Garth’s Actions – Chapter 7

No Heroes

Jahnny’s fingers ached as he scrubbed the grease-streaked floor of Ray’s hideout, a dimly lit garage that smelled of motor oil, cigarettes, and stale beer. The concrete was ice cold beneath his knees, the thin fabric of his jeans doing little to protect him from the chill. His stomach growled fiercely, reminding him that he’d only had a half-eaten sandwich since yesterday morning.

The chain around his ankle clinked with every movement, its length barely enough to let him reach the sink in the corner. He had tried pulling at it the first night, desperate to get free, but the rusted metal was stronger than it looked, and his raw, bruised hands had paid the price.

“Yo, kid!” a voice barked from the other side of the garage.

Jahnny flinched, his head snapping up to see Scar-Face lounging in a rickety chair by the door. The man was flipping through a deck of cards, his scarred lip curling into a sneer. “You missed a spot,” he said, pointing at a dark streak of grease near the tires of an old truck.

Jahnny gritted his teeth but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t afford to talk back—not after yesterday, when Ray had given him a harsh lesson about “respect.” The memory of the slap still burned on his cheek, and the humiliation of being reduced to tears in front of the gangsters stung even more.

He shuffled over to the spot Scar-Face had pointed out, dragging the chain with him. His small hands worked the sponge over the grime, the water in the bucket turning black as it soaked up the filth.

“Faster,” Scar-Face said, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think we got all day for this shit?”

Jahnny’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep scrubbing. The humiliation of being barked at like a dog was overwhelming, but he didn’t dare stop. He couldn’t risk making Ray angry again.

The garage door rumbled open, letting in a blast of cold air that made Jahnny shiver. Ray strolled in, his long coat billowing behind him. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a business meeting, his sharp suit and polished shoes a stark contrast to the dingy surroundings.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Ray said, his voice smooth and commanding. He glanced down at Jahnny, who quickly lowered his gaze to the floor. “And how’s my little helper doing today?”

“He’s slow,” Scar-Face replied, tossing the cards onto the table. “Lazy, too.”

Ray chuckled, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “He’ll learn.” He crouched down, his cold eyes locking onto Jahnny’s. “Won’t you, kid?”

Jahnny nodded quickly, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Good.” Ray patted his cheek in a way that was almost kind, but the gesture made Jahnny’s skin crawl. “Keep at it, and maybe I’ll let you have some real food tonight.”

The promise of food was enough to keep Jahnny’s hands moving, even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He bit down on his lip, refusing to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything.

Ray straightened up, turning his attention to Scar-Face. “Any word from Garth?”

“Not a peep,” Scar-Face replied, lighting a cigarette. “I told you, boss, the guy’s a deadbeat. Ain’t no way he’s coming up with your money.”

Ray exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. But I’ve seen desperate men pull off miracles before. Let’s give him one more day. If he doesn’t show…” He glanced down at Jahnny, a cruel smile curling his lips. “Well, I’m sure we can find other ways to make him useful.”

Jahnny’s stomach turned at the implication, but he kept his head down, scrubbing furiously as if he could erase himself from the room.

“Hey, boss,” another voice called out. Gold-Chain appeared in the doorway, holding a paper bag. “Got breakfast.”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “For me, I assume?”

Gold-Chain shrugged. “Thought maybe the kid could use a bite. Looks like he’s gonna keel over.”

Ray glanced at Jahnny, who dared to look up, hope flickering in his wide eyes. After a moment, Ray nodded. “Fine. Give him half.”

Gold-Chain walked over, setting the bag on the floor in front of Jahnny. He pulled out a slightly squished egg sandwich, tearing it in two and handing the smaller piece to the boy.

Jahnny muttered a quiet “thank you” before devouring the sandwich in a few bites. It wasn’t much, but the taste of warm food was enough to give him a glimmer of strength.

“Don’t get used to it, kid,” Gold-Chain said, ruffling Jahnny’s hair in a way that was almost affectionate. “You’re still on thin ice.”

Jahnny swallowed hard, nodding as he returned to his scrubbing. His stomach still ached with hunger, but at least it wasn’t empty anymore.

