They’re murderers.
I can feel it in my soul. These guys in the warehouse have got to be related to my father’s death in some way or another. It can’t possibly be a coincidence that they’re here right now yelling about cops and stuff, when just a week ago my father’s life was snuffed out in the exact same location. I grit my teeth and force myself to ignore how gross the ground is beneath my feet as I move slowly, cautiously along toward the men.
“My associate gave you an order! Get on your feet, ya bastard!” commands the first voice I heard earlier. There’s the rustle of something like metal dragging on the concrete floor and I furrow my brows trying to figure out what the hell it might be. Then it hits me with a jolt to my heart: chains. It’s the sound of metal chains clinking and rolling across the floor.
What the hell? I crouch down even further as I continue to make my way closer. Even though everything just got a million levels more bizarre and horrifying, I feel totally drawn to the sounds of their voices. I have got to figure out what’s going on, even if doing so thrusts me directly into the lap of danger.
Besides, with my father gone, I don’t exactly have anything else to lose.
“I don’t know anythin’ about it, man! Nichego!” exclaims the second voice. He’s the one being interrogated, the one whose voice is wavering with fear. As I come closer, I peer around the ceiling-high metal storage shelves to see the three men only about fifty yards away from me. My jaw drops at the sight.
There’s a man with both arms chained to the floor, metal links around his wrists keeping him bound to about a ten foot reach. He’s drenched in sweat and his eyes are nearly bugging out of his head, he’s so scared. He looks like a skeevy rat of a man, with receding, blondish hair, scrawny limbs, and a long, hooked nose. He’s wearing a polo shirt and cargo pants which are much too large for him, and he’s kneeling on one knee, looking up at the two other guys with desperate, imploring eyes.
“Bullshit!” snarls the first voice, which I see now belongs to a tall, wiry, brown-haired guy in a light blue shirt and khakis. If not for the rolled-up sleeves and combative stance, he would look for all the world like a harmless Sunday school teacher or something. That image is shattered completely when he reels back and lands a solid kick to the chained guy’s calves.
The rat-like man falls on his hands and knees, buckling over in pain as he yells out, “Klyanus! I have nothing to say! It’s not one of ours!”
“I can’t abide a liar,” says the third man. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize he’s the one with the resonant voice. He’s even taller than the blue-shirt guy, with broad shoulders, and very dark hair. Even from here I can see the muscles tight underneath his dark jeans and black, short-sleeved shirt. There’s a thick black leather jacket crumpled behind him on the floor, as though he recently took it off. Then I notice that there’s a similar-looking jacket lying vaguely behind the blue-shirt guy, too. Weird.
“Hear that, zasranec? Your lies won’t be tolerated!” shouts blue-shirt. He pulls back for another kick but the cowering rat-man shrinks away instinctively.
The man in black raises a hand to stop them, his other hand rubbing at his temple.
“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way, eh?” he begins, that deep voice filling my brain like intoxicating cigar smoke. “Perhaps you’d respond better to positive reinforcement.”
The rat-man perks up immediately, his sniveling face peeking out from behind his arms. He nods rapidly and begins to stand back up to take a few steps toward black-shirt. “Da, da, moy drug! What is your offer?”
Blue-shirt gestures angrily toward him, giving his associate a scathing, indignant glare. “You want to make a deal with this slug, Leon? Come on! Let’s just bash his ugly face in!”
“Quiet, Lukas!” black-shirt commands, holding up one finger to silence him. So his name had to be Leon. The name made me shiver.
Blue-shirt — Lukas — backs down, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes. Then Leon moves in on the rat-man and says, “What can you tell me about what happened here? How much do you really know?”
Fidgeting nervously and glancing back and forth between Leon and Lukas, the rat-man stammers, “I-I don’t know much, b-but I could give you some names of those who m-might have information for you.”
Leon snaps his fingers and the rat-man flinches. “Well? Spill!”
“F-first I need to know what you’re gonna give me in return.”
Lukas rounds on him furiously, snatching him up by the collar. “How about letting you leave this shithole with your miserable life? That good enough?”