Free No Questions Asked by David Menon Page B

windows and doors closed tightly shut and only the minimum number of lights on, nobody would be able to hear the screams of those who were taken there by Bernie and his henchmen.
    Several others did the dirty work of apprehending those who were going to be questioned and Bernie came in when everything was already set up. In a small sectioned-off room that used to serve as an office, Brett Collins was lying on the floor with his feet shackled together at his ankles, his hands bound at his wrists behind him and with the same kind of tape used to cover his mouth. He watched Bernie walk in and looked up anxiously, following his movements with his terrified eyes. This wasn’t going to end well.
    The first kick he took was in the small of his back and the second was quick to follow in the same place. Then someone else kicked him in the stomach, then the chest and then kept on repeatedly kicking him in the face. His body jerked with the pain unleashed by each blow and the horror of what was happening to him had taken over all of his senses. He was whimpering underneath the tape that was over his mouth.  
    ‘Now Brett’ said Bernie. ‘I don’t want to subject you to such behaviour as this. It’s not how I like to treat my employees. But I’m afraid you’ve been talking to the wrong people and I just can’t let that go’. He pulled the tape from Brett’s mouth.
    ‘I swear to you Bernie … ‘Brett stammered. It was hard to speak with half his teeth broken and the pain going through his body like a strike of lightning. ‘I never … I never told them anything’.
    ‘Yes’ said Bernie. ‘Well we’ll see about that, sunshine. By the time the boys here have finished with you death might come as a blessed relief’.
    Bernie gave the nod and his men started to kick Brett again over and over. He cried out with every blow and there was blood everywhere.  Even when there was a momentary pause Brett’s body shook and his mouth gave out further intense whimpering.
    ‘What did you tell the police, Brett? Just tell me and this will all be over’.
    Brett pleaded with Bernie to believe him when he said he hadn’t told the police anything but Bernie wasn’t convinced.
    ‘Carry on, boys’ he said. ‘We’ll get it out of him eventually’.
    As he walked away to the sound of Brett begging him to make them stop he went down the small corridor to where they’d set Terry Latham up. Brett’s screams were loud and powerful and added to the terror on Latham’s face. He was strapped down to a chair. The restraints were at his feet, his knees, his wrists and his elbows. There was another restraint that forced his back over the top of the chair and was fixed to his elbow restraints. It was tight. He couldn’t move his head except from side to side slightly. The top of the chair was digging into the back of his neck. He was also finding it hard to swallow.
    ‘Been out for a drink lately, Terry?’ asked Bernie as he opened a bottle of vodka.
    ‘I haven’t touched a drink or a child in five years, Bernie’ said Terry who was shaking. ‘On my mother’s life I swear to you that’s true’.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really, Bernie’ said Terry in a voice that kept on fading out because he couldn’t swallow properly.  ‘It’s the truth’.
    ‘So what about Bradley Thompson, Terry?’
    ‘What about him?’
    Terry walked over with the bottle of vodka in his hand. ‘He was eleven years old, Terry. Eleven fucking years old! Did you kill him?’
    ‘No, I never, I never killed him Bernie, you’ve got to believe me’.
    ‘Why do they ever let scum like you out of prison, Terry?’
    ‘I never touched Bradley Thompson, Bernie! I don’t know anything about it’.
    ‘You expect me to believe any of that crap?’
    ‘It’s true, it’s true!’
    ‘I’ll bet you’d like some of this, Terry’ said Bernie as he held the top of the open bottle of vodka above Terry’s mouth. Terry started to cry.
    ‘You can’t do this to me,