A Block of Broken Houses

The Visit (Part Two)

"What if I said I don't know?" Mason knew he held a card the man in the chair desperately wanted to see, and so his own game began. Mason would push back a little, and he knew the stranger would hurt him for it, but Mason guessed that killing him would be a stretch. Not completely out of the question, but a stretch.

"Don't waste my time. We both know that you do know, so please, don't."

Mason thought about this carefully, and the stranger let him. Finally, Mason said, "All right. Yes, I think that I might be able to locate it for you."

"Better." The man in the chair took one last pull on his cigarette, butted it on a surface that Mason could not quite make out (the side of the armoire or the arm of the rocking chair, he guessed), exhaled, and then stood.

"I'm going to put the situation straight for you, Fingers, and so I hope that you're listening." Mason nodded. "I find myself in an especially good mood tonight—rare—which translates to good news for you. Any other night, an answer such as 'I might be able to locate it for you' wouldn't play out so well. Got it?"

Mason did, and told him so.

"Good. But in the spirit of transparency, you should also know that I have a limit and you're quickly approaching it." As he spoke he made his way around the bed, stopping close to where Amanda's severed arm rested, his back to the bedroom door. The details of his features were still lost in the shadows, but Mason noticed how large the man was, which was only going to complicate things.

"I'll give you another chance, but there will be no others," he continued, pulling something out of his pocket. "After that, you'll have forced my hand. Blood can be hard to wash off, and I have somewhere to be, so let's keep this clean and simple. Where, Fingers, is the mother fucking briefcase?"

Mason's mouth was as dry as when he had first woken. He swallowed hard, trying not to project the sound. His mind and heart raced furiously. He thought of Amanda but only briefly; he hoped he would have the time later. The only real question was what he was to do—tell the truth or lie, calling the stranger's bluff.

"It's close by, safe." Mason said, and in one long stride the man was upon him and Mason had a gun in his face, unkindly placed against his forehead. The barrel was cool, the hand holding it hot.

Mason caught a flicker of something in the stranger's other hand and felt an intense and sudden heat on his left hand  that quickly climbed his arm in a building wave. The pain that followed was unbearable. Mason pulled his hand to his chest and cried out. His eyes began to water. His entire body pulsed with the thick and heavy beating of his heart.

"I thought you said you were listening," the stranger said.

In the moonlight's gleam Mason noticed the large butcher knife in the stranger's hand, the length of which appeared to be close to a foot, and in an instant Mason somehow knew the same knife had severed Amanda's arm. Mason tipped his hand and the pain was blinding. He briefly wondered how the darkness had managed to hide the last two fingers on his left hand while allowing him to see the others, and then realized that his pinkie and ring finger were gone. Shock threatened to take hold and he shook it loose. He snatched a clump of bedding and quickly, gently, wrapped it around his damaged hand. The pain intensified and the sweat began to roll. He felt nauseous, weak.

"So much for simple," the large man said, hovering over him, "and so much for clean." He leaned closer: The mouthwash he had used did not cover the onions. "I will not waste my time fucking around with you," the last few words spat through gritted teeth. The man's breathing, hot and running, slowed, slowed. And then, after a beat: "Consider that the beginning. You will not enjoy the middle, the end, especially. Now smarten up." The gun remained stiff against Mason's forehead.