Usually
on a Sunday night Sebastian had a bath, read a book and went to bed early. But
as he walked into his living room, he realised today was different.
Three
men sat there quite comfortably with glasses of his best malt in their hands. They
shouldn't have been there, of course, in his house, drinking his whiskey
without his invitation. He didn't even know them, but although he didn't like
what he saw, Sebastian didn't make a single indignant comment.
Instead,
he froze.
The two
apes in his chairs were enormous, muscular men obviously hired for their brawn
rather than their brain, but the man on the sofa, a sleek young hood of dubious
integrity with dark, Italian eyes, and neatly parted black hair tied back into
a pony-tail, was pointing a silenced gun directly at Sebastian's middle. He
stared at the gun in patent disbelief.
The
three men stared back with cold, emotionless eyes.
"Sebastian
Jackson," the Hood said finally, in a faintly foreign accent.
It
wasn't a question, Sebastian realised. It sounded more like an insult. He
wondered how they had found him. Legally he was still Brian Smith, but he
didn't deny the name. As the olive-skinned man had no doubts at all about his
identity, so he had no doubts that they had come for the repayment of his
outstanding loan. He swallowed hard. "Just," he coughed to clear
something that was wedged in his throat. "Just give me a few days, and ..."
"Shut
up." Again it was quietly said; but the sheer force of the guy's aura shut
Sebastian's mouth with a snap. The gun beckoned. "Come and sit down. We've
got a few things to sort out here before we leave."
"I
told you, I ..."
"Quiet!
I'll tell you when I want you to speak."
Sebastian
felt the need to pee, but walked woodenly over to the little table. The working
end of the gun followed him without the slightest hint of a waver.
To his surprise, some papers and his own pen had been laid out. Hope filled
him. Perhaps they were going to sort this out in a civilised manner after all. He
sat slowly in the upright chair, and left his hands flat on the table in front
of him.
The
youth's sensuous mouth curved into a faint smile at Sebastian's terrified
compliance. "Good boy," he drawled. "Now, you're not going to
make any trouble, are you?"
"No."
"I
can put this away then?"
"Yes.
Please."
"I'm
glad you're a reasonable man, Sebastian."
The
Hood unravelled himself from the sofa and the gun disappeared into the folds of
his fashionable, broad shouldered jacket. He was taller than Sebastian had at
first supposed and was exceedingly beautiful; not that one would dare to say so
to his face. It was not an effeminate beauty, but the dangerous carnal beauty
of a panther, a beast who would kill without thought.
The
beast now padded over to Sebastian's side, dwarfing him with his powerful
presence.
"This,"
he told Sebastian, pulling forward a professionally typed sheet of paper and
slipping it from a case, "Is a document giving me power of attorney over
your affairs."
Sebastian
stared, bemused, "But ..." There was a ripple of movement and a
strong, manicured hand ripped violently backwards along his cheek sending both
him and his chair flying backwards from the table. He crashed into the corner,
pulverising his own telephone table and lay stunned for a second amongst the
debris. Then he rolled over and rose warily to his feet, putting a hand to his
nose as he stood. It came away covered in blood. One of the gorillas incongruously
handed him a hanky.
The
Hood continued to calmly lay the papers out in order. "These," he
said with cool deliberation, "are your instructions to me, in my capacity
as your solicitor, financial advisor, and attorney, to dispose of your assets; respectively,
your car, your flat, and your personal effects."
Sebastian's
eyes widened with fear.
"Are
you going to ask me why?"
"Why?"
A
single step, a punch like a sledgehammer in his middle and Sebastian puked all
over his own carpet. He convulsed into a ball on the floor, retching and
gasping for breath. "Silly question," the Hood said, examining his
hand carefully for damage. "The answer should have been 'No, Sir. I will
not ask any stupid questions to which I already know the answers, I will just
sign your papers so you don't - cut - off - my - dick - and stick it in my
stupid - fucking - mouth. Now do you understand? Do you?" 'Do' was
punctuated by a kick in the kidneys as he didn't respond fast enough.
Sebastian
arched back in an involuntary spasm at the excruciating pain. "Yes,
Sir," he gasped quickly, tears streaming from his eyes.
"When
you have finished mucking around on the floor ..." There was menace in the
tone.
Sebastian
rolled painfully onto his knees and climbed to his feet as quickly as was
humanly possible, drawing shallow breaths to ease the knifing pain which drove
through his back at the movement. "You will sign all of these papers. In your real name."
There
was a kind of pause at the end, and Sebastian reached forward slowly and took
the pen. He didn't doubt they would persuade him to change his mind if he
argued, so without further demur he signed away his worldly goods.
The
Hood picked up each paper, checked the authenticity of his signature carefully
against a photocopy of the Bank's own signature card (how the hell did he get
that?), and then tidied the papers away into a waiting briefcase.
"And,
finally, this one," the Hood positively purred, "which
is a letter of resignation to your employers. You have decided to leave the
bank to go into another form of employment and are prepared to forfeit your
last month's wages in lieu of notice."
Sebastian's
heart and hopes fell into his boots with a thud.
"Are
you going to ask me why?"
"No,
Sir."
"Well,
I'll tell you anyway. The pitiful amount of capital generated by the sale of
your assets leaves a deficit of some several hundred thousand pounds. Tell me,
is there any way which you can think of to settle your debt to Victor Miliano?" His brows lifted with concern.
"No,"
Sebastian whispered, not liking to contemplate any of the horrible things which
leapt unbidden into mind at that moment.
"It's
obvious the debt cannot be settled in the traditional manner; rather than just
leave you to be fitted with a pair of concrete boots, my employer is offering
an alternative." His lips curled in a smile of unholy pleasure at some
inner thought.
"Please,
I can't ..."
The
Hood raised a hand.
Sebastian
winced.
"Sign."
He did.
The
Hood then glanced at his watch. "I'm going to put these papers into the
right hands," he said to his waiting muscle. "There're too many
people around to leave now, I'll be back later with the car."
As the
Hood exited, Sebastian's confidence grew fractionally. He had several hours to
think of a way from escaping from these two gorillas.
"Getcher clothes orf," said
one in a thick cockney accent.
"Now."
said the other.
"What
the fuck for?" Sebastian said indignantly.
"'Cos
if you don't, we will." They flexed forearms thicker than his thighs.
Sebastian
took his clothes off, with somewhat less than the satisfaction that action
would normally generate, finally standing naked before them, feeling humiliated
and vaguely silly.
Thick
they might be, but efficient they were also, he soon realised. His wrists were
pulled together and secured firmly behind his back. The loose ends of that rope
were brought round his middle and tied tightly, pulling his wrists up and his
elbows out an a strange angle. He was then pushed to his knees and his ankles
were crossed and tightly bound, forcing his knees to spread, exposing his most
private parts to a cold draft.