Page 7 of Love of the Egoist
Too bad he learned it on his last day of freedom.
Upon agreement, Kuon had gone into Zone—the nightclub—taken a stool by the bar, but instead of Andy, three people dressed in black suits surrounded him. A hard barrel pressed between his shoulder blades. A calm voice he hadn’t recognized told him not to draw attention.
The instructions had been simple: get up, leave the club with them, and get in the car.
They went to the parking lot where Kuon, trying his luck, spun and seized the hand of the nearest guy, hoping for a miracle. Wrenching the armed hand, Kuon pointed the gun at one of the other men, when acute pain exploded at the back of his head. He remembered the fatigue, dull pain spreading down his neck, falling down, and several kicks to his abdomen leaving him breathless before everything faded to black.
Kuon blinked, falling out of the void of memories, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Grabbing the nearest rod, he got up. His stomach cramped as he reached the bucket, bent down, and picked up the roll of paper.
His face burned when he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down.
??E??
TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP…
Irritating, yet somehow captivating. Kuon’s finger kept tapping the hollow spot in the wall, creating the same dull sound. The only noise that existed in this basement. That, and his heavy breathing.
Kuon had been doing this for the last seven thousand and forty-five seconds to keep his mind occupied.
What if Yugo doesn’t plan to do anything to me? Just keep me here? Keep me warm and well fed and watch me go insane in this silence? Why else does he refuse to meet me? Why does he keep me here? What the fuck does he want?
Kuon turned away from the wall, trying to shed those thoughts, as his gaze fell on the plastic tray that stood untouched on the floor. He cringed. Greg had come not long ago. He brought him food and cleaned the bucket with a garden hose. Since then the acrid stench of chlorine, mixed with the smell of the food coming from the tray, wafted through the air.
Disgusting…
He closed his eyes and tugged his shirt over his head to hide from his thoughts and the nasty smell.
??E??
“BOSS,” GREG OPENED THE DOORand peeped into the office, “may I come in?”
Feet on the desk, Yugo leaned back in his wide leather chair, his hands folded behind his head. Glancing at his subordinate with his eyes heavy with morning idleness, he suppressed a yawn. A tiny porcelain cup of ristretto emitted white aromatic steam that flooded the air.
“What is it?” Yugo’s low, honey-toned baritone drenched with laziness, but his mind came to attention.
“Gustavo called. He said he and Tobias will pay you a visit tonight.”
“Hmm?” Yugo raised his eyebrow. He hadn’t summoned them tonight, and there should be a good reason for anyone to come to his house uninvited.
His brain leafed through recent events.
“Tobias and Gustavo?” he mumbled. “Greg, confirm that speculation about the Al-Amin group’s upcoming proposition. If they are indeed offering high-quality heroin in exchange for weapons, I want to flood Afghanistan with HK416 and Stingers. I also want to know what stands behind the twenty percent discount on this exchange. Why do they need weapons so urgently that they are willing to sell heroin this cheap? I need this information today before they come. If there is something going on, I want to know which countries are involved and what their gain is. Use every resource but make sure there is nothing we don’t know.”
“Yes, Boss.” Greg wavered but then moved for the door.
“Something else?” Yugo asked, piercing the wide back of his subordinate with a sharp glance. “Greg?”
“No, Boss, really, it’s nothing,” Greg’s voice sounded dull and Yugo kept salient, expecting the man to explain. Greg sighed and turned around. “It’s about the boy.”
“The boy?” Yugo frowned and removed his legs from the desk. He fixed the back of his chair in a vertical position and set forward, scrutinizing Greg.
“The one in the basement.”
“Oh… what about him?” Yugo lost his focus as his thoughts trailed back to the Al-Amin and the potential deal. If there was something real behind this speculation, he must know it before Gray or Patrice do.
“It’s really nothing, Boss. He broke the plastic tray and made a self-made knife. It is getting harder not to hurt him…”
“What does he want?” Yugo asked automatically.
