Page 89 of Cash

“Not today, Satan,” he grumbled, getting back to work and hacking the ropes against the broken table edge once more. He could feel chunks of the table breaking away from the force of his efforts, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had to keep going, he couldn’t—

One of the ropes snapped.

Brick twisted his arms until the rest of the ropes loosened enough for him to slip free. His wrists were red, spotted with blood from where the rope had rubbed him raw. It hurt like hell, but he would worry about that later. He picked up one of the broken table legs and got to his feet.

The leg looked to be made out of the same cheap wood as the rest of the table, so it probably wouldn’t make a very formidable weapon, but it was better than nothing.

He tried the door again, finding it still locked, and he wished he knew how to pick it open.

Then again…

He did have other skills.

Brick got a running start and then slammed his shoulder into the door as hard as he could. He gasped as the door dented and cracked, and he scooted back a few steps to survey the damage.

The door hadn’t gone flying off the hinges as he’d hoped, but it was made out of fragile particle board. He could totally do this. He could break down this stupid door and try to get the fuck out of here.

He ran to the other side of the room, launching himself at the door with everything he had. The door buckled and shattered where Brick’s shoulder had struck. He could almost fit his hand through the hole and perhaps then he could reach through and unlock the door from the other side.

Brick ran at it again, and the entire top half of the door simply crumbled, pieces of thin wood flying everywhere. He used the table leg to push the pieces out of his way so he could reach through and find the knob.

Damn. It needed a key to unlock.

No problem.

Just a few more well placed slams and some kicks, and this piece of crap door was going to be nothing but pulp.

This was it. He was going to get out of here. He was going to be okay. He was practically giddy as he ran back to the far side of the room to prepare himself for another launch.

A light suddenly came on outside the door.

Brick stopped.

He could hear footsteps on stairs and voices approaching.

Shit, shit, shit!

Table leg raised over his head, he braced himself against the wall.

“Whoa, what the fuck is going on down here?” a man asked.

“I told you I heard something,” another man argued. “Big bastard must have woken up.”

“Let’s go say hi, shall we?”

A key turned in the lock, and the door opened.

Well, it opened about halfway, got stuck because it was broken, and a large man in a sweater had to kick it to make it open the rest of the way.

Brick immediately noticed he had two deep scratches on his cheek that were freshly scabbed over.

A smaller man with an eyepatch breezed by him and walked into the room, offering Brick a friendly smile.

“Hello,” the smaller man said. “My, you’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

“Let me go right now or I’m gonna bust you up like that fuckin’ door,” Brick warned, raising the table leg again.

“Ah, my apologies, but that won’t be happening.” The man turned to the man in the sweater. “Roland? Could you please encourage Mr. Brixton to be a more behaved guest and drop that little stick?”

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