I can’t talk, I just can’t. I heave and blubber and beg and Roman sticks the puke-and-blood-soaked sock back in my mouth and Red hurts me again and I realize then that they are going to kill me just as soon as they can.
Roman is a cop. Despite what you may have heard, the behavior he is now engaged in, not even an officer of the NYPD can get away with. They will finish asking questions and, when I have no more to offer, they will kill me. And, having had this realization, I start trying very hard to think as clearly as I can, because I don’t want to die.
– What did he tell you about the key?
– Gasp! Gasp!He.Didn’t. Tell. Me. Anything. Gasp!About.The.Key.
– Why did he give you the key?
– He.He. Gasp! He didn’t give me the key.
– Why did you say you had the key?
– He. Fuck. He gave me the. Gasp!The cat. The key was in its box. I didn’t know. He didn’t give me the key. Gasp! He stuck me with it. I didn’t know.
– What is the key for?
Think. Think. I don’t want to die. I need to think. I’m trying to think of ways not to die, but the pain and the hangover keep getting in my way and I can’t keep my thoughts together in one place long enough to make them work for me. I try to keep answering the questions without saying something that will make me dead.
– I don’t know.
– What does it look like?
– I didn’t see it.
I get the sock and another staple goes. I think I black out for a couple seconds, I can’t really tell for sure.
– How do you know there was a key if you didn’t see it?
– It. Gasp! It was in an envelope. Gasp! I felt it. It felt like a key. Gasp! It felt like a lumpy key.Big.Lumpy.
– Where is the key now?
Fuck!
– I. Don’t. Know. I just don’t.
And the sock.And another staple.
– We did not come here looking for a key, but if Mr. Miner gave you a key, then we want it. Where is the key?
– Gasp! I just. Fuck! Gasp! I just don’t know. I put it back in the box yesterday. Gasp! And last night after those guys were here, I got drunk. Choke! I got real fucking drunk. I fucking blacked out. I fucking shit my pants, for God sake. I don’t know where it is now. I left it in the box.
The sock.A staple.
– Where is the key?
I say nothing. I try to get as much air as I can. I breathe. I try to figure out a way to live. And Roman says something odd:
– Chew the fat.
I have no idea what that’s about until Blackie releases my arm and starts scrabbling under the bed and I hear Bud crying. Then I realize he meant to say, “Get the cat.”
In all fairness, he probably did say “Get the cat” and I only heard “Chew the fat.” Bud is giving Blackie hell under the bed and the bastard is grunting and cursing in Russian. My left arm is free now, but the circulation is all messed up and it hurts so bad that I can barely move it. Not that I’d know what to do with it if I could move it, but it’s nice not to have someone pulling at it for the moment.
– Man, just. Gasp! Just leave the cat. Just leave it alone. Gasp! Don’t hurt the fucking cat.
Aren’t there rules about this kind of thing? I mean, there are rules, right? You can do whatever you want to people, but you don’t hurt fucking animals.
As if on cue, the toiletflushes, the door to the bathroom opens and the Samoan returns. Enter the torturer of animals.
– Sorry, guys, I hadta drop a deuce. Hey, you got air freshener or what?
Sooner or later, even the most profound events of your life are reduced to concerns like this.
– Under the sink.
– I looked there.
– The kitchen. Not the bathroom sink, the kitchen sink.
– Fuck you, who keeps freshener under the kitchen sink?
– I do.
– What, your shit doesn’t stink? You don’t needno freshener in the bathroom?
Meanwhile, Blackie has got hold of Bud and is dragging him out of his hiding place, but the fur is flying. Bud comes into the light of day howling and clawing at Blackie’s eyes. As the Russian stands upright, I get my first look at Bud. He’swrithing this way and that, trying to get a piece of someone, but his left leg is twisted up real weird and he’s not moving it at all.
– What the fuck? What, man, what did you do to the cat?
Suddenly the Samoan reaches over and grabs Bud. He wraps those huge hands around the struggling cat and locks him up. Bud’s legs are all trapped, just his head sticks out of the Samoan’s grasp. And then Blackie hits him, the fucker makes a little fist out of his little hand and hits Bud in the face.
– I kicked this shit cat, this fucking shit cat I fucking kicked. This fucking shit cat, I tried to pet and it fucking bit me and I fucking kicked the shit cat. So fuck you, Mr. Bartender, can’t make a fucking cosmopolitan. Mr. Fucking Shitty Drink Maker with the Shitty Cat.
He punches Bud again. They get the sock back in my mouth before I can finish screaming at Blackie.
My head is clearing. The few minutes I had to breathe helped and the adrenaline has cut some of the haze and I’m starting to think a little more clearly. They want the key. I don’t know where the key is. As soon as they feel sure I don’t know where the key is, they will kill me. If I did know where the key was and I told them, they would get the key and then kill me. I have no idea what to do. Done battering the cat, Blackie gets a fresh grip on my left arm and stretches it back out.
Roman twists my head to the left so I can get a good look at the Samoan and whatever he’s gonna do to Bud. Red is still on my legs and he resettles himself, getting comfortable for the next round. Roman is getting cute.
– If you were the key and you had mysteriously disappeared, where would you be?
The sock is still in my mouth, but I grunt so he knows I’m following him.
– Where would you hide if you were a key?
Breathing is starting to be a problem again.
– Would you hide in this apartment?
Bud now has a scrape on the side of his face where he was hit. I can’t really tell if he’s awake or not. The Samoan tucks the cat into his left armpit, keeping all his limbs pinned except for the broken left leg.
– Would you put yourself in an envelope and send yourself somewhere?
Very gently, the Samoan has taken hold of Bud’s injured leg. He extends it until it’s fairly straight. I can see the little bend where the bone is broken. I can hear Bud give a mew of protest, but he’s clearly run out of fight.
– If you were a key that wanted to hide itself, would you give yourself to a friend for safekeeping?
The Samoan starts to twist Bud’s broken leg. He twirls it around and I can see the loose skin bunch up on itself at the break. Bud comes back to life for a moment, yowling and trying to wrestle free, but the Samoan has him pinned tight. A thin stream of urine is leaking out from under the Samoan’s arm, but he doesn’t notice or care. Bud is shaking now and probably going into shock and dying. I’m jerking around on the bed, but I can only move a couple inches in any direction and the boys dig in and hold me tighter. Black speckles are filling the corners of my eyes and that’s OK because I really don’t want to see what it looks like when the Samoan gives Bud’s leg another twist. If I were a key, where would I hide? I guess I would hide with a friend, yes, that sounds like me. Fuck, yes! I start screaming it.
– I took it to the bar! I took the fucking key to the bar! I gave the key to Edwin to put in the safe! The key is
