Read Online The Devil's Only Friend by Mitchell Bartoy - Free Book Online Page A

right off I wasn’t anymore in Kansas. My heart threw an enormous heave of panic because I could not move. I was in a big room with an old wood-beamed ceiling. Some hard guys were there—one stood to either side of the long tank of water beneath me. An electroplating tank? They had me strapped faceup to a board, a sizable piece of lumber. My belly was lashed hard to the board with a cord tight up under my rib cage and another just at the top of my hips, my chest was lashed under my armpits, and my hands were roped together on the underside of the board. I couldn’t move or even feel my elbows, either, but my legs were loose. I gave a start and my eye danced around the room.
    They dunked me under the water for a few seconds and then brought me up.
    â€œJesus Christ,” I said. “What is it?”
    â€œYou’re a guilty man, Caudill.”
    I didn’t say anything because I figured I’d need my breath.
    â€œA dirty man.”
    I could not tell which of the two thugs spoke because each had a kerchief over his mouth and nose. They were close enough to touch—if my hands had been free.
    Down I went again, not far, but far enough to keep my face under water. I could turn my head, crane toward the surface, but I could not move enough to let my mouth break into the air. How many seconds it lasted I couldn’t say. Before my lungs burst, though, they brought me up again.
    They waited for me to stop retching.
    â€œMr. Lloyd’s troubles don’t concern you.”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    â€œOr do they?”
    Again I chose to keep my breath.
    â€œYou’re not talking, Caudill.”
    It seemed that they were switching off in their speech like a vaudeville act. How many? I thought. One or two? Even their voices seemed the same, if my ears hadn’t been fouled with water. They had the timing of a comedy team. Both men had blue eyes, and I could see that they had muscles enough because they were naked from the waist up. But the real beef was at the other end of the long board. A pair of oxen, jumbo-sized boys, leaned their elbows on the board like a lever to keep me above water. I couldn’t seem to make out their faces either. Two big guys and two bigger guys.
    â€œYou’ll talk plenty before we’re through.”
    â€œYou’ll sing like a bluebird.”
    â€œMore like a blue jay.”
    It didn’t seem funny to me.
    â€œWe’d like you to tell us about Jasper Lloyd.”
    I could see there wasn’t any point in trying to be hard. But still—
    â€œWe’re not bad men.”
    â€œNot too bad.”
    â€œWe’re all Americans here.”
    â€œIn the service of our country.”
    If they were giving a signal to the lever men, I didn’t see it. My eye was blinking furiously from the filthy water. When I went under, I kept still long enough to see the smaller pair wavering over me, looking down into the water. Then the thrashing started. You can’t keep from thrashing. Sooner than the cords would ever break or come loose, my shoulders would pop out of their sockets. I knew it, but it didn’t stop me from thrashing. My heart started whacking and my head cracked back on the board and my teeth were grinding. My only eye was burning like a welding torch in the socket, and I was sure that I’d be blinded entirely. But that was only a flash of worry.
    Coppers? T-men? Some of Lloyd’s own goons?
    I guess I was racking all over the board before I finally sucked in water. If there was a certain moment when I gave up living and decided to suck water into my lungs, I can’t say. I only remember how I retched up water and vomit after they finally lifted me out again. All that bile and filthy water washed out of my mouth and nose and fell warmly over my neck. My ears roared. I might as well have been dead—I was dead enough. The heaving and coughing I had to do was tearing and popping my muscles and my lungs