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Lights off, the car pulled up on the potholed dirt road outside the railway arches. He got out and unlocked the shabby door to the former garage come storeroom. Boot open, they heaved the tied and hooded body from the back and dragged it into the lock-up.
Bound to the chair, hood removed, two defiant eyes glared at him. He ripped the tape from the man’s mouth. “You can scream all you want, it’s soundproofed.”
“You think you frighten me?” he gloated.
“I think I will.”
The ‘charges’ were read out. Acid attacks. Men, women, children, he didn’t give a shit. They played with him, for a while, showing the power of the acid then pouring inert liquid on him. He was a hard bastard. Unimpressed, he taunted them, right up to the point they poured the real thing in his lap.
Ripping his shirt from him, he splashed it over the screaming man’s chest and stomach then whispered things in his ear. The hoist chain threaded through his arms, the remaining acid cascaded over his head and he was carried into the air, chair and all.
From the safety of the corner, they watched him writhe and jerk in agony, his blistered throat, mouth and lips preventing the intense pain from plundering their thoughts.
The interior doused with petrol, one last look at the almost grotesque piece of meat hanging from the ceiling, he closed the entrance then stood back to light the rag. His accomplice took it from him. “I’ll do it, you start the car.”
He glanced back, from the vehicle. Fire in hand, the figure opened the door. Seconds later a huge sheet of flame ripped through the lock-up, blowing the doors and flinging a rag doll backwards into a pile of scrap metal nearby. When he reached him, he knew there was nothing to be done. Scorched, impaled on a set of ornate railings and a scaffolding pole, Alvin’s guts spilled from his body.
He checked for a pulse. Nothing, but he couldn’t be sure and he couldn’t leave him like that. He ran to the car, returned and raised the weapon.
Nicks woke with a jerk, thrashing out, lathered in sweat, gasping for air, sobbing when he found it. Hands trembling, scotch and paracetamol, head throbbing yet again.
Calmer now, he sat looking into the empty glass. Leaving it by the bedside, he headed for the shower. Finished, he sat on the bed with his head in his hands, then picked up the empty glass and opened the mini-bar, once more.
The rest of the night was spent watching the hotel TV and he was thankful for the dawn. Dressed, slipping on the jacket and face he kept on a hook by the door, he slithered silently out, heading for the waterfront to clear his mind.