Chapter 5 - Murphy

As Turtle descended the steps into the cellar of Irish Murphy’s bar, he couldn’t help but feel that the coolness emanated from his icy friend rather than the environment. He had seen Murphy in action, and knew that he couldn’t be absolutely trusted. But what criminal could? That was just part of this life, and he knew that those who can’t stand the heat don’t belong in the kitchen. But this kitchen was getting hotter than any he’d ever been in.

At the bottom of the steps the cellar opened up into a cavernous cornucopia of everything alcohol. Kegs and cases of various beers, bottles upon bottles of wine and spirits; some popular, some obscure, various pieces of bar furniture and fittings; some new, some in disrepair, glasses of different descriptions, and of course, cobwebs upon cobwebs. But they were here for none of those things. In a far corner of the cellar, obscured by a purposely stacked row of old oak rum barrels, lay the object of their interest.

As Murphy led Turtle around the row of barrels, Turtle froze as he eyed what he had come to collect. He’d had no idea that “the package” would be this, and no idea of how he was going to transport it. Or her. Though she was bound, gagged and blindfolded, Turtle could see, through his initial shock, that she was beautiful. She was lying on an old army cot, the kind campers use, and was so still that he wondered if she was alive. But she was definitely beautiful. Her jet black hair and olive skin gave her the look of an erotic slave girl, but she was no slave, this Marissa, she was their guarantee, their security, their ace-in-the-hole. Their prisoner basically.

As she stirred on hearing them, Turtle jumped nervously. “Aye girl, says Murphy, don’t ye worry, we aren’t here to harm yas”. She couldn’t believe she was in this predicament, this cold dark, lonely place. She had been out for the evening with two of her friends, two friends she would never see again thanks to Murphy, when she woke up in darkness. At first she thought that she had gone blind, but as her other senses awakened, she felt the tightness of her bonds, the taste of the rag with which she was gagged, and realized that she had been blindfolded. She had struggled in vain for hours until exhausted, she resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her.

Turtle looked at Murphy, speechless. “Wha-what am I supposed to do with her?” he mustered. “Deliver her like you was told” Murphy replied in a way that Turtle knew left no room for argument or debate. “I need a vehicle”, Turtle meekly responded. “Taken care of” said Murphy, and handed him a set of keys he retrieved from his apron pocket. “You’ll wait till dark”, ordered Murphy, “then you drive her down to the pier in Hell’s Kitchen on 47th Street. Viper will meet you there and give you further instructions. Now, let’s go have a brewski”! Turtle took one last look at the helpless victim lying quietly on the government issue bed. There was something about her that didn’t seem helpless, even in her situation. He followed Murphy back up the stairs and into the bar, wondering what it was he had seen, and what that night would bring.