Marla Henks would probably lose her right hand, the way she'd been twisting it around and around in these handcuffs for what seemed like hours now. Both hands were cuffed behind her, wrists raw, arms wrapped backwards around some stanchion pressed against her spine. Her naked spine – her trapped body was stripped bare. Her legs kept cramping no matter how much she tried to move them, or squat up and down. And the way she was gagged, she couldn't do too many squats without running out of breath.  

But even with the pain, stabs of it that were making her cry and almost vomit, she had to keep working that hand – work it loose and get herself out of this hellhole. The sick prick who'd gotten her stoned and brought her here – slipping it to her and then afterward punching her, not because she didn't perform, but because she screamed when he brought out that freaky collection of tongues, hookers' tongues from all five boroughs and Long Island, he said – could be back any time now.  

Why hadn't she listened to Szu? Smartass little Szu who always knew best. Well, this time she did know. Like, who lets themselves get led by some asshole she had no clue about down into some friggin' cave? Some subway line nobody ever heard of that seemed cool when the guy described it, after those drinks and the ludes he kept feeding her. Made it sound like some Never-Never Land he discovered and was beating the high rents with. 

There had to have been more in those caps than just ludes.  

The place had actually looked cool at first (her being zoned), this bunker with its mysto red lighting he'd made into some kind of porn pit. Big flat screen and computer that he must have tapped into some power line to run. She looked over at the video camera on the tripod there, didn't want to think about what kind of hideous shit he must have shot with it.  

Stuff she'd be performing herself if she didn't get out of these cuffs.     

                                                #          #          # 

When Szu dropped that bomb about Tanya, her being pregnant, I forgot about having another breakfast pizza. Paid the check and waved thanks to Wilma, squeezed my way with Szu around the tables, out of Khave's onto Ninth Avenue. Rush-hour traffic was doing its waltz to downtown, us turning and walking in the same direction back toward the house. 

"When did you find this out?" I asked her. 

"Find what out?" 

"What do you think?" Jesus she could be frustrating. "About Tanya being pregnant." 

"Couple weeks ago, just before she died." 

"She say anything about an abortion?" 

"No. All she said was, she wanted to have the baby." 

"She wanted to have it? Why would she... I mean..." 

"I think she liked the guy." 

"What guy? There was a guy?" 

"Of course there was a guy. " 

"I mean a guy in particular." 

Much as I liked our arrangement with the key, communication with Szu could be flaky.           

She said, "There was one she'd been seeing for a couple months." 

"You mean like a boyfriend?" 

"Something like that." 

"Who was he?" 

"She never said his name. But he had her set up in an apartment where they'd meet pretty often. I mean, she hardly stayed at the house anymore. He didn't want her going with other guys." 

This was all news to me. "How come you never told me any of this?" 

"Tanya told me not to." 

Right. Protect her little brother. But protect him from what? Tanya was no rookie. If anyone knew how not to get knocked up, it was her. She definitely wanted that baby. 

We turned the corner off Ninth onto our street and headed toward the river. 

"You ever get a look at him?" 

"No." 

Not surprised. 

"But I saw his car once." 

I had to wait until we got past a whining garbage truck compacting a load before I could ask the obvious. "You remember what it looked like?" 

"Just it was black. Sedan, late model, maybe a Chrysler. Nothing special about it. Except it was spotless." 

"Whatta you mean, spotless?" 

"I mean like it had to have someone always washed it and shined it. I was like a block away and I could see the thing gleamed. I notice things like that." 

"You sure it wasn't a car service?" 

"Not the way she blew a kiss to the back seat when she walked away." 

So maybe the guy had a chauffeur. "Where was this?" 

She nodded ahead of us, toward the corner of Tenth, a wide one-way that was mostly trucks going uptown. "Over there." 

"That's almost a block from the house." Which was almost at Eleventh. 

"I guess he didn't want to be seen dropping her." 

"But you saw." 

"I was walking back from breakfast with Marla." 

The missing Marla – her having gotten the conversation started. 

Which for some reason made me think of something else. "Listen, I've got concert tickets for tonight, Lady Gaga at the Beacon. You up for it?" 

"I love Lady Gaga." 

"Good, we're on." 

"But I might have to work. You know..." 

I knew. "I'll wait for you out front at the Beacon, Broadway and Seventy-Fourth. If you're not there by eight, I'll leave a ticket in your name at the window. If you can't make it, text me so I can try to sell it."  

And we left it at that. Me with a lot to think about, this stuff with Tanya wanting to have a kid – and maybe somebody not wanting her to have it.  

I walked Szu the rest of the way to the old Victorian brownstone we hung our hats in and did our stuff in – her upstairs, me down – left her at the front door and went around to my cellar stairs at the back. 

