FIC : Staring at the Sun, 16/?
Ha. Less than a month between parts. And I met
jadefire88's deadline. Go me.
Staring at the Sun
Part 16: Pinch
“How much... is the rat... paying you, huh?” Rico's partner twisted in his bonds, a shudder running down his spine. He sounded like he was having trouble getting enough breath to speak, though that didn't stop him from trying. Stubborn bastard. “He... feed you some line about... God and Country?”
Near the edge of Rico's field of vision Baldy leaned against the cinder block wall of the interrogation cell, watching Sonny dangle from the ceiling. A lit cigarette butt perched on his lower lip. His close-set eyes were blank with boredom. The doctor glanced toward the two-way mirror and shook his head.
Rico jumped at Menton's voice, so close after the sounds from the cheap speakers. “You and Davy Crockett there don't go back too far. Your concern for him is touching.”
An ache pushed through the angry fog in Rico's head and he glanced down to find his nails had bit into the skin of his palm. Menton shifted, drawing his attention back to the other room.
“Yeah, well, I don't expect a goon like you to understand about partners, Menton.” Rico watched the doctor approach Sonny. He had something in his hands Rico couldn't quite make out.
“Detective, I know you're in pain,” the man said to Sonny. “I need you to-” And all at once the sound went dead.
“Just so I have your full attention. I wouldn't want you to be distracted for our little chat.” Menton was studying Rico with a calculated intensity he didn't like. Not one bit.
In the other room, the doctor held out whatever was in his hand. Looked like a little glass bottle. Sonny shook his head.
“Are you ever gonna get to the point, Menton?”
“He might act the tough guy, but how long do you think your partner's gonna last, Tubbs?” Menton tapped his fingers against the volume switch. “You think what we've done so far is torture? We've barely started. Your partner knows that. He knows the playbook inside and out. Do you?”
Rico tore his eyes from the mirror. He had to remember that Menton wanted something. Of course the man wanted something. Okay. Right. So maybe Rico could give it to him. Then the question was, how far could he play along and still get himself and Sonny outta here alive?
“He ever tell you anything about his jaunt In Country?”
Rico blinked. Playbook. And Sonny kept bringing up KUBARK, the CIA's interrogation manual. Menton's hand moved from the room's controls to a stack of manila files Rico hadn't noticed before. His blunt fingers ran along the edge of the top file; it was thicker than the one beneath it by a good inch. The file at the bottom of the stack was easily twice that size again.
“What about it?”
Menton smirked. “Your boy in there wasn't black ops, but he got the job done. Natural talent, the kind that only comes out under pressure. I bet he could tell stories to make your hair curl.”
Rico's skin was starting to crawl. The war again. Sonny didn't talk about 'Nam, but then again, neither did any of the vets he knew. Not to people who weren't there; most of the time not even to one another. They'll use us against each other. Yeah? Let them try.
“And if you think your partner had some wild times, you should see what I've got on your boss.” Menton let out a whistle of admiration. “Hoo-boy. Crockett mighta had talent, but Castillo... Castillo had genius.”
What the hell did he want?
In the other cell, the doctor threw his hands up, like he was sick of arguing with Sonny. Sonny just kept shaking his head. Refusing... whatever it was the doc was offering.
“What's he doing?” Rico asked before he could stop himself. Menton shrugged and flicked the sound back on.
“I don't want it,” Sonny forced out. His chest heaved with the effort and even so his voice was thin.
“Look, detective. I don't expect you to believe this, but I'm trying to help you here.” The doctor ran his hand through his hair, standing it on end, frustration pinching his face.
“Help me?” Sonny laughed. “Yeah. You've been a great help so far, doc.”
“It's for the pain, you stupid son of a bitch,” the doctor finally growled, exasperated. Funny how Sonny seemed to inspire that tone in friends and enemies alike. “Your leg is infected. Don't tell me it doesn't fucking hurt.”
“Maybe it doesn't hurt enough,” Baldy said, pushing off from his place at the wall. Rico stiffened. Baldy flashed a grin at the mirror and shoved the doctor aside. The doctor lunged for him, but Baldy shook the other man off without a backward glance.
