Hell Hath No Fury

From the doorway, Styx could see him perfectly, the slumped form in the chair. Lit from below with that terrible red glow, he was slick with sweat, an almost bloody-looking sheen on pale face, drained of colour. He’d long since stopped fidgeting in his chains, and was just sat there like a puppet with the strings cut. He’d been screaming for a solid hour when they’d first brought him here, but the old foundry was in the unfashionable part of town, and deep in the bowels of it, he was never going to be heard.

In contrast to his... loquacious manner when they’d first brought him here, he’d been remarkably tight-lipped since. And they were running out of time. It had been Styx’s idea to light the furnace and set this son-of-a-bitch over it to warm him up a little, and from the way he was soaked through, his black t-shirt sticking to him and revealing every toned muscle on his body, it had worked.

“I know you’re there.”

Styx raised his eyebrow as the man straightened slightly.

“I’m blindfolded, not deaf,” He continued, voice low and hoarse, pained. “So why don’t you come on out?”

Styx shrugged and started to walk along the catwalk, the metal soles of his New Rocks making an unholy clatter on the grating, the metallic scrape sending a shudder down his quarry’s neck. Styx ran his eyes over him again.

He was sat on the metal frame of a chair and wrapped in rusting metal chain that they’d found lying around here, the seat missing, meaning he was sat somewhat awkwardly, bracing on his arms, that were entwined so deeply in the chains you wasn’t sure where the rust started and the blood began. More wrapped around his legs, keeping them firmly apart. Satisfied, Styx let his gaze roam upwards.

He was young, or youngish, but the lines of pain had aged him. He might have been handsome once, his cheek and jaw were swelling where he’d been beaten, his left ear had been sliced neatly off and was oozing blood down his neck. His nose, a sharp line, had also been broken, and he was panting awkwardly for breath through his mouth, the bottom lip split. A greying rag had been wrapped around his eyes, and Styx leant forwards and ripped it away.

The man blinked rapidly, one eyes swollen shut, the other a soft grey-blue, so pale it seemed that he just had a smokey grey ring around his iris. That eye narrowed in recognition, then opened wide in surprise.

“Styx...” he gasped. “But I thought...”

“That I was dead?” Styx demanded coolly. “Yeah, so did I, for a while. I kept it that way for a long time, and then I heard rumours, you know?”

He leant back against the rusting railing, and fixed him with a long look.

“Styx, I don’t know what they told you but...”

“But what?” Styx demanded coldly. “That you didn’t sell me and Needle out? That you didn’t nearly get me and her killed? The only reason she’s not here right now, doing this instead of me is...”

“What?” He demanded with a hollow laugh. “Because she actually loved me Styx? Oh don’t be stupid. That woman doesn’t love any-one. She just pretends, and she uses that to use you. She’s incapable of love. You do realise why she’s called The Needle, right?”

“You’re wrong Charon,” Styx said quietly. “She did love you. I saw her face when she knew that you betrayed us, I saw the pain there. And the reason she’s not here is because I want the pleasure of killing you myself.” He clicked his knuckles, and slid the brass knuckle-duster on, curling and uncurling his fist. “So, shall we get started?”

Charon’s eyes lit up with fear, and he struggled again, only succeeding in rocking the chair and nearly knocking himself over.

“How about I tell you where I hid the loot?” Charon said quickly. “Then no-one needs to get started on anyone?”

Styx slowed. Charon relaxed slightly.

“No Styx, the reason she’s not here and you are is because she would just kill me. Decimate me into a thousand pieces. The reason you’re here is because you can get back what I stole,” he said quietly.  “Let me out of here Styx, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Styx broke into laughter.

“Do you really think me that naive?” He demanded. “You tell me where it is, and I’ll consider it.”

“Like I’d take...”

“You’re not in any position to bargain.”

Charon shook his head slightly.

“Oh Styx, I’m exactly the position to bargain,” He told him. “You’ve got to be at the rendezvous at 6 tonight or Black Hammet’ll be after your blood. You let me up, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Styx shook his head.

“Black Hammet don’t scare me Charon. And neither do you.”

He closed the distance with two strides, set his foot on the chair... and gently lifted.  Charon gave a wordless scream as he was rocked backwards, over the edge of the catwalk, over the brim of the boiling metal far below.

“Me and Needle can make another deal with Hammet. Give him whatever he wants,” Styx said, quietly, but audibly over Charon’s screams. “But you? You’re wasting my time.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you!” Charon’s voice picked up. “But put me the fuck down!”

Styx withdrew his boot, and he crashed back to earth, panting for breath. Charon stared wildly up at the massive black man, for the first time, truly afraid.

“West Highland Street,” he said. “Needle knows the place. We used to hang out there often enough.”

“Damn straight we did.”

At the lilting female voice, they both looked up. There, in the doorway, leaning against the door-jamb, was a slender female form, 6 foot tall. The Needle. She sashayed slowly forwards, and gave Charon a long, slow smile.

“Thank you dear,” She told him. “I already guessed that that was where it was, and we’d already retrieved it, but we didn’t have time to assess for forgeries, so thank you for telling us. Couldn’t’ve duped old Hammet, after all.”

Her face went suddenly flat cold, and she leant over him.

“I loved you,” she whispered softly. “I would have given you anything.”

He met her eyes insolently.

“Then you’re a fool.”

She laughed.

“Yeah, I suppose I am,” She admitted, then slammed her fist in a right hook to his face.

There was a horrible crack, and she grinned, a terrible sadistic grin. His eyes flickered up, but there was no expression from that rainbow visor, concealing her eyes. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small bag.

“The deepest circle of hell is reserved for traitors,” She told him softly, and gave a soft shake of the bag.

Metal chinked deep inside and she balled the bag up, forced open his broken jaw, then used the greying rag to hold it shut. He stared at her through streaming eyes.

“Here’s 30 pieces of silver to pay the devil on your way to hell.”

And she kicked. It took a long time for the metal to hit the surface of the crucible, but there was an explosion of red hot metal drops around the foundry... and as he slowly sank, she just watched... until his agonised eyes vanished from view.

Styx’s hand squeezed Needle’s shoulder gently, and she looked up at him.

“I’m alright,” She assured him.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re not.”

She shrugged.

“I have to be.”