Flood - Andrew H. Vachss [111]
Goldor still spoke quietly, in control. “If you move or try to pull out the wires I’ll hold the trigger down for a long time. Do you understand me?”
I groaned something that Goldor took to mean that I did, and he walked even closer to me. I couldn’t raise my head, all I could see were the polished tips of his boots. He turned to Flood—she was standing there with her mouth open. “Get over here,” he said, and Flood walked over. When she was standing next to him, Goldor bent down and spoke to me, clearly and distinctly, like you would to someone who’s not too bright:
“Mr. Burke, you will crawl over to that black chair, and you will do it slowly. Your hands are not to come anywhere near the darts. And when you get there you will back into that chair until you are seated and facing me. Do you understand?”
I muttered something—he hit me with a short blast and I could feel him smile when I screamed. My own voice frightened me, so high-pitched and thin. I bit into my lower lip until I could feel the blood run—some of it came out when I muttered “yes.”
Goldor moved in and I crawled ahead of him. He stayed close, never letting the wires get taut, pausing only to tell Flood, “You stay there,” like she was a dog he was training, and I backed into the chair until I was seated, facing him like he wanted. I could feel the blood in my mouth but I couldn’t taste anything—each time my muscles contracted the pain shot around my nerves. Goldor took my right hand and put it on the arm of the chair. He reached down and snapped something with one hand and I felt myself strapped down. He did the same with the other arm, then stepped back and jerked the darts out of my body. I lurched forward like I was trying to come out of the chair at him and he smiled, stepped toward me and backhanded me across the mouth. I felt the pain still going through my guts, and I felt the fresh stabbing in my mouth where he’d hit me. Yes, and I also felt the fat lipstick cylinder slap into my right palm. My brain was screaming at me, “You have to live!” but I didn’t fire my one shot—I’d have to get him up close to be sure.
I slumped back in the chair like I was finished, watching him through half-closed eyes. If he came back with something to finish me off I’d have to talk fast, get him next to me, fire my shot, pull what would be left of my hand out of the straps, get the hell out somehow . . .
I must have gone under for a couple of minutes. When I came around, Goldor was sitting on what looked like a padded bar stool and Flood was standing in front of me. She looked dazed. Goldor was saying something to her. I tried to focus on his words and managed to catch the tail end . . .
“. . . and there’s another reason for you to listen to me. Your friend isn’t hurt badly. When this is over he will be able to go away with you. I know what he wanted, and I know how to deal with him. I understand. Listen to me. He told you he’d get you a part in one of my movies, didn’t he?”
Flood didn’t respond, just stood staring at him, but Goldor went on like she had agreed. “He told you he’d make a lot of money, didn’t he? Told you a lot of beautiful girls start out this way, true? Oh, I know him, I know people like him. They have no sensitivity, no understanding of how things really work. But I can’t help you unless you let me help you. I want to help you, Debbie, but you have to talk to me. Do you see? Do you?”
Flood seemed to be struggling for control, trying to answer Goldor’s soft-voiced stream. “Yes. But I don’t—”
“Listen to me. Listen to me, little girl. Those movie parts are not for a beautiful young woman like you. This man is nothing more than a flesh merchant. He