The hours dragged on, filled with the sound of clinking chains and muttered orders. By the time the sun began to set, Jahnny’s hands were raw and blistered, his knees aching from kneeling on the hard floor. But he didn’t complain. He couldn’t afford to.

As night fell, Ray and his crew gathered around a table, counting stacks of cash and planning their next moves. Jahnny was left to huddle in the corner, the chain around his ankle a constant reminder of his captivity.

He stared at the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts of escape. But every time he thought he had a plan, he’d glance at the men and lose his nerve. They were too big, too strong, and too ruthless.

For now, all he could do was wait and hope that someone—anyone—would come to save him. But deep down, he wasn’t sure anyone would.


Jahnny sat on the edge of an old wooden crate, his knees pulled up to his chest, the chain around his ankle biting into his skin. The garage had grown quieter as the hours ticked by, but the weight of the silence pressed on him like a storm about to break. Ray stood across the room, leaning casually against the hood of an old car, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

The only sound was the faint crackle of the cigarette paper as Ray inhaled, letting the smoke curl lazily out of his mouth. His cold, calculating gaze was locked onto Jahnny, making the boy feel like a mouse caught in the claws of a predator.

“Y’know,” Ray began, his voice calm, almost friendly, “your old man’s got about… fifteen minutes left.” He tapped the face of his silver watch, its gleaming surface catching the dim light. “Fifteen minutes to walk through that door with my money, or…” He trailed off, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.

Jahnny swallowed hard, his throat dry and aching. “He’s… he’s coming,” he whispered, more to himself than to Ray.

Ray smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, you got a lot to learn about the world. Rule number one?” He raised a finger, his voice dropping an octave. “Ain’t no heroes. Not in real life.”

The words hit Jahnny like a punch to the gut. He wanted to argue, to scream that his dad would come through, that his family wouldn’t abandon him. But deep down, a seed of doubt had already taken root.

Ray pushed off the car, tossing the cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it under his polished shoe. He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, each one echoing in the stillness.

“Here’s the thing, kid.” He crouched down to Jahnny’s level, his sharp features cast in shadow. “Your daddy? He’s a loser. Always has been, always will be. And you?” He grabbed Jahnny’s chin, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. “You’re just collateral.”

Jahnny yanked his head away, his small fists clenching at his sides. “He’ll come,” he said again, his voice trembling but defiant.

Ray chuckled, standing back up. “We’ll see.” He glanced at his watch again, making a show of counting down the seconds. “Ten minutes. Nine. Eight…”

The countdown felt like it stretched on forever, each number a weight pressing harder on Jahnny’s chest. He stared at the door, willing it to burst open, for his father to come storming in like some kind of savior. But the door remained closed, the garage silent except for the sound of Ray’s voice.

“Three. Two. One.” Ray clapped his hands together, the sound reverberating through the space. “Time’s up.”

Jahnny’s heart sank. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn’t give Ray the satisfaction.

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised,” Ray said, turning to Scar-Face, who was lounging nearby with a toothpick in his mouth. “Make a note, boys. Garth’s officially a no-show.”

Scar-Face snickered, pulling a notepad from his pocket. “Big shocker there.”

Ray turned back to Jahnny, his smile sharp as a knife. “But hey, don’t worry. Your dad might be useless, but you?” He gestured dramatically, like a showman unveiling his masterpiece. “You’re worth something.”

Jahnny’s stomach twisted. “What… what do you mean?”

Ray’s smile widened. “You got yourself a booking, kid. Top dollar. Local bigwig wanted some time with a fresh face, and you? You fit the bill perfectly.”

Jahnny’s blood ran cold. He didn’t fully understand what Ray was saying, but the way the man’s words dripped with malice made his skin crawl. “No… no, you can’t…”

“Oh, but I can,” Ray said, his tone mocking. “And the best part? By the time the night’s over, your daddy’s debt will be halfway paid. Ain’t that something?”

Jahnny shook his head, panic rising in his chest. “Please, don’t… I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want, just—just don’t—”

Ray raised a hand, silencing him. “Relax, kid. It’s business, nothing personal.”

Scar-Face appeared with a bucket of water and a threadbare towel, tossing them at Jahnny’s feet. “Clean yourself up,” he said with a smirk. “Boss wants you looking presentable.”

