Filed to story: Return of the Reaper Story
“You lied to them, John.”
“What do you want from me? I’m just a working guy making an honest living.”
“You’re not honest.”
The fuck?
“You steal from the owners of that bar.”
Johnny said nothing. Was this what it was all about? About his skimming?
“You take home a hundred a night out of the till. Maybe more.”
“How do you know, asshole? You see me take from the till? You know you didn’t.”
“No. You’re smarter than that. You keep a new matchbook handy but you don’t smoke. You tear out a match for every five bucks you don’t enter on the register. End of the night you have your own count. That goes into your pocket. You went through a whole book tonight.”
Johnny broke a sweat. His face was slick with it. It chilled his scalp as the cold air touched it.
“I don’t care about that, John. I’m here and you’re here about the girl.”
“I can tell you what I told the cops,” Johnny said after clearing his throat. He fought back the shivers that wracked him.
“You told them lies. I want the truth. You can tell me the truth.”
“Fuck you.”
“You can tell me the truth, John. You want to tell me the truth.”
“Why do I want to do that, asshole?”
“Because whoever told you what lies to tell isn’t here. I’m here. You deal with me now. I’m the guy who owns your future.”
“You gonna kill me? Is that your big plan, chief?” Johnny tried to gin up some defiance. He was a tough guy. Everybody knew he was a tough guy. Because of that rep nobody fucked with him. This guy was fucking with him. This guy was all about fucking with people. Johnny’s rep was built on the minor league ice. This guy was a major league goon.
“You know why you’re strapped to a toilet, John?”
Johnny held his breath.
“Because I don’t like cleaning up after.”
Johnny’s vision swam even though he was blinded by the tape over his eyes. A gusher of piss exploded from him, creating a fountain sound that bounced off the tiles all around.
“So, you tell me who the girl was with that night. Tell me their names. What car they drove. Anything you know. Anything you can remember. Tell me everything I need to know. And everything you think doesn’t matter. Everything. And tell me who told you to lie. Names. Where they’re from.”
“Then what?” Johnny said with a croak.
“Tell me something good first. Then we see what happens next.”
What happened next after Johnny told all he knew was the guy cut the tape holding him down to the bowl. Not even a ripping sound as the blade sliced through the tape holding his wrists behind the pipe that went into the wall. The man leaned close to cut the bands over his legs and gut. No fear of Johnny moving on him. Johnny’s arms were locked up with cold and his hands were dead numb.
A sharp snick told him the guy had retracted the blade of a carpet knife back into the handle. Johnny was free to move except for the strip over his eyes. He heard the work boots crunch away over the gritty tile floor. A squeal of rusting hinges. A gust of cold air.
He was alone. The guy was gone. He could hear a car start and pull away, crushing gravel.
Jonny tried to rise off the bowl. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. They gave under him and he fell against a steel partition wall before crashing to the floor. He lay on the icy tiles and howled as the circulation returned to his hands and legs and ass like liquid fire.
It was a long time before he could make his fingers work to tear the tape off his face. It was gray duct tape. It took off one whole eyebrow. He blinked blood from that eye.
Just as he thought. He was in a public restroom. A long row of stalls with a bank of sinks across from them. The place was familiar. Johnny braced himself on a sink stand and stood up with an effort to look around for his shoes and clothes. The shoes were okay but the clothes were slashed in strips where the guy had cut them off.
Naked and shivering he stepped outside into cold dawn light. He was facing a broad parking lot with trees beyond. Walking further out on the wooden deck he could see the waters of the Gulf. Gentle rollers crept up on a stony beach.
Johnny had been here once before. It was Honeymoon Island, a state park north of Tampa. People would surf cast off the rocks and there was a beach where you could bring your dog. It was closed at night. The guy at the bar knew that. Maybe he was a local. It didn’t matter now.
What did matter was for Johnny to get his naked self back to his car and then his apartment in Temple Terrace, grab his stash, pack the car and get as far as fuck away from Florida as he could before whatever shit the stranger had planned started raining down. This bully knew when to get off the ice.
Those plans struck a hitch when the park rangers found Johnny tramping for the exit wearing only his loafers and a plastic trash bag cinched around his waist to cover his ass.
The roof of the derelict Winn-Dixie gave Isaac a clear vantage point.
He could see the front and rear of Skip’s. Johnny’s Audi was still parked in the fenced courtyard from the night before. A van was parked by it now. The van had Eezy Breezy Cleaning printed on a magnetic sign on the side. A fat guy sat sipping convenience store coffee and chain smoking at the wheel.
Around nine a new BMW purred to the spot next to the Audi. Two men exited. The driver was a stocky guy who wore the last Member’s Only jacket on Earth. The passenger was taller and younger and moved with a gym rat swagger. He wore a Bolts jersey with the tail out. The men could have been brothers or father and son. Both had dark wavy hair worn long on top. The older held a leather bag under his arm. It had a clasp atop it like an old school doctor’s bag.
They walked past the smoker in the van without a word or gesture. A flash of gold bracelet when the younger one held the door open for the older. A momentary bulge along the right hip under the jersey. Armed. Both entered and locked the door behind them.
Isaac took down the license plate number of the Beemer. He crouched and waited.
Around ten thirty, two middle-aged Latinas exited the back door. Isaac could hear the row of deadbolts locking behind them. The pair of women wore matching smocks, jeans and sneakers. One carried two plastic carry-alls with spray bottles and rags in each hand. The other hauled out a pair of loaded trash bags which she tossed into the rusting dumpster that stood against the back wall. They climbed into the van and it backed out through the fence, piloted by the smoker.
A Rainbow Cab with a sun-faded finish arrived as the van was leaving. It pulled to a stop in the service way behind the strip. A man exited the rear of the taxi. He waved to the driver of the departing cleaning van and entered the courtyard for the rear door of Skip’s. The van pulled away with the taxi following.
The newcomer wore a wrinkled polo shirt, baggy jeans and flip-flops.
Johnny.
Isaac picked up his canvas bag and left the hide on the supermarket roof.