Station To Station

Station to Station

Stanhausen loosened his tie and gripped the edge of the table as if trying to find his balance.

“No, no, no,” he said. “This isn't right.”

He squatted down next to the table and fixed his attention to the small cheap radio that sat there spewing random pop hits into the tiny room. Stanhausen concentrated and he moved the dial, listening to the whine and whistle as he searched for something else. Suddenly, there was clarity and a new song broke out, echoing against the dirty pipes of the basement.

“Now, that’s a little better. Smooth jazz. Isn't that a little better Mr Templeton?”

Templeton nodded behind him, but was less than enthusiastic.

“But that’s a little easy listening for us isn't it? Not the right background at all.”

Stanhausen began the search again, twisting the dial along the band to find another station.

“Aha! Rock and Roll! Oh I used to love this stuff, even tried to play guitar in a band once.”

Stanhausen put the knife he’d been holding on the table so he could show off his best air guitar moves as another epic solo crashed out of the radio.

“Come on Templeton! Don’t you like to rock?” Stanhausen almost shouted. “This is the sound of my teenage years!”

Templeton began to mumble, making Stanhausen sigh with despair.

“You never had a rock phase? Well, you look the bookish type I suppose. More Celtic folk music for you I suppose? Well, don’t worry, there’s music for everyone.”

With that he went back to the dial until the static cleared once more with an Abba song.

“Money, money, money,” echoed Stanhausen. “Must be funny. Come on Templeton, you have to admit, this is kind of our tune.”

Stanhausen turned to face Templeton, who could only glare at him pleadingly. Templeton tried to shift in his chair, but the rope tied him far too tightly. He was losing the feeling in his hands and feet. Some small terrified part of him wondered if that might be a mercy in the long run.

“All the things I could do!” sang Stanhausen as he danced a little towards him. “Oh Templeton, you know what I'm going to have to do don’t you? What don’t you just tell me where the money is?”

Templeton was screaming behind the gag tied over his mouth as the Abba song played out into instrumental.

“Now now. That doesn't sound like the answer to my question. I think we need something to underline how serious my, and until recently, your employers are about the loss of their funds. You’re an accountant aren't you Templeton? I don’t think you need me to do the maths on this.”

His eyes never leaving Templeton’s Stanhausen reached back to retune the radio to another station. When classical music began to reach out and curl around the room, Stanhausen closed his eyes for a moment to give it his full attention.

“This is the one,” he said. “Beethoven I think. Strong, powerful, loud enough so no one will hear us. It’s time for you to tell me what my bosses want to know. No one blames you; everyone in the mob gets a little greedy from time to time. But you got caught so now you have to play the game. It’s a simple question. Where did you hide the money?”

Stanhausen picked up the knife and twisted the volume on the radio to maximum. Dark piano notes washed heavily across the room and pooled in the shadows. Templeton sat rigid with fear as Stanhausen walked towards him for what would be the last time.