Vir Crudelissimus

     “Did you check everything out, first?” Jougs asked while perusing the refrigerator.

     “You fucking kidding?” Vorant spun toward Jougs and with vehemence continued, “when’d I have time, eh? Ain’t I been takin’ care of the mess?” He dropped the gore covered saw in the sink, turned on the hot water, and growled, “d’you?”

     “Did I what?” Jougs asked with his head inside the refrigerator.

     “Check the site. You were out. D’you?”

     He cracked open a can of Eagle’s Nest Cola, stood up, and slammed it down. After belching, Jougs said, “wasn’t on the way, now was it?” He grabbed a couple slices of lunch meat out of the package, closed the fridge door, and then pulled down a bag of bread. Quickly making a half-assed sandwich, he knotted the bag and tossed it back on top of the fridge.

     “Of course not,” Vorant grumbled.

     With a mouth full, Jougs asked, “dude, what’s your prob?”

     Dropping the freshly cleaned butchering devices into the drain rack, Vorant said, “I ain’t got a problem. Everything’s peachy.”

     “Well, it sure seems like something’s got your panties in a wad.”

     “Minute I start wearing panties, you’ll be the first to know,” he yanked open the cabinet under the sink, pulled out a box of garbage bags, and slapped the cabinet door closed. He shoved the box into Jougs’ chest, saying, “if we gotta rush, then you gotta help.”

     “Oh man!” Jougs mock moaned between bites, “what have you been doin’? Dickin’ around?”

     “Of course. Now, make yourself useful while I wash this gunk off.”

     Fiddling with his yoyo, the Inquisitor threw a strong Sleeper and Walked the Dog an inch from the head of a bound and gagged security officer. “It’s the first real trick kids learn,” he informed the dazed woman. He dangled the yoyo off his elbow, saying, “and this is an Around the Corner,” then he plucked the string, grinning at her as it rolled up his arm and into his waiting hand. “If I wasn’t in a hurry, I’d show you a few more tricks.” Dropping the yoyo into his jacket pocket, he unceremoniously grabbed the woman by her left ankle and dragged her around the corner from the security desk. He then proceeded down the hallway dragging her behind him as he tried various doorknobs before he found one that turned easily in his hand. “Knock, knock,” he said as he entered the unlit office marked, ‘Billing.’ Without bothering to feel around for the light switch, he pulled the woman into the room, and used her torso to hold the door open. After he’d stepped over her, he knelt down, put his face in hers and jokingly said, “you’ve seen my face. Now, you have to die.”

     Though still dazed from being hit in the temple with the yoyo, the woman panicked. She struggled in vain against her handcuffs at her back, all while screaming through the shirt he’d belted into her mouth.

     The sadistic prick lit up at the sight of her useless attempt at fighting. Though he wasn’t Mr. Gasoleo, he’d long ago mastered the finer arts of bondage. “I am apologetic, love. You see, I already have a girlfriend. And, she does get jealous.” Removing his boot knife, he shoved the woman into the office, and stopped just as he was about to pull the knife across her throat. Standing next to the cracked door, he listened deeply. A door closed. Goosebumps raised on the Inquisitor’s arms. He pulled her the rest of the way into the office, and then stopped. A man coughed and sneezed; footsteps approached. To the security guard, he whispered, “make a sound, I kill you, him, and anyone you’ve ever known. Nod if you understand,” he waited for her, then said softly, “good.” He slowly pushed the door to, turning the knob all the way so that the latching mechanism wouldn’t click. Holding the knife in one hand and the knob with the other he glared at his prisoner, who lay silently shivering on the cold tile floor.

     “Vorant!” Jougs called from the torture chamber in the safe house basement.

     “I hear you for Iphi’s sake!” Vorant yelled back, before mumbling, “give me a minute to get my shoes on. Damn man.”

     “Vorant!” he yelled.

     Once his shoes were on, he moseyed out of the bathroom and down the hall to the basement door which he found half open. He stared at the door for a moment, one eyebrow raised. Then pulled it out of his way while yelling, “what do you want?”

     Appearing at the bottom of the stairs, Jougs asked, “this place got a dumbwaiter?”

     “What? No,” Vorant responded. “This look like Ambossi A Cinq?”

     Outright laughing, he retorted, “if you’re their best bellhop, I’ll never get my bags to the car. Come on, fucker.” He about-faced and strolled into the now mostly cleaned torture room.

     “I just know you’re the kind of SOB that don’t tip,” Vorant grumbled as he descended the stairs.

     The sniveling security guard whimpered softly as the Inquisitor helped her up. “I do not repeat myself. I haven’t time for games. Nod if you understand…Good. It appears not everyone has gone home. If you’re not in the front, will whoever just left be suspicious?”

     She glared at him, dripping wet panicky hatred as she shook her head ‘no.’

     Using a dangling piece of the shirt wadded into her mouth, he dried her eyes, and said, “don’t cry. I haven’t given you reason. You know where the Archives are?” When she nodded the affirmative, he decided she might be of use. “Good. That’s where we’re going. Now, do not make me regret this.” He quickly ungagged her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled her close. With her undivided attention, he spoke softly, “any sign of disobedience, a hint of dissent, the gentle breeze of rebellion, I take you away from here and flay you alive. Get me there without issue, I promise you will live.” He waited for her to acknowledge his words, when she remained silent, he shook her, “understand?”

