Darkness
An incredibly large man stands over me. He seems to be of Hispanic heritage. A large red tattoo of a scythe covers his left pectoral. A scar under his right eye intersects another running across his cheek and over his nose. He breathes heavily, his multi-time broken nose contributes to that. He wields a foot-and-a-half lead pipe. My hands are cuffed to the railing behind me. The cuffs are tight, my circulation has been cut off for some time. He kicks me and grunts. I attempt to stand, but the railing to which the cuffs are wrapped around is low, and I can only squat. He yells in Spanish and a smaller man emerges from the shadows. He produces a small key and proceeds to unlock the cuffs. He grunts again and speaks, his words heavily encumbered by his strong accent.
“Do not move.”
He yells at the man again, pointing back towards the shadows as the man hurries away. The large man, “El Gigante” let’s say, turns back to me. He lifts the pipe and brandishes it in front of my face. He laughs to himself gruffly. I could disarm him and attempt an escape, but I cannot tell if there are more men surrounding the warehouse. I can’t risk getting killed, not at this stage. So I remain still, expressionless, emotionless. El Gigante sticks the pipe in my chest.
“I could kill you right now, you piece of sh*t. The boss would not care.”
He lies. I know it. It is on his breath. The uncertainty, the twitch in his eyelid, the tremble in the pipe. If I was to die, the boss would not be happy. At least I am of some importance to the criminals, God knows I am to the police. I hear shouts from the back of the warehouse. El Gigante turns towards them and then back to me.
“He is here. He wants to see you.”
He steps to the side as the squeak of leather shoes becomes audible in the distance.
The sound comes closer and closer. I can smell the tobacco on his breath. I hear a cigar drop to the ground. The the squeak pauses as he rubs it into the floor. He steps into the lone light overhead. He is a man small in height but with broad shoulders, an overall muscular build. He is a walking cliche. His pinstriped suit is perfectly pressed, his shirt collar unbuttoned. His long, greasy hair curls out at the top of his shoulders. He wears a gold chain tucked into his shirt and a silver watch. The watch is a knock-off, and if I can tell from fifteen feet away, he either doesn’t care or doesn't know. A sharp goatee graces his visage, his thick eyebrows furrowed, and as the deep wrinkles may attest, are so most of the time. He opens his mouth, pauses for a second as he looks toward El Gigante and then begins in fairly clear English,
“Ah, here you are, mi hombre. The man who has been killing my men and breaking up my operations. Are you some kind of vigilante? Do you work for the cops? Do you work for the f**kin’ cops? Do you?”
I hesitate for a second, look up into the light and then at him,
“No, I do not work for the police. I am not a vigilante. Frankly I don’t know what I am”
“You don’t know what you are? That’s f**kin’ hilarious! Do you see me? I’m laughing at you. You are one stupid sonnuva b*tch, you know that?”
He looks toward El Gigante,
“Isn’t he f**kin’ stupid, vato?”
El Gigante grunts in agreeance tilting his head slightly forward. The boss turns back towards me, smirking devilishly.
“So, you don’t know who you are? Okay, okay. What’s your name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Holy f**kin’ shit, man. You don’t even f**kin’ know your f**kin’ name.”
“Um...yup. I do know that I am going to shut down this entire operation, kill your friend right there, and then kill you.”
“Wow. Vato, you here that? This muthaf**ker just told me, to my face, that he’s going to kill me. And he’s the one on the ground.”
He grabs the pipe from Vato’s hand and points it right at my face.
“You know, nobody tells anybody they’re gonna kill them. They’d be a f**kin’ idiot a$$hole if they did. Now, because you pissed me off, I’m gonna beat the sh*t outta you.”
He smashes the pipe into my face. I feel my jaw crack, my ear explodes. He hits me again. My nose breaks. He kicks me to the ground.
“Get the f**k up right f**kin’ now.”
I stand and grab the rail for support. The boss kicks me in the stomach.
“I can’t believe one f**kin’ guy has taken me down. Vato, can you believe it?”
Vato grunts again.
“No, Senor Rodriguez, I can’t.”
“You can believe it or you can not believe...you know what, it doesn’t f**kin’ matter!”
He hits me again, this time in the stomach. My ribs hold up well, but I lose my wind. I keel over a bit, sucking for air, but still grasping onto the railing.
“What’s the matter, big boy? I hurt you? Let me kiss it!”
His three ringed fist connects with my jaw. Now it’s totally broken. As I slump to the ground, I feel the railing creek. This is good. This is very, very good. I pick my head up and spit some blood on the ground.
“You’re still gonna die. I’m still gonna bring this whole house down on top of you.”
He chuckles and turns around to Vato.
“Hey, big guy, I’m gonna go get the rest of the crew from the port and have them start loading trucks. Come help as soon as that b*tch is dead.”
Rodriguez tosses Vato the pipe and walks back into the shadows. Vato turns back to me, brandishing his pipe in front of his face.
“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna stick this pipe down your throat until blood spurts outta your a$$.”
“Pleasant, really, a beautiful image. Now, what’s your name, oh Vato, that’s it. You will do nothing to me. Try to lay a finger on me, and you’ll be seeing the inside of your eyelids till the devil tears them open.”
“You talk a big game for a man on the ground.”
Vato swings the the pipe down at my head. I roll forward, somersaulting as I rip the railing from the cement and smash it on his head. He crumbles like brittle clay. I stand, a massive lump of lifeless flesh at my feet. Kicking Vato aside, I walk down the steps. I expect Rodriguez to be waiting. He must certainly know what I am capable of. Even if he has trusted his best man to deal with me, he must have some doubt. There has to be a part of him that thinks I will walk out of the door. As I near that very door, something becomes apparent to me. Something so prominent that it demands attention. Silence. Even through a solid steel warehouse door, I should hear hundreds of trucks, their engines feverishly churning and their reverse signals screeching. But there is nothing. Dead, searing silence. As I grab the knob, there is, in unison, twenty clicks. I know, before throwing open the door, what will meet me on the other side. There is no escape, no possible exit now. So I open the door. And standing in front of me are scores of police officers armed and ready. The Chief stands at the front, his .45 glaring down at me.
“On your knees, now.”
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