Slowly, Leo's eyes open.
It's bright, but not glaring. Grey concrete walls dull the overhead lights. His head swims, and throbs, and his mouth is a mixture of sourness and coppery salt. Blood. Even with his wooziness, he can feel the weight of matted hair against his head.
He can't move. Even if he weren't weak as a kitten from being half dead, he can feel straps binding his arms and legs.
And head.
Rolling his eyes to the edge of his peripheral, he can see the edge of a table, to the side, with a silver tray, and metal implements on it. His eyes move back forward as the sound of footfalls approach. A chair is placed in front of Leo, and a man sits.
It's the man from the VIP room. He's dressed now. A casual golf shirt, with large horizontal stripes. A few dark flecks spot it randomly.
"You awake? Good. It's Twenty Questions time."
He's a smug fuck.
Harry leans forward. "You probably think you're not going to answer my questions. But, bear with me. I spent some time in Uganda, a while back. Great place. I learned a lot. That whole area is full of warlords, and nobody fucks with them."
He's actually a pretty personable guy, when he's not slamming bottles into people's head.
"You know why? One word. Mutilation. They cut bits and pieces off. There was one that took a whole bunch of prisoners from a failed coup. Every year, he trotted them out, in public, and hacked something off. Hand. Foot. Every. Year. You get the idea. No more uprisings. Hell, that's pretty effective. So I thought to myself, self, you could probably beat a man all day, and he'd still keep his secrets. Water. Electricity. All that silly stuff."
He smiled.
"But what if a man was faced with, say, spending the rest of his life missing a hand? Or foot? Think those secrets are worth a lifetime of that? I don't know about you, but I don't. I sure wouldn't, at least."
Harry leaned across, reaching for the tray.
"I took the liberty of expressing how serious I am. Just in case you think I'm fucking around."
The steel surgical tray in his hands holds a nasty looking chisel, and a hammer. Dried blood is caked on them.
It takes a moment for the other objects to register.
Two blueish pink bloody stubs. Ragged ends show a hint of yellow bone.
They're Leo's thumbs.
"Right now, you can still drive a car. Dress yourself. Even jerk off."