Read Online Caught Stealing (2004) by Charlie - Henry Thompson 0 Huston - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlie - Henry Thompson 0 Huston
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the top of the stack. In any case it was a really good idea on their part, because even with the sock in my mouth, I'm making a fuck of a lot of noise, but then I guess it should come as no surprise that these guys know their business.
The sock comes out and I vomit onto my pillow.
-What is the key for?
I'm coughing quite a bit now, trying to spit up the puke and breathe at the same time, but I manage to give him an answer.
-I don't. Gasp! Choke! I don't know. I don't know. Choke!
-What did Miner tell you about the key?
-Nothing, he didn't say. Gasp! He didn't say. Choke! Nothing about the key. I don't know about the key.
-You knew where it was.
-Gasp! Accident. I found it by accident.
I get the sock again. Red is having trouble getting at the next staple, he's really digging in. The pain is making me even more nauseous than I was with just the hangover and I think I may vomit again. Please, please, God. My throat is clenching and hitching and the blood in my nose is running back in. The coppery taste of the blood is blending with the bile of the puke. Please. Oh, God, please. The staple gives way and I scream again. They yank the sock and I spill out another flood of puke, this one tinted pink with blood.
-What did he tell you when he asked you to hide the key?
I can't talk, I just can't. I heave and blubber and beg and Roman sticks the puke-and-blood-soaked sock back in my mouth and Red hurts me again and I realize then that they are going to kill me just as soon as they can.
Roman is a cop. Despite what you may have heard, the behavior he is now engaged in, not even an officer of the NYPD can get away with. They will finish asking questions and, when I have no more to offer, they will kill me. And, having had this realization, I start trying very hard to think as clearly as I can, because I don't want to die.
-What did he tell you about the key?
-Gasp! Gasp! He. Didn't. Tell. Me. Anything. Gasp! About. The. Key.
-Why did he give you the key?
-He. He. Gasp! He didn't give me the key.
-Why did you say you had the key?
-He. Fuck. He gave me the. Gasp! The cat. The key was in its box. I didn't know. He didn't give me the key. Gasp! He stuck me with it. I didn't know.
-What is the key for?
Think. Think. I don't want to die. I need to think. I'm trying to think of ways not to die, but the pain and the hangover keep getting in my way and I can't keep my thoughts together in one place long enough to make them work for me. I try to keep answering the questions without saying something that will make me dead.
-I don't know.
-What does it look like?
-I didn't see it.
I get the sock and another staple goes. I think I black out for a couple seconds, I can't really tell for sure.
-How do you know there was a key if you didn't see it?
-It. Gasp! It was in an envelope. Gasp! I felt it. It felt like a key. Gasp! It felt like a lumpy key. Big. Lumpy.
-Where is the key now?
Fuck!
-I. Don't. Know. I just don't.
And the sock. And another staple.
-We did not come here looking for a key, but if Mr. Miner gave you a key, then we want it. Where is the key?
-Gasp! I just. Fuck! Gasp! I just don't know. I put it back in the box yesterday. Gasp! And last night after those guys were here, I got drunk. Choke! I got real fucking drunk. I fucking blacked out. I fucking shit my pants, for God sake. I don't know where it is now. I left it in the box.
The sock. A staple.
-Where is the key?
I say nothing. I try to get as much air as I can. I breathe. I try to figure out a way to live. And Roman says something odd:
-Chew the fat.
I have no idea what that's about until Blackie releases my arm and starts scrabbling under the bed and I hear Bud crying. Then I realize he meant to say, "Get the cat."
In all fairness, he probably did say "Get the cat" and I only heard "Chew the fat." Bud is giving Blackie hell under the bed and the bastard is grunting and cursing in Russian. My left arm is free now, but the circulation is all
The sock comes out and I vomit onto my pillow.
-What is the key for?
I'm coughing quite a bit now, trying to spit up the puke and breathe at the same time, but I manage to give him an answer.
-I don't. Gasp! Choke! I don't know. I don't know. Choke!
-What did Miner tell you about the key?
-Nothing, he didn't say. Gasp! He didn't say. Choke! Nothing about the key. I don't know about the key.
-You knew where it was.
-Gasp! Accident. I found it by accident.
I get the sock again. Red is having trouble getting at the next staple, he's really digging in. The pain is making me even more nauseous than I was with just the hangover and I think I may vomit again. Please, please, God. My throat is clenching and hitching and the blood in my nose is running back in. The coppery taste of the blood is blending with the bile of the puke. Please. Oh, God, please. The staple gives way and I scream again. They yank the sock and I spill out another flood of puke, this one tinted pink with blood.
-What did he tell you when he asked you to hide the key?
I can't talk, I just can't. I heave and blubber and beg and Roman sticks the puke-and-blood-soaked sock back in my mouth and Red hurts me again and I realize then that they are going to kill me just as soon as they can.
Roman is a cop. Despite what you may have heard, the behavior he is now engaged in, not even an officer of the NYPD can get away with. They will finish asking questions and, when I have no more to offer, they will kill me. And, having had this realization, I start trying very hard to think as clearly as I can, because I don't want to die.
-What did he tell you about the key?
-Gasp! Gasp! He. Didn't. Tell. Me. Anything. Gasp! About. The. Key.
-Why did he give you the key?
-He. He. Gasp! He didn't give me the key.
-Why did you say you had the key?
-He. Fuck. He gave me the. Gasp! The cat. The key was in its box. I didn't know. He didn't give me the key. Gasp! He stuck me with it. I didn't know.
-What is the key for?
Think. Think. I don't want to die. I need to think. I'm trying to think of ways not to die, but the pain and the hangover keep getting in my way and I can't keep my thoughts together in one place long enough to make them work for me. I try to keep answering the questions without saying something that will make me dead.
-I don't know.
-What does it look like?
-I didn't see it.
I get the sock and another staple goes. I think I black out for a couple seconds, I can't really tell for sure.
-How do you know there was a key if you didn't see it?
-It. Gasp! It was in an envelope. Gasp! I felt it. It felt like a key. Gasp! It felt like a lumpy key. Big. Lumpy.
-Where is the key now?
Fuck!
-I. Don't. Know. I just don't.
And the sock. And another staple.
-We did not come here looking for a key, but if Mr. Miner gave you a key, then we want it. Where is the key?
-Gasp! I just. Fuck! Gasp! I just don't know. I put it back in the box yesterday. Gasp! And last night after those guys were here, I got drunk. Choke! I got real fucking drunk. I fucking blacked out. I fucking shit my pants, for God sake. I don't know where it is now. I left it in the box.
The sock. A staple.
-Where is the key?
I say nothing. I try to get as much air as I can. I breathe. I try to figure out a way to live. And Roman says something odd:
-Chew the fat.
I have no idea what that's about until Blackie releases my arm and starts scrabbling under the bed and I hear Bud crying. Then I realize he meant to say, "Get the cat."
In all fairness, he probably did say "Get the cat" and I only heard "Chew the fat." Bud is giving Blackie hell under the bed and the bastard is grunting and cursing in Russian. My left arm is free now, but the circulation is all
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