Don't Ask, Don't Tell
A/N: Just a little something that I wrote as part of my Gene Hunt role-playing journal over on LJ. Thought it stood quite well on its own.
They manage to bundle him headfirst into the backseat of the car and climb in after him before he starts to put up a fight. His fisted blows are weak with nothing but the power of his skinny arms behind them and it only takes Ray one well-aimed blow to the face to bring his attack to a faltering end. He sits in the back of the Quattro, clutching at his bleeding nose, gasping for breath, hampered by the wheezing of his asthma.
Gene tries not to think about how young he is.
The boy doesn't even ask them what they want, what they're doing with him. It's as though he knew they were coming. The thought helps Gene to smooth away the cracks in his resolve. He doesn't even start to struggle again until Ray and Chris wrestle to tie a navy blue handkerchief around his head, over his wide, startled eyes, while Gene keeps his own on the road. They arrive at their destination with the echoing squeal of tires against smooth concrete.
Gene's the first one out of the car, slamming the driver's side door shut and striding around to the back just as Ray's about to tug at his arm. Gene gets there first.
"Right --" He reaches inside and grabs him by the collar of his Adidas jacket, dragging him out of the car and over solid ground for a few feet while the boy scrambles blindly to get his feet securely under him. Gene doesn't give him the chance as he shoves him down, clapping a large hand on his shoulder as he falls back into a creaky chair. "You and me are having a little chat. Raymondo --" Keys jangle as they're tossed through the air. "Turn the car round."
"What're you -"
"Let's get one thing straight, sunshine." He jumps as something coarse and thick is wrapped tightly around his wrists but this time he simply sits there, quaking, tasting his own blood. "I'll ask -" He gasps as Gene gives the rope a final tug, squeezing the circulation out of his hands. "- the questions."
Behind them the continuous grumble of the car engine revs a little louder as Ray maneuvers the Quattro, the bright white of the headlights shining through the meager gap of his blindfold. Gene rips it away and he's left even blinder then before. He squints and blinks, trying to turn away from the lights but with his wrists bound so tightly, he can only manage to twist away at the neck. A black silhouette stands in front of him, tall, broad and unyielding.
"Jennifer Parkes. Remember her?" The silhouette draws nearer, leaning down, hands gripping his wrists and the sides of the chair, bringing with it the scent of soap and cigarettes. "Your girlfriend? Or at least that's what you'd like her to be."
"She's not my - we didn't even -"
"Oh, I know that, Yoda. Pretty girl like that wouldn't have touched you with a barge pole. Doesn't stop you from taking pictures of her though, does it?" Something flutters into his lap, some skidding across the concrete floor. "Where is she, Holden?"
"How should I know?"
There's a pause before Gene straightens, pacing. "You're... what? Eighteen? You've still got years to get that greasy head sorted, settle down, have a family. So, let me ask you something." He gives the leg of the chair a fierce shove with his boot, and it squeals a few inches backwards with a precarious wobble but doesn't topple over. "How do you expect to do that when I've got your testicles mounted on the wall above my fireplace?"
"I haven't seen her!"
If he could see Gene beyond the large white spots dancing in front of his eyes, he might have seen him shake his head with a disgusted sneer before he marches back to the car.
"I'm going to give you 'till the count of ten -" He takes the keys from Ray, who steps back, arms crossed over his chest as he grins to himself. Chris simply skitters to a safe distance, looking worriedly between Holden and his Guv. He's smart enough by now to know when to keep his mouth shut. "- to tell us exactly where she is or you're gonna end up as a smear on the hood of my car for the pigeons to take a shit on."
He climbs in and slams the door shut, sticking his head out of the window. "Where's Jennifer Parkes?"
"I dunno!" The engine revs, the wheels inching forwards as though the car itself is eager to get going.
"One. Two -"
"I don't!" He squirms in his chair, eyes fighting, watering to stay open against the full beam of the car. "I don't know where she is! Last I saw her was last Friday!"
"I dunno about you, Ray, but I am bloody sick of little shites like him yanking my chain. Bugger this." Gene disappears into the car and, with a great screech of the tires as they spin in place for only a second, tears down the length of the underground garage.
"It wasn't me! It's wasn't --" In his panic, Holden tips the chair over, landing with a painful thump on his side, narrowly missing smashing his head against the concrete. It does nothing to stop the progress of the speeding car. "It wasn't me! Stop! No!" The bright light fades to black as the car rumbles above him and for a moment all his can see are the white dots and spinning black of the tires. For a moment, he thinks he's going to die.
Gene slams on the breaks at the last possible moment and the car skids to a stop, the left front tire inches from Holden's nose. It isn't until he climbs back out of the car to glower at him that Gene realizes that the scrawny teen's actually fainted.
"Wasn't him, Guv," Ray supplies helpfully, sauntering closer to peer down at Holden from over Gene's shoulder.
"Nah, he would've cracked like an egg if he knew anything. Either that or he has balls of bloody steel." He gives the boy's foot a nudge. "Doesn't look like it." He sighs, frustrated by this whole situation. "Maybe Bolly was right after all. C'mon then, back to the drawing board."
Chris moves forward from where he's been quietly keeping out of the way, reaching to either lift the chair or untie their latest interrogation victim.
"Oh, leave him," Gene barks at him. "Let him gnaw his way out like the dirty rat he is."
In the morning they find his corpse slumped on the concrete floor of that underground garage, exactly where they'd left him. Strangled. By the very same piece of rope Gene had used to bind his wrists.
"Shit."