A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,80

it is,” Rufus said quickly, and while the latter comment was a lie, the panic in his voice was authentic.

“How long do you think you’ll last on Rikers?” Bruno continued. “A day, maybe two, I bet. Until you’re gutted and fucked to death. And do you know why?”

Rufus swallowed and whispered, “Because snitches get stitches.”

Bruno smiled, and it was an ugly look on an even uglier face. “That’s right.” He ground the barrel of the pistol into Rufus’s face again, only stopping when there was some distant, undetermined sound from outside the storage room. Bruno swore, let go of Rufus with a shove, put the gun in his waistband, and walked to the door. “Don’t you fucking move,” he said over his shoulder before seeing himself out.

Rufus sat up as soon as the door slammed shut. He reached down with both hands, untied his high-tops, and with a bit of awkward bending, maneuvered one lace through the tight restraints. He knotted it to the other shoe’s lace, raised his legs, and started to move them back and forth, almost like peddling a bike. It only took a few seconds before the zip tie snapped and Rufus fell backward from the momentum.

He gingerly got to his feet, muttering, “Should have used handcuffs, you dumb fuck.” Rufus patted down his jacket and jeans pockets, but they were empty of everything, even his gum.

The gum that Sam bought him.

And that was all it took to make him well and truly pissed.

Rufus moved to the nearest stack of cardboard boxes and began opening them at random, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. All he found were what looked like years and years of accounting documents, customer files, automobile manuals, even some tax returns.

“You goddamn kidding me?” Rufus snapped, shoving a box in frustration and trying yet another.

He found lots of magazines, the sort of shit found in waiting rooms: a year out-of-date and dog-eared within an inch of its life. The box below that was topped with skin magazines covered in greasy handprints. Seconds away from letting out a frustrated scream, Rufus spotted a computer on the floor. It was old as hell—deadweight from the ’90s too heavy to use in any practical way as a means of self-defense. There was a keyboard, though. As it stood, that was about as useful as the stained Playboys, but Rufus picked it up, wrangled the attached cable to hold either end like a garrote, and walked to the door. He stood to one side and waited.

There was no sound in the building. There seemed to be no sound outside it either. And without a window to look out, Rufus had no goddamn idea if he was even in the city. He could have been in Yonkers—Poughkeepsie, even.

And if that were the case, Rufus might as well let Bruno take him out now.

The door opened again without any warning, and Bruno entered the room. He hadn’t even shut the door before Rufus shouted and slammed the board down, keys first, on the fucker’s shiny head. The plastic flexed, cracked, and snapped in two. Bruno, still standing, turned and let out a roar. He lunged at Rufus, who jumped back, dodged, and managed to get around behind Bruno.

Rufus jumped on Bruno’s back, wrapped the keyboard cord around his neck, and yanked with all his might. He pulled until Bruno made a choked, wet, gasping sound. Pulled until Bruno clawed at the cord. Rufus kept pulling, even as his hands shook and tears—maybe from fear, probably from rage—streamed down his face. And he didn’t stop until Bruno crumpled to his knees and fell flat on his face.

Rufus stood and hesitantly patted Bruno’s pockets until he recovered a handful of zip ties—the sort cops carried nowadays. They were cheaper, lighter, and more efficient than doling out a pair of cuffs for every Tom, Dick, and Jane on the force. He also found a ring with keys—pocketed that—twenty bucks—took that too—then looked around for a place to secure Bruno. A big guy like him, if he regained consciousness anytime soon, might have the raw strength to snap the ties. But that’d be far more difficult if he was zipped to—

Rufus spotted an old water radiator in the corner. Warily, he tied one of Bruno’s wrists with a zip tie, then dragged the probably unconscious, hopefully not dead man across the floor. Rufus heaved the big body close enough to the radiator that he could zip a second tie