I walked through the backdoor and instantly sensed something was wrong. The smell of blood was a big giveaway. All the TV’s were also turned off, and I knew that Peter’s favorite programs were on by now. I called his name, but nobody replied. I stepped gingerly across the kitchen floor, my footsteps echoing across the green, dilapidated ceramic walls. “Peter?” I called again, heading for the doorway into the living room. Maybe he was asleep. But then, I don’t recall Peter ever sleeping.
Before I reached the doorway my legs bumped into something which toppled over. The sound it made was wooden. I bent down to feel for what it was, moving along a smooth, glazed wood. It was a chair. I led my hands to where the chair had been and realized it must have been pressed against the door leading into the basement. Somebody had been trying to keep it shut. Fear crept into my system as I threw open the door, and suddenly the smell of blood filled my nostrils and a cool current of air passed through me. “Peter…” I whispered into the darkness. I heard someone mumbling from below. And then another.
“Oh shit, Eli. Get the fuck out of there,” Peter’s voice called from the back of the kitchen. He had just come through the back door, holding what sounded like several plastic bags. “We’ve got guests.”
“… Guests?”
“Yeah, guests. While you were gone I brought in some guests.” Peter said calmly.
“And we keep our guests trapped in the basement?” I murmured, motioning towards the steps leading downstairs.
“And duct taped to washer, actually,” he replied with a smirk. Suddenly I became much more interested.
“What did you do, Pete?”
“I nabbed three of Damien’s servants. He won’t have a clue for a week, he’s gone on some business trip. They’re tied up in the basement waiting for whatever you want to do with them.” I liked this in a kind of eerie way. Peter was starting to sound like a servant of my own.
“Really… Will they even know anything?”
“They should. One of them is his chauffeur, another his tech guy, and the other his cook.” After this Peter took my wrist and began to lead me down the stairs.
“Ah, I’ve always wondered how Damien likes his omelet. “
“Thanks smartass, but I’m sure he’s heard some things over the dinner table. Eating with his associates and all. These three goons were the only people in the joint, it’s deserted now.”
“Interesting…” I said with a slight note of concern, wondering what I’d just been brought into. “What are we going to do with them when we’re done?”
“Your decision, I’m just the delivery boy. I don’t think we should give them back to Damien though, that’s for sure.”
“Right…” I muttered to no one in particular as we reached the bottom of the steps. I was led to the sound of three servants sweating with fear, kicking against the stone floor and washer they were tied to. It was extremely cool down here, almost unnatural to the stagnant heat in the kitchen. Goosebumps formed all along my wrinkled arms.
Peter sat me in a chair. “You’re about four feet from them now, go ahead and converse how you will. I’ll be across the room making sure nothing goes bad. Have fun.” He told me, and at that he padded to the far wall of the basement. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking at so I focused my eyesight into the middle of the noise being made by our new prisoners.
“The three of you, from left to right, state your names and acquaintance with Mister Delgado. Go.”
There was a short silence of confusion at first, the trio probably trying to figure out the smartest way of going about this interrogation. Eventually the first one began. “My name… My name is Nick Stafford. I’ve known Mr. Delgado for six years now, and I’ve worked as his lead technician for all of them. I set up his computers, security systems, anything like that. Sometimes I do his-“
“He’s lying.” Peter said gruffly from the back of the room. “You stupid fucks, did you think I wouldn’t notice? Eli, they were probably going to try and bullshit you the whole way through. He’s the cook. Don’t try this with me again, I know more then you damn well think. If I catch another lie out of any of you, you’re all going to regret it. Go on, cook.”
Another silence followed this, the shuffling from the three stopped. This was definitely going to be a bit more awkward now, as if it wasn’t already. “You heard the man, Nick. If that’s your name. Go on.”
“It is, just so you know.” Peter said again.
“Alright. Thank you, Peter. Nick?”
