Starfist: Hangfire (37 page)

Ferris laughed. "You eat with the crows, you get eaten with the crows!"

Prost was strapped into a chair and then the iron boot was fixed to his right foot. He still did not believe any of this was really happening to him. One of the men took a pot of boiling water off the fire and inserted its spout into a hole near the top of the boot. Prost screamed and pulled against his bonds.

He kicked his right foot against the inside of the boot—it could be heard thumping hollowly against the metal, but his struggles were useless. The torturer paused and looked up at Draya. Prost groaned and thrashed about in the chair.

"More?" Draya asked his companions.

"My dear Noto, of course more." He nodded. The executioner began pouring more scalding water into the boot. Prost's screams echoed off the stonewalls. As the executioner looked up for instructions, Ferris continued nodding, until the pot was empty. Tendrils of steam seeped out the top of the device and the room filled with the stench of parboiled flesh.

"How much longer to breakfast?" Johnny Sticks asked, and everyone shook with laughter, even the torturers. Prost had passed out from the agony and sat limply in the chair.

"You didn't ask him any questions," Draya said with a pout. "I was hoping we could get information out of the old bastard."

"He don't know nothing," Ferris answered. "He's useless. Time we got a real manager to run that place. He overspent his budget like crazy! He was supposed to get more girls through Juanita, but instead he went out and bought all these expensive goddamned books! Books! Who the hell needs that shit in a fucking cathouse?" He shrugged. What was done was done. "We'll use the books for decoration.

I just brought him along to get things started. Let him loose." He gestured at the guards, who unstrapped Prost's bonds and unfastened the boot. Hot water spilled out onto the floor. "Oh," Ferris exclaimed when they could see Prost's foot, "cook spoiled the roast again, I guess." His companions smiled heartily. The guards dragged Prost's unconscious body back to the wall and chained him there.

"Make you hot?" Johnny Sticks whispered into Juanita's ear.

She nibbled playfully at Johnny's earlobe. "I'll get hot when we start on them." She gestured at the Marines. "Especially that one." She pointed at Claypoole.

"Hey, boss," Sticks turned to Ferris, "take that one," he pointed at Claypoole, "and ask him how this thing works." He held up the last of the readers his men had taken from the Marines. "Also, maybe he knows who the deep-cover agent is. Be useful to know that."

Ferris shrugged. "Whadaya think, Noto? I don't think Nast told these guys. He didn't tell Culloden, and we know Nast trusted him. I think he sent us these three dummies to distract us. If we had the time we could drag 'em over to Doc's and get the truth out of them."

"Hah," Draya answered. "We don't have the time. I think you're right." He turned to the Marines.

"How does it feel to be Nast's patsies?" And back to the others, said, "And who cares where Nast is hiding out? We got our security up, and without the proof he needs, he can raid us until Sunday and it won't do him any good. Besides, torturing these guys is more fun. I like to see my victims squirm. Let's take these Marines in turn, by IQ. Take the corporal first."

"They don't promote by IQ in the Marines! We're smarter than he ever will be!" Claypoole and Dean shouted at once.

"You made the right decision," Pasquin said through his split lip. "These two are too stupid to feel pain."

Sticks was disappointed. He knew how much Juanita hated Claypoole, and he was hoping that torturing Claypoole would excite her to the point where he might be able to coax her into a more intimate relationship in the time left before the contest.

"Give him a nail job," Draya rumbled. "Only one hand, though, and not his fighting hand either. He'll need that later, to make it look good."

Guards unchained Pasquin and dragged him over to the torturers, where he was strapped into the chair just by Prost. "You left or right-handed, boy?" one of the torturers asked.

"Fuck you, asshole! I've killed better men than you!"

The executioner looked at Draya. "Take a chance. Left hand. If he's left-handed, too bad." The capo chuckled. In one swift motion the man ripped the nail off Pasquin's left forefinger. His assistant immediately plunged a red-hot pin into the flesh.

Pasquin heaved against the straps holding him and groaned. Perspiration broke out on his forehead.

He grunted and sucked breath through his clenched teeth but he did not scream.

Dean and Claypoole screamed curses at the gangsters.

