His filthy hand slaps my face once again. We’re at May, 7th of 1990. Morocco.
– Who do you work for?
We’re in an abandoned storage facility near the city docks. I don’t answer. Slap. One more. He’s getting really pissed.
– I SAID: who… do… you… work.. for?
My hands and feet are tied to a chair and there’s only one lamp in the whole depot, right above my head. The ‘beating-and-asking’ is sort of gentle tonight. I’ve been through enough nights already. In any other situation, I would have already told them what they wanted. But I had given my word that I would never betray my fellow operatives. In this very moment, I notice that “Mr. Sledgehammer” changed his approach.
– I’m asking you a question. Are you deaf? – he whispers in my right ear. His face almost touching mine.
His deep dark eyes stare at my numb eyeballs and I can feel his anger. He turns his back to me.
– I didn’t see anything in your records about you being deaf, but, if this is what you wish, i can make you this favour.
I blink. Slowly. His clenched fist hits my ear so hard that I fall down on the floor, taking the chair as well.
– Oh, thanks – I think I’m hallucinating. Foxie’s face is right in front of me – Get out Foxie!
I faint.
The red headed woman quickly cuts the ropes that tie me to the chair. Mr Sledgehammer is down lying on the ground. Shot three times in the chest.
To be continued…
QUE FOBIAS!