Charade

Benji

Name one thing you do when going on holiday.

No, not packing your bags. Think deeper.

The mail.

It's the last thing you want piling up at your front door while you're away. So you either ask a neighbour to pick it up for you while you're gone, or you call up the newsagency and cancel it for however long your trip will last. That's where I come in.

My job was at the local newsagency in the heart of the city. It wasn't the shiniest, cleanest job, but there weren't a lot options for high school drop outs, and it also gave me access to the computers. It's easy enough to tap into mail records and see who's home and who's away for the week, just like it was easy enough to break in and live there until they got home.

I have to say, though, I've never gone to the wrong address before. The apartment for rent had belonged to Mr and Mrs Hammond, living on the fourth floor in a building near the city. How I got the wrong address and how ended up in a conman's apartment was beyond me. I'd never done it before. Hopefully, I never did it again.

I did, however, expect to see that conman very soon. My blackmailing him probably made him pretty mad, and I was sure he would find me. I just never expected this.

At around three p.m., one of the new guys knocked over a bin in the tea room and sent the garbage flying. My job was to clean it up. Fun, right? I scraped the disgusting mess into a new garbage bag and tied it in a tight knot. The kid who spilt it disappeared into the bathroom, where I heard water running. First smart thing he'd done all day. I grabbed the bag by the knot and disappeared out the back door, into the narrow alleyway that accompanied the side of the newsagency.

The alleyway was quiet, as it usually is, and stank badly, as it usually does. This place was unnerving, even in the day. The tall, narrow walls were scribbled with ugly graffiti, the overwhelming stench of the dumpsters, the rats and feral cats patrolling at all times. It was enough to make you nearly throw up sometimes.

I flipped opened the dumpster, grey and rusted and old, and held my breath in anticipation of the god awful smell. I dumped the bag inside and felt the rusted flakes of the handle rub off into my hand, before shutting it back up as quickly as possible. As I pondered on tonight's excuse for staying late to check the computers, I turned back to the door, just as two strong hands grabbed me and sent me flying into a brick wall.

"Where is it?!" The conman shouted, spit flying off his tongue.

I gasped, shocked, unable to contemplate what had just happened. His strong, weathered hands pinned me to the brick wall, hard and sturdy at my back. His face was two inches from mine, white-hot anger flaming in his brown eyes. His mouth was in a snarl, eyes on fire, hands gripping my collar with enough force to tear the fabric. My body locked up, jaw set, words trapped in my throat.

"Where is the money? The evidence? Tell me!" He roared, shaking me like a rag doll.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I mocked.

In one swift motion, he pulled back his closed fist and socked me in the face. I bent forward at the waist, holding my hands to my throbbing nose. Blood came gushing out in a thick stream, the cartilage in agonizing pain, eyes rapidly filling up with tears. I even coughed up a decent mouthful of blood and watched it splatter all over the pavement.

"I'm not fucking playing around, Benjamin." He said, pinning me to the wall again. "You tell me where it is or I will kill you. No second chances this time."

"Teach me and I'll tell you," I spluttered, blood running down my nose, over my lips, and dripping off my chin.

Before I even knew what was happening, he drove his closed fist into my rib cage and I fell to my knees. Blood poured out onto the concrete as I held my side with both hands, feeling the unbearable pain pulse like a second heart. Dirt and stones rubbed into my scraped knees, stinging brutally as I felt the bruising creep in.

"Tell me now, or I will beat you so senseless you will have forgotten your own name."

"You're not the first one who's beaten me up, mate. I've had worse."

Swiftly, he reached down and hauled me up by my throat. The air was instantly cut off, the pressure making my head want to explode. With a snarl, he threw me into the wall, holding me there.

"I may not be the first, but I will be the last." He sneered.

I opened my mouth, trying to talk, but talking required air. I clawed at his rough hands, gasping. He moved forward, so his lips were at my ear.

"Last chance." He whispered.

His hand tightened over my throat. My head pulsed, hot, until my lungs burned and my skull was about to explode. Then, as if he knew I was only seconds away from passing out, he dropped me.

I gasped for air, filling my lungs desperately, and my knees gave out from under me. I looked up at him, this insane thing, hell-bent on killing me. I knew where all the evidence was. He'd have to tear apart the whole building to find it, and I'm pretty sure he would. Still. I was stubborn to the point of death. I knew what I wanted, and I knew that he wouldn't kill me, at least not here where help is only on the other side of the door.

"I won't... tell... until..." I was still gasping, trying to cram every inch of air back into my lungs. The throbbing in my head settled, with the exception of my nose, which still was in unbearable pain.

"Didn't you hear me?!" He barked. "I will kill – "

"Then do it!" I screamed back at him. "Because I'm not telling you where it is until you tell me everything you know! Kick me, punch me, burn me, drown me – I don't care! I am not telling you!"

The conman paused, staring down at me. I wondered if he believed me or if he was considering his next attack. What would he do? Grab me and drag me to his car? Take me out into the middle of nowhere? Shoot out my kneecaps and shins and elbows? Suddenly, I realized for the first time the danger of the situation, and was terrified of what would happen next.

He made a low noise, almost like a growl, and pulled back his arm. I shielded my face, ready for the next powerful blow, but it didn't come. Slowly, I peered over my elbow up at him, and he dropped his arm.

"Tomorrow," he spat. "Noon, in the Hammond's apartment."

With that, he turned and walked away, down to the end of the alley, and out onto the street. With bruises already forming and blood endlessly pouring, I slumped against the wall, wondering what I'd just gotten myself into.

   © A.G. Travers 2015