Abduction

It's hot in here. 

Stifling.

Suffocating.

Dark. 

Almost hope they come beat me again, just so that I can get out of the trunk. 

They do.

Ask me where the money is?

“Say, Bid dawg, fuck the money at?”

What fucking money?

I work for a living.

My hands ache where they’ve stomped on them.

Hammered my knuckles.

Keep asking me for money I don't have. 

“Aye Maine, you thank I woan kill you ani’t it?”

I think he better.

I've shown them where everything of value in my house is. 

Has to be at least 2-3 days. 

I’ve lost track of time.

Can't stand another ass whooping, something has to give.

Jaw is probably broken.

Couple of ribs definitely are.

Painful to breathe.

I’ve shat myself.

I Keep trying to escape.

They kick My ass every time.

Offer them my stash of Louis XV, it’s a gift from a client.

My Sterling Silver .38 bullets, another gift from someone I worked as a bodyguard for.

A pair of $6500 Komodo Dragon Boots, certified to have died from natural causes, with a Teak and mahogany sole, they’re my prized possession.

Tell them truthfully that I have nothing else of value.

Recognize the voices now that it’s been days.

Days of torture.

Two of them are my cousins.

The other a classmate.

I’m a pretty tough guy, I mean I have been a bodyguard for 10 years.

Worked in New York, LA, Atlanta, Dubai, even, The Continent.

Hard to believe that of all those places I get kidnapped in Shuqualak, Mississippi.

My Home town.

Being beaten is hard.

Not just physically, I am ill accustomed to losing, and I feel violated.

If my arms were free I’d beat all of them.

Know what?

Fuck how it turns out, I’m bucking.

Maneuver My legs and arms as much as possible.

They’re arguing.

Hear them in the Den.

Discussing killing me.

How to dump my body.

Motherfuckers.

Exquisite pain floods me as I try to ball my fists.

Makes me Black out.

Awaken to gunfire.

Chair falls to the floor as I struggle desperately to get free.

It’s coming from my media room.

AK-47 firing original 7.62 rounds.

20 Guage Street Sweeper, barrel clip Fed.

Both of those sound like my guns.

SKS and another weapon answer in tight controlled bursts.

Sounds like a Glock 19 but The Glock 19 doesn’t fire that quickly.

Barrage is followed by grunts and a harrowing scream.

Doors are being kicked.

Screams continue.

“Drop the Iron bruh.” SKS’s flatulence interrupts. 

“Damn Joe, you ani’t have to die today.”

Recognize that voice too.

He works for me.

Hogg.

He calls everyone ‘Joe’ must be a Chicago thing.

“Yo, Ice you here?”

Big Tyme.

He works for me too.

I holler. “I’m in here!”

Gag muffles the sound.

Jaw distorts it further.

Takes them a little while to get to me.

My house is pretty big.

“Say Round, I fount Tim, yeah! Hot damn Ice. You gone bearite Lil Daddy.”

Tyme is from New Orleans, fact that I played for the Saints endears me too him, even though I washed out in camp.

Both men fuss over me as they right my chair and untie Me.

“Say bruh, it’s 2 what’s Dead in the front rum, and another one bleeding out in the kitchen, yeah. You want us ta call them people? Or is you bout ta hannle it?” 

I couldn’t handle shit if I wanted to.

Have him call the police and an ambulance.

Hogg finally speaks.

He and I have been working together for years.

He calls me by my given name

“Will, you want me to help you clean up before the bus gets here?”

It hurts to reply and it’s probably garbled.

“Yeah Dave.” 

Get in the ambulance in a fresh tracksuit, answering the Police’s questions.

Fuck evidence.

I’m not going anywhere shitty and fucked up.

Two of my third cousins lay dead in my living room. 

They’re being prodded by investigators and the medical examiner.

A dude I’ve known since Head start was just carted off in an ambulance.

He might not survive.

EMT is putting my hands in splints.

Looks like every knuckle is broken as well as several other bones.

Spit out globs of blood as I try to answer questions.

I’m not usually the type to invite the police into my business.

Almost wish I had just dumped the bodies in my pond. 

I’m pretty sure the catfish and crawdads would have disposed of them.

Pain medicine starts to work and I feel guilty about my dead cousins.

Family bonds didn’t mean anything to them, don’t know why they do to me.

Big Tyme and Boss Hogg came looking for me, because I didn’t show up at an event we were supposed to work together.

Those are my real family members.