I thought about Rita, lovely Rita, and also remembered that I told Kathie I’d call her later. I wondered what she’d told her mother. With Roberts, I had opened a twenty-nine-year-old wound, and now the hurt and suffering was spreading.
More time passed and I began to think that maybe Danny and Rollo weren’t coming back at all. I wondered how long this nightmare would drag on. Would I still be here, a dried-up piece of skin covering yellowing bones, when some archaeologist from the future dug up this place? “Eureka, I’ve found the remains of a twentieth century man, a perfect specimen, a Hominidae Lawyerus!”
Hours went by at an agonizingly slow pace. The anguish and fatigue continued to build, and I didn’t feel that I was making any headway at freeing myself. I kept flexing my fingers in an effort to enhance the blood flow to my numb hands. They felt as if they had swollen to twice their normal size. The throbbing pain from the wounds on my face bothered me for sure, but if this went on much longer it would be boredom that would finally do me in.
I started to nod off, damn near strangling myself when my head dropped. I took several deep breaths of the hot stale air, trying to stay awake. Twisting and turning as much as possible, I strained every muscle in my body, struggling against my restraints with every fiber of my being.
I broke one leg free.
Not long after, I gave up. I couldn’t move anymore. My body was like a hot engine racing without oil. My muscles screamed in pain and my joints had locked up tight. In all this time I had only managed to get the one leg free. The wound on my face had opened more and blood dripped to the floor, splattering at my feet.
Without help, it would be impossible to get loose. I’d have to wait until someone-a guard, caretaker, anyone-showed up and untied me. But then I remembered what the goons had said: they’d be back in the morning.
I had one leg free-but what good would that do? I had to get my hands loose, but I couldn’t even feel them now.
My most important challenge would be to stay awake until I got out of this mess. If I fell asleep, my head would drop and I’d die of strangulation, I warned myself for the hundredth time.
Staring at the far wall and the support beams in front of me, I thought I saw a flicker of movement in the darkness. Did I imagine it, or did something scurry across the floor at the edge of the wall? No, it was real. I heard the clicking sound of clawed feet skittering on the concrete floor as another form squeezed in through an opening in the back where a number of bricks had given way. The creature scampered to one of the support beams and hid behind it.
More of them came through the hole, four or five at a time now, and they kept coming. I shouted. They froze in their tracks. Two dozen or more animals stared at me, their red eyes glowing in the dark.
Sewer rats.
The back of my throat filled with bile. I wanted to gag.
One of them, a large albino about a foot long, moved forward cautiously, sniffing the air. After a few feet it stopped and looked up at me for a moment before continuing on. Others followed, moving slowly at first, zigzagging across the floor. A few of them circled around to the sides, like troops setting up a flanking maneuver. Reinforcements poured in from the hole and joined their predecessors.
Soon a small army of rats surrounded me. They had formed up in a circle five feet away from me. Their eyes, red slits in the dark, locked on me. Their noses twitched. They had smelled my fresh blood on the floor and they were hungry.
I’d always thought that rats were afraid of humans. Looked like I was wrong; they were preparing to attack. It was just a matter of time before the battle would commence.
All at once, they rushed forward, crowding at my feet, climbing over one another in a frenzy to get at me. Their horrible squeals rang in my ears. A few of them nibbled at my shoes, going for the blood that had splattered on them. I stomped my foot with my free leg, but that didn’t slow them down. I kicked a big one as hard as I could, like I was going for a fifty-yard field goal. It disappeared in the darkness. Then I kicked another one and I kept kicking, my leg moving in quick thrusts, back and forth, like a heavy pendulum on speed. I connected more often than I missed, and one by one the rats started to back off. A tactical retreat.
I’d apparently injured one rat badly. It remained motionless, lying on its side about ten feet away. It wasn’t dead; I could see its head move. Five or six of its comrades circled it and sniffed curiously at its wounded leg. Finally, the albino grabbed the injured rodent’s neck in its teeth and started to drag it back toward the hole in the wall. I wondered if rats formed a community with strong bonds. Maybe the albino, in a noble act, was taking the injured one to the nest to nurse it back to a state of well-being.
Halfway to the hole, he dropped it and sniffed at the rat’s bloody leg.
The albino let out a sharp, high-pitched shriek and tore into its exposed flesh, pulling off hunks of meat. Ear-splitting squeals cut through the hot night air as the other rats rushed to attack the injured one. I watched in horror as the rats became a tumult of roiling fur, tearing the injured one to shreds in a frenzy of blood and gore. The rats were like a horde of ferocious piranhas as they devoured their wounded companion. In a matter of seconds it was over.
The albino disappeared through the hole. The others, like good little soldiers with full bellies, followed, and the battle of the rat had ended. At least for now.
Morning twilight seeped in through the high windows, filling the warehouse with a dim gray light. I’d managed to stay awake all night and the rats hadn’t returned, but I still couldn’t work myself free from the duct tape and rope that held me to the post. To add to my pain and anger, I now had an urgent need to take a piss. Okay, I could hold it… for a while, at least. What I’d give to be back in my apartment reading the morning Times while sipping a steaming cup of coffee, after taking a long hot shower, of course.
I wet my pants.
I could tell by the path of the sun across the high windows that it was now past noon, maybe one o’clock. So much for them coming back in the morning. Earlier, I thought I heard the rumble of a truck going by and I’d yelled at the top of my lungs but, of course, the driver hadn’t heard me. I had doubts that I could hold out much longer. Fatigued and numb, I had a severe cramp in my neck and shoulders from holding my head up and back, but I didn’t dare sleep. Knowing the consequences of falling asleep is death by hanging is enough to give anyone insomnia. I wondered when the thugs were going to return. As unpleasant as that thought was, maybe I’d be relieved to see them. Then I remembered Rollo with his knife-and I trembled.
More time passed, but by now I had no idea what time of day it was. It was still light outside, but that’s all I knew. I had lost the ability to gauge the passage of time. It ran together and piled up, moving at its own pace. And anyway, what difference did it make what the watch on my wrist behind me said? Or the clock in my office, or when the happy hour at Rocco’s would start. Or even when my client, Roberts, would finally be out of the hospital and be cleared of all charges. I was here and I’d be here until time stopped altogether.
I heard a car or maybe a truck outside. The warehouse door rattled. Were the bastards returning? Maybe they figured Jimmy O’Brien has had enough. Had time to think it over. Maybe by now he’d decided that the Roberts case just wasn’t worth all the pain. Besides, what could he do? The cops had said his client had killed Vera and the old lady. And O’Brien had no defense and had never tried a murder case. Why should he start with this one?
And why make waves at this late date? After all, Roberts’s troubles had started almost thirty years ago. O’Brien was just a kid back then and he’d figure it was ancient history. In the grand scheme of things, what difference would it make if a loser like Roberts went back to the slam, this time for life?