YSJ Anthology 2015

BLIND CORNER
Rebecca Richardson
It was dark. That much was obvious. They could tie you up tighter
than a hooker's girdle but there was no mistaking that feeling; the
good had been sapped from the room. Wall to wall the place stank of
a double cross. The question was, who had put me here.
The ting of the switch and the dark cloth glowed red, inducing a
squint. Trying to see was still like staring into the headlights of a
truck. And then it hit, the pain searing, spreading through my skull,
and I found myself sprawled out on a concrete floor, the taste of
which was not something I'd order again. My shirt tightened and I
felt the buttons keen to jump. Maybe they knew something I didn't.
The gorilla behind me, judging by the chin music he'd sounded to get
me to the floor, hadn’t finished what he started, and dragged me
back to the tee. Perhaps this time around he'd at least shout ‘fore’
first.
The steel of the chair was cold and flimsy and the back pushed hard
into my armpits like hanging on a Roscoe. I braced for the second
strike but instead the light blanched as mitts that reeked of Swarfega
stole the cover from my eyes. The white light that filled my vision
made me wonder if it wasn't all over, but then the focus pulled in
and the shapes started to form.
The basement was cold and the cinderblocks that surrounded me
sore chaperones. Across the table in front of me there was a guy
with no manners, his fedora's outline as clear as a crow against the
moon.
‘Oh, I'm sorry, did we wake you up?’ His voice was so nasal you'd
think it had been Durante's dorm buddy.
‘No problem, I was nearly late for my date at the Derby with your
wife.’
‘Funny story. You keep talking like that you're going to find yourself
late for your own funeral.’ The pain in my head had started a foxtrot
and was in danger of distracting me. ’You got a smoke?’
119