Chapter Thirty-One
Kris
“Boss man says you need to get cleaned up.”
Kris peered blearily through the bars at the two men who now stood outside his cell. One of them was jingling something in his hand. Kris squinted. It looked like it was a keyring. Given what the man had just said, it probably was. Kris giggled. How else was he supposed to go get cleaned up?
“No funny stuff,” the man added as he fit the key into the lock.
Kris staggered out of the cell.
“I’ll take him,” the man said to his companion. “Look at him, just a skinny slip of a kid. He won’t be any trouble. You go ahead and hose down the cell.”
“Why do I always get all the shit jobs?” his companion complained.
“Come on,” his guard said, poking him the back. “Get walking.” He shoved him along the space, through the open doorway to the hall beyond. There, he urged him up a flight of narrow stairs and through another door. Here, the bright, harsh fluorescent lights used below were replaced with softer LEDs and sunlight which streamed through windows obscured by patterns in the glass itself. ”Through there,” the man said, shoving him forward, towards a door. “Go on, open it and go inside. Wash that disgusting dreck off of yourself and do a good job. Don’t make me have to come in there and scrub you.”
Kris needed no urging. He didn’t know how long he’d been wearing the splatter, but it was dried and flaking, making his skin itch. The smell had also grown exponentially worse from the mess he’d left on the floor. His stomach gnawed and he’d dry heaved several times before someone had come and given him a handful of some kind of dry, unsalted crackers and a small plastic cup of water. There’d been two small, white caplets as well, which the man had reassured him were just ibuprofen. His head was screaming obscenities at him and his eyes felt as if someone was jamming daggers in them, so he’d decided to risk it. The pain had eased off then, allowing him to get some sleep of sorts, at least.
The water was ice cold and the soap was a value brand washing up liquid meant for dishes. There wasn’t a loofah, scrubby puff, or flannel in sight. Kris sighed. They’d really pulled out all of the stops to make his stay a pleasant one, all right. He turned off the water and poured some of the dish soap into his hands and began spreading it through his hair and across his body.
“You done in there already? It hasn’t even been two seconds!” came the bellow from outside.
“No,” he called out in reply. “Just turned the water off so I could soap up.”
“Well turn it back on. You stink. Don’t turn it off again until you’re finished.”
Shivering, Kris did as he was told, knowing there was no sense in aggravating his captors needlessly. With his existing head injury, another blow could prove fatal.
I just need to hold on onto Ishmael finds me. He’s a right bastard, but he’s my bastard.
He scraped at the dried vomit that clung to the fine hairs on his arm with his fingernails. He looked dispassionately at the red weals that wee left behind. The cold water made them even redder. He rubbed his hands through his hair, internally fuming at the length of time it took to remove the foamy residue from his locks. When it was all gone, he tipped his face up and soothed his parched throat and mouth. Once he had enough, he turned the water off and stood there to drip dry as he saw no towels.
“Get your arse out here. Never mind playing with yourself or whatever the fuck you’re doing in there. I was told to get you washed and brought upstairs and that’s what we’re doing.”
“My clothes?” Kris asked. They had been part of the reason his mind had thought he was in bed back at Ishmael’s. He was only allowed to sleep nude and he’d awoken on the pallet of blankets naked, under an incongruously soft, plush throw.
“Not happening. Now get your butt out here, or I’ll have to drag you out and you won’t like it if I do.”
Kris shook his hair to dislodge the worst of the drips coursing down from his hair, then stepped out of the shower cubicle.
“About goddamned time,” the man muttered, grabbing him harshly by the arm and pulling him along. Not for the first time since arriving in the UK, Kris found himself wishing he’d paid attention in the Taekwondo class his parents had signed him up to in third grade. That’d he not cried to be allowed to not go anymore and dropped out of a year later. That he’d taken some of those self-defence courses offered for free at the college he went to. Anything to give himself a fighting chance if the right opportunity arose.
Kris risked taking a look around. He seemed to be in an underground garage area.
“Don’t even think about, sunshine. The only way out is up and you won’t be getting anywhere near any doors or windows you can get out of.”
Not a garage then. Or maybe it had once been. He went up the flight of stirs the pulled him up. At the top of the steep flight, there was a red wooden door which the man rapped on. Kris heard the sound of a lock being turned before the handle moved and the door swung open.
“Took you long enough, Smitty,” a hulking man nearly as large as Ezra said. Kris swallowed. The man was not only huge, but he was also intimidating. A large scar bisected the bridge of his nose and his arms, legs, and hands were a testimony to the power he could lay into someone with.
“Yeah, well, he stunk real bad. Boss wanted him cleaned up, so there we go.” Smitty dragged him into the kitchen the door led into.
“Jesus, Smitty. He’s sopping wet!” The giant grabbed a tea towel from a nearby cabinet handle and began ruffling Kris’ hair with it. “Boss isn’t going to want him leaving puddles all over the floor and furniture.”
Kris’ eyes landed on a bowl of fruit. His stomach gurgled in response. He swayed on his feet.
“Shit! Smitty, he don’t look too good. You better help him along. He might pass out or something.”
