Psychological Damage (Gray Spear Society) Read online

  The bouncer pulled on her arm. She didn't like being manhandled, but she restrained herself at first. When he gave her a hard yank, though, she decided to teach him a lesson in manners. She stomped on his foot with her stiletto heel.

  He yowled and let go of her. "Bitch!" he yelled.

  She smiled.

  Two more bouncers appeared. Her performance had gone on long enough, so she allowed them to take her away. With a final shove they sent her out the front door.

  She stood on the driveway and waited. Come on, she thought, I don't have all night, and this damn dress is giving me chills.

  A man with greasy, black hair walked up to her. He wore a purple shirt and a black, leather tie.

  "Hey, honey." He smiled. "I saw what happened in there. You got a problem."

  She crossed her arms and raised her nose. "Maybe."

  "I know a banker who might loan you some cash."

  "What kind of banker?"

  "The kind that doesn't ask for paperwork," he said, "and he works late."

  "A loan shark?" She stared at him.

  He raised his hands. "My guy doesn't like that word. Call him a distressed credit specialist."

  "I don't know."

  "Just wait here. I'll call him right now. He'll pick you up in his limo and explain everything. You want the cash, don't you? Listen to those slot machines. They sure sound fun."

  She furrowed her brow. "I guess it can't hurt to talk to him."

  "That's my girl."

  The man stepped away and made a phone call. Ten minutes later a white limousine pulled up the driveway. It stopped in front of her and a huge man with a bent nose climbed out.

  "Get in," he grunted.

  Marina went into the limousine. The rear compartment contained two bench seats that faced each other. An excessive amount of brown leather covered the seats, walls, and ceiling. The buttons and fittings were made of polished brass.

  She sat across from a man with pale skin in a black business suit. His shirt was so white it almost glowed. He also wore a red top hat that brushed the ceiling.

  The gorilla with the bent nose sat beside her and closed the car door.

  "Hello," the man in the suit said. "You can call me Mr. C. My associate told me you're experiencing financial difficulties. That's a shame. A pretty woman like you should have all the money she needs. What's your name?"

  He knocked on a window separating the rear compartment from where the driver sat. The limo pulled away.

  "Patty," Marina said.

  "How much money are you thinking about borrowing?"

  She didn't see any point in prolonging a useless conversation. She wasn't here to talk about money.

  Without warning she rammed her sharp, black fingernails into the carotid artery of the bodyguard. Her fingertips tingled as venom flowed into the man's bloodstream. He knocked her arm away but too late. Two seconds later his eyes rolled back and he slumped over, unconscious.

  "What the fuck!" Mr. C said.

  She lunged at him and attacked his neck the same way. He tried to block her, but she used a wrist lock to penetrate his weak defense. Within seconds he was also asleep.

  The window leading to the front compartment rolled down. "Mr. C!" the driver called. "Is something wrong back there? Mr. C?"

  She groped around in her crowded purse until she found a pistol. She placed the barrel of the gun against the driver's head.

  "Pull over," she said. "Park."

  "What the hell are you doing?" the driver said.

  "Telling you to park. Now!"

  The driver was shaking as he parked on the side of the road. As soon as the car was safely stopped, Marina reached through the window and injected venom into his neck.

  She exhaled. Now the fun begins, she thought.

  * * *

  Marina heard a train approaching, and after a moment she felt the vibration with her feet. She was standing in a railroad tool shed very near the tracks. Tools swayed on their hooks and dust drifted down from the rafters as the train rumbled past. The noise was intense, and she wondered how the dirty windows stayed in one piece.

  She looked down at the dirt floor. Mr. C was lying there, stretched taught between two wooden posts and completely naked. The nylon ropes were nice and tight. Marina dumped a bucket of water on his face.

  Sputtering, he opened his eyes. For a moment he appeared confused, but then she saw fear in his expression.

  "What's going on?" he said. "Who are you? Where am I?"

  "It's very simple. I need information from you."

  "You'd better let me go! I have powerful friends who will fuck you up."