The man didn’t hesitate to continue. “Sorry, sir. I am Mr. Delgado’s cook. I simply make his meals and stand by to ensure his satisfaction with the food. Nothing more.”
“And do you ever overhear his conversations with acquaintances? Although I suspect that would be a bit unprofessional, to say the least.”
“It is, sir, which is why I refrain from such activity.”
“For a man in captivity, you sure know how to talk proper. But you should also know that you’re never going to see Mr. Delgado again, and may as well never see fresh air again so you should stop the bullshit and start telling me the truth. I know you listen to his conversations… Who wouldn’t? Hell, I’m blind. Peter may as well watch me in the shower and I wouldn’t care.” I heard Peter chuckle from his corner of the room. “You have nothing else to lose, you’re either going to end up at the bottom of the ocean or in a slave camp in Argentina. I have so many connections I could plan the rest of your fucking life down to the last second. I can make it as terrible as I please, or as quick as you want it to be. So, again, I ask you. Tell me everything I could possibly care about your employer’s dinner conversations. We can start with this business trip that he’s on.”
This got the man talking. I didn’t actually have as many connections as I gave off, but I think he got the point. “Very well, sir. The last meal I made for Mr. Delgado was four days ago, a chicken dish glazed with orange sauce and a side of rice. He had three guests over that night talking about his trip. As I was busy running back and forth between the kitchen, refilling drinks and washing dishes, I only got glimpses of what was going on. Mr. Delgado rarely ever tells us of his business… I admit I’m not even sure if I know who you are.”
“That’s because Mr. Delgado has only recently discovered that I’m on the loose. He probably doesn’t want his servants knowing about how carelessly he handles his own prisoners.”
I heard a voice speak up to the right of Stafford. He sounded British. “I know who you are, sir. I know all about you. I’m the one who watched your room’s surveillance tapes all those years. You’re a boring bloke, but I suppose that’s what happens when you go blind. You get boring. Or maybe, you went blind because you got bored?”
My face twitched as he said this, realizing what he must’ve known. “Who is this?” I asked, turning my head in Peter’s direction.
Peter replied, “It’s the tech guy. Apparently he finds that you’re quite boring when you’re in the same room for thirty years. But his name is also Peter, so he must not be that bad. Peter Parsons.”
The British Peter spoke again. “Your name’s Peter too?”
“Yes.”
I decided to intervene with our talkative delinquent. “Shut up, Mr. Parsons. You’re playing it awfully friendly with a pair that is considering your murder. I would think carefully before friendly turns into being a nuisance to your captors and your fellow captives. You’ll get the spotlight soon enough.”
“Alright, I’m done. You can continue with Nick. I’m done.”
I turned my head down, trying to seem contemplative. Something inside me was beginning to bend. Before I got a chance, Nick began to talk again. “I’m sorry about my coworker, sir. I tried to get him to stop talking.”
“It’s fine.”
“Right. Shall I go on?”
“Please do. Tell me more about this business trip.” I said with a wave of my hand. It always felt strange making an outward gesture like this to someone, because I wasn’t quite sure what it looked like.
“Well that’s the thing, sir. I don’t really know all that much else. I was busy taking dishes back and forth, although I did pick up some details. I know that he travelled to Northern Mongolia, some place way out from civilization. It probably has part in his frequent illegal dealings.”
“What do you mean ‘dealings’? Like drugs?”
“Not quite. I have no idea. He uses code words with his business partners when they’re in the house. I suspect it to be guns or slaves, but I honestly don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t trade at all. I did hear the name ‘Ice Horse’ a lot during his last conversation before the trip. They referred to it as if it were a person, maybe a nickname.” Nick stuttered on his last few words, and sighed. “That’s it. That’s all I know.”
I sat back in my chair, thinking about the little information he’d given me. “What did they say about this Ice Horse?”
Before I could let him answer the whir of the air conditioner suddenly died, and a deadly silence sat amongst the room. Very quickly, the heat seeped in and my body tingled from the change in temperature. “Peter, go check it out. I’d hate for our guests to be even more uncomfortable then they already are.”
