‘First things first. Admit to me you took that fucking money. Because I know you fucking did so there ain’t no fucking point in pretending that you didn’t. Is there?’
The ‘you’ in this instance was Mr Warren Case, proprietor of Elite A Security and supplier of door staff to the Arcadia nightclub, who was, at that moment in time, tied to a filthy old bed in Krys’s cavernous workshop. He was naked and spread-eagled, his hands and feet tightly bound, and very very frightened, which was hardly surprising given the fact that he’d been part of the Holtz organization for getting close to ten years and therefore knew exactly what Krys was like.
‘Please, Krys,’ he whimpered, ‘I didn’t do nothing, honest.’
Krys laughed. So did the three other men gathered round the bed: Big Mick, Fitz and Slim Robbie. ‘I tell you, boys,’ said Krys, shaking his head, ‘this cunt’s taking me for a fucking fool. Have I got “gullible cunt” written on my fucking forehead or something?’
‘No, boss,’ said Fitz somewhat unnecessarily.
‘Oh God, God … Please, please…’ Case might have been a big man with a reputation to match but his words were spewing out so fast that no-one could really understand what he was saying. Not that anyone was listening. It had gone way too far for that.
‘Why don’t you torture him, Krys?’ suggested Slim Robbie helpfully, looking down at Case’s sweating, panic-stricken features.
‘Good idea, Rob, I think I might just do that. It’ll save us all a lot of time and will, in this case, be particularly fucking enjoyable.’
Case tried to struggle with his bonds but he was too well secured for anything more than the smallest of movements. ‘Krys, please, I swear I didn’t fucking do anything. Honest. On my kids’ lives…’
Krys looked mildly put out by this. ‘On your kids’ lives? That’s a mean fucking thing to say, Warren, especially as I know you’re as guilty as sin. I can’t understand why you don’t just come fucking clean and admit it. I mean, we’re going to get it out of you sooner or later. Why don’t you save us all the trouble?’
But Case continued to protest his innocence in forced, desperate tones, which really peeved Krys. It reminded him of that time with Jon Kalinski. Right up until the bitter end, that bastard had sworn he’d never nicked a penny off Krys, when in reality he’d had him over for close to two hundred grand in cash and diamonds. And for a long time Krys had believed him, too – the smooth-talking cunt – but in the end he’d had the last laugh, making him watch while he’d gone to work on his girlfriend, telling him to be patient, because it would be his turn next. Come to think of it, Kalinski had shat himself as well. Terrible smell it had been. Runny, too. Some people have got no self-respect.
It was time, Krys decided, to drop the Mr Nice Guy act with Case and take more radical measures. He picked up a dirty apron from the chair beside him and made a great show of putting it on, ignoring Case’s whines. When that was done, he walked up to his tool rack where a vast array of implements covered almost the entire length of one dank, grimy wall. He stopped, inspected what was on offer for a few moments, then selected his Bosch 3960K battery-operated drill, a fine piece of German workmanship if ever there was one, and vastly superior to the equivalent Black & Decker. It had been a birthday present from his dear old mum and was something he only liked to use on special occasions. Removing it from its handy carry-case, he spent some time selecting a suitable drill bit, opting eventually for a nice thin three mill. After all, he didn’t want any accidental fatalities. Not before he’d found out what he wanted to know. After that, he’d have to see.
He fitted the bit and turned the drill on, enjoying the revved-up shriek it made as it shifted between the two gears. He turned it on and off several times in rapid succession, and once again the naked prisoner struggled on the bed, tears of frustration and bowel-churning fear streaming down his face.
‘It ain’t looking good, is it, Warren? This is Teutonic tool-making at its finest. Vorsprung durch technik, and all that. This cunt goes through concrete like it ain’t even there, and with hardly an ounce of pressure. Not like its cheaper, more substandard rivals. So, think how easily it’ll go through human flesh. Your flesh.’ As he spoke, he approached the bed until he was standing right above it, looking down at Case’s fear-engraved face.
‘Please, Krys, I swear. I have never, never, never fucked you over. I’ve never skimmed you, I’ve never taken nothing that wasn’t my due. Honest. Please, for my kids’ sakes. Don’t hurt me.’
‘Admit you did it, Warren. That’s all you’ve got to do. Just fucking admit to me that you took my fucking money, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you go.’ He switched the drill on again.
‘But Krys, I didn’t, I didn’t. I
