Page 138 of Disgrace

“You agreed to help clear—”

“He did not say he was going to bomb a fucking restaurant in the middle of broad daylight in Brooklyn!”

The fucking bastard on the other end of the phone was lucky that John had been taking his mood stabilizers for a few days. Had they had this conversation a while ago when John’s rationale was all but gone, he would have made a quick trip across town to break the motherfucker’s teeth out of his head.

“Something tangible, you said?” John asked.

“Enough to cast a bigger shadow for reasonable doubt, at the very least. I need something more. Give me that, and this will go away.”

“It’ll be in your hands by tonight.”

John hung up the phone without as much as a goodbye, or a fuck you.

Pink had stepped in front of his boss, and grabbed the door handle of a rundown warehouse in the heart of lower Brooklyn. He pulled it open, and let John walk into the dank-smelling, dark space.

John pointed to the side. “Go turn on the light, and then get your camera ready. Put the bag of shit aside, too.”

“Got it, boss.”

The second John spoke, the mumblings started from within the darkness. A sorrowful, terrified yammering that instantly made John’s irritation spike a little bit higher. He shoved it down, and rubbed his hands together as he took a couple of steps into the darkness.

“No, no, please … no,” it continued on.

John sighed. “Hurry, Pink. It’s been a while since he’s seen any kind of light.”

“Gotta find the fucking switch, boss—oh, there it is.”

Instantly, the warehouse was lit up by huge overhead lights that were almost as bright as the goddamn sun. It even made John squint a bit, and he knew what was coming. In the middle of the warehouse, sitting in a pool of his own piss, excrement, vomit, and water that had been thrown on him occasionally was the Capo from the hospital.

The same man who had dared to speak out against John when he could have just as easily stepped back into his place. He was sure the Capo thought John just planned to kill him, but nothing was ever that simple.

At the bright lights overhead—the first time the man had seen any kind of light since that day a week ago—the Capo withered away from the brightness. He still wore his soiled clothing he had been brought in with, although, now also with the added accessories of chains that kept him locked in a spread eagle position on the warehouse floor.

In that pile.

Shit. Piss. Vomit. Water.

It was undignified, really.

Well, he had called John a disgrace. John just figured the Capo would appreciate a better understanding of what it felt like to have his dignity taken away altogether. The man had not been touched. Not beaten, or otherwise.

Not yet.

“Jesus, just kill me,” he mumbled from the floor.

“Stop being dramatic, Roy,” John murmured. “It’s just a little light.”

That probably felt like needles stabbing into the man’s eyes.

“Why won’t you just kill me?”

“This is better—more amusing,” John supplied. “I was curious how much I could take away from you before you finally broke. I refused you light, food, and other than the warehouse, you have no real shelter. I took away your voice, as you can no longer communicate with anyone who will listen, or anyone who cares to. I removed your dignity the first time you pissed yourself, and I took your honor when you begged to be killed. Welcome to the land of the disgraced, Roy. We’re a very pleasant bunch. I assure you.”

“You’re … you are …”

“Come on, find a noun or even an adjective to use. Pick one.”

The man stammered on more.