Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“I look successful, right? Young, rocking, rich? I’ve got an appointment with a realtor to look at a couple apartments today. Gotta look good.”

He barely glanced over when the droid came in with cleaning tools.

“He’s mine now.” He gave the formerly named Richard, dignified in his dark uniform and silver-templed hair, a pat on the back. “Just like everything else that was yours. So don’t even think about giving him orders. Oh that’s right. Still can’t talk. I’ll fix that as soon as Asshole’s done here. Be right back.”

When he strolled out, Ms. Farnsworth rolled her eyes toward the droid. She screamed: Help me! but all that sounded was a weak moan. It went about its business efficiently, as she’d programmed its domestic duties herself. She tried rocking and bucking in the chair, but her limbs were numb, the only sensation was the burning where she’d rubbed her flesh raw in her attempts to get free.

She’d loosened the tape a little in places, or maybe that was just desperate hope. But she thought if she could regain a little strength, she could loosen it more. If she just had a few sips of water for her burning throat, anything, anything to ease the pain.

Even the humiliation barely touched her now, though when she’d no longer been able to control her bladder, she’d wept.

It didn’t matter, didn’t matter, didn’t matter. Just pee. Just a normal human function. If she peed, she lived. And as long as she lived she had a chance to survive and pay the bastard back.

She’d kill him if she could. She’d never harmed another human being in her life, but she would cheerfully end his by any means possible.

She tried to speak again, slowly, clearly. If she could only get the droid to understand a few words. But the garbled mumbles meant nothing, and he continued his task, then gathered up the cleaning supplies.

Reinhold walked in as the droid walked out, as if he’d been waiting.

“You still stink, but it’s a little better, and sometimes we have to work under unpleasant conditions.”

He’d brought the nippers with him, waved them at her as he crossed to her. “Scream, lose a finger.”

He ripped the tape away. She let out a gasp as much in shock as grabbing air.

“You—” Her voice croaked out, barely audible. “You have the money.”

“I sure do, but we’re going to hide it, really, really good. You know how, and you’re going to show me. And I need a few other things.”

“I need water. Please.”

“You’ll just piss yourself again.”

“I’m dehydrated.”

Bitch and complain, he thought, his jaw tightening. Just like his mother. Just like Bald Lori.

“Too fucking bad. Now, what we’re going to do this morning is make me a nice new ID, and get the data up. I’ve worked out everything I want. Your job is to walk me through making it happen. Got that?”

“No.”

He pressed the nippers against her cheek. “Need me to repeat it?”

“Go ahead, use them.” She coughed as the words scored her throat like hot needles. “I’m done helping you.”

“Helping me? Is that what you think you’re doing? Helping me?” He swung back, bashed the back of his fist in her face. “You’re following orders, bitch. I don’t need your fucking help. You do what you’re told.”

She made herself look him in the eye, even as she felt blood slide out of her nose. And shook her head.

He turned around, walked out.

She gathered herself, digging for breath, digging for strength. She’d scream, however much it hurt, however much he hurt her for it. She’d scream and someone would hear.

Please, God.

Before she could, he came back, holding her little dog. Snuffy whimpered when he saw her, and she could see from his eyes he was hurt. And still he wagged his tail.

Fear came back, raw as the skin on her wrists. “Don’t hurt him. He’s just a little dog.”