strong men that way. This time his assailant simply grunted softly and brushed the cane aside, more a comment than an expression of pain.
Striking quickly so he wouldn’t lose his balance, Carver faked another jab, then lashed out with the cane at the man’s head. A huge hand darted out and snatched away the cane before it could make contact.
Carver felt a cold panic as he tottered and started to fall.
But he didn’t fall. The big man shoved him back against the wall, supporting him in a standing position. With the speed of a top heavyweight boxer, he slammed a mammoth fist into Carver’s stomach. As Carver’s breath whoosh ed out of him and his mouth gaped, the man inserted the cane and pushed it until its tip pressed against the back of his throat. Carver leaned back tight against the wall, feeling the rough plaster against the back of his head, struggling not to gag.
The big man moved in closer. Carver lifted his good leg to try to knee him in the groin, but the man easily blocked it with his own leg and applied pressure with the cane. Carver choked for several seconds. His stomach, aching from the blow he’d received, went into spasms and he almost vomited.
Smiling confidently, the big man waited until Carver had control of himself, holding the cane steadily, keeping Carver pinned to the wall.
“You might notice,” he said, still smiling at Carver but now with a mesmerized expression, “that this will be a sort of oneway conversation. Tough enough for you just to breathe, I’m sure, so I won’t ask you to talk.”
Carver swung his right fist out at the man’s stomach. It was like hitting stucco, and the momentum of the swing pulled him out from the wall. The cane rammed against his tonsils. More choking.
“Keep trying that kind of thing and you’ll start to bleed in there, drown on your own blood. I’ve seen it happen. It’s fun to watch.”
Saliva was building around the cane, and there was the taste of blood. Carver swallowed. It hurt like hell, and he almost went into another choking fit.
That seemed to amuse the man. He was getting his jollies, all right, which infuriated Carver. “We can agree now, I’m sure, that my warning to you to stop your investigation carries some persuasiveness. So, I’m asking you at this point if you intend to be reasonable and apply your talents elsewhere. Do you?”
Carver tried to speak but only gagged. He found himself biting the cane.
“Try to manage a nod,” the man said. “That’ll be easier.”
Carver managed. He felt saliva trickle down his chin.
Another dreamy yet alert smile. The cane rotated painfully between Carver’s teeth and against the back of his throat, like a blunt drill bit. “Is that your solemn promise, Mr. Carver?”
It was harder to nod agreement this time, more agonizing.
The man slowly withdrew the cane from Carver’s mouth, pressing a forefinger against his own lips in a signal for silence. Then, without a change of expression, he jabbed the tip of the cane into Carver’s sternum, exactly as Carver had done to him.
The effect was different. Carver bounced off the wall and lost consciousness for a few seconds. He was on the floor, in the fetal position except for his stiff leg, listening to his harsh rasping struggle for breath and life.
“Gets rough now,” the man said.
The cane lashed out, over and over, against the meaty part of Carver’s shoulders and upper arms, so quickly he couldn’t ward it off. He tucked in his chin and covered his head with his arms, but that didn’t matter; his head wasn’t the target. Pain exploded through him with each impact, numbing his upper body. He could actually hear the whir of the cane each time it descended, but it didn’t allow time for him to brace for the blow.
Breathing only slightly harder, the big man finally stepped back.
“I aim to convince,” he said. He adjusted his black horn-rims with his little finger, in a way that was almost prissy. Then he raised his left
Striking quickly so he wouldn’t lose his balance, Carver faked another jab, then lashed out with the cane at the man’s head. A huge hand darted out and snatched away the cane before it could make contact.
Carver felt a cold panic as he tottered and started to fall.
But he didn’t fall. The big man shoved him back against the wall, supporting him in a standing position. With the speed of a top heavyweight boxer, he slammed a mammoth fist into Carver’s stomach. As Carver’s breath whoosh ed out of him and his mouth gaped, the man inserted the cane and pushed it until its tip pressed against the back of his throat. Carver leaned back tight against the wall, feeling the rough plaster against the back of his head, struggling not to gag.
The big man moved in closer. Carver lifted his good leg to try to knee him in the groin, but the man easily blocked it with his own leg and applied pressure with the cane. Carver choked for several seconds. His stomach, aching from the blow he’d received, went into spasms and he almost vomited.
Smiling confidently, the big man waited until Carver had control of himself, holding the cane steadily, keeping Carver pinned to the wall.
“You might notice,” he said, still smiling at Carver but now with a mesmerized expression, “that this will be a sort of oneway conversation. Tough enough for you just to breathe, I’m sure, so I won’t ask you to talk.”
Carver swung his right fist out at the man’s stomach. It was like hitting stucco, and the momentum of the swing pulled him out from the wall. The cane rammed against his tonsils. More choking.
“Keep trying that kind of thing and you’ll start to bleed in there, drown on your own blood. I’ve seen it happen. It’s fun to watch.”
Saliva was building around the cane, and there was the taste of blood. Carver swallowed. It hurt like hell, and he almost went into another choking fit.
That seemed to amuse the man. He was getting his jollies, all right, which infuriated Carver. “We can agree now, I’m sure, that my warning to you to stop your investigation carries some persuasiveness. So, I’m asking you at this point if you intend to be reasonable and apply your talents elsewhere. Do you?”
Carver tried to speak but only gagged. He found himself biting the cane.
“Try to manage a nod,” the man said. “That’ll be easier.”
Carver managed. He felt saliva trickle down his chin.
Another dreamy yet alert smile. The cane rotated painfully between Carver’s teeth and against the back of his throat, like a blunt drill bit. “Is that your solemn promise, Mr. Carver?”
It was harder to nod agreement this time, more agonizing.
The man slowly withdrew the cane from Carver’s mouth, pressing a forefinger against his own lips in a signal for silence. Then, without a change of expression, he jabbed the tip of the cane into Carver’s sternum, exactly as Carver had done to him.
The effect was different. Carver bounced off the wall and lost consciousness for a few seconds. He was on the floor, in the fetal position except for his stiff leg, listening to his harsh rasping struggle for breath and life.
“Gets rough now,” the man said.
The cane lashed out, over and over, against the meaty part of Carver’s shoulders and upper arms, so quickly he couldn’t ward it off. He tucked in his chin and covered his head with his arms, but that didn’t matter; his head wasn’t the target. Pain exploded through him with each impact, numbing his upper body. He could actually hear the whir of the cane each time it descended, but it didn’t allow time for him to brace for the blow.
Breathing only slightly harder, the big man finally stepped back.
“I aim to convince,” he said. He adjusted his black horn-rims with his little finger, in a way that was almost prissy. Then he raised his left
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