Kill the King by Eric Samson

you sold our shit at rock bottom, you’d still have enough
cash to buy three of those fucking cars and still have some
spare change left. I’m going to ask you again: where’s the
money, Finch?”
    Khaled removed
the gag off Finch’s mouth. “I swear! I don’t have any money!
Please. . .please! I swear I don’t have anything! Pl—”
    Khaled put the
gag back on and held down Finch’s hand again. The index finger was
the next to get crushed. Finch shook so hard from the blow, Khaled
had trouble holding his hand down for the middle finger. The hammer
came crashing down on that one in due time. Finch gagged and choked
between stifled screams.
    “That’s three
down and two more to go. If you still don’t give me the right
answer by then, I’ll have to reach into the toolbox and get a bit
more creative. I’ve got some pliers in here to help loosen your
tongue if you can’t do it yourself. Khaled can also remove some
teeth if that will help jog your memory. Maybe we’ll just skip that
shit altogether and start sawing off body parts. Do you see where
I’m getting at, Finch? Are you starting to understand me? The more
you waste our time, the worse this will get for you. We don’t have
all fucking day, and you’re running out of fingers. So what’s it
gonna be, kid? Am I going to have to get creative with you?”
    Tyler and
Khaled waited for Finch to speak. With what little voice he had
left from all the screaming, Finch whispered something inaudible to
the floor tiles.
    Khaled let go
of the boy’s hand and crouched beside him. He patted him firmly on
the back, prodding him to repeat. Finch whispered it again into
Khaled’s ear.
    “He said the
money’s in the fridge.”
    Tyler put the
hammer down on the table and made his way over to the fridge. He
hesitated before opening, unsure if this could be a ruse. He opened
it slowly and noticed nothing inside but a six-pack of beer, a
carton of milk, a large cooler, and a dozen paper bags.
    “Khaled, plug
in the soldering iron. If he’s fucking with us again, burn his
dickhole shut.”

    ****

    It took longer
than expected to gather up all the cash Finch had stashed away. He
was indeed being truthful about the fridge, though the bags didn’t
contain all the money. The small butter compartment and the
vegetable crisper drawer had huge bricks of cold cash hiding in
them. Even the ice tray hid a sealed bag stuffed with bills. To be
extra sure that nothing got hidden deeper inside, Khaled took the
fridge apart while Tyler tallied up the total amount of money
collected so far.
    “So. . .that’s
a bit under five hundred grand. Hiding it in the fridge was not a
bad idea, I’ll give you that. I just wish you’d told us right away.
It would have saved you a lot of trouble, kid.”
    Tyler cracked
open his fourth can of beer but opted to give it to Finch instead.
He gently pressed it to his lips for him, as Finch remained bound
to his chair. The boy finished it quickly and nodded wordlessly in
gratitude.
    “Khaled, did
you find anything else?”
    The large man
wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hands,
unknowingly staining his face with a few streaks of black grease.
He shook his head and motioned for a beer thrown his way.
    “Nothing.”
    Tyler tossed a
beer in Khaled’s direction. “Okay, that’s good enough for me.”
    Satisfied, he
began to stuff the bills in a different duffel bag and then pulled
out his switchblade. The boy quivered at the sight of it.
    “Relax. I’m
going to cut you loose. Stay still in the chair, and don’t get up
until after we’ve left. After that, you’ve got an hour to get your
ass out of town. Leave everything here as it is, and don’t tell anyone about what happened today. I’ve already paid off your
landlord and he’ll call me if you’re still here by sundown. . .if
that happens, we will find you. Are we clear on all
this?”
    Finch nodded,
whimpering slightly. Tyler cut the gag around his mouth, then