The fat tough examined all the objects on the table and separated three items from the rest, namely, the car keys, the nail clippers, now detached; and the rocket fuel lighter.
"These objects seem to be harmless, yes," said the lead tough, "but to someone with imagination, they are like a great store of weapons." He smiled at Callum and held up the carkeys.
"For example, most people would think that these are not very dangerous but no, no, he said shaking his head, "it is amazing how much damage these can do to a man...more damage to a man than you can do to a nice car, a BMW or a Mercedes perhaps. And if you try hard, you can do alot of damage to a BMW with this," he said fingering the spiky ignition key.
Callum's jaw was aching and he could taste blood in his mouth. His ribs and his back hurt with a dull pain. There was also a sharpness in his gut if he shifted around and he wondered if he had received a hernia from the beating. He hoped not. He knew that would be costly and painful to fix.
What did I do, he thought. I still don't know why they are doing this to me. Despite himself, tears welled up in his eyes at the unfairness of it all.
"Why are you doing this," said Callum. "Whatever its for, I promise I won't do it again."
"But, continued the fat guy ignoring him, "why bother with the simple things when there is better technology," he said with his face beaming with pride at his excellent English.
"Toe nail cutters, right," he said holding up the nail clippers.
"This simple machine is really wonder of twentieth century," said the fat man, "really like lightbulb for genius and simpleness."
Simplicity you fat fuck, thought Callum.
The fat gangster stareds cropping his finger nails with the clippers. He then held them up to the light in a studied inspection. Then he began clicking the clippers into the thin air but gradually getting closer and closer to Callum's face. Snip, snip!
The sound of a metallic rasp. Callum flinched and tried to pull away but found that his arms were being held down by the two other Koreans.
Callum through half shut eyes could see that the clippers were tantalisingly close to his eyes, his lips, his nose, his cheeks and his ears.
Christ help me, thought Callum, this bastard is insane.
"Don't, please don't...," he whimpered.
The fat guy ignored him and with the nail clippers, he took hold of Callum's lower lip and slowly, grotesquely pulled it forward until the clippers snapped shut. The lip now had a gash and was bloodied. The fat man then did the same to Daren's left cheek. Then his right cheek. There were now three red blotches on his face.
Callum was panting heavily. God let me get out of this. Please let me get out of this. I don't want this pain. I don't want to die.
"But while we could have some more entertainment with this," said the gangster looking at the clippers, there are even better tools available."
The fat guy picked up the propane lighter and held it in front of him. "Yes, we can actually enter the jet age with this...What do you call it? A rocket lighter, maybe. Yes with this rocket lighter." He turned on the lighter and an intense flame appeared. Unlike conventional lighters where the flame flickered in a wavering arrowhead, this flame burned in a steady furious cone. The eyes of the four men in the small room were drawn to this bright light as if hypnotised. Callum cried in horror.
"Christ no, please God no...no," groaned Callum. "I'll do anything. I'll leave tomorrow ... yes I'll catch a plane tomorrow, I promise, but please no more. Don't do it. Please don't do it."
"Yes, you will leave soon but I will give you something to remember. To remember not to give white powder to the daughter of a friend of ours," the leader said, his voice rising. "Not to fuck with daughters of friends of ours. Not to fuck with us."
Finally, Callum thought he understood. There was that particular Korean girl before at the club. She told him she was desperate to score and that no-one else would fix her up. She had been anxious but Callum simply thought it was the anxiety of needing a hit, nothing else. Nothing like this. She had also mentioned the former American marine, Danny Rivero, whom Callum knew had been laying low because of problems outside the base.
She said she was studying graphic design and had asked for some shabu shabu to keep awake during exam time so Callum had given her a line of speed and sold her half a gram of shabu to takeaway in a silverfoil wrap. But Danny had once mentioned that his girl, had some sort of connection. An uncle or brother in the cement business. This was virtually synonymous with the underworld. Tonight was the only time he had ever met her. She had pleaded with him and he had done her a bloody favour. He hadn't screwed her. In any sense. Never laid a hand on her. Maybe she had said this to protect Danny. Maybe the gangsters had just got it wrong. Either way, he was paying for it.
It didn't matter anymore anyway as rough hands grabbed Callum under the chin and prised his jaw apart to stuff a rag into his mouth. Callum made a weak attempt to struggle but most of his fight was gone. He just wanted it, whatever it was to be, to end. The gag was uncomfortable however. With the battering he had taken, Callum, face was swollen which made it difficult to breathe out of his nose. He told himself not to choke, to concentrate on his breathing. Now, he could hear his own heavy rasping and nothing else.
The Koreans were talking roughly to each other and one of them pulled up Callum's shirt sleeve. Callum closed his eyes. Tight. The fat guy said into Callum's ear, "Smell burnt pig."
The fat Korean scorched a line along Callum's forearm using the lighter like a miniature blowtorch. The skin swelled and suppurated almost immediately. It turned white, then reddish brown and formed a jellied sickening welt. Callum felt a terrible pain along his right arm. His nerves reacted in agony and his backbone straightened out with the pain. Only a muffled shriek emerged from his gagged throat however. He gasped into the gag and sucked in dirt. The panic of suffocation. The intense heat lasted for a few seconds during which the piercing pain was like metal barbs running through his veins replaced by an incessant throbbing hurt as his body reacted to the trauma.
to memories past. Flashes of happy and sad occasions mingled with the sensations of the present physical torment. He remembered the bliss of making love to a particular Irish girlfriend, Claire Murphy. He recalled the sensuousness of her soft hair. Of how beautiful her brown eyes were. And he remembered that Claire had fallen pregnant to him and that she had decided to terminate the pregnancy and that he had been relieved that she had made that decision...They had gone to the women's health clinic and had the job done. Afterwards Claire looked so pale and they had gone to MacDonalds and had a MacHappy meal. What a fucking name. It was the saddest meal he had ever eaten.Christ how his arm hurt and his whole crumpled body felt feverish with the pain and shock. He had a terrible gutache too - worse than bilious seasickness - and a migraine that made his head throb.Yet it all paled in comparison to the pain he felt in his arm. Is hell like this, he thought. For each second of this time is so very bad. Every second is filled with pain. A minute is the pain 60 times worse and five minutes is the pain 300 fold. Surely I cannot stand much more of this pain, certainly not the same again. And they say that hell is eternal. If that is so, I would change my life because I no longer want to feel like this. I promise God that I will be a good man.Please God. Just let me free from this pain. I don't want to feel this way. Sweet Jesus. Not a second longer. Not one single moment longer.
<< Back
|