Jahnny hesitated, his hands trembling as he reached for the bucket. The water was ice cold, sending shivers through his body as he scrubbed at his face and arms. He tried to wash away the grime, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dirt clinging to his skin.

“Good enough,” Scar-Face said, yanking the towel away before Jahnny could fully dry himself.

Ray snapped his fingers, and two of his men stepped forward, unlocking the chain from Jahnny’s ankle. For a brief moment, hope flickered in his chest—maybe he could run, maybe he could escape—but the men grabbed him firmly by the arms, their grips like iron.

They led him out of the garage and toward the black van parked outside. The cool night air bit at his damp skin, but it was nothing compared to the fear coursing through him.

As they shoved him into the van’s backseat, Ray leaned in, his face inches from Jahnny’s. “Remember, kid,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “Ain’t no heroes.”

The door slammed shut, and the van’s engine roared to life. Jahnny curled up on the seat, his heart pounding in his ears. He didn’t know where they were taking him, but one thing was certain—he was completely alone.


The van rumbled down the uneven road, the headlights slicing through the dark. Jahnny sat stiffly in the backseat, his small frame trembling as he clutched the edge of the tattered bench. The two men in the front seats chatted casually, their voices blending with the hum of the tires on the cracked asphalt.

Jahnny’s mind raced. Every bump in the road jostled him, his fear mounting with every mile that passed. He stared at the dim outlines of the buildings they sped by, the city growing more desolate, more industrial. He wasn’t sure where they were taking him, but his instincts screamed it wasn’t anywhere good.

The faint smell of gasoline filled the van, mingling with the musty scent of old upholstery. Jahnny closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing, willing himself not to cry.

A sharp jerk threw him sideways, his head smacking into the cold metal wall of the van. “Watch it, idiot!” the man in the passenger seat barked, glaring at the driver.

“Shut up,” the driver snapped. “These damn potholes are everywhere.”

Suddenly, there was a deafening sound of squealing tires and a blaring horn. The driver yanked the wheel hard, sending the van careening to the left. Jahnny’s body slammed into the bench, his heart pounding in terror.

“What the hell is that!?” the passenger shouted.

Before Jahnny could make sense of what was happening, the world turned upside down. The van lurched violently, flipping over with a sickening crunch of metal. Jahnny screamed as he was thrown into the air, his small body tumbling like a ragdoll.

The van rolled once, twice, three times before coming to a screeching halt on its side. Shards of glass sparkled like stars in the dim interior, and the acrid smell of smoke and burning rubber filled Jahnny’s nose.

Pain exploded through his body as he lay crumpled against the side of the van. His head throbbed, and blood trickled down his forehead, sticky and warm. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the faint wail of sirens, but they seemed miles away.

The driver groaned, his body half-hanging out of the shattered windshield. The passenger was slumped against the dashboard, unconscious or worse. Jahnny tried to move, but his limbs felt like lead, every muscle screaming in protest.

Just as darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he heard a strange sound—almost like a whistle, high-pitched and jaunty. The van’s side door creaked loudly, the metal groaning as it was ripped open.

“My god!?” a voice exclaimed, high and cartoonish, like a character from one of the Saturday morning shows Jahnny used to watch. “Is that a child!?”

Through the haze of pain, Jahnny forced his eyes open. Standing in the doorway was a man—or at least, something resembling a man. His silhouette was tall and lanky, his limbs almost comically elongated. The faint glow of the streetlights illuminated his face, stretched into a wide grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Goodness me,” the man said, crouching down to peer inside. His head tilted at an unnatural angle, his movements fluid and unsettling. “What kind of sick game is this?”

Jahnny tried to speak, but his throat felt like sandpaper, his voice refusing to come out.

The man leaned closer, his face now inches from Jahnny’s. “Don’t you worry, little one,” he said, his tone oddly soothing despite the chaos around them. “You’re coming with me.”

Jahnny’s vision blurred, the world fading in and out. He felt the man’s long, cold fingers gently lift him from the wreckage, cradling him like a broken doll.

As the man carried him away from the ruined van, Jahnny’s mind clung to his last thought before unconsciousness overtook him: Was this another nightmare—or his savior?

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