Brazen

He had known, even as he had accepted the large brown envelope and vanished into a swirl of airport-bound traffic, that Ferencz would find him and kill him, wherever he tried to flee. It was just a question of how much he would enjoy the weeks of enormous wealth prior to the moment Ferencz caught up with him. And really – it hadn’t been bad. For more than a year, he had skipped from island to island, living the life and bedding the women he had always dreamed of, taking a break at random intervals for plastic surgery and passport forgery. Finally, as was inevitable from the beginning, he felt the gun pushing into the back of his neck. His only real mistake, he now realized, was that he hadn’t forced them to shoot him.

They didn’t even tell him where they were taking him: they knew he knew. He was hauled in and out of limos, planes, and yachts; but only one word would have been necessary to define his inevitable destination. The only detail he hadn’t expected was the specific revenge he found Ferencz had prepared for him. On a platform in the center of what appeared to be some sort of decadent playroom, now populated solely by Ferencz and a few of his henchmen, he found himself staring at a huge bronze bull, larger than life size. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew exactly what it was, and the knowledge almost knocked him over.

“I see you recognize my muscular friend,” Ferencz was saying, with the same half-chuckle that haunted his sentences every time he was enjoying murdering someone. “There is probably very little I can tell you about him that you don’t already know. I have ordered certain modifications, but this bronze sculpture follows closely the machine that Perillos built for King Phalaris of Agrigento, 27 centuries ago. Phalaris was also a Sicilian, you know. He’s actually thought to be a relative of mine on my mother’s side.”

Ferencz drew deeply on his rich cigar, whose leaves had been marinated in the west of Cuba. “It was my mother who taught me everything I know about cruelty,” Ferencz mused. “And now you are to be the beneficiary of all that. I hope you’re appropriately grateful.” He stared at his victim-to-be the way some men would stare at a desirable woman, or other men might stare at a desirable man. As far as anyone knew, Ferencz was asexual, finding his release solely in sadism. It made him a little long-winded, but that was the least of what his prisoners had to put up with. “Some people make the mistake of dismissing Phalaris as legendary, but Pindar himself vouches for the fact that Phalaris was as real as you or I. Not only did Phalaris roast people alive in his brazen bull, but similar executions were imposed on Christians near the end of the first century and the third century. So you are hardly the first Christian to rest his eyes on this unique instrument of horror.

“It was also a favorite plaything of the Arab sun priest and Roman emperor, Heliogabalus, at the beginning of the third century. Heliogabalus was from Syria originally. I feel particularly close to him because of all the years I hid from extradition in Damascus. And, after all, what am I, if I am not a Roman emperor? And now, my dear friend, I am going to give you my word of honor about something.

“There is something you can do for me, and I will not roast you in the brazen bull,” Ferencz said. “But, please, do not say anything that implies you doubt me – for that would be an insult, and, were you to insult me, I would not be able to resist roasting you in the bull. I promise you again – and when did I ever lie to you? – if you do this simple thing for me, I will not roast you in this bull, or permit anyone else ever to do so.”

“What do you want me to do?” stammered his frightened victim.

“I want you to climb into the bull all by yourself, and close the hatch upon yourself,” Ferencz said. “Say no, and you will be shoved in – for that will indicate you didn’t trust my word. The necessary kindling is already assembled and waiting for us.”

“I believe you,” said the trembling target of this bullying – who had been sunning himself on a white beach in the Maldives just a few days before.

“Then climb in,” Ferencz said, gesturing for one of his men to bring forward a stepladder. The victim carefully climbed up the side of the huge glowing golden beast, and slid in. “Now close the hatch behind you.” The hatch rotated into the closed position, and one of Ferencz’ men bolted it into place.

“Smoothly done,” Ferencz applauded. “Andris – bring me the dry ice.”

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