Froze at the top. 

Down at the bottom, turned away from me by just dumb luck, and I'm sure wondering where the hell his Warhol painting was, was Big Curly Sasso. 

                                                #          #          # 

Marla Henks, after more twisting – agonizing mind-freaking hours of twisting – had worked her right hand free of the cuffs. The lightning stabs of pain had her on the edge of passing out. She'd pulled her arms around from behind her, pulled the gag out of her mouth left-handed, could see that she'd probably never be able to use the right one again. That hand with its nails she always took special care to make nice. 

It was hanging now by tendons and splits of exposed bone. Blood all over the place. Slimy blood covering her beautiful naked ass, running down her legs onto her bare feet.  

She'd once heard her brothers in West Virginia talk about coyotes caught in jaw-traps chewing their paws off to get free. Well, now she knew.  

Concentrate, she told herself. Get yourself out of here before he comes back. Because if you don't, you die.  

She stumbled and slipped across the cold concrete floor, over to the big rusty iron door that was probably put in when this shithole subway was built and forgotten back whenever. And of course when she tried to pull it open the door was locked. One of those you can lock from both sides. Christ. 

But there had to be a key someplace. He'd have taken one with him, to get back in, but he had to have a spare. Where would he keep it? 

There was a workbench over there he probably used as a torture table. Had his computer sitting on top and a drawer in front. She went over to it, trying to keep her eyes off that cabinet where he kept those tongues he was so proud to show her, like some butterfly collection. 

She pulled the drawer open, rummaged around with her good hand, tossed away some papers and pencils and other crap. Poked her fingers back in the corner. Felt around and... what's this? Something heavy, metal. She pulled it out. 

A gun, a six-shot revolver.

Hallelujah. Of course he'd have one. She could see it was loaded, could use it to shoot the lock out. And shoot his ass if he came back here. She'd grown up around guns. 

She took the piece over to the door, cocked it and aimed it with her left hand, the cuffs dangling off it. Was about to pull the trigger when she realized she'd better rethink this. That shot could ricochet, come back and nail her between the eyes. 

She got down on her knees on the cold floor, having to use her gun hand with the cuffs on it to balance with, that right hand useless. She steadied herself and took aim again, angling the barrel upward so the shots would ricochet up and away. 

Bam! Bam! Bam! 

The gun was heavy to keep hold of with one hand, had a pretty good kick besides. Let's see how she did. 

She got up and tried the door. Still locked. But maybe not so much. She could feel a little give in the mechanism. 

She got down on her knees again, picked up the pistol and aimed up. 

Bam! Bam! 

Saved one shot just in case. 

She reached over and pulled herself up by the old brass doorknob. Turned it and yanked. Still didn't open. 

Pulled harder. And harder still. 

Finally, with a grudging squeak, she got the thing to budge. Braced her bare foot against the brick wall and pulled one-handed with all she had. 

The lock sprung loose and it opened. 

She reached down and picked up the gun, stepped through the doorway out into a dark passageway. Never mind she was naked and covered with blood, she just had to get out of here. 

She looked around, saw nothing but dark stone wall. No sense of direction. She wondered how far underground he'd taken her. Could hear water dripping from somewhere nearby, remembered Tanya Rausch telling her once there were rivers running under the city, Tanya born and raised here. She sniffed and could smell the age in the air. Could smell something else, too, coming from the walls. She knew what it was, had grown up on a farm where livestock was always getting slaughtered. 

 The smell of death. 

She whispered to the dark, "God, please get me home."   

And like He'd heard her, her eyes getting acclimated now, she picked up a trace of dim light off to the left. Started moving toward it. 

As she got closer and the light revealed a little more detail, she saw something dart out from the shadows. Two somethings. Rats. Coming right at her. 

Bam! 

She shot by instinct. Didn't hit them. But it was enough to scare them off. And to make the gun useless now. Her last shot. She should have looked around in that drawer for more shells. 

She walked further on, picking her way as best she could in her bare feet, stopped when she came to a tunnel where she could see there was a set of train tracks. Old ones, coated with who knew how many years of rust. Didn't gleam like the ones for the C train she took most days. She stepped over and rubbed her bare foot on the rust covering the near rail. Was about to follow it to see where it took her, maybe get her lame butt back to civilization, when she sensed something behind her.  

Turned around. 

Screamed. 

"Where you off to, Marla?" he said, giving her that creepy smile. Before she could do anything he stepped in and gave her a vicious punch. 

The last thing Marla Henks heard before she stumbled backward and hit her head on that rusty rail was, "The party's just gettin' started."

        (To be continued...)