its legs to pull herself onto the seat, and then she pushed off the carpet with her legs, dropping her butt onto the seat, without falling down once.

  The effort expended further exhausted her. She panted like she’d been jogging. Her stomach felt foreign and bile lined her mouth. She tried to swallow, but the desire had left her. Spittle slowly dripped from her lips, dangling in long beads, collecting on the carpet by her feet.

 
“Someone, get her a Kleenex. Now.”

  People shuffled behind her. A moment later a handkerchief was shoved into her hand. She wiped at her mouth and brought her eyes to the old man.

  “Good,” he said. “Now I have your attention. I prefer you this way. No spunk. I believe a woman should be more docile than the demanding wench you were when you entered my office. Have I got your full attention? I really need to be clear on this. So tell me, are you listening?”