"Another?" the torturer asked. Draya nodded, and he plucked the nail on Pasquin's middle finger. The corporal gasped this time and grunted. When another needle was plunged in, he let out a short bark of a shout. Blood trickled out the side of his mouth where he'd bitten himself to keep from screaming. He breathed heavily and his eyes flashed hatred at the gangsters but still he did not scream.

"Give him the boot," Ferris said.

"Don't look, fellas! Don't look!" Pasquin gasped at Dean and Claypoole as his right foot was placed into the boot. When the first trickle of scalding water dribbled down the outside of his lower foot he gave a shout of pain and anger. As the boot slowly filled, his agony increased until he could hold it in no longer and screamed until he was hoarse. Finally he slumped forward, exhausted and overcome with pain.

"It's almost four in the morning," Draya said as he yawned. "I gotta have at least eight hours of sleep a night or I'm worthless in the morning. Let's leave these birds. They'll get theirs at the show later. Come on, let's head back to our rooms," Draya told the others.

"Noto, Noto..." There was a note of desperation in Juanita's voice. "Let me stay for a while? I have a score to settle with these two." She indicated Dean and Claypoole.

Draya shrugged. "Never deny a lady her pleasures. Okay, I'm outta here," he said.

"Juanita, come on along with us," Johnny Sticks urged.

She pecked him on the cheek. "You run along, Johnny. I'll join you in a little while." She patted him in an intimate spot.

Johnny's eyebrows rose and he smiled. He turned quickly and joined the bosses as they plodded down the torchlit passageway.

The guards and torturers stood waiting for the woman's instructions. "Stand aside and let me work on them for a while," she commanded. Obediently, the guards retreated into the passageway, where they lit up smokes and the torturers settled down among their instruments with cold drinks.

She pulled down Claypoole's trousers and grabbed him by the crotch. "Scream," she Whispered, "this has got to look real."

"Fuck you," Claypoole muttered.

"Goddamnit, holler, you idiot!" she whispered. "I want them to think I'm really hurting you."

"Eat shit, you old bitch," Claypoole shouted.

Juanita yanked on his jewels and Claypoole grunted. "Is that all you can do?" he asked through clenched teeth.

She leaned close and bit his earlobe so hard her lips came away stained with blood. One of the guards watching from the passageway laughed. "I work for Nast, you idiot," she whispered, wiping the blood from her mouth. "Give me the code and I'll call for help."

Claypoole snickered. "Get on with it," he said.

"No, no, you goddamned fool, I am Nast's secret agent, Claypoole! Give me the goddamned code!

I'll get your reader and call him in!"

Claypoole stared at Juanita. She yanked his jewels again, harder this time.

"You...?"

The other prisoners were chained far enough away from where Claypoole was lying they could not hear what Juanita had been saying. "Rock, what the hell's going on?" Dean whispered.

"Shut up!" Juanita screamed. She jumped up and kicked Dean in the head. He cursed foully but she turned back to Claypoole. She leaned over him, bracing herself on both arms. "Now Claypoole, listen to me," she whispered, her voice intense. "I don't blame you for not believing me." She brought her knee up between his legs to make the guards think she was whispering her hatred to the chained Marine. "But you have got to believe me! I am your only chance! I know Nast is somewhere on Havanagas, waiting for your signal. Tell me how to send it! I've got what he needs to put these bastards away forever." She leaned forward as she spoke, punctuating her whispered words with forceful slaps to Claypoole's face.

Claypoole thought fast. It made sense. But if Juanita was the deep-cover agent ...? A nasty thought began to form in his mind. What was it that fat bastard had said? Sending the Marines here was a diversion of some kind? Anger surged through Rachman Claypoole. If this was a setup—

"
Knives in the Night
, chieu hoi—"

"What?"

"C-h-i-e-u-h-o-i, chieu hoi," Claypoole whispered.

Juanita stood up and signaled the guards. "I'm going to see Johnny," she said. "Get these fools ready for the show." She turned and walked out.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked.

Claypoole was not ready to tell anyone what had passed between him and Juanita. If he were wrong...

"She likes me," was all Claypoole would say. Dean grunted and lay back against the stones.

"I'm all fucked up," Pasquin groaned from his corner of the cell. "Oh, God, I'm no good with only one foot, guys. You'll have to carry me out in the morning." He lay back and groaned again.

"We're going to stand together and go down together," Dean said. "Us and Mr. Prost there, if he can get up on his good leg. We're going down fighting, like Marines."