“That’s why you’re going to send us to a slave camp in Argentina, I reckon.” British Peter said. As he said this, I heard normal Peter walk behind me and up the stairs to check the air conditioning.
“Mr. Delgado certainly didn’t treat me like shit, besides keeping my imprisoned for thirty years. You have it easy, kid. You haven’t got that long at all… A few days, tops. Guess I’d just like to return the favor.”
“Yeah, he treated you real nicely. Fed you some pretty great food, even,” he agreed in his faint British accent. “In fact, I’m sure Nicholas here was behind some of it. Right, buddy? … Alright, well he nodded. He wasn’t ever the most sociable guy. He makes a mean meal, though. Maybe he could cook something up before you kill us off?”
I nodded slowly, losing track of the conversation. “I suppose so, he’d have to make it at gunpoint though. I can’t have him throwing around hot oil at us.”
Peter laughed. “I like you, guy. I do. It’s a shame we have to be associating like this.”
“I wouldn’t say I really like you back but hey, this isn’t first grade. Not all of us can have crushes on each other.”
“Ah, why don’t you like me Mr. Bat?”
“Your cutesy way of dealing with your captors I suppose. You’re just a little too friendly for my taste.” What was this, a social event?
“Well I suppose you never really treated your captor nicely so I can understand that.”
“I don’t think any prisoner should be that nice with their prison guards, I guess.”
“No… I meant why you wouldn’t treat Mr. Delgado that kindly. He didn’t leave that much scenery for you to look at. None that you would appreciate, rather. But here,in this basement, I’ve got-“
I cut him off before he could keep jabbering and picked up my chair. “I suggest you stop talking before I get someone who can see to rip your teeth out, Mr. Parsons.” After this I heaved the chair over my head and brought it down in the middle of the group, hoping I hit the limey shitface. The wooden chair crashed on someone’s head, making a bizarre cracking sound as it shattered into several pieces, and ripped out of my hand. I heard only one of them screaming nonsense, and satisfyingly it sounded British. He was slamming his fist against the washer, the hollow metal sound reverberating all against the concrete basement.
Over the screeching I heard someone laughing, and began to talk. It was British Peter. “You hit the wrong person, you fucker. Jesus Christ, you’d think you had sonar abilities or something. Now I doubt Gabe will want to tell you about him driving around Delgado. Blood’s spurting out of his fucking head, getting all over poor Nick.”
“Shit…” I whispered to myself, hearing the blood dripping onto the floor. My heart sunk, realizing I’d made myself look ridiculous in front of the three. Forgetting this, I tried to retain my posture and pointed a finger to the sound of Peter’s voice. “Listen, Parsons. I don’t want another word from you about my captivity under Mr. Delgado, particularly what you just hinted at. I don’t care if you talk about the food or how boring I was, but leave my wife out of this. Got it?” I shortly realized that my voice was starting to shake, and I felt for my way back to the stairs.
“Peter, get back down here. There’s been an accident.” My words sounded frail as they travelled upwards, and I waited for a response. Eventually I heard someone sprinting down the stairs, and I moved out of the doorway.
“Jesus, Eli. What’d the driver say to you to make you throw a chair at him?” Peter said in astonishment.
“It wasn’t him. I was aiming for the British fellow. Isn’t he in the middle?”
“Well both the driver and Peter are British, but I’m guessing you mean Peter. No, Peter is the one furthest to the right. What did he do?”
My head swiveled down, ashamed. “I thought I heard him trying to escape. That’s all. Can you please pick this up?”
“Sure thing, I’ll be back with some towels and a garbage sack. Just try not to throw any more chairs, got it?” Peter said with a laugh, obviously trying to lighten the mood. I just sulked to the back of the basement, and leaned against one of the walls. The interrogation was getting off to a terrible start.
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