  She smiled. "That's exactly why you're here. I knew the loan shark who worked the largest casino in St. Louis would be well connected. Give me the names and addresses of your powerful friends. I'm looking for the bosses, the old timers, the guys who call the shots." She picked up a notepad and a pen from a work bench. "You may begin."

  Mr. C closed his mouth defiantly.

  "I'm sure you've beaten and maimed plenty of people in the course of your work," she said. "This experience will be familiar to you, except you'll be on the receiving end this time."

  "You don't have the guts," he growled.

  She put down the notebook and picked up a rubber band. She leaned down over his crotch.

  "What are you doing?" he said. "Get away from my junk!"

  She wrapped the band around the base of his sweaty testicles. She made several loops so the rubber was extra tight.

  "Good," she said. "The circulation is completely cut off. In a couple of minutes your balls will start to hurt. The pain will get really bad for a while but eventually it will go away. That's when the flesh starts dying. I'm going to take away your manhood."

  He yanked on the ropes. "No!"

  "You have some time before permanent damage is done. Maybe if you talk, I'll snip off the rubber band." She retrieved her notebook.

  He gritted his teeth.

  A few minutes passed. Mr. C's rapid breathing indicated he was in pain, but he kept his mouth shut. Marina admired his courage. She had to keep the interrogation moving along, though. She had a busy night planned.

  She looked around the room until her gaze settled on a propane torch. She set it on the work bench and used a sparker to light it. She held the tip of a screwdriver in the flame.

  "I'm an expert torturer," she said. "A prodigy, really. It's because I'm so angry all the time. And you caught me in a particularly bad mood tonight."

  The tip of the screwdriver was glowing orange. She brought it down to Mr. C's face and held it in front of his eyes. He tossed his head back and forth. She grabbed his nose to hold him still and pressed the screwdriver to his lips. There was a hissing noise and smoke. She could smell the burning skin.

  "Ahhh!" he screamed.

  "The lips are very sensitive," she said.

  She went back to heating the screwdriver.

  "You bitch! You fucking bitch! I'll kill you!"

  She shook her head and sighed. "Must be Italian machismo. Is it because I'm a woman? You have to prove you're tough? Well, if it helps, I'll tell you I'm impressed. You're a real man, at least for another few minutes. How are those testicles feeling? Numb, yet?"

  She used the screwdriver to burn both his nipples. He avoided screaming this time, but his eyes rolled in his head and he had trouble breathing.

  "You'll pay for this," he growled through his teeth.

  "I doubt it." She held the screwdriver against his neck until the sizzling stopped. She turned off the torch and looked around the shed. She spotted a sledgehammer in the corner. "Hey, you loan sharks like to break kneecaps, right? Let's give that a try."

  "No!"

  She grabbed the sledgehammer by the handle. She gave it a few, experimental swings to get a feel for the weight. "It's heavy."

  "Please, don't."

  She raised the hammer high and brought it down on his knee. The sound of crunching bone was louder than sh
e expected and also more satisfying. She had completely smashed the joint. Blood oozed from compound fractures.

  "Oh, god... oh, god... oh, god..." Mr. C twisted his body back and forth.

  "Oops," she said, "I hit you too hard, but it was my first time. I'll be more careful on the other knee." She walked around him.

  "Wait!" he screamed.

  "Hmm?"

  He gnawed his lip.

  "No? Oh, well." She raised the sledgehammer.

  "I'll talk! I'll talk!"

  "I'm listening." She put down the sledgehammer and grabbed her notebook. "Names and addresses, and they'd better be right."

  He glanced to either side.

  "Nobody else can hear you."

  "OK." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "There are two families..."

  He blurted out details, and she wrote them down as quickly as she could. As she had hoped, he turned out to be a treasure trove of information about the St. Louis underworld.

  After talking for about ten minutes, he said, "That's all. Now cut that damned rubber band off my balls and untie me!"

  "If I let you go," she said, "you'll warn the bosses I'm coming."

  "No, I won't! I swear on my mother's life."

  "Besides, you need to stay right here. If your information turns out to be wrong, I'm coming back to work on the other knee."

