The Kill (10 page)

“You bit the fucker’s ear off? You are one crazy bastard. But you are one
alive
crazy bastard. I always knew I loved you, Darwin.”

“I got lucky, Agent Greg. I could’ve been killed.”

“I know. Listen. Call me Greg. No more Agent Greg, okay? Now, I’ll catch the next plane out. Don’t do anything without me. Stay low. Do not go anywhere more than once. Check into a ritzy hotel. They won’t expect that. Stay away from the cops. They could be on the payroll. Stay low until I get there, okay? Don’t do anything without me.”

“Got it. How do we get in touch again?”

“You have my cell number, don’t you?”

Darwin looked at Greg’s business card.

Fucking dummy.

“Yeah, it’s here on your card.”

“Good. Call me this time tomorrow. I should be on Italian soil. But be prepared for resistance.”

“Resistance? What are you talking about?”

“I’m FBI, Darwin. I work for the American government. I had special clearance in Toronto to work the Fuccini case. The FBI isn’t a global police force. When I get to Rome, I’m going to have to ask for clearance. It is a professional courtesy. If they deny me, I’ll be just like you, a tourist. I’d have to have some serious shit on the Fuccini family to be able to pursue them in Rome. Serious shit does not include your word that they’re trying to kill you. Get it?”

“Got it.”

Everything sounded good until that. Things seemed to be going downhill fast. Did the Fuccini family have to kill him to get on the police radar?

“Okay, stay low and stay alive. I can’t have my resident hero dead because I couldn’t get there fast enough. We cool?”

“We’re cool.”

Darwin hung up, discouraged. Sure Greg was coming to Rome and it only took a phone call to get him there. But the chance that he had no power over here, and Rosina was alone in Greece, made him feel like he had failed. Things were all wrong. He didn’t have a plan. He had no idea what the next step was and yet his life hung in the balance.

Sorry, Rosina. Some man I turned out to be.

Chapter 5

Rosina rolled, tossed, and turned to a splitting headache. She lay on a small mattress on the floor of an adjoining office. Two men were posted outside her door. The room had no window, or at least it was boarded up. The only light came from a small lamp beside her mattress.

They’d left a couple bottles of water for her, but so far, she had difficulty even looking at them.

It had dawned on her how close she had come to being tortured and killed. What kind of men were these people? How could they all look at her as they had? She was a real person and yet, some kind of mob mentality had set in. They didn’t see her as someone’s daughter, as someone’s friend. They’d seen her as a piece of meat. Was that really the way human beings were? Had they’d shown her a level of debased humanity?

What was going to happen to her? Would someone come for her?

She dabbed the tears off her cheeks as she wept, her thoughts caused her to feel even more paranoid. How could she have been so stupid? She knowingly walked into their grasp. She could’ve been in Athens. She could’ve been far from these people. But she walked off the plane and right into their hands.

She did it for her husband. She had to remember that reason and stay as strong as she could, because there was a very real chance that these men would capture Darwin and bring him there.

She would need to be strong for him. She only hoped she’d get to see her husband one more time before she died.

She rolled into a ball on the mattress, wrapped her arms around her legs and cried.

What a fucking honeymoon this turned out to be.

If she ever got the chance, she’d take down as many as she could before she died. Even if that meant throwing herself out the window. She’d grab a few of them as she went.

A knock on the door startled her.

Before she acknowledged the man at the door, he was already opening it. Light spilled in from the hallway. The door shut behind him and the light got cut off.

What now? Personal interrogations?

“Dinner,” he said.

The man walked over and set a large plate of steaming lasagna down beside the lamp.

“I’m,” she paused to clear her throat, “I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter. Eat. You do not want to piss off the boss. If he says eat, then you fucking well eat.”

The man walked over to the wall and leaned against it. As far as she could tell in the dim light, he stared at her.

“What?” she asked. “Are you supposed to stand there and watch me eat? How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”

The man pulled something out of his pocket and started twiddling it in his hands. She waited. He didn’t respond right away.

He pushed off the wall and walked back to her mattress. She unrolled her body and edged away.

He squatted, clutching a rosary.

Religious bumfucks. Who knew?

“There isn’t any poison in your food. Didn’t anything that happened to you today give you any insight?”

“What are you talking about,
insight
? The only reason they stopped was to keep me in good condition in case my husband proved difficult. So I’m still meat, just a different kind. Bait.”

The man shook his head back and forth and flipped his rosary in a circle around his palm.

“No, there is a blood debt that has to be collected. Poisoning you means you don’t bleed.” He stopped, contemplated something, and then said, “Well, I guess there’d be bleeding on the inside, but that wouldn’t do. The boss wouldn’t be able to see it.”

“Hmmph,” she mumbled.

“Anyway, whatever. I’m here to take you to the bathroom too. Can’t have you soiling your pretty panties. Not with what’s coming. Get it, coming?” He laughed.

What a horrible sound.

“I don’t have to go.”

“Oh yes, you do. Man, aren't you defiant? I’m here to take you to the bathroom. That’s it. I have a job to do. I do it. No questions asked. You’re supposed to go to the bathroom, so you go. Whether you shit or piss makes no difference to me. But you’re going. Got it?”

His face had changed. His eyes seemed wider, his teeth closer together when he talked. She could tell she was trying his patience.

