Intoxicated

Prologue

Wilmington, Vermont~ The Present

"I hear they've got good schools here, Patch. That what drew you to it?" The amusement in Harris Van Deer's chuckle, didn't reach the rather blank look in his unremarkable brown eyes.

"Hell man," Van Deer continued to probe, "what's it like to live in a place with less than two-thousand people?"

By then, Patroclus Kostas had answered enough of Van Deer's seemingly innocuous queries to know that to answer this one would result in the same brutalities his earlier responses had brought on. Renewed dread, along with inward relief flooded Patroclus' wiry build when he heard Harris Van Deer's voice again.

"You will die, Patch," Van Deer's tone then was an unassuming one, "Now I can give you the option of dying quick and painless," he gestured to his colleague Brody Alberts, who wagged a syringe filled with an ominous looking pale green substance.

"Or slow and violently," Van Deer raised his wide hands, curving his fingers in just slightly as though he were gripping a football.

Patroclus heard the firm, distinctive pop of cracking knuckles.

"We know you and your crew were responsible for the jobs on the old men," Van Deer continued. "It's too bad the old guys changed their plans at the last minute. Still, you and your men should've waited to make sure everyone who was there was dead. That fuck-up made it easy to find and pin down everyone responsible for this little coup. You guys did a good job of layin' low, though. Guess you figured after six years it was safe to come out of your holes. You figured wrong. Now, we know you didn't have the smarts to think this up, Patch," Van Deer's voice adopted a quiet, compassionate tone that would've been believable were it not for the malice lurking in his lifeless eyes.

"We're hoping you'll be smarter than the rest of your guys and give up whoever you've been stupid enough to protect all these years," Van Deer chuckled again. "If your guys had lived to tell you about it, they'd advise you not to play us for fools any longer."

At Patch's surprised look," Van Deer grinned wildly. "Oh yes, whatever you're imagining we've done to them was a hundred times worse. I gotta tell you though, 'ol Corky was especially remorseful when we paid a visit to him and his wife."

Patroclus tried to swallow and failed. With great effort, he fought to get words around the lump in his throat. "They had kids." From across the room, he heard Grant Zubin's chilly rumble of a laugh.

"Yeah, they did." Zubin brushed a thumb over the gleaming, beaked blade of a bowing knife.

"Cork was mighty helpful," Van Deer went on even as his wild grin defined. "He's how we found you. And his wife," Van Deer released a low whistle, "boy could she beg. We had a good time together. After a while, I wasn't sure if she was pleading for us to go easy on her brats or for me to give her more of what she was getting from my dick."

Patroclus heard the room explode with laughter. The loudest came from Van Deer and Zubin. He swallowed then and relieved himself of the need to vomit by leaning on his anger. "Sons of cunts!" He snarled. "Do whatever the fuck you came to do. I'm the last, so you better make it goddamn good."

"Oh you aren't the last, Patch," Van Deer wasn't grinning then. "You aren't the last by a longshot. Your part- buttfucked as it was- was not the endgame. Which; judging from the fact that our organization has spent the last six years trying to recover from it, tells us that the main objective was royally accomplished."

"Was it Mercuri?" Van Deer's smile returned and was softer. He'd caught the barest flicker in Patroclus' dark eyes. "It was, wasn't it? Damn that son of a bitch- too smart for his own good." Van Deer spoke as if to himself, but soon brought his attention back to his quarry.

"You'll admit it to me, Patch. Before it's all over, you'll admit it to me that it was him." Van Deer leaned in closer. "I've got unfinished business with those cocksuckers, Patch. So does everybody in this room. Did you think we'd just let that go? That we'd have ever let it go?"

Patroclus had no interest in the conversation. He was, however, intrigued by Harris Van Deer's momentary lapse in judgement. He took advantage of the proximity of the man's face to his and executed a punishing head-butt. Given the level of abuse he'd already suffered at the hands of the men in the room, he expected the move to have him blacking out at any moment. It was worth it, he thought, worth it to see Harris Van Deer stagger back and bring both hands to his nose gushing blood.

The other four men had surged to their feet. Beefy hands all curled in unison and sent a chorus of crunching knuckles flooding through the soft lit cherrywood panelled study.

Patroclus readied himself for final brutalities. Van Deer's blood red fingers shook and the ferocity of his roar was as savage as the look in the eyes that bulged manically from his bald head.

The imminence of his life ending, did not fill Patroclus with dread or even panic for that matter. Instead, he took solace in the beauty of his surroundings, knowing that he would never give up the four men who had made that possible.

Patroclus knew someone would talk. In a group the size of the one their famed mission had required, there was bound to be someone who would break. Oh yes, he thought, someone would inevitably let some piece of damning info slip and lead this savage crew to the four who had orchestrated their freedom. It wouldn't be him, goddammit! It wouldn't be him.

Cleaving desperately to flailing courage, Patroclus' face contorted into a mask of deep-seated hate. "Come on you motherfuckers. Come on!" Closing his eyes, Patroclus offered a final prayer that he not be the one to break.