  "Please!" he begged.

  She jabbed her fingernails into his neck. She allowed the venom to flow until she was sure he would sleep for hours, but she stopped short of a lethal dose. The guy was a cockroach, but death was too extreme a punishment for his crimes. However, she left the rubber band in place. He would be a eunuch with a bum leg for the rest of his miserable life. Seems fair, she thought.

  She went outside. The air was pleasantly cool and thousands of stars were visible in the clear night sky.

  Mr. C's white limousine was parked in front of the shed. Marina had dumped the unconscious driver in an alley, but the bodyguard was still sleeping in the back. He was too heavy for her to move. She had given him enough venom to keep him in a coma for a long while, so she wasn't worried about him.

  She got into the limousine and drove away.

  * * *

  Edward was falling asleep when the door of the hyperbaric chamber opened.

  A Japanese man in a white lab coat entered. He had thick, black hair that jutted out from his head in odd ways. Circular, wire rim glasses made his eyes appear very large.

  "I'm sorry you had to wait," he said with a Japanese accent. "It was a very long flight. But I'm finally here, so we can begin. I'm Dr. Ishii. You'll be my patient for a while."

  "I feel fine," Edward said.

  "Mentally, you're very ill. The first step in healing is acknowledging that fact."

  Ishii sat on the floor and crossed his legs, putting him on the same level as Edward.

  "How am I ill, exactly?"

  "You're very confused," Ishii said. "You think your friends are your enemies. Your head is so full of lies you can't recognize the truth. You resist when you should cooperate. It's not your fault though. You've fallen under the spell of the Master of Illusion. For years you've been brainwashed by experts. It is my task to guide you back to reality."

  "You're going to torture me."

  "No!" Ishii raised his chin. "I would never injure one of my patients. However, your case is severe and the treatments will be intense, even painful. I'm sorry, but it's the only way to get quick results."

  "You're a quack."

  "I'm a psychiatrist with twenty years of professional experience. I specialize in victims of systematic behavior modification and thought control. Do you have a job?"

  "I'm an astronaut," Edward said.

  "That attitude will prolong your treatment."

  "That attitude will keep me alive. And when my friends find me, they'll give you an intense treatment."

  Ishii shook his head. "I should expect that kind of response but it still disappoints me. Do you have anything else to say before we begin?"

  Edward just crossed his arms.

  "Bring it in!"

  A wooden chair with a heavy frame was placed in the chamber. It had a hole in the middle of the seat like a toilet. Four men removed Edward's shackles, stripped off all his clothes, and placed him in the chair. Leather straps were tightened around his arms, legs, chest, and neck. He couldn't move an inch when the men were done. Finally, they placed a bedpan under the hole in the seat.

  Ishii left the chamber and brought back a cart full of equipment, some medical and some electronic. He inserted an IV into Edward's right arm. Clear fluid from an unlabeled bag dripped into the tube.

  Ishii then put a blindfold on Edward. The darkness was complete, and Edward couldn't ignore the emotional impact of being blind. Ishii also placed oversized headphones over his ears, cutting off most sound.

  "Can you hear me?" Ishii's voice sounded very loud and deep through the headphones.

  Edward ignored him.

  "Can you hear me now?" The voice was painfully loud.

  Edward winced. "Yes! You're going to break my eardrums, asshole."

  "Let's begin." Ishii had turned down the volume slightly. "We'll start with a simple lesson in obedience. I'll say a word and you repeat it. For example, if I say dog, you say dog. OK? Dog."

  Edward didn't speak.

  He felt pads being taped to his chest, stomach, and thighs.

  "Let's try it again," Ishii said. "Dog."

  Edward still didn't speak.

  Rapid fire electric shocks ripped through his abdomen like a rusty saw. He involuntarily emptied his bowels. The pain brought tears to his eyes.

  "Dog," Ishii said.

  Edward clenched his jaw. Another round of shocks made him whimper. It felt like he was being torn in half.

  "Dog."

  Shocks.

  "Dog."

  Shocks.

