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He waved me inside and closed the door behind me.
I ran the combination over in my head a few times so I wouldn't forget. I doubted he shared the combination with anyone but Mannix and Ares. And now me. If he was trying to earn my trust, he was doing a good job of it.
Assuming he was telling the truth about the code letting me back out. And that it was the right code in the first place.
I found myself in a virtually empty room that looked as worn as the outside of the building. Only a table and a few chairs sat against one wall. A few hooks hung on the opposite wall. Right now they were empty, but they looked like the kind you'd hang a jacket on. A single bulb hung from the ceiling.
"This is… Cosy," I said. It looked like the kind of place you'd see on TV, where the bad guy took the innocent victim to be horribly murdered. I swallowed hard and repeated the code over and over again in my head.
"This is just the reception area. In case anyone does break in, we make it look as harmless as possible." He walked over to a doorway at the end of the room and pushed down the handle.
Instead of the door opening, a hatch in the floor slid back.
"Lucky I wasn't standing right there." I stared at the sudden hole with wide eyes.
"I wouldn't have let you standrightthere," he said. "I save that for my enemies."
I couldn't tell from the expression on his face whether he was joking or not, so I decided he wasn't. Although, since the hole led to a set of stairs, I decided his enemies wouldn't get too badly hurt from the drop anyway.
I decided not to think too hard about him having enemies in the first place. I guessed that came with the territory of being a mobster.
"Your workshop is down there?" I peered into the darkness.
"Cool, isn't it?" he asked. "No one knows it's here but us and the occasional special guest."
Special guest? Did he actually mean—
He started down the stairs. Not wanting to be left behind in the dingy space, I quickly followed.
Chapter Eleven
Kennedy
The first thing I noticed when we reached the bottom was the tang of what smelled like blood.
Yeah, it probably was blood.
I stepped into what looked like a horror movie.
Or a nightmare.
A couple of large hooks were bolted to the ceiling. The chains that hung from them were stained with something dark. The concrete floor underneath was similarly stained.
A long, wooden work table like the ones we had in art class at school sat a couple of metres from the chains. At the moment, there was nothing on it. Nothing but the same stains as the rest of the room. And other stains, it looked like someone tried to bleach the surface of the wood. Long scratches and gouges were embedded in the timber.
To the side of the room, a metal chair was bolted to the floor. Restraints were attached to the arms and legs, reminiscent of Charlie's couch, but a lot less comfortable.
Beside that, was a small table, pliers and scalpels laid out in a menacing display. Ready for… Whatever Ice would use them for.
"What is this place?" I asked. I turned around slowly, taking in the exposed, grey brick walls and the dim light. We were underground, so there were no windows. It was the kind of place someone came to die a horrible death.
"It's just my workroom," he said like it was no big deal. "Sometimes we find people who don't want to be forthcoming with information that we need. It's my job to get them to share."
I stopped to look at him.
"You torture people for information?" Of course he did, what else would go on in a place like this?
"I prefer to think of it as persuasion, but yes," he agreed. "I extensively studied human anatomy so I knew exactly where to work on people. Where it hurts the most and how to keep them alive. It's a last resort, but sometimes a necessary one."