"Guess this might be it for us, eh Joe? What a way to go!" Claypoole whispered. He lay back against the cold stone. Was Juanita telling the truth? If she were—a quick surge of hope flared up in his breast, but he suppressed it immediately. No, there'd be no last minute rescue on this mission. Why did Nast pick us? he asked himself angrily. Why did he put us into this shit? Marines would never do this to anyone. He shook his head. I gotta stop feeling sorry for myself, he thought.

"I may only have one leg to stand on," Pasquin said with effort through the red cloud of pain enveloping him, "but we're a team, we're going out standing up and—oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it fucking hurts, guys!" His voice shook and he was breathing heavily and soaked in perspiration. The others did not even dare look at his leg.

One of the guards approached them. No, it was Hugo, Johnny Sticks's man. He carried a small case and a pitcher of water. "Mr. Ferris wants you guys to look good tomorrow," he announced without preamble. "I'm gonna give your buddy and the bookman there a shot to knock them out and then apply these compresses to their feet. At least they'll be able to stand up tomorrow." He gave them all a drink from the pitcher and then plunged a syringe into Pasquin's good leg.

"I don't need no goddamn—oh, Jesus, oh—" He slumped unconscious to the stones. Hugo did the same thing for Prost, who had not regained consciousness. Then he applied what looked like a shoe to the foot that had been broiled.

"These compresses will harden so they can stand on their feet, and they're impregnated with a powerful analgesic that'll help deaden the pain," Hugo explained.

"What's the plan?" Dean asked.

Hugo hesitated and looked around. "You're going up against jackels, you know, dinosaur-like raptors? You know what happened to Nast's last agent? Prost is going first, on his own, to get the crowd stirred up. Then you three go. If by some miracle you should win, then professional gladiators will be sent in to kill you."

"When?" Claypoole asked.

Again Hugo hesitated. "Half past eleven, five hours from now."

"Should we thank you?" Claypoole asked cynically.

"No. I've made my bed. I follow orders, whatever they might be. But you guys don't deserve to go out like this, no man does. Go for their snouts. Good luck tomorrow," he whispered, and he was gone.

Johnny Sticks was naked under his robe, throbbing with anticipation as Juanita stepped into his suite.

"Did you enjoy your little session with the boys downstairs?" he asked.

She walked over to where he was standing. "Of course, Johnny. I feel much better now." Sticks grabbed her and pressed himself up against her. She could feel him underneath his robe. "Johnny," she whispered into his ear, "I know how to send the signal to Nast."

"What? They told you? How?"

"Give me the reader and I'll show you," she whispered.

Her hand touched him ever so lightly under his robe. Johnny was so wild he would have given Juanita his pistol. "It's over on the dresser," he croaked.

She stepped to the dresser, and there among Johnny's personal items sat the reader. She picked it up and turned it on. Johnny came up behind her and pressed himself into her back. She whirled around and drove the blade of a tiny stiletto between his ribs. Johnny grunted in surprise and staggered backward.

Juanita followed and stabbed him twice more. "Urk! You—" Johnny doubled over and grasped his stomach. The blood flowed between his fingers. He went to his knees, gasping and choking. "You—You goddamned—" He pitched forward on the floor.

Absently, Juanita wiped her hand on her skirt. She scrolled through the table of contents. Ah, there it was,
Knives in the Night
. She smiled. Just what you'd expect a Marine to be reading. She activated the search function and punched in c-h-i-e-u-h-o-i. She wondered what the words chieu hoi meant. She never felt the bullet that crashed into the back of her skull. Poor Johnny Sticks was not as naked under that robe as she had thought.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The iron gate to their prison cell slammed open with a tremendous crash, snapping Dean out of the semicomatose state he had been in, not fully awake but not quite asleep either. He thought he had been dreaming, talking to his mother. She had been alive, in perfect health, and he was a boy again, looking up at her as she spoke. "Joseph," she had told him, "your Honor is in Fidelity."

"All right, boys, your time has come," one of the guards grunted as he kicked the four men into upright positions from where they lay on the cold stone floor. "Look lively, look lively. In less than three hours now you won't be anymore." He and his several companions laughed harshly. They hauled each man to his feet, taking off the manacles and chains as they did.