Page 54 of Mafia Handbook

Chapter Twenty-Four

“We’re closed!” Crusher shouted as he continued sorting the rubber tubes. Tony promised him help, but the dark-haired girl lasted two days and then didn't show up again. “Or can’t you read the big fucking sign out front?” He added, his frustration growing by the minute.

“I’m not here to buy anything.”

Whipping around to give the piece of shit behind him a piece of his mind, Crusher’s mouth hung open and his hands shot into the air as his eyes landed on the pair of guns pointed at him.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is the last place you want to think about robbing.” Crusher warned, lowering his hands and squaring his shoulders.

“Thieving is your scene,” Jamisson lowered his gun. “We’re here to collect the money you stole.”

Crusher let out a huff, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Jamisson was across the room before Crusher could blink, gripping him by the front of his shirt and pinning him to the wall. “Strike one, motherfucker.”

Holstering his gun, Bash reached over, picked up a handful of the rubber tubes and tossed them into a bin. He’d stood not far from here, watching Milena do the same thing, thinking at the time he was going to do her a favor.

“Let him breathe, Slate. I have several questions for the filthy prick.”

Shrugging, “Suit yourself, Trespass, but say the word and I’ll rip his throat out.”

Crusher bent over, gripping his throat, “I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

Taking several measured steps, Bash hooked his hands on his lips. “Oh, I think you will, Crusher. Or maybe a call to your probation officer would loosen your tongue. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear how you’ve been selling stolen car parts and associating with a known felon. Violating your parole would send you straight to prison, and we both know you don't want to go back there.”

Bash had Wizard dig deep on everyone working for Tony Rossi, including Tate Black, aka Crusher. He learned how he’d tried to go to work for Frank, except his need to boast about who he worked for outweighed his common sense and ended up getting him sent to federal prison. While incarcerated, he’d made more than a few enemies, including the leader of a prison gang. He was released early for good behavior, but not before an attempt was made on his life. He’d spent weeks in the hospital recovering, then begged Tony Rossi for a job where he could hide from those who sought to finish him.

“Now, tell me where you’ve hidden your computer.”

“I don—”

Bash didn’t give Crusher time to finish the lie before hitting him across the face with the back of his hand.

“Strike two,” Jamisson announced from his spot leaning against the table.

Crusher cupped his face, feeling warm liquid seeping between his fingers. “You broke my fucking nose!” He shouted, the pain making his eyes water.

“Your fucking jaw is next if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

Rising to his full height, Crusher held his head back, swiping at the blood trickling down his face.

“You can hit me as much as you want, motherfucker, ain’t gonna change the answer I give you.”

Tuning his head toward Jamisson, “Isn't that cute, Slate? This punk ass bitch thinks I’m going to keep hitting him.”

“Well, Trespass, you did mention breaking his jaw.”

Shifting his stance, Bash walked around the wooden table behind him. He recalled seeing a piece of equipment when he’d paid Milena a visit. “That I did, Slate.” Reaching under the table, Bash pulled the iron vice out, slamming it onto the table, “Never said a fucking word about using my fists.”

Crusher took one look at the vice, he’d witnessed firsthand how Toni and Marco got people talking by using that thing. While he didn’t want to go back to prison, he didn't want to end up eating his dinner through a straw either. Weighing his options, Crusher bolted for the door.

“That’s three, motherfucker,” Jamisson cried, snapping to the left and tackling Crusher like a seasoned ball player.

Bash cranked the vice wide open as Jamisson slammed Crusher’s face between it’s jaws. Spinning the handle, Bash ignored Crusher’s screams as he closed the vice around his jaw.

“Ready to answer my question?” Bash demanded, lowering his face to Crusher’s level.

Bloody snot and tears dripped down Crusher’s face, but he kept his mouth shut.

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