Well, fuck him. To make a point, I should defy him. Get him killed for not taking me to the bathroom.

She rolled off the mattress and got to her knees. She used the wall to help her stand on wobbly legs.

“Good girl. Follow me. Do not deviate. As you’ve already seen, penalties are severe.”

She nodded, most of the fight beaten out of her. The only thing she could count on was her internal voice. The voice of reason, understanding and coping. She could call them all the names she wanted in her head and they couldn’t touch her.

The man led her out of the room, down the hall a few doors and then opened the ladies bathroom door. He stepped into the sink area and waited.

“What?” he asked. “I am not letting you out of my sight. I won’t watch you piss or shit, but I’m staying right outside the stall door. Now, do this thing.”

She stepped into the stall and tried to deal with the humiliation of having to go with a man just outside the door. When finished, she washed her hands and followed him back to her jail. The two men on either side of her door were new, spelling the others. They parted and let the two of them inside.

The man shut the door behind them.

“Aren’t we done here?” she asked.

“I want to make sure, before I go, that you start eating. I can’t leave without knowing I did my job.”

Rosina knelt down, eased her sore frame onto the mattress, and picked up the lasagna. It smelled amazing. She couldn’t believe she was so hungry after all she’d been through.

The first bite woke up her stomach. Then, before she realized what was happening, the man hustled over and dropped down beside her.

“Here, take this,” he whispered.

He held out the rosary for her. She looked up into his eyes.

“I’ve only got a second and then I have to go. I’m here undercover. Say nothing to no one. I won’t let them kill you. I can’t say if I can stop more torture, but I’ll do my best. Do you understand?”

She nodded and reached out to take the rosary.

“Good. Listen closely. The Fuccini family showed up here four days ago, looking for you and your husband. They don’t have the muscle in Italy like they have in Canada. They had to reach out, ask for help from their family ties in Sicily and ask permission to conduct business here in Rome. It was granted last night. I am one of a dozen men sent over to handle the Kostas situation. I’ve been undercover for three years now and my real bosses are about to pull me. I’ll be taking you with me. Got it?”

Rosina felt shock, salvation and hope course through her. It was like she was on a failing plane when all of a sudden everything righted, and the pilot came on and said he got the engine restarted. They were going to be okay. She nodded at him.

“Good, play it cool. Do what they say. This’ll be over soon.”

He stood up and stepped away. “Good,” he said, his voice louder. “Eat all your fucking food or I’ll come back and force feed you.”

As he exited between the two men in the hall, he muttered, “Stupid bitch.”

One of the guards slammed the door shut, casting Rosina back in the dark.

But it wasn’t as dark anymore.

Chapter 6

Darwin wondered what he would do for the next twenty-four hours. Where would he stay, what would he eat? Greg told him to check in at a ritzy hotel, but which one?

He walked along the crowded train station in a daze, unfocused, rudderless.

The first step would be a weapon. But what kind? Knives were out of the question, of course. Along that line of thought, he hated the dark too. Absolute darkness caused him to have panic attacks. He found he just couldn’t cope well after living with his stepmom. All those years of being tossed in the room in the basement that had no window. The things she would prick his skin with for hours. He remembered if he cried once, or even mumbled a single peep of protest, she would start again, poking and pricking him with sharp needles, in the pitch-black room.

He always said one day he would do it to her, and when he got the chance in that barn, he used a pitchfork. No one ever found out it was him and he was okay with that. One less fucked up human for the rest of humanity to deal with.

One day he would tell Rosina all about it. How his stepmother was always pricking him and his father had no idea as he was away from home a lot. Darwin was bleeding in a dozen spots that day. His stepmother was about to lock him up in the dark room again, but Darwin escaped and ran at least a kilometer away. He hid in a barn that didn’t look used for anything other than hay storage. When his stepmother found him three hours later, she was furious. She saw a pitchfork against the wall of the barn and came at him. He recalled her saying something about pricking him
real
good this time. He dodged left, he dodged right, and kept himself off the long tongs of the pitchfork, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before she got lucky.

The sun was setting that afternoon, casting the barn into darkness. His ability to control his temper became too difficult. When she lunged again, he dropped to the hay-covered floor, reached up and grabbed the handle of the pitchfork. After twisting it from her grasp, he moved at her with a quick jab. It entered her chest, and she died in less than two minutes.

Darwin ran from the area and never looked back. He knew no one saw him because it never came up. His morose attitude was attributed to the loss and funeral of his stepmother.
 

He wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t a repeat offender. It was a one-time deal of getting back at the source of years of pain and anguish. Years of torment and torture at the hands of a psycho.

His father had been absent all those years, working late hours. When he finally broke down and told his dad what his stepmother had been doing, his father wouldn’t believe it.

Darwin was left emotionally damaged and scarred. He developed a violent reaction, an outright insane anger, to anything sharp being pointed at him. Although,
he
couldn’t hold a knife. No way. He’d end up getting angry at himself, piss himself off. He couldn’t have that.

So what kind of weapon would work? A taser? A stun-gun. A pellet gun? But he had no idea where he would get those things in Rome.

Darwin took the escalator back up to the main floor and started walking along the line of train tracks, some occupied, others not.

He passed by a stationery store on the right and came up with a great idea for a weapon.