Interrogation (A Short Story) Read online

darkness, savoring the feel of the moment, the adrenaline rush that comes right before the attack.  In seconds, I’ll move across the room and disable him before he even knows what hit him.  Then I’ll take him to someplace quiet and secluded where the real ugly stuff will begin.

  I close my eyes and breathe deeply, letting the animal take over.  I welcome the predator, and lick my lips with anticipation.

  “You know, you really are a sick man.” The words drift lazily across the room to where I stand concealed in the darkness.

  I’m so jarred by them, I almost physically tense which could give away my position, but just as fast, I shake off the feeling and my common sense returns.  He can’t know I’m here, it’s impossible.  I’m a master at stealth, and if he did know, he wouldn’t be lying there calmly, no trace of fear in his tone.  He must be talking in his sleep.  Probably drunk again.

  I stand there a few seconds longer, but he says nothing else.  I can still make out the form of his body lying prone on the bed, covers pulled loosely up around his neck.  My heart rate settles a little, but still, the more I think about it, the more I’m disconcerted, and I decide it's time to make my move.  I’m about to take a step when his voice floats across the room again.

  “Are you sure about this?” he says.  “You’ll find I’m not easy prey, Vincent.”

  This time a half-choked, strangled noise actually escapes me.  I squint through the shadows and see that the Texan is sitting up in bed, gazing in my direction through the darkness.  Not only does he know I’m here, but he knows who I am!  It can't be.  It's unfathomable!

  My training kicks in, throwing off my temporary stupor, and I fly across the room in an instant.  No matter what or how he knows, the solution is simple, but despite moving as fast as I can, he is already standing beside the bed by the time I reach him.

  He’s a slight man, in good shape, but slim, no more than 5’6, while I on the other hand stand a full six feet and weigh in at a healthy two-hundred and ten pounds of lethal power.  I think this is going to be easy, but just before I reach him, he moves like a blur and suddenly he’s behind me, shoving my head into the wall.  The sheet rock gives and strobes of light flash in front of my eyes.

  I stumble, stupefied, and turn back to the small man who is again standing several feet away, completely nonchalant, hands at his sides.  “What the…”

  “Please, Vincent,” he says.  “You really should rethink this.  Are those codes that important to you?”

  I don’t say anything, but I don’t move again either.  My mind races furiously to make sense of the situation.  I have years of black ops training and I’m perhaps the most deadly person on the planet, but this little man just eluded me like I was a joke.  What’s more, he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about my presence here.  And he knows what I’m after!

  He sighs deeply, and lets out an exasperated grunt.  “If you’re going to be that way, come on then and let’s get this over with.”

  I go for my gun.  The point isn't to kill him, but I can disable him.  My hand comes up in a flash from the holster strapped to my right thigh and the shot leaves the silenced barrel.  I don't see him move, and I don't miss, but even though he's only ten feet away, he makes no reaction whatsoever, as if the bullet just passed right through him. I don't have time to loose another round before he's on me, sweeping my hand with a kick that sends the gun flying out of my grip.

  I move now with blind rage, lashing out at the Texan with a flurry of kicks and strikes that should be impossible to defend against, but the slight man blocks and dodges with ease, as if he knows exactly what move I will make before I make it. He shoves me, throwing me off balance to the side, and laughs.  He actually laughs! So help me, I’ll tear him to shreds!

  Moving like a flash, I throw a powerful front kick at the man’s groin, but before the blow can land, the Texan sweeps his hand under my leg and pulls my foot high in the air.  I find myself on my back, dazed, looking up at the demonic little figure as he smiles tauntingly.

  I rise unsteadily, my legs shaky, my head swimming.  Suddenly the little freak rushes me.  Placing his hand on my chest, he pushes with the force of a semi truck and I find my battered body flying through the outer wall.  Somehow, I miraculously manage to stay conscious as mortar and bricks plummet with me to the ground far below, and things seem abruptly surreal as I wait for the impact.

  When I hit, the pain is extreme, but I don't die and I realize I've landed in the hotel swimming pool as freezing water envelops my body.  The pain and cold helps jar me back to reality, and I kick frantically, gasping for air as my head cuts through the surface.

