‘Why am I here?’
‘Ha! Hear that Sandro?’ said Golden Grimaldi to the other man. ‘He doesn’t know why he’s here.’
Sandro guffawed and tugged on the rope.
When Eugene opened his eyes to the swaying, grey, concrete walls and the blaring light from the one halogen tube overhead, he had struggled; the imposing sight of Golden Grimaldi standing with his arms crossed had made his blood curdle. But now, with his limbs tied to the chair as they were, Eugene couldn’t do much except try to bullshit his way out of this.
‘I paid you back… to the last cent!’
‘That you did Genie boy. It is the how of it that’s brought you here.’
‘The how? What d’you mean?’
‘Let me refresh your memory.’
Golden Grimaldi pulled up a chair, turned its back to Eugene, and straddled it. His casual air forced slugs of sweat out of Eugene’s pores.
‘The day you paid me what was mine, I was with five of my men at a booth in my pub. “Here’s your dough,” you told me. “Take it you bastard.” Do you remember that Eugene? Calling me the B word in front of my men, on my own property? But that wasn’t all, was it? You opened the plastic bag and let my dough rain on my head.”
The recollection brought a smile to Eugene’s lips. He couldn’t help it. The triumph of the moment; paying back this fucker everything he owed him, after his thugs had almost ruined his life, had been such a load off his shoulders.
‘You insulted me that day, Genie boy. And no one insults Golden Grimaldi without paying for it. Sandro…now!’
Sandro went to the far shadowy corner of the garage and it was then that Eugene noticed a lumpy sack. And the sack was moving.
Without tearing his gaze away from Eugene’s face, Grimaldi spoke. ‘Sandro, make it rain.’
The last thing Eugene saw were red eyes and teeth. Then the rats ate his face.
This is my response to Trifecta’s challenge where the word is Rain:
I hope I used the word correctly!