dark in the closet there was still enough illumination for him to see. To his right was a rack of shelves loaded with one gallon jugs of cleaning chemicals. He briefly considered finding one that was corrosive enough to weaken the plastic and allow him to break free, but dismissed the idea out of fear of what the compound might do to his flesh if it was harsh enough to eat plastic.
On the other side of the room were neatly stored brooms, mops and buckets. Nothing there. Twisting his head around he spotted a small workbench with three drawers. Half standing up into a crouch he lifted the chair and hobbled to the back of the closet, pulling the top drawer open. It was stacked full of clean, glass ashtrays. The second one held neatly folded cleaning rags, the third stacked with boxes of paper match books and a row of cork screws for opening wine bottles, both with the casino’s name and logo printed on them.
Slipping a corkscrew into his pocket, Roach grabbed one of the matchbooks and sat down on the seat, leaned forward and struck a match. The odor was sharp and acrid and he worried someone outside the closet might detect it and investigate, but pressed ahead and held the flame to the plastic around his left ankle. Soon the smell of burning petroleum was added to the mix as the white plastic tie began to bubble.
Roach pushed with his leg and the bond stretched half an inch before the match burned down to his fingers and he dropped it on the concrete floor. Lighting another he held it at the same point and as the flame burned out his leg broke through the weakened material. Quickly he lit another and began working on his right. Two matches later he was free, suppressing a shout of triumph.
As he stood up the door was suddenly yanked open and the light that shone in after being in the dark for so long momentarily blinded him.
“Anxious little fellar, ain’t you?” A deep voice said a moment before he was grabbed and pulled out of the closet.
Roach’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the light, but he could tell he was facing a very large man. Another man stood behind him, but he couldn’t make out his features as he squinted.
“Billy, my new friend and I are going to get acquainted,” the giant man said, the undertone in his voice sending a thrill of fear and revulsion through Roach. “Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
“You got it, Jimmy.” The man answered.
Roach was panicking. Barely able to take a breath, eyes darting around as he looked for any escape route. When Jimmy turned his head to nod to Billy, he lunged away and to the side. He didn’t know where he would go, just knew he had to get away from the man. He didn’t even make it a step before Jimmy’s massive fist lashed out and struck him on the side of the head.
He stumbled and fell, nearly losing consciousness. Jimmy stepped over him, reached down and wrapped a huge hand around his upper arm. Lifting him to his feet he leaned in until his face was almost touching Roach’s.
“Go ahead and fight, sugar. That just makes it better!” He said with a grin then planted a wet kiss directly on Roach’s mouth.
Roach wanted to tear away from the man and run, but the grip on his arm was like iron and he was afraid to antagonize him. Jimmy broke the kiss and stood back to his full height, a head taller than Roach, turned and headed directly to a door with a small brass sign on it marking it as “PRIVATE”. Roach had no choice but to walk with him as the man’s hand tightened on his arm to bring him along. A scream of “NO” began to build in his head and he didn’t know if he was actually shouting it or not.
42
The steel door set into the roof’s bulkhead was locked with a deadbolt and I didn’t have a key. But the hinges were on the outside and I did have several thermite grenades courtesy of Zemeck. Seems he’d thought of everything.
Thermite grenades have been used by the US Military since World War II to disable equipment, most commonly artillery that has to be left behind and is at risk of being captured by an enemy. Though they are called grenades, there is no explosion, rather the ignition of