Patience (standard:Suspense, 2471 words)
Author: Adrien Tepes	Added: Oct 20 2005	Views/Reads: 3536/2282	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A Mafia hitman is subjected to the worst his own kind has to offer. Introduces Bobby Brash as the main character in an ongoing serial, hinting at his past and conflicts to come. Pretty badass -- worth a read if you're into this kind of stuff.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

chains rattling above me. I brace myself for another blow, but it never 
comes. Instead, Jimmy's body crashes to the middle of the warehouse 
floor. My vision goes red. 

"FUCK you, Franky, I'm gonna FUCKIN' kill you!" I start ripping at my
bonds, but all I succeed in doing is knocking my chair over. Someone 
behind me kicks me in the small of the back. I hardly notice, too 
caught up in my anger at what they did to Jimmy. "FUCK!" 

From my new spot on the floor, all I can see is Jimmy's face. Only one
of his eyes is open, but that makes sense since his eyelid's been torn 
off anyway. Jimmy's arm is flopped over his head, but I'm not exactly 
sure where his hand is. 

"You did a real fuckin' number on him Franky, you son of a bitch!" 

"It wasn't me, Bobby. We had to bring Martel in on this one." Franky's
given up on the good guy approach. His voice is level now, I figure 
he's done toying with me. "This is serious business." 

For the first time, I start to get a little less optimistic about my
chances of getting out of here. Franky Two-Time is a hitman, but he 
ain't any good. Martel, though...Martel is ruthless. If he's here, I 
won't be in any state to get away once he's done with me. 

"Pain is a very curious thing, Bobby Brash." 

Shit. 

"On one hand, we hate experiencing pain. We avoid it. But on the other
hand, most of us have little reservations about inflicting it on 
others." The voice is small and proper. It's Martel's voice for sure. 
My time window just got a whole lot smaller. 

Martel walks into view, swinging the bright light around so I can see
him. He is tall and thin. I hope he was the only other guy behind me, 
it'd make things a whole lot easier. 

"But then, there are some of us who like pain." Martel lifts one arm so
I can see it. He pulls out a knife and slowly traces a cut across the 
criss-cross of scars that are already there. "But you, Bobby, are 
someone I find very interesting. You do not enjoy pain, but..." He lets 
the sentence trail off, and raises an eyebrow. "Or do you?" 

I spit some blood on the floor in reply. Martel gives a little smile. 

"No, Bobby, you do not like pain. But I have been watching this little
show for some time now, and I find myself wondering how you can lay 
there after all we have done to you and still refuse to tell us what we 
want to hear." Martel raises the knife and points it at my eye. He 
studies my reaction with a professional interest. 

I should be scared, but somehow I'm calm. All I can think of is that
this must have been what happened to Jimmy. All I can see is that 
lidless eye. 

Martel crouches down and starts to move the point of the blade towards
me. My heart finally starts to beat a little faster and I squeeze my 
eyes shut, trying to turn away, but these DAMNED ropes on this DAMNED 
chair! 

Martel changes his mind and spares my eye, plunging the knife deep into
my shoulder instead. It's a big knife. 

I can see Franky wince as I scream. He's not made of the same stuff as
Martel. Martel pulls the knife from my shoulder, and I cry out again, 
swearing. 

Martel stands up, walking past me on the floor. A few seconds later he
moves back in front of me, a black briefcase in his hand. Blood rolls 
down his own arm from his self-inflicted cut, and I notice a fresh one. 
Must have had some more fun with himself behind me. Freak. 

Martel steps over Jimmy's corpse and grabs a handful of his hair,
lifting his head up so I can see it better. He shows me the knife 
again, and for the first time I realize the knife is Jimmy's. 

"Don't worry, Bobby, I'm not finished with you yet. When I'm done
playing with your brother, I'm going to stab you again. Somewhere new." 
Martel pauses. "Among other things." 

"Can't hardly wait," I say. 

Martel ignores me and continues. "I've tortured a lot of people, Bobby."
He laughs. "I have no qualms about using that word, torture. I know 
what I am. But it gets boring, and as I said, you are one of those 
interesting few--those few who refuse to cooperate no matter what I do 
to you. So I've come up with a few alternatively..." Martel thinks for 
a word. "Creative solutions." 

Martel gestures towards Jimmy's head. "This is your brother, Bobby. He
is dead." Martel talks to me matter-of-factly, a teacher to a student. 
"I was there when they killed him. I've never killed anyone myself, you 
see. I'm not a killer. But when I was finished with him, I let the 
others do what they wanted." Looks like the rumors about Jimmy's death 
weren't exactly true. Bastards. 

