The First Cut by John Kenyon Read Free Book Online

island, they kept him cold and dark and alone, 24 hours a day. And that was the good part. The bad? Being laid out on a board and having water poured on your face until you think that this is the time they’re never going to stop. Being kept naked. Being beaten. Being naked and beaten and left huddled in a corner with other men while snarling dogs snapped at any appendage unlucky enough to stick out of the pile. Alone, he couldn’t have kept track of the days, but together, it was their ritual. Some men had prayers. Some remained silent most of the day. But each man had a different number, and he recited it each day.
     
    ***
     
    Jesus stepped over to the glowing control panel and pushed a button that sealed the door, making it impenetrable from the outside. A light automatically turned on as the airlock engaged. He turned and looked at the man, gesturing with a handgun that he had pulled from his waistband. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you,” he said. “Now, take off your clothes.” The old man started to object, so Jesus fired a bullet into his foot. The man howled, but Jesus knew the soundproof room would muffle it. “After you are naked, climb up onto that table.”
     
    ***
     
    His count stopped at 238, the day they came without a word and threw someone else’s clothes into his cell. A burly guard grabbed him once he’d changed and pushed him out the door. He was taken to a plane that flew him to Matamoros. The officer who discharged him told him two things: never talk about what had happened, and never try to come back into the U.S. Of course, he did both almost immediately. It was so much easier to get across from here than it had been from Canada. Wall? Fence? It didn't matter. The coyotes were motivated by greed.
     
    ***
     
    The old man needed help getting up onto the board, but soon Jesus had him on his back and strapped in. He removed the man’s glasses, dropped them to the floor and crushed them under his boot. “Let’s talk about enhanced interrogation techniques,” he said, going over to one of the rusty barrels. He grabbed a two gallon bucket from the floor and dipped it in to fill it. He walked back to the old man and hit him hard in the mouth. “Tell me, do you know where Osama bin Laden is?” he said as he poured the water over the man’s face, causing him to sputter and choke.
     
    ***
     
    He’d worked his way around Texas, doing odd jobs here and there. He told his story to some fellow workers over a beer after a day of repairing fence on a ranch. “Hey, one of those old dudes that used to be in Washington has a place around here,” one said. “He stops by on hunting trips. Not the dumb one. You know,” he said, sneering with a growl. “That guy. We do work there sometimes.” A day later, while watching as his friend, Carlos, used a remote control to steer a small plane through the sky, Jesus had an idea.
     
    ***
     
    He had been told that it would take even the old man’s guards at least four hours to break into the room once they realized something was wrong. There was no override for fear they could be tortured into revealing it. Jesus found that funny. The torture was going to happen inside the door, not outside it. All he wanted was 238 minutes. He hoped the old man’s heart would hold out. It wasn’t a fair trade, but he was going to do everything he could to make each of those minutes feel like a day of hell.
     
     
     
     

 
    Gutshot
     
     
    Either Frank didn’t know the gutshot was a death sentence or he simply didn’t care. All I knew was he was the only one who could tell me where Marla was, so I was going to humor him until he gave it up.
    “When you and me get this sorted out, me ’n Marla are gonna go to Florida,” he said weakly. “Maybe we’ll open a restaurant.”
    I wanted to ask him if he was really that clueless, if he thought my sister would really have anything to do with the scum who had broken into her apartment and taken her by