Page 18 of Shame
Someone’s home. A shiver of unease runs through me.
Eric pulls up on a dark side street. Not a soul is seen apart from us. Most lights are out in the surrounding houses. People are in bed. Asleep. I trail close behind the group of men who make their way through the foliage between the fences, separating gardens from the park and the playground that’s located on the other side of us. The contrast couldn’t be more stark. Five hit men in the dark. In the day, children laughing and playing. I step over a little plastic truck, its color indiscernible.
Glancing around us, Eric then opens a gate and motions for the rest of us to follow. He opens a screen door, which gives out a little squeak. I hold my breath, but nothing stirs. Making quick work with the lock to the door, he then holds it open for us.
“No alarm,” he mouths with a little smirk. “I’ll keep guard. Do what you gotta do.” He lets the door slide shut behind the rest of us, staying outside himself.
We move through a narrow corridor. The house is dark and quiet. A floorboard creaks when Sean steps on it and the rest of us make sure to avoid it. The kitchen looks cozy and a faint smell of garlic and herbs lingers. Sean gestures to a set of stairs. Ray goes with him. I take a step to follow, but Christian motions for me to stay.
My pulse roars in my ears and my stomach churns. This isn’t some seedy bar with some half-drunk crook of an owner. These are just people. Maybe even a family? I glance around without seeing any telltale signs of kids, though.
I swallow and glance toward the upper hallway. A wave of nausea runs through me, but I straighten and realize I need to man up. This is what I’ve begged for.
A high-pitched scream makes me jerk. I finger the shape of the gun through the fabric of my jacket. A man grunts. Feet shuffle on the wooden floor. A loud bang. Sean’s unmistakable growl.
“Get the fuck out there, bitch.”
Two shapes appear at the top of the stairs, one hulking and one more delicate. The whimpers from the woman cut through the silent night, then all hell seems to break loose upstairs as Sean half-carries, half-pushes the woman down the stairs.
A slightly plump woman in her forties, blonde, falls to her knees in front of me, a trickle of blood on her upper lip.
“Please!” She looks straight at me. I make myself hard, unflinching, as I meet her pleading eyes.
Sean pushes her toward me. “Tie her up.” He drops a bunch of zip ties, letting them rain over her head.
I grab her upper arm and collect some of the ties. Pulling her with me to a kitchen chair, I make quick work with wrists and ankles, securing her. She seems to be in a trance, her eyes focused on the dark upstairs landing where nothing seems to happen. Her skin is warm and damp, she smells of soap and sleep. She chokes out a cry.
“Please! Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Gag her.” Christian’s voice is uncaring. “We don’t need anything from her anyway.”
I spring into action, glancing around me. Cutting a kitchen towel in two, I then find a scarf in the hallway. As I push the towel into her mouth and tie the scarf around her jaw, fighting the squirming, wailing woman, a grunt makes us all look up. Ray pulls a man down the stairs, the body limp, bouncing on each step.
The wife’s eyes bulge and she makes incomprehensible, muffled noises. Her terror radiates off her and makes my skin crawl. I take a step to the side, so I won’t have to look at her.
Ray drops the unconscious man on the floor before our feet.
“Did you kill him, you fucker?” Christian sounds impatient, annoyed.
“Of course not. He’s just… sleeping.”
Christian scoffs. “Get him up. He has things to tell us.”
I jerk and grab a pot off the counter, filling it with cold water, which I then, after an approving nod from Ray, pour over the head of the man. He coughs and sputters but still seems pretty out of it. Christian crouches and slaps him on the cheeks.
“Simon,” he singsongs. “Wakey-wakey.”
Simon’s eyelids flutter. Christian slaps him again and the man’s eyes shoot open, unfocused at first but then fixating on Christian.
“Wha—what do you want?”
He grunts as Sean slams a boot to his side.
“I don’t know anything,” he screams. “Who are you people?”
Sean looks at Christian and me. “If there’s one thing I hate more than a liar, it’s a cowardly liar.” He crouches next to Simon and pulls him up by his collar. “Where is the money you owe Salvatore?”
His eyes widen. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