Then everything went to hell in a cacophony of bodies and noise. Baldy must have done something to Sonny's leg, 'cause Sonny thrashed against the ropes and his scream was loud enough to send the sound system's tiny speaker into a frenzy of feedback. Then the doc tackled Baldy and pulled him off Sonny, only to ricochet off the wall under Baldy's furious counter-assault. Sonny hung from his wrists, both hands clenched around the rope above his head, rigid with agony. Blood poured down his bare shin, the bandage torn loose and dangling from one piece of white tape.
“Goddamn it, Menton, you said it was about business. Does this look like business to you?” Rico heard his own voice break. “You can stop this.”
Menton sat calm as ever, watching the scene unfold like he had nothing to do with it at all, like it was some lame movie-of-the-week. “Is that what you think, Ricardo? That I'm the one who's gonna put a stop to this?”
“What the hell are you getting at? Are you insane? You've got all the power here, man!”
But Menton ignored Rico and flipped another switch on the control panel. “Take him back to his cell, boys. You've had enough fun for now.”
Menton pushed past Rico and left him alone in the observation room, still shaking with rage and confusion. They want us on edge. He'd said as much to Sonny, back before he knew what the hell he was talking about. Days ago. He thought.
No way to tell. He knew he should be hungry by now. The lack of food and water was a sickness swimming in his head, adding weight to his limbs, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. And hunger was the least of their problems. He needed to get Menton to talk. Needed to get a toehold in Menton's plans - Menton wasn't the kind of goon who acted without knowing every move beforehand. Which meant there was a reason Menton was forcing him to watch... watch Sonny. And what they were doing to him.
A favor. But what?
M16 reappeared, cucumber cool. He tossed a plastic bottle at Rico when he opened the door to the observation room. Water. Rico unscrewed the cap and choked down a swallow before following M16's barked order to leave the room.
“Complements of the doc,” M16 said, and shoved Rico down the hall.
“Give him my regards,” Rico snapped. M16 just let out a snort and herded him back through the heavy metal door to the original bare cell. It was beginning to feel familiar, feel like home.
Not a good sign.
jadefire88's deadline. Go me.
Staring at the Sun
Part 16: Pinch
“How much... is the rat... paying you, huh?” Rico's partner twisted in his bonds, a shudder running down his spine. He sounded like he was having trouble getting enough breath to speak, though that didn't stop him from trying. Stubborn bastard. “He... feed you some line about... God and Country?”
Near the edge of Rico's field of vision Baldy leaned against the cinder block wall of the interrogation cell, watching Sonny dangle from the ceiling. A lit cigarette butt perched on his lower lip. His close-set eyes were blank with boredom. The doctor glanced toward the two-way mirror and shook his head.
Rico jumped at Menton's voice, so close after the sounds from the cheap speakers. “You and Davy Crockett there don't go back too far. Your concern for him is touching.”
An ache pushed through the angry fog in Rico's head and he glanced down to find his nails had bit into the skin of his palm. Menton shifted, drawing his attention back to the other room.
“Yeah, well, I don't expect a goon like you to understand about partners, Menton.” Rico watched the doctor approach Sonny. He had something in his hands Rico couldn't quite make out.
“Detective, I know you're in pain,” the man said to Sonny. “I need you to-” And all at once the sound went dead.
“Just so I have your full attention. I wouldn't want you to be distracted for our little chat.” Menton was studying Rico with a calculated intensity he didn't like. Not one bit.
In the other room, the doctor held out whatever was in his hand. Looked like a little glass bottle. Sonny shook his head.
“Are you ever gonna get to the point, Menton?”
“He might act the tough guy, but how long do you think your partner's gonna last, Tubbs?” Menton tapped his fingers against the volume switch. “You think what we've done so far is torture? We've barely started. Your partner knows that. He knows the playbook inside and out. Do you?”
Rico tore his eyes from the mirror. He had to remember that Menton wanted something. Of course the man wanted something. Okay. Right. So maybe Rico could give it to him. Then the question was, how far could he play along and still get himself and Sonny outta here alive?
“He ever tell you anything about his jaunt In Country?”
