Todavia no, todavia no! she cried and he was trembling and he felt like exploding. She wiggled under him, squealing with delight, then screaming, then groaning. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, and each time he thrust into her she tightened them a little more, digging deeper into his back with her fingernails. Sweat dripped from his chin onto her forehead and she giggled and then shoved up hard against him, In the semi-dark room he could see her face under his, and her eyes were rolled back and crazy.
Más, más, más,’ she demanded and he didn’t have much more to give and felt himself peaking and his ass getting tighter as he tried to hold back.
He barely heard the door crash open.
For the next few seconds, everything seemed to happen in confused, blurred slow motion: two grim figures framed in the doorway the girl, opening her mouth to scream
a faint sound
bupbupbupbupbupbupbupbupbupbupbup
the woman, her chest erupting into pulp, slamming back against the wall the slugs, ripping into her, making more noise than the gun itself the girl falling on her side, her head dangling limply over the side of the sofa bed, her sweaty black hair hanging straight down to the floor red stains widening across the sheet toward him turning, finally, reaching for the gum again that dull sound, almost inaudible
bupbupbupbupbupbupbupbupbupbupbup
the gun and the lamp and the crate vanishing in an explosion of splinters falling back on the bed, still gasping for breath, still erect, his eyes staring in terror at the form beside the bed, pointing a machine gun at his eye.
It was all over in a few seconds. What in God’s name!
In the semidarkness the finger of light from a flashlight led the other figure into the bathroom, then the kitchen.
‘Qué quiere Usted?’ Gomez cried out finally.
‘Shut up,’ the one with the machine gun snapped. ‘And speak English when ye’re asked.’
He heard the sound of water running into the bathtub. The other one came back and he recognized his drawling voice.
‘Nobody else here. The sucker’s really big time. Got himself a fuckin’ bathtub. Running water. Goddamn new phone over there in the corner. I mean, look at that brand-new phone, I’ll bet there ain’t been five calls made on it yet.’
Hinge picked up one of the chairs and went back toward the bathroom with it. ‘Shit, ol’ Ray-fi-el, he’s dreamin’ of bein’ a fuckin’ millionaire, aintcha there, Ray-fi-el.’
Gomez said nothing. He looked at the girl, at the blood gushing from her butchered chest, like water pouring from an open spigot. He started to get sick.
‘Forget her,’ the Texan ordered. ‘You get sick, I’ll rub your goddamn nose in it.’
Gomez swallowed hard, forcing the sour bile back down. The new one, who was taller and thinner than the Texan, handed his gun to Hinge and stuffed a washcloth in Gomez’s mouth and tied it in place.
The Texan picked up the shattered lamp and carried it into the bathroom.
‘Let’s go,’ the tall one said, pulling Gomez off the bed, half dragging him into the bathroom. They shoved Gomez into the chair and tied his hands behind his back and tied each of his legs to a leg of the chair.
The Texan, the one Gomez knew as Mr Lomax, smiled down at him. He leaned the machine gun against the wall and pulled the double-strand wire from the shattered lamp and separated it into two strips. He took out a knife and stripped a foot or so of insulation off both strands of wire. When he was finished he had two long strands of cleared wire, still connected at one end to the plug.
‘This oughta give ya a little charge,’ Hinge said, and giggled as he wrapped one wire around each of Gomez’s ankles. The chauffeur’s eyes bulged even wider. He twisted violently in the chair.
Hinge turned off the water. He and Falmouth lifted the chair and set it in the bathtub. Gomez looked down. The water was well above his ankles.
Hinge picked up the plug and knelt on the floor near the socket.
‘I didn’t think you’d have electricity there, Ray-fi-el, I thought we’d have to use gasoline on the bottom of your feet.’ He giggled again and held the prongs of the plug in front of the socket and popped it in and out, very quickly. Gomez jerked as if someone had just kicked him. His scream was trapped in the gag. He was breathing hard through his nose, shaking his head, back and forth.
‘Didn’t like that, now did ya, ol’ buddy?’ Hinge said. ‘Lemme tell ya what we’re gonna do. ‘We’re gonna ask you a coupla questions and if we don’t like your answers — well, shit, man, I’m just gonna plug you in and we’re gonna go have ourselves some dinner someplace and come back after dessert. How does that grab yer ass, Ray-fi-el? Hmm?’
Gomez kept shaking his head.
‘The one with the funny eye, uh, el malo ojo, where does he live?’
Gomez looked up at Falmouth, who produced a hotel pad and a pen.
‘He’s gonna untie yer hands, Ray-fi-el, and you just write that sucker’s name and address down, comprende, motherfucker?’
Gomez shook his head no.
Hinge thrust the plug in the socket. This time he left it in for a full second. Gomez jerked forward against the ropes, then snapped back. His head lolled over the back of the chair. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. Falmouth dipped a cloth in the tub water and wiped off his face. He stuck smelling salts under the nose of Gomez. The chauffeur gradually came around. He was grunting and breathing hard through his nose and spit dribbled from the gag at the corners of his mouth. He looked up at Falmouth and then at Hinge, trying to focus.
‘What we want, friend, is names and addresses. The one with the malo ojo and the driver of the car that took me, the little shit with the cute little o1’ earring? And the other two at the meetin’. And we wanna know where ya took me and where this Lavander fellow ya snatched is. Ya savvy all that, or am I talkin’ too fast for ya?’
Gomez stared at him, dull-eyed. He was having trouble breathing.
‘It’s real easy, man. Ya write those names and addresses down on that piece a paper there, and you’re through for the day. Okay? Otherwise, I’m gonna give ya another fuckin’ ride.’
He held the plug down near the socket and slipped the prongs in just far enough to keep the plug from falling out. Gomez stared down at the plug, hanging half in and half out of the socket. He nodded his head hard and murmured through the gag.
‘Well, shit, looka there, that turkey’s ready to talk awready. I tell ya, pardner, the ol’ bathtub trick never fails. Untie him, there, see can he write plain.’
Falmouth untied Gomez’s hands and held the pen toward him. The chauffeur took it with a tremorring left hand.
‘South paw, hunh,’ Hinge said. ‘You shoulda been a baseball player, Ray-fi-el, it’s one helluva lot healthier than the game ye’re in.’
Gomez wrote names and addresses on the tablet.
‘Phone numbers, too,’ Hinge said. ‘Obviously you boys got yuhselves some new phones like that one in on the floor there, hunh? Just for this little caper.’
Gomez wrote the phone numbers below the addresses. His eyes jumped fearfully back to Hinge. He looked like a rabbit staring at a rattlesnake. Hinge took the paper and read the names and addresses.
‘How about Lavander. El prisionero?’
Gomez shook his head wildly.
‘I don’t think he knows where they’ve got Lavander,’ Falmouth said.
Gomez nodded his head in wild-eyed agreement.
‘Hell, he’s just a fink they pulled in to drive the fuckin’ snatch car,’ Hinge said. He looked at the list. ‘Pasco Chiado, Lupo Areno, Billy Zapata and — who’s this ... Chico. Chico what?’
Gomez shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. ‘He means this one only has a surname. That’s common down here,’ Falmouth said. ‘Means this Chico is a bastard. Literally. It’s an acceptable condition in Venezuela.’