     “Yes,” she moaned.

     “You don’t believe me?” he asked, though it was less question and more a moment of vague awareness. “Ah. Well, if you can’t trust the word of a cold-blooded killer, whose word can you trust?” He pushed her into the wall right of the door, “behave,” he ordered. On the silent count of  five, he eased the knob and slowly pulled the door open a centimeter. Putting an ear to the door, while keeping his eyes on the woman, he listened.

     “Careful, the bag’s ripping,” Jougs ordered.

     “I told you to double bag it,” Vorant replied.

     They carried the 50 gallon yard bag full of Justice Levi Bayleaf through the house, down two stairs, and into the garage. When Jougs got the trunk open, he said, “shit! I left the box.”

     “Well, we got two more bags to carry up.”

     Jougs shook his head, “that’s right. Just set it down here,” he said as he dropped his end of the bag next to the bumper.

     Usually one to see it coming, Vorant missed his cue and kept holding his end of the bag. The gory contents splattered to the floor. Fortunately, Jougs’ end was the ripped end. Vorant dropped his end and laughed as more gunk landed on Jougs’ shoes.
     “Fuck! That’s sick,” Jougs shook some of the grime off of his right shoe. “Don’t laugh, dude. Nothing funny about it.”

     “Grab some of the shop towels off the bench behind you,” Vorant said through his deep bass chuckle. “You ain’t spreading that shit through the house.”

     Without incident and in complete silence she had led him into the Public Works Archives, where they now stood in awe. The room was filled with wall to ceiling steel filing cabinets labeled ambiguously with numbered metal placards on the face of each drawer.

     “Fuck me running backwards with a chainsaw!” the Inquisitor exclaimed. “How in Iphi’s name am I supposed to find anything in this…” he let the thought fade as he gestured vaguely to the rest of the room. In the center of the room four desks were set up in a group and just behind them stood four normal-sized filing cabinets. “Let’s start there,” he said as he yanked the security guard across the room. He slung her into one of the rolling desk chairs, ordering, “sit. Stay.” Circling the standalone filing cabinets, he whistled to himself, removed his yoyo and began practicing Split the Atom. After two failed attempts, he restrung his yoyo, and then dropped it in his pocket. “Don’t move,” he said to the woman, though he hadn’t turn to look at her.

     She froze in the chair.

     “Good girl,” he said as he walked around the desks and began the tedious task of searching through the drawers. “Little known fact about office workers…they’re basically lazy people. You see that box on the wall next to the door?” he asked his prisoner.

     “Yeah,” she muttered.

     “The keys to all these locks,” he waved a hand around the room, “should be in that key box. But, I’m wagering that one of these desks has three keys in it.” He paused to glance up from the desk furthest from her and wasn’t surprised by her lack of enthusiasm. Regardless, he continued speaking, “what three keys you ask? The obvious one that opens the key box. Then, the one that opens that cluster of filing cabinets. But, the coup de grâce,” he’d moved on the desk directly opposite of her, “is the one that opens the current drawer,” he waved again, “being used in here.”

     Pulling the car over in a dirt drive a few blocks from their destination, Jougs said, “you wanna check it out or what?”

     “Man, I’m tired. You go.”

     “You’re tired?”

     “Yeah. Tired. You got any idea how much energy it takes to saw through bone?” Vorant asked. “I ain’t had dinner. Wasn’t really hungry yet when you got back and started rushin’ me.”

     “So, you’re too tired and hungry to do your job?”

     “Don’t play. You go. I’ll be right here takin’ a five minute nap.”

     “Get out of the car,” Jougs ordered. “I’ll buy you a steak after we’re done. You know, well as I do, it’s better if’n we both go. I can’t believe I’m hearing this shit,” he muttered to himself as he opened the driver’s side door. “Him with toys and you with the ‘I’m tired’ bullshit. Don’t know when I stopped working with professionals and started working with babies.”

     “Watch that,” Vorant warned.

     “What? Why? You know it’s true. We’re not in the house now,” Jougs started in on all the things he’d kept quiet for the last couple weeks, “the bastard’s gone crazy. You know it. He took a yoyo out of the glove box before he sent me back. What’s he doing with a yoyo? I get back there and you’re whining about cleaning up. You always chop the bodies. It’s your fucking thing, Dude. Me, I’m a driver. That’s my thing. My ass goes numb behind the wheel. You hear me talking about, ‘I’m tired?’ No. You don’t. ‘Cause we’ve got a jo—”

     When Jougs regained consciousness, he could barely see Vorant leaning against the car, and smoking a cigarette.

     “What the fuck?”

     “Job’s done,” Vorant stated.

     “You punched me,” Jougs said as he sat up and rubbed his tender jaw.

     “Only way to shut you up. Can you drive?”

     He blinked a couple times, swallowed, and said, “yeah. You ever do that again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

     “Quit your bitching. Let’s go.”