Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A New Friend
H andcuffed to a fucking tree. No fucking choice either. This was what the detective ordered for him. Hugging a fucking tree, handcuffs tightened too tight around his wrists.
Part of him wondered if the detective was just going to leave him here. He wondered how long he would survive. What would kill him first? Hunger? Thirst? Or some animals…? A bear or a mountain lion finding him, wanting a meal. Or maybe something just as bad, like ants or other bugs, crawling on his skin, little teeth and fangs digging at his flesh. Eating him fucking alive for hour after hour, day after day…
When he heard an engine and tires spitting rocks on the narrow, gravel road, he swallowed hard. He wished it were someone else. Some random person who could hit the chains of the cuffs with an axe and free him. Then he could just take off. Fucking leave. Get out of this situation. It was becoming more and more evident there was no good ending to this.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. All he wanted from his club was a little fucking respect. A chance to prove himself. To have his name tossed into the hat when it came to bigger and better things. The leather cut and the life meant a lot to him…
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Guilt and regret settled in hard. Because now with this insane detective…
“Fuck,” he whispered for a second when he realized the approaching vehicle was the detective.
The detective hung his left arm out the driver’s side window, holding the long, skinny neck on an expensive bottle of scotch. The good stuff. The top-shelf stuff. Couple hundred dollars for that bottle.
“How’s it going out here?” the detective asked as he stopped the car. “Just hanging around? Humping a tree?”
The detective laughed. The handcuffs felt even tighter on his wrists as the anger made them swell. After the detective put the bottle of scotch on the roof of the car, the detective walked over to him and took off the handcuffs.
“You fucked me again, my friend,” the detective said. “An empty van. No coke. Nothing. The two guys in the van were clean too. Not even something as simple as a suspended license.”
“I know what I was told,” he said.
The detective grabbed his shirt. “Which means you’re being played. Makes me wonder if you’re not playing me. Or maybe they know about you. Nah, that can’t be right. You’d be dead already if they knew. The club would not keep you alive. Or at least let you walk free. Right? What do they do with rats? Chain them up? Torture them? Huh?”
He knew better than to reply to the detective. That’s what the detective wanted. A response. To get a rise out of him. Instead, he just stood there, ice cold.
“Brought you a friend,” the detective said. “You’ll like this.”
The detective walked to the car and opened the back door. He reached in, cursed a few times, then pulled someone out of the back seat, letting the person fall to the ground.
The detective then stomped on the new person. “Stupid, fucker! You listen when I talk!”
He just watched. Nothing he could do. The detective took out a knife and cut tape from the new person’s hands wrists and ankles. Then the detective pulled a piece of tape off the new person’s mouth.
Instantly the new person started bellowing in another language. Russian. The detective slapped the new person across the face.
“Speak English!” the detective yelled. The detective looked at him. “See what I brought? Something different. Something fun.”
He watched in disbelief as the detective lifted the new person up. Again, the new person spoke something in Russian. And then the new person spit at him.
“Oh, I’m sensing tension already,” the detective said. “This is good. We all need this. Now we get to find out who is serious and who isn’t.”
“You’re fucking insane, man,” he said to the detective.
“Correction,” the detective said. “I’m dedicated to my job. I’m taking down SOFRAW. That’s the bottom line.”
He wanted to know why there was a Russian person standing there though… Then it hit him. Then it made a little more sense. The detective smiled. The Russian guy was big, strong, burly, evil.
“You ever hear about the ants in the jar?” the detective asked. “You put two different color ants in a jar and they do their thing. But if you shake the jar, the ants start to fight each other. They think each other is the one shaking the jar. Guess who the ants are?”
The detective pushed the Russian man toward him. He put his hands out to stop the Russian from colliding with him. The Russian threw a punch. He had to throw a punch back. To defend himself. Things were going too far now. Too fucking far.
The Russian and him were now tangled up, throwing punches, cursing at each other. The detective watched with glee, drinking the expensive scotch right from the bottle.
As he threw punches and tried to keep himself from getting knocked out, he would only think of one thing. If the Russian mafia was about to get involved with SOFRAW…
Every member of the club was already as good as dead.