(Friday Flash Fiction prompt from The One-Minute Writer on 31 May 2013:
I want to read a great fish tale! Be creative!)
It's hard to believe that just last week I slept with the fishes. I didn't think my gambling debt was that big a deal. Or the fact that I was late paying it back. But apparently Vinnie and his crew did. They caught up with me as I was walking out to my car with a pocket full of cash from a few hours at the blackjack table. I didn't even hear the car until it squealed to a stop behind me. I spun around as a few guys jumped out of the car and strode toward me.
"Hey, what's this?" I said.
"Shut up, moron", one of them, a massive blond guy in a sport jacket, said.
And with that they picked me up by arms and legs and threw me in the now-open trunk of their car. The duct tape on my wrists, ankles, and mouth kept me quiet. I sloshed around in the trunk as they drove for who knows how long. Probably not as long as it seemed. All that time I didn't feel panic so much as a cold dread that this was it. And that the "it" was not going to be quick or painless.
Finally the car squealed to a stop again and I heard doors open and slam as the trunk lid popped open. Rough hands hauled me out and dropped me on the pavement. The evening was windy, and I could hear water and ship's horns. The guys got a better grip on me, carried me to the edge of a pier, and dropped me again. I was bug-eyed and trying to communicate.
"Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!!", I said through the duct tape.
The blond guy gave me a twisted smile. "What? What? Speak up, I can't hear you." And he kicked me in the ribs, laughing along with the others.
Now they were wrapping heavy chain around me. The clinking of the chain was like footsteps marching me to my fate, the padlocks they snapped in place sounding like prison gates.
"Vinnie sends his regards. Sleep with the fishes, moron", Blondie said as they rolled me off the pier.
A couple of seconds of free-fall, then I hit the water with a huge splash, sinking fast. Who knows how deep it was, but I finally came to rest on the bottom. I couldn't see a thing other than the stars that were beginning to flash before my eyes. Just as I was starting to black out, I thought I saw lights, moving toward me.
Four scuba divers approached, one of them driving a sled of some kind. A gloved hand peeled the duct tape from my mouth and held a bubbling mask in place. I can't tell you how good that first breath felt! Another diver swam in close holding some sort of device. A hand turned my head away as light flashed from the diver, then the chains fell away. They loaded me onto the sled and strapped me on with my air tank, and we started a slow ascent from the bottom.
I couldn't see anything other than the divers' searchlights pointing this way and that. Eventually I glimpsed a structure, a wall maybe, and we passed beneath it. Now I could see light at the surface above us. A few more seconds of ascent, then we broke the surface in what appeared to be a man-made cavern. We floated over to the side of the pool where several people were standing. They rolled me off the sled onto concrete and cut the duct tape from my wrists and ankles.
I looked around, rubbing my wrists. The divers' scuba packs were labeled with "FBI". The five people standing around me were wearing badges and pistols.
"What the hell is this?", I asked, looking up at the woman nearest me.
"Just rest easy, sir. Agent Menendez will explain it all to you later."
I flopped on my back, exhausted. A minute later two men helped me to my feet and wrapped a blanket around me. We walked into a locker area with a shower to my left. Shirts, jeans, and underwear were folded and stacked on one of the benches.
"Go ahead and shower up, sir. There should be something over there that fits you well enough for now. Take your time."
They left; I stripped down and stumbled into the shower. The hot water felt almost as good as the first breath of air from the diver's tank, almost. I dressed myself from the stacks of clothes and was toweling my hair dry when a man walked in.
"I'm Special Agent Menendez", he said, shaking my hand. "You're Michael Stevens, correct?"
"Yeah, but how did you know that?"
"I'll get to that. Just want to check that you're feeling okay first."
"Yeah, I'm good. A lot better than I was, that's for sure. But where are we, exactly?"
"We're under the pier, actually", Menendez said. "When the pier was constructed they built this area we're in, then forgot about it. It's useful to us, and nobody knows about it."
"Are you guys all FBI?"
"Yes sir. We're building a case against Vinnie Marko, who you've obviously had trouble with. He likes to get rid of people by dumping them off the pier."
"I figured that out", I said with a small laugh.
"Yup, first hand", Menendez said, grinning. "We have a mole in his organization, so we know when he's going to do it. Then we have divers ready to attempt a rescue. We've succeeded most times. We're hoping a number of you will testify at some point in the future. We'll keep you safe regardless."
So, this is where I've lived for the last week. It takes a while to get processed for witness protection, but it's comfortable in the living quarters down here. I've met some of the other refugees before they scatter us with new identities. We have plenty of time to play cards. Not for real money, of course.
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