Rico blinked. Playbook. And Sonny kept bringing up KUBARK, the CIA's interrogation manual. Menton's hand moved from the room's controls to a stack of manila files Rico hadn't noticed before. His blunt fingers ran along the edge of the top file; it was thicker than the one beneath it by a good inch. The file at the bottom of the stack was easily twice that size again.
“What about it?”
Menton smirked. “Your boy in there wasn't black ops, but he got the job done. Natural talent, the kind that only comes out under pressure. I bet he could tell stories to make your hair curl.”
Rico's skin was starting to crawl. The war again. Sonny didn't talk about 'Nam, but then again, neither did any of the vets he knew. Not to people who weren't there; most of the time not even to one another. They'll use us against each other. Yeah? Let them try.
“And if you think your partner had some wild times, you should see what I've got on your boss.” Menton let out a whistle of admiration. “Hoo-boy. Crockett mighta had talent, but Castillo... Castillo had genius.”
What the hell did he want?
In the other cell, the doctor threw his hands up, like he was sick of arguing with Sonny. Sonny just kept shaking his head. Refusing... whatever it was the doc was offering.
“What's he doing?” Rico asked before he could stop himself. Menton shrugged and flicked the sound back on.
“I don't want it,” Sonny forced out. His chest heaved with the effort and even so his voice was thin.
“Look, detective. I don't expect you to believe this, but I'm trying to help you here.” The doctor ran his hand through his hair, standing it on end, frustration pinching his face.
“Help me?” Sonny laughed. “Yeah. You've been a great help so far, doc.”
“It's for the pain, you stupid son of a bitch,” the doctor finally growled, exasperated. Funny how Sonny seemed to inspire that tone in friends and enemies alike. “Your leg is infected. Don't tell me it doesn't fucking hurt.”
“Maybe it doesn't hurt enough,” Baldy said, pushing off from his place at the wall. Rico stiffened. Baldy flashed a grin at the mirror and shoved the doctor aside. The doctor lunged for him, but Baldy shook the other man off without a backward glance.
Then everything went to hell in a cacophony of bodies and noise. Baldy must have done something to Sonny's leg, 'cause Sonny thrashed against the ropes and his scream was loud enough to send the sound system's tiny speaker into a frenzy of feedback. Then the doc tackled Baldy and pulled him off Sonny, only to ricochet off the wall under Baldy's furious counter-assault. Sonny hung from his wrists, both hands clenched around the rope above his head, rigid with agony. Blood poured down his bare shin, the bandage torn loose and dangling from one piece of white tape.
“Goddamn it, Menton, you said it was about business. Does this look like business to you?” Rico heard his own voice break. “You can stop this.”
Menton sat calm as ever, watching the scene unfold like he had nothing to do with it at all, like it was some lame movie-of-the-week. “Is that what you think, Ricardo? That I'm the one who's gonna put a stop to this?”
“What the hell are you getting at? Are you insane? You've got all the power here, man!”
But Menton ignored Rico and flipped another switch on the control panel. “Take him back to his cell, boys. You've had enough fun for now.”
Menton pushed past Rico and left him alone in the observation room, still shaking with rage and confusion. They want us on edge. He'd said as much to Sonny, back before he knew what the hell he was talking about. Days ago. He thought.
No way to tell. He knew he should be hungry by now. The lack of food and water was a sickness swimming in his head, adding weight to his limbs, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. And hunger was the least of their problems. He needed to get Menton to talk. Needed to get a toehold in Menton's plans - Menton wasn't the kind of goon who acted without knowing every move beforehand. Which meant there was a reason Menton was forcing him to watch... watch Sonny. And what they were doing to him.
A favor. But what?
M16 reappeared, cucumber cool. He tossed a plastic bottle at Rico when he opened the door to the observation room. Water. Rico unscrewed the cap and choked down a swallow before following M16's barked order to leave the room.
“Complements of the doc,” M16 said, and shoved Rico down the hall.
“Give him my regards,” Rico snapped. M16 just let out a snort and herded him back through the heavy metal door to the original bare cell. It was beginning to feel familiar, feel like home.
Not a good sign.