S1 E12: Death Inc. Pt. 5

Silver Heart (Present Day) 

I was jolted awake as my arm was yanked upwards by the bitter officer I kicked. The grip was harsh and would bruise later, but this was the best he could do revenge wise, considering the limits of the law. He led me deep into the station and past a police officer who smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. I was rushed into the room with the holding cell and unceremoniously tossed into the cage with the other criminals and drunks. As I sat up to dust myself off, the cell door locked behind me and the spiteful officer left me to investigate my surroundings.

The holding cell wasn't big for the number of people in it; six, including myself. There were only two bunks; one housed a drunkard babbling nonsense in his sleep, and a bench that housed three men, one larger than the other two. They watched me eerily. To top it off, there was an exposed toilet sink combo for us to share. A quick look to my left revealed a single barred window that let in some moonlight, a stark contrast to the dim flickering lights overhead. A strung-out, methman's incoherent rantings in the far corner and the ticking of a wall clock to my right were the only other sounds that reached my ears. It was a little odd to not hear the chatter outside the cell. 

Normally, the hustle and bustle of the station would leak through closed doors, but could it be that their desks were just farther away than usual? 

The large man stood up from the bench with a significant effort. His movements portrayed pain as he favored his ribs.  

He must not have let the officers take him easily. 

“Welcome to my humble abode. My name is Miguel. Lynell is the skinny one, and Charles is my other right hand,” his deep voice rumbled menacingly. I wasn't sure what he wanted from me. All I knew for sure was that it's best not to invite trouble before arrangements and court dates. 

“Thanks?” I worriedly replied. Then the two smaller men from the bench got up and flanked Miguel. The pecking order was obvious and so was the impending doom. If you get caught in a fight, they add charges. It doesn't matter if you started it or not. I scooted back away from them, closer to the bars. “I don’t want any trouble…”     

“I’m sure you don’t, but I’ve got a little deal with the cops. If we rough you up, they’ll put in some good words for probation instead of jail,” Miguel grinned, gesturing to himself and his two lackeys. The strung-out meth head retreated farther away from us, and the drunkard was deep asleep. This was not going to end well. As much as I dislike police officers, being a wimp is better than getting extra charges when I'm finally trying to fix my life. I jumped to my feet and grabbed the bars of the cell, shouting towards the door. 

“Help! Get me out of here! Assault charges! Help!” The room became silent for a moment as we looked at the door in anticipation. The men were shocked that I shouted for help, but nothing came of it. The door to the outside world remained locked, and a harsh grip ensnared my shoulder.

“Seems the note didn’t lie. We have 'till midnight before they’ll help you,” Miguel grinned. I glanced hesitantly at the clock and saw it was only eight. I had to survive for four hours. I had fought all day before, but with a limited environment to use, outnumbered, and nowhere to run… I would be pushing the limits of what I could reasonably do. I won't make it out of this unscathed.  

Miguel wound up a punch, trying to deliver a blow while I was distracted by the clock, but my old life trained me to watch for any movement that could harm me. Quickly dodging backwards to escape, his fist shot through the air in front of me and collided with the metal bars.  

“My Fucking hand! You'll pay for that, asshole!” he bellowed, seething with pain and rage. I kept my eyes locked on his movements, but my mind was all over the place trying to figure out what was going on. 

The police wouldn't make a deal like that... There must be more to this. It doesn’t seem like they're smart enough to know that…  

Suddenly, my arms were yanked back in an arm lock by one of the henchmen, Lynell. I was so focused on fighting the boss and figuring out the police officers' motives that I made the mistake of ignoring other potential fighters. 

“I've got him boss!” Lynell declared, but I quickly undermined that declaration by throwing my arms up and sliding out of my dirty, ripped shirt. I could feel that red shine coming into my eyes as a single thought crossed my mind. 

I don't want to add another charge, but I'd rather drink acid then go down without a fight. 

Spinning around, I landed an uppercut on Lynell, knocking him out instantly. He fell to the ground with a hard thud. Miguel charged back towards me. Further infuriated, I got the best of his man, and his other lackey, Charles, tried to get me from behind. Not the brightest of ideas. Diving to the side in a final attempt at escape, the two attackers collided, then fell into the cell's bars. The harsh ring of the bars caused Lynell to come too. Scrambling to his feet, his eyes locked with mine as his boss and co-assailant tried to untangle themselves. Lurching forward and then pivoting on his heel, Lynell tossed a quick roundhouse kick. Blocking it with my forearms, I forced his momentum to the side, throwing both of us off balance.   

Miguel tried to use this opportunity to his advantage by charging at me with his hands clasped over his head as if he were hammering me to the ground. Ever light on my feet, I regained my balance quickly before throwing several hard quick jabs into his stomach, interrupting his attack. 

His face changed to shock as blood blossomed from his mouth. Clutching his stomach in pain, he tried to regain his breath. I may have been smaller than my opponent, but I'm stronger than I look; and he was starting to understand that. His face colored itself a violent red to match his blood as he uncurled himself faster than I thought possible for a man his size. His hands came down hard on my ears and everything spun. Clutching my ears for dear life, I staggered away while trying to reorient myself.

Miguel used my temporary disorientation against me and grabbed me by the neck. I struggled, but my movements were sluggish, almost like there was a lag between my brain and my body. I always had issues when someone grabbed my neck in a fight. My feet left the ground as I was violently tossed into the metal bars headfirst. Stars danced in my vision and my ears rang while my body crumpled on the floor. Cradling my head, I felt the red fade from my eyes, my lust for violence dissipating. Gazing slowly upwards, I discovered I was surrounded, but I couldn't tell how many or how close they were. My vision wouldn't focus, only spin nauseatingly. I was silently grateful I hadn't eaten today. Hard kicks slammed into my stomach, knocking the air out of me and causing me to dry heave and expel bile. I was unable to stop the attack and unable to escape. Curling into the fetal position, I tried to protect my head. In between the onslaught of kicks, I saw the clock… 

8:15.