  "Dog."

  "Dog, you mother fucker!" Edward cried.

  "I'll accept that for now," Ishii said. "Blue."

  "Blue," Edward muttered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A soft knock woke Aaron. Rubbing his eyes, he got up, wrapped himself in a sheet, and walked to the door. He peered through the peephole and saw Marina standing outside. Carefully, he removed a string that connected the door handle to a shotgun, and he opened the door.

  "What are you doing here?" he said. "I thought you were going to be out all night."

  "I'll be quick." She pushed past him.

  She wore a red dress made of material so gauzy it was almost irrelevant. A few drops of blood marked her black shoes.

  Yvonne turned on a light beside her bed. "Marina?" she said in a scratchy voice.

  Wesley stirred.

  "Sorry," Marina said. "Give me just a few minutes, and then everybody can go back to sleep." She started looking through the pile of duffle bags and luggage.

  Aaron closed the door and watched her. "How many people have you killed tonight?"

  "Nobody," she replied without looking at him.

  "Yet."

  "I don't need your criticism. I'm completely in control. I know what I'm doing."

  He sat on the edge of his bed. There was no point in arguing with her when she was like this.

  She found a bodysuit that had a black and gray camouflage pattern. The elastic material would cover everything from the neck down. She went into the small bathroom and closed the door.

  "How are you feeling?" Aaron said.

  "A little better," she said through the closed door. "I'm finally doing something about my parents."

  A moment later she came out wearing the bodysuit. The outfit looked fantastic on her athletic body, but he wasn't in a mood to be aroused. She went back to the duffle bags.

  "Honey," she said, "could you do me a little favor? There is a white limousine parked outside. Dump it somewhere else. The keys are in the ignition. Also, I need you to steal another car for me. I have other places to go tonight."

&nbs
p; "I'm wearing a bed sheet," he said.

  "Please?" She smiled sweetly at him. "For the woman you love?"

  He rolled his head back. "Fine."

  He put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then he found a bag of small tools among the supplies and went outside.

  The limousine was parked in the middle of the lot. It was obviously a very expensive ride, and he wondered how she had acquired it. He looked through the windows. There was a large unconscious man in the back. Marina should've mentioned the passenger, Aaron thought.

  He drove the limousine a couple of blocks and parked it. He jogged back to the motel. He didn't appreciate getting so much exercise when he wanted to go to sleep instead.

  As he approached the motel, he kept his eyes open for a car to steal. He spotted a brown Ford Fiesta that was perfect for sneaking around town. He checked the doors and found they were locked, so he spat at the window on the driver's side. Yellow, foaming liquid penetrated the glass in a few seconds. He reached through the hole and unlocked the door from the inside.

  He was an expert at hotwiring cars, and it took less than a minute for him to get the engine running. He drove to the front door of his motel room.

  Marina came out. Knives, guns, and assorted tools hung from her utility belt. A combat vest and a helmet made her look like a soldier. She carried night vision goggles in one hand and a backpack in the other. A sniper rifle with a long suppressor was slung across her back.

  Aaron got out of the car but left the motor running. "You must have a busy night planned."

  "Thanks for the car." She kissed him on the lips.

  "You can thank me by not getting killed."

  "It's cute when you worry about me. You're the only person in the world who does."

  He hugged her. "Be safe. I won't be there to back you up."

  She got in the car and drove off.

  * * *

  Marina sat on a high tree branch and studied the mansion using her night vision goggles. The elegant structure was built on a lake shore, and water bordered the extensive property on three sides. The building had at least ten bedrooms, judging from its size. Slate covered the steeply sloped roof. There was a fountain out front and water spewed from the mouths of four marble cherubs.

  She focused her attention on the security measures. Bars covered all the windows on the first floor, and they were embedded in cement instead of merely being bolted in place. The brick walls were smooth and there were no trees nearby, so reaching an upper floor by climbing would be difficult. A tall, spiked fence ran around the entire property on land and extended some distance into the water. Two guards manned the front gate, another pair patrolled the fence, and a third pair was circling the mansion.