5
Ianto tried to speak. What came out was a whistle of impotent breath.
"If you scream, Nic'll cut his nose off."
At the mention of his name, Nic grinned. As if this was all one big game.
Which, to them, it so obviously was.
Nic had a tooth missing. In that moment, Ianto had never felt such intense hatred for another person. He wanted to punch the rest out but for some reason he was frozen. Ianto feared him too.
The short one took a breath, as if losing patience.
"Give me your fucking wallet, you dumb twat, or we'll cut your boy's nose off. Then start working on his ears. Got it?"
Ianto had to move, it was imperative that Ianto move, but he couldn't seem to unlock his muscles. It was as if Ianto was locked in some kind of physiological spasm. As if his nerves had become ice. He had no idea what was going on… him. A statue. All his training was gone, his little boy… his baby. Ianto could not focus on anything but Damo's face.
"The wallet," the short one said again. The tattoo across his neck was part of a rose. "Or do we have to fucking prove ourselves."
"No," Ianto burst out, once again able to move. "No. No, please. Here."
Ianto fumbled with the coat over his arm, and shuffled through it. His hands were shaking. Ianto couldn't find it.
Wallet, wallet, where was my bloody wallet?
"Here," the short one said, and pulled roughly at the jacket. He went through it, idly dumping its contents on to the floor, one item at a time. Notebook. Pens and a lighter. Ianto quickly looked around, to see if there was anyone nearby. A pair of Damo's socks. Wet wipes. Nic blocked the majority of everyone's view. Tums. Tissues.
Ianto desperately needed to react… fight… do something but he could not move.
"Here we go," he said, holding up the wallet.
He opened it. He could only be disappointed by what was inside, and he was. When he found out that Ianto didn't have much cash him, he looked at ianto as if he had betrayed him.
An idea seemed to come to him then, a flicker of something flashed across his face. He looked Ianto up and down, and then pulled the drivers license from the clear plastic compartment it lived in.
He held it up, almost triumphantly.
He waved it in the air, as if it were a Polaroid waiting to be developed.
"Now we know where you fucking live !"
He turned to Nic. A silent signal passed between them. Nic nodded, and grinned unpleasantly at Ianto. If this was a joke to them, then they were playing it on Ianto. The short one looked Ianto up and down again. "I'll come visit. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow night."
"What?" What they were saying didn't make sense. He didn't even live there anymore, the UK license from before Jack "Why?"
"I want twenty grand," the short one continued. "I want you to hold it for me, until I turn up."
Ianto didn't understand. He was missing something. Something was happening here, and Ianto didn't know what it was, and that scared him.
"Twenty grand? I don't –"
"Twenty grand," he said again, waving the license in the air once more. "Oh. I almost forgot."
He delved inside the jacket again, and then pulled Ianto's my cell phone. He dropped the Jacket on the floor as if he had forgotten it existed. It hit with a clatter. More stuff spilled out.
"In case you get tempted to call someone," he said, putting the phone in his pocket. "Like the pigs for instance."
He stepped closer. Ianto could smell him. He didn't smell good. He'd eaten something, something spicy, and it was on his breath. "Twenty grand, prick. I'm not fucking around." He turned. "Let's go, Nic."
Nic started to move away.
He dragged Damo with him.
Stupidly, until that moment, Ianto hadn't realized what they planned to do. It was absurd. People like him didn't have their sons kidnapped. For a start, Ianto didn't look like he has have any money. This sort of thing happened, sure, but it happened to people with money. Not to people who didn't. Not to people like him. And why twenty grand? Not a hundred? why such a small amount? His brain could not compute.
"Please, no, my son …"
The short one spun back around and punched Ianto in the stomach. Hard. It was all the more painful for being so quick, and so unexpected. It was agony, like someone had torn his middle out. In a rush, Ianto felt all the strength drain out of his legs, and waves of nausea flooded his body.
Ianto collapsed to the floor, on his hands and knees, clutching his stomach.
When he rose he was…. Pissed.
breathe.
Ianto was in no position to stop them, to do anything. The pain blotted out the world. He had to stay submissive... for Damo.
"Hey," the short one said.
Ianto couldn't answer him. he was in agony.
"Hey," he said again, slapping the side of Ianto's face.
Ianto looked at him. The pain was abating slightly, but he still did not move. He had to be calm and focus.
"If you try and stop us before we're out of the shop, then we'll cut his throat," he said. "Don't follow us. You got that?"
He spat in his face, to emphasis his point.
Ianto had never felt so small. Or so hated. Or pissed. Mister Spit would be first.
Spitter moved off. They both did.
Ianto warily watched them leave, then took a breath and began to work.
Out of the shop, he said.
fine.
Ianto will take you task outside then!