  My whole body is alive with pain, like every nerve is exposed, rebelling against the beating I've taken, but I manage to pull myself to the side of the pool, gripping the edge with white knuckles to keep from going back under.  I look up and far above, the Texan leans out the new exit I made in his hotel room, watching as I pull myself up onto the concrete, panting.

  I roll onto my back and my eyes make contact with his.  I don't know what in the world is going on, but I've never experienced anything like this in my life.  It's definitely time to make an exit.  This job is blown and I'm lucky to be leaving with my life.

  I turn to head for the exit gate when I hear a sharp thud behind me.  I whirl, and for the first time in my life, I feel a panic that threatens to overwhelm me.  There, not twenty yards away, the Texan stands, his arms crossed and his head cocked to the side in obvious amusement.

  Something feral and innate takes over. I run, managing to hurdle the small fence surrounding the pool before sprinting into the busy night life of Vegas.  People give me odd looks as I crash through the crowds, soaking wet, but I couldn't care less.  I finally know what it's like to be the prey, and I'm being driven by pure instinct to survive.   All my years of training seem to disappear and there is only survival, raw, ragged, and desperate.  There is only the crushing need to flee.

  The lights of the strip flash and strobe and cause the whole world to spin in a dizzying haze, and I trip, sprawling to the street.  I struggle to my feet and manage to glimpse the form of the Texan making his way through the crowd toward me, still wearing his pajamas, looking completely out of place amid the tourists and locals.

  A sound pierces my ears and it takes me a second to realize it's my own voice, screaming in terror as I scramble backwards and manage to regain my footing.

  God help me, God help me, God help me!  The fear is pressing in on me like a thick blanket, threatening to smother me, to snuff out all reason.  I can't clear my thoughts.  My body trembles as I stagger along, a result of fear and the shakes that come from the adrenaline dump in my system.

  To my right I see an opening and head that direction, anything to get away from the nightmare behind me.  As I pass by an automated ticket terminal, I realize I'm running into an underground parking deck.  I dash through the cars and fall to the ground behind a Mercedes Benz, watching from underneath the car to see if I can catch a glimpse of the Texan's feet.

  Maybe he won't know I turned, maybe he'll keep going.  I struggle to control my wheezing, and I know I'm on the verge of blacking out.  I try to remember my training, to find a place of inner stillness, but it just won't come.  It's like my entire mind is paralyzed with dread.

  I lose track of time, blackness enveloping me, and I come to slowly, the hard concrete surface of the garage cold and harsh on my cheek.  I shake myself trying to clear my head, confusion pulling at me, until the details begin to return.  I don't know how long I've been out, but I know I have to move.

  I raise my head and a wave of nausea sweeps through me as I see the Texan squatting a few feet away, just watching me, his eyes the piercing orbs of a predator.  The same kind of eyes hundreds of others must have seen in me.  Fear sends an icy knife through me forcing my mind to clear, and I begin to crawl backwards from the figure looming there like a wraith.

  I feel the wall behind me and bal
k at the desperation of my situation.  I whimper like a child as the little man stands slowly and takes a step toward me.  I feel a warm wetness and glance at my crotch expecting to see blood, realizing in horror that I've peed myself.  I open my mouth to beg about the time a backhand lashes into my temple, and I once again spiral to near unconsciousness.

  Before I can clear the haze, he bends and wraps a small hand around my throat.  I find myself lifted from the ground as he pulls me up by my neck one-handed, slamming me into the wall.  I dangle there in his grip, incredulous, totally spent physically and emotionally.  I don’t even try to strike.  I’ve thrown everything I have at this freak and he’s made me look like a fool. And now, he’s going to choke the life out of me.  A strange sort of peace begins to settle over me. At least it will all be over soon.  I even welcome it.

  But I’m wrong again. He drops me suddenly and I crumple into a heap on the ground, gasping for air, my mind reeling, my neck throbbing.  The Texan backs away slowly and sits on the edge of a car hood facing me.  My eyes are starting to blur and I can feel a warm ooze of blood trickling down the back of my hairline.

  “Vincent, Vincent, Vincent,” he says, making a clucking noise with his tongue.  “Always resorting to violence.  How