Page 27 of Stone

Smoke goes to the keypad again, taps in the same numbers, then adds the ‘less than’ angle bracket followed by a three. The click of the lock and the door popping open has Smoke smiling and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock.

“Well, fuck me,” I snigger, not quite believing that Smoke has cracked it.

“You’re not my type,” he jokes and pushes the door wide so we can see what the lockup contains. “Well, I guess that confirms that we’re dealing with the Irish. I always suspected that Jimmy’s wife was the one who had the balls in their family.”

“Jesus H Christ,” Hurricane whistles when he sees the weapons hung up, covering every inch of space, floor to ceiling. “That’s some shit hot firearms.”

He’s not wrong. In front of us are some of the most expensive, hi-tech firearms I’ve ever seen. The wooden cases stacked two high, making around six in total, must contain more of the same.

“Looks like the bastards weren’t only trying to encroach on our drug business, seems they’re trying to knuckle in on the weapon side, too,” I fume, knowing that the two unfortunate assholes that are at the receiving end of Crave and Edge’s torture tactics could know the truth behind Jacob and Savannah’s death. “I want my turn with those cunts; I need answers.”

“Have at it,” Smoke pushes the door closed and secures it.

“What about the guns?” Hurricane questions. I admit I’m puzzled too. I’d have expected Smoke to put a call in to get a van here as soon as possible so we could load up the gear and get it out of here.

“We’re leaving it exactly where it is,” he orders. “For now. Once we’ve finished here, we get clean up in. We leave no sign that we’ve even been here.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why not just empty the place.”

“Because we’re going to play the long game,” he remarks as he starts to walk over to Edge and Crave.

“Don’t you think it will look suspicious when these guys are missing?” I snigger.

“You should know by now Stone, that I always do my research. These fuckers aren’t all Jimmy’s guys. They’re paid for, hired from Dumb Fuck Security or some other crap underground company. He won’t give a fuck. He’ll think they’ve run out on the job. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

When we get over to our brothers, Edge has a pair of bolt cutters clamped around his guy’s pinky finger. Crave, on the other hand, is having fun whacking the guy with a monkey wrench right in the nuts.

“Did you get anything out of them?” Smoke asks as he watches on. Edge removes his weapon of torture from the dude’s finger and steps away, so he can talk to us without either of our victims overhearing.

“To be honest Prez, I don’t think either of them can give us much.” Edge taps his index finger against his temple. “The one who’s lost his ability to have kids thanks to Crave, he’s clueless. First time he’s worked for these guys. Old pinky here,” he shakes the cutters towards the man who’s already missing the top part of his thumb up to the knuckle. “He knows a bit more. Confirmed that he’s worked on a couple of jobs for the Dunnes in the last few weeks and that he’s heard that Jimmy is here in Nevada, but out near Yeringtown somewhere.”

“Cocksucker,” I curse. “Trust him to hide out in the middle of Crapsville.”

“Do you want to take them back to the pit to work on them?” Edge asks Smoke.

The pit is an old abandoned mine shaft north of Reno on the edge of the Pyramid Lake reservation. It’s where we do our dirty work. The screams of our victims echo nicely within the labyrinth of tunnels, but as there’s nothing for miles around it, no one hears the screams.

“No, get what you can out of them here, then I’ll get clean up in.” Smoke gives me the nod. Time for me to take out of this what I need.

“What else is in the toolbox?” I enquire while walking to the table to check out the contents. “Ah, just what do we have here?” I pick out a handful of three-inch nails and a claw hammer. “Get him up and onto one of the chairs Edge, hold his arms behind his back.”

Edge hikes him up off the floor, grabs the back of one of the chairs, the legs screech as they scrape across the floor to where he wants it, then shoves him onto the seat. The guy tries to struggle, but when Edge whips out a blade and holds it to his throat, he soon stills. Edge moves around behind him, jars the guy’s arms back behind the back of the chair and pulls a zip tie out from his pants pocket to secure him.

“Now the question is, which would you prefer, feet or nut sack?”

ChapterEighteen

Stone

Despite his attempts to fight against it, the first nail that I hammer into the arch of his foot goes in with ease. It only takes four of five whacks for it to crack through the bone and protrude out through the skin at the top of his foot. The guttural howls of pain that spill from his mouth between desperate breaths is ear splitting. The sheer agony on his face satisfying. The noise, not so much.

Still not getting anything out of him after twisting the fourth nail with a pair of pliers, I instruct Edge to remove his pants. Immediately, he realizes what my intentions are. I’ll give him credit, he’s new, yet already he’s showing a united front on Paddy’s behalf. Through gritted teeth he has called us every name under the sun, his face grotesquely distorted from the pain, but he’s refused to give in. But the threat of his balls being nailed to the seat of the chair is a step too far, and his loyalty to the Dunnes quickly evaporates.

He starts singing like a canary. He doesn’t give up specific details, which is understandable not having worked for the Irish long, but he gives up enough information for us to know where the goods are coming in from, and who Jimmy is intending to supply.

When we get what we need, I switch subjects.

“What do you know about the hit on a couple over in Billings, Montana?”

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