"You see, Bobby, the pain is all I care about. But in those few
interesting cases such as yours, I've found that knowing exactly what 
is going to happen to you--seeing the damage inflicted before, thinking 
of that pain before it is actually felt--I have found that to be 
particularly effective. So I'm going to show you just what I'm going to 
do. And your brother is going to be kind enough to help me. 

Martel pops open his briefcase, opening it so I can see what's inside.
As I scan over some of his more intimidating tools, I start to tug at 
my bonds again. I cut my arm on the chair, but instead of pissing me 
off it starts to get the gears grinding a little faster in my head. 
Some wood must have splintered out from the chair when it fell over. I 
figure the Odd Couple wants to see me squirming around a bit, so I give 
them what they want. But at the same time, still praying there's no one 
else behind me, I start to saw my ropes against the broken wood. 

Martel drops Jimmy's knife in his little black box and pulls out
something that reminds me of a screwdriver. He shows it to me, looking 
me in the eyes and smiling. Then all at once, he punches it through 
Jimmy's face. 

"Do you see that, Bobby? Just your cheek. I'm not going to hurt your
tongue...just that one little hole on the side. We do still need you to 
talk, after all." 

I gotta keep my character. Can't let them know what I got up my sleeve,
or I'm cooked. 

"Stop pissin' around, Martel. Do what the fuck you're gonna do." I hope
he doesn't actually listen. I keep sawing. 

Franky laughs, but the laugh's hollow--I can hear the nervousness behind
it. Franky's a hitman, not a torturer. 

"Where'd you get those balls, Bobby?" he asks. "Bobby motherfuckin'
Brash. One of these days we're gonna have to teach you some patience." 

Martel stands up, dropping my brother's face back on the ground. It
makes a wet sound as it hits the floor. Its been a few days since he 
got whacked, and he's starting to smell. 

"You're gonna have to start givin' him baths if you wanna keep him
around, Franky. Ain't good for company." 

"Enough." Martel interrupts our quality time. "I am working." Martel
gives Franky a look, and Franky takes a step back. 

"Now, Bobby Brash, since you seem so eager to get down to business, I
will oblige you. Please, think no ill of me--lets remember, I am not a 
killer like yourself." He moves towards me. 

"You're a pompous asshole, Martel. I kill killers." I spit some more
blood on the ground, looking over at Franky. "There you go, Franky, you 
wanna know why I didn't do Valezzi? It's cause you fuckin' lied to me. 
You know I only whack pros. She didn't do nothin' wrong. She got messed 
up in the wrong shit at the wrong time, and I ain't the one that's 
gonna fuckin' kill her for that." I feel a few threads on the rope pop. 


Franky looks at Martel. I give a little chuckle inside when I realize
he's looking for the go-ahead to talk. It's the small victories. Martel 
nods. 

"You're breakin' my heart here, Bobby. We all know about your fucked up
morals, but that ain't the issue. If you just woulda said no in the 
first place we probably wouldn't have done you no harm." Liar. "But of 
all the shit to do, you had to go and help her. You think we didn't 
find out about that? We hear things, Bobby. But what haven't heard yet 
is what you did with her. And now you're gonna tell me." 

Franky gestures Martel forward. I start to jerk around again, sawing
hard on the ropes. My right arm's still stuck under the chair, but I 
move around enough to feel the rope break apart some more. 

Martel grabs me by the head, putting the point of his toy against my
cheek. 

Fuck. 

I'm outta time. 

Martel pulls his arm back, getting ready to put another breathing hole
in my face. 

I strain my muscles, giving one last tug on the ropes, ripping them up
along the wood. They snap free. I throw my hand up, catching Martel's 
wrist as he makes his move to stab me. 

"Grab him!" Franky yells, but it's too late. I slam my head hard into
Martel's nose, twice. I gotta move fast. 

Martel falls off me, and I catch a glimpse of a smile on his face before
hits the cement floor. 

He said he likes pain. I figure I just did him a favor. 

I leap out of my chair, snatching Jimmy's knife out of Martel's little
black box of toys in the process. 

Franky starts fumbling for his gun, backpedaling to make some space
between me and him. He manages to get the gun out before he smacks 
backwards into a steel pillar. The gun clatters to the floor, and I'm 
on him in a second. Jimmy's knife presses against Franky's throat. 

"Come on Bobby, wait a second!" He's talking fast. 

I push Jimmy's knife in a little harder. 

"Bobby, wait man, please!" he begs. 

I lean in close. "Wait? You want me to wait, Franky?" 

"PLEASE!" he squeals. Tears roll down his face. 

I lean in closer and give Franky Two-Time one last bloody grin.
"Patience ain't never been one of my virtues." 

I hear Franky Two-Time gurgle as he dies. But I'm already walking for
the door.


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