Dru Faust and the Devil's Due

Part 26

Black boots continued his work at the table. A few feet away, I spied the shards of a broken bottle. If I could reach one of the larger pieces, maybe I'd be able to cut myself free.

Getting to it without drawing his attention was another matter. The instant I tried to inch my way over to the glass, he paused in his work and looked up, coming around the table for a better view.

"Well, look who's awake," he said, with almost no trace of an accent. He voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Who are you?"

"Never mind that, girly. You won't be here long enough for it to matter.

My mind raced, desperate to keep up with the situation. "There's someone looking for me. She'll know I'm gone by now."

"That cop lady? Yeah, I know all about her. But she ain't comin' here. We've already got that taken care of."

"What do you mean?"

"I got friends. No one comes down here, unless I want them to. No one, except you." He glared at me. Reaching into the pocket of his coveralls, he pulled out a filthy handkerchief. "Now. I got work to do. I can't spend all day beatin' my gums with you."

"Well, I can't spend all day laying around in your root cellar, either," I shot back.

That made him laugh, but neither it nor my struggling stopped him from tying the handkerchief around my mouth. "Now, you stay very quiet, and this will all be over soon enough."

He left me alone in that corner. I tried to sit up. He watched me out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything. I rolled my shoulders, as much to get out the kinks as to get a better look at the space.

The wall I was propped against was mostly storage. Crates and barrels, likely all full of alcohol.

The lighting was poor, leaving the far side of the cellar in shadow. Only a few kerosene lamps mounted to the walls provided illumination, and I shuddered to think what might happen if one fell. Where did the ventilation shaft come out?

I adjusted position again, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground, but every shift in position brought me a little closer to the shards of glass. I only hoped he didn't see them.

"Hey, hey! What do you think you are doing?" my captor asked.

I mumbled something useless through the handkerchief and made a show of repositioning myself, leaning back against a stack of crates. One near the top rattled slightly, the sound of glass shifting.

He glared at me, but returned to his work at the table. Several bottles were lined up in front of him, corks removed. Some were empty, some were full. I watched as he poured whiskey into each of the empty bottles until they were half full, then added the swill from the still until the liquid reached the top again.

***

So that's what they've been doing, I thought. Cutting the smuggled import with re-distilled industrial alcohol, and passing it off as the real thing. It was just as I'd thought.

I was almost to the glass. While his back was turned, I reached for the largest piece, cupping it in one hand and sawing away at the cords binding my wrists. I was lucky; they didn't appear to be strong ropes, just the hemp cords used in packaging. Clearly, they hadn't planned on guests, forced or otherwise.

The ties gave in short order. But how to cut my legs free with Black Boots standing right there?

A sound above made us both look up. I was still gagged, but he shushed me anyway, reaching for a shotgun propped up by the ladder. He stood at the base, listening, the gun in one hand.