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“Poor lad,” I answer in the same tone, my rage barely controlled as I walk over. In my hand, I have the package Ivan gave me when we arrived. “This is a horrible predicament to find yourself in.”
Ivan steps into the light then, placing a chair in Mauricio’s line of sight, then steps back. “It is.”
“You!” the arsehole yells, fighting his restraints. His eyes are narrowed at Ivan. So much hate. “You were at the bar—”
“Yes. I was. And it was an interesting night, indeed. Many stories shared over a bottle of Havana Club. Do you remember that?” The doors to this room slam shut, locks engaging before Ivan hits the button at the center of the remote in his hand. At once, the lights dim making it easier for the piece of shit to get a better look. No more squinting. “Remember the story you shared of your recent time in London?”
“I don't remember.”
“I’m going to give you a minute to go through your memories, Mr. Hernandez.” Casper cracks his neck, then shakes out his arms. “Use your time wisely.”
“You have the wrong man,” he says without pause. His body glistens with sweat, more than when we came in. A natural reaction to fear; his choking is a pulsing wave permeating every inch of this personal jail. “I’m innocent.”
The wanker gave himself away.
If you’ve done no wrong, there’s no reason to defend yourself.
“I haven’t accused you of anything yet, mate.” Casper looks toward Ivan. “Have you?”
“Not at all.”
“And you?”
My response is a snort. “I haven’t said a word.”
“See?” My cousin does a 360-degree turn, arms out wide. “No accusations. However, I do believe you have a story to tell us.”
“I’m not him.”
At that moment, Ivan turns, and I follow him toward the last cell. This one doesn't have an animal inhabitant but is full of useful items: a collection of knives in various sizes, ropes and chains, and two hospital beds that have seen better days. Both are rusted, and I'm not sure if the stains aren’t blood.
We move the latter of the two farther back and pull out an old, creaky cart.
The laptop and camera on top of it are new, and it’ll serve two purposes. We have a special movie-time feature, and my uncle deserves to watch his last moments.
This was too short notice for him to come.
“Motherfucker!” Mauricio suddenly yells out, and I smirk. Fucker didn't wait. Not that I blame him. This is his kill. “Stop! This is a mistake.”
We stop with the cart a few feet from the now wounded arse, the blood coming from the back of his leg.
Casper's Karambit drips with blood.
The large swine squeal.
My eyes meet Ivan’s and I nod. He's quick to press the button for the cells and they close, locking in all of the pigs but two.
Those two roam close. They're curious, the scent of blood creating a frenzy, and soon hunger will follow.
Because pigs can be cannibals. Cases have been reported of bodies being consumed, leaving only the bones behind.
“I’m going to ask you once more, Hernandez.” Casper crosses his arms, his expression neutral. Yet, I notice the twitch of his fingers around the knife’s handle. “Tell me the story you shared with my friend, here. Last chance.”
“He’s lying!” Mauricio’s struggles intensify against his bonds, thrashing—shaking. “I was just at the bar celebrating my wedding anniversary.”
“Really?” Ivan shakes his head, eyes hard on him from his position by the laptop. He's hooking everything up. “Because there was no one with you but the prostitute you bought for the night. And don’t worry; I left her every single cent you had in your wallet back at the cheap hotel you were hiding in. Those two hundred thousand in cash will be used by her family and friends to survive and have a better life.”
“You piece of shit. I will kill you!”
