Nickel glared at the man sitting on the other side of the table. The dim lamp hanging overhead, barely reaching the corners of the interrogation room, carved sharp shadows onto her face, a face that bore hatred, sadness, and desperation. Her eyes were still moist, but the tears had gone, leaving smeared mascara trailing down her cheeks.
“Why did you bring me here, Plymouth?”
“I have a job for you,” replied a gravelly voice.
“You could have just asked me like before.”
The man across the table smiled. “But not like before, this isn’t the kind of job where I pay you.”
“Then what is it?”
Another smile. “The other kind. The kind of job where you do it, or I kill you and-“
“Do it. Go ahead. You’ve already destroyed my life anyway.”
“Tsk, tsk… you didn’t let me finish. You really think your life is my only leverage?”
Nickel’s eyes flashed defiantly. “What else is there?”
“I’ll show you,” Plymouth replied as he reached down and pressed a button on the table. “Bring him in.”
A few seconds passed and then a door opened. Two men entered carrying a third, barely conscious man in a bloodied tuxedo.
Nickel stood up suddenly. “No…”
“Sit down before I have you put down.” He turned to the other men and ordered, “Lay him on the table, and then tie her.”
The man in the tuxedo was placed unceremoniously on the table. Fresh tears swelled at the corners of Nickel’s eyes as the two men bound to the chair first her arms, and then her legs. She looked worriedly at the man’s bruised eyes, bloodied nose, and gagged mouth. After the men had left, she asked, “What do you want?”
“Well, I was going to just show you him, but you’ve been so uncooperative. Perhaps a little demonstration first, and then maybe a snack? Yes, that will do nicely…”
Plymouth began untying the shoe laces on the man’s left shoe.
“Have you ever opened a box a box at the wrong end? After that, the box will never shut right, and the contents, whatever they may be, will keep spilling out…”
Laces untied, he pulled of the shoe.
“…like a can of worms or…”
He removed the sock.
“…or a carton of sour milk. The scent lingers on, reminding you of a past gone sour.” He set the shoe and sock down at the edge of the table and looked at Nickel. “You never should have worked for me. And you never should have left.”
A tear dropped from the corner of Nickel’s eye. She nervously watched as Plymouth took the foot in one hand.
“Now, how does it go? Hmm… oh yes, I remember,” he said, and he touched each toe as he recited:
“This little piggie went to market
This little piggie stayed home
This little piggie had roast beef
This little piggie had none
And this little piggie cried ‘Wee, wee, wee,’ all the way home."
Plymouth’s hand flew into his jacked and pulled out a knife, so swift it was a silver blur. With a quick slash, the littlest toe was severed cleanly. The man squirmed and screamed a muffled howl. Thick, crimson blood pumped from the stub.
“No!” Nickel yelled, sobbing, muscles straining against her bonds. “What the hell do you want?”
Plymouth took the toe and popped it into his mouth and began chewing.
“No, no, no…” Nickel cried. The man in the tuxedo moaned as he held his foot, trying to pinch the stub to staunch the bleeding.
Plymouth smiled as a chewed, and then spit onto the table, ejecting a toenail and bones tied by pink, stringy cartilage into a puddle of red saliva. He sighed, and then grinned, revealing pink teeth and a bead of blood dripping down his lip.
"This really would be a wonderful time to say it tastes like chicken, but it's more like pork, really..."
Nickel gave up on trying to break free of the chair and breathed angrily, “What do you want me to do?” through clenched teeth.
“You are to contact Silver. I daresay you remember him? He has the details, and will be your partner for this job.” He reached down to the button the table. “Come and untie the girl, then clean up this mess.”
[This message has been edited by Vincent Valentine (edited August 08, 2004).]
“Why did you bring me here, Plymouth?”
“I have a job for you,” replied a gravelly voice.
“You could have just asked me like before.”
The man across the table smiled. “But not like before, this isn’t the kind of job where I pay you.”
“Then what is it?”
Another smile. “The other kind. The kind of job where you do it, or I kill you and-“
“Do it. Go ahead. You’ve already destroyed my life anyway.”
“Tsk, tsk… you didn’t let me finish. You really think your life is my only leverage?”
Nickel’s eyes flashed defiantly. “What else is there?”
“I’ll show you,” Plymouth replied as he reached down and pressed a button on the table. “Bring him in.”
A few seconds passed and then a door opened. Two men entered carrying a third, barely conscious man in a bloodied tuxedo.
Nickel stood up suddenly. “No…”
“Sit down before I have you put down.” He turned to the other men and ordered, “Lay him on the table, and then tie her.”
The man in the tuxedo was placed unceremoniously on the table. Fresh tears swelled at the corners of Nickel’s eyes as the two men bound to the chair first her arms, and then her legs. She looked worriedly at the man’s bruised eyes, bloodied nose, and gagged mouth. After the men had left, she asked, “What do you want?”
“Well, I was going to just show you him, but you’ve been so uncooperative. Perhaps a little demonstration first, and then maybe a snack? Yes, that will do nicely…”
Plymouth began untying the shoe laces on the man’s left shoe.
“Have you ever opened a box a box at the wrong end? After that, the box will never shut right, and the contents, whatever they may be, will keep spilling out…”
Laces untied, he pulled of the shoe.
“…like a can of worms or…”
He removed the sock.
“…or a carton of sour milk. The scent lingers on, reminding you of a past gone sour.” He set the shoe and sock down at the edge of the table and looked at Nickel. “You never should have worked for me. And you never should have left.”
A tear dropped from the corner of Nickel’s eye. She nervously watched as Plymouth took the foot in one hand.
“Now, how does it go? Hmm… oh yes, I remember,” he said, and he touched each toe as he recited:
“This little piggie went to market
This little piggie stayed home
This little piggie had roast beef
This little piggie had none
And this little piggie cried ‘Wee, wee, wee,’ all the way home."
Plymouth’s hand flew into his jacked and pulled out a knife, so swift it was a silver blur. With a quick slash, the littlest toe was severed cleanly. The man squirmed and screamed a muffled howl. Thick, crimson blood pumped from the stub.
“No!” Nickel yelled, sobbing, muscles straining against her bonds. “What the hell do you want?”
Plymouth took the toe and popped it into his mouth and began chewing.
“No, no, no…” Nickel cried. The man in the tuxedo moaned as he held his foot, trying to pinch the stub to staunch the bleeding.
Plymouth smiled as a chewed, and then spit onto the table, ejecting a toenail and bones tied by pink, stringy cartilage into a puddle of red saliva. He sighed, and then grinned, revealing pink teeth and a bead of blood dripping down his lip.
"This really would be a wonderful time to say it tastes like chicken, but it's more like pork, really..."
Nickel gave up on trying to break free of the chair and breathed angrily, “What do you want me to do?” through clenched teeth.
“You are to contact Silver. I daresay you remember him? He has the details, and will be your partner for this job.” He reached down to the button the table. “Come and untie the girl, then clean up this mess.”
[This message has been edited by Vincent Valentine (edited August 08, 2004).]
![[http://forums.massassi.net/html/tongue.gif]](http://forums.massassi.net/html/tongue.gif "http://forums.massassi.net/html/tongue.gif")
hope that helped.