Terry rose from the sofa stiffly and took a nervous step forward. His shin hit the coffee table and he flailed for a moment to keep his balance.
“Ha ha! Heh heh heh!” Merry giggled. “Fellers, I do believe we have created ourselves a new slapstick comedy star.”
Bob craned his neck to keep his head aloft, watching the newly blind man’s struggle. “Take a step right and you’ll have space,” he said.
“What did I just say to you, Bob?” Merry demanded. “And still you’re trying to help this treacherous moron not look stupid.” He shook his head. “You are weak, son. You are a weak, weak man, feeling sorry for that crippled sack of shit. How’d someone like you ever get the drop on Tommy Kopec, huh?”
“Unchain me, and I’ll gladly show you,” Bob said.
“Heh! I don’t think so. Come on, Terry, give it your best shot, blind boy!”
Terry took two steps forward, carefully, then another. He half crouched, reaching out with his hand, suddenly nervous. “I can’t find it,” he said. “I can’t…”
Bob sighed and gently shook his head. “The pretense of letting him think he could help either of us is pretty cruel, Michelsen. Tell me, you ever fight a battle of your own? Or do you always rely on bigger men? I mean, in terms of courage.”
Merry reached over and slapped him on the side of his torso with the flat of a palm. Bob winced and grunted.
“See, that’s what you get for being fat phobic. I heard Vern busted up your ribs pretty good. Nah… I ain’t going to fall for any of your macho, fair-fight bullshit, Bob, because I ain’t a moron like Terry.”
Terry slumped, cross legged, to the floor, sobbing once more.
“But I will save him any more embarrassment by just going next door and telling my surgically inclined associate to prep his stuff, get hisself scrubbed up and shit. That heart of yours is worth a lot of money to the right desperate sum’bitch on the Dark Web, and we don’t want it getting infected or nothing.”
46
The moment the door slammed shut, Bob barked at Terry. “Get up! He’s gone.”
“Can’t. Can’t do nothing,” Terry moaned.
“Terry… man, you don’t know me, but you do know I let you go.”
“Yeah. Didn’t have to do that.”
“I didn’t. But I did it anyway. So, believe me when I tell you: he’s going to kill you. He’s not letting you go blind as payback. That was just cruel fun for him. You’re a witness, Terry, and one who was probably half out the door when he tracked you down. Am I right?”
Terry was silent for a few seconds, weighing how to think, what to say. “Wife had the bags packed, the kids ready. My daughters…” He began to sob again. “I can’t see my beautiful daughters.”
“But you can still be their father, if you get us both out of this. You just have to be strong. You have to get over here, following my voice, and help me out of these shackles. Then, we have a chance.”
The room went silent. For a few moments, Bob worried the man was too sick from the infection, taken down by fever. “Terry? You there?”
He heard gentle sobbing again. “Can’t. Can’t hurt him. He always wins; always wins, and always gets his payback. Can’t do it.”
Bob yanked at the chains. The shackles were old-fashioned iron rings, the type of bracelet more commonly found in a museum. There was no give, no flex in the links. They couldn’t be overcome. He tried to squeeze his palm closed, his fingers narrowed so that he could force them through the bracelet. But it was just too small, too tight to his wrist.
“Damn it!” he muttered.
“See?” Terry sobbed. “Just… just accept it. He’s going to end us both.”
Bob heard a creak from behind him, hinges gently squeaking. His eyes darted around and he tried to crane his head enough to see who it was, defeated by a limited range of motion.
“That was quick,” he said instead. “You barely had time to scrub.”
The man who leaned over him was massive, his forearms thicker than a firehose. “I ain’t no surgeon, and you ain’t dying today,” he said quietly.
Bob got a glimpse of the man’s face. His nose had been broken several times and he had scars, a gash across his forehead from long-ago violence, a spider’s web tattoo around his right eye. He reached for Bob’s right ankle and undid the shackle.
“What?” Terry demanded. “What’s going on?”
“Not sure,” Bob said.
“I’m cutting you loose.” The man freed his other ankle then paused to look down.
“Why?” Bob said. “What is Merry playing at?”
“Ain’t Merry’s decision. I’m Lawrence,” he said as he undid Bob’s right wrist. He held out a hand and Bob reached up, incredulously, to shake it. “You got a friend in Lerdo who’s a real good feller—Marcus Pell.”
What the heck? “You know Marcus!?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Lawrence said, reaching over him to undo the other shackle. “He’s a nice kid.”
Bob grimaced against the stabbing pain in his ribcage. “Yeah, but…” He gestured to Lawrence. “You know…”
“What? I don’t seem like a nice guy to you right now?” Lawrence growled testily. “I’m freeing your ass. I still have to get out of here in one piece. Show some fucking gratitude!”
“Apologies.” Bob swung his legs off the kitchen island and down onto the floor.
“HEY!” Terry screamed. “HEY! THEY’RE TRYING TO ESCA—”
