Page 82 of Mafia and Gold Digger

She looks at me with narrowed eyes.Uh oh. I know that look. It’s a look that means she’s gonna be fucking trouble. I suppress my sigh. I might have to take her out too. I was hoping to get home in time for dinner.

“You mean you’re one of those guys who takes animals to the pound when they get put down?”

“No, um, of course not.” I clear my throat. “We’re a private animal control facility,” I say as smoothly as possible. “Once we collect the, er, adorable fluffy darlings, we rehome them through our ‘Cuddle Up With A Floofball’ program—a program which I personally set up, I’ll have you know.”

Her eyes widen, and I can tell she’s impressed. Even I’m impressed at the lies I can come up with. “You say he’s mistreating an animal? I didn’t realize he had a pet, but if he’s got one, I wouldn’t put it past him to be treating it badly. What do you need to know?”

“Everything you can tell me…”

She ends up inviting me in for tea and homemade cookies, and I sit back on her sofa, listening as she tells me everything I need to know about Kevin’s movements. His daily routine, his visitors, the comings and goings of the other neighbors. And by the time I’ve polished off my third cookie, I’ve got all I need to put my plan into action.

* * *

At 11 p.m. that night, I pick the lock of Kevin’s apartment and slip inside. Mrs. Wilkins told me that she’s in bed by 8 p.m. and that Kevin’s other neighbor works nights, so I reckon this is the best time to have an uninterrupted chat with Kevin.

Walking silently into his lounge, I see him sitting at a huge desk with six screens, numerous speakers, and various other equipment and wires all over the place. He looks like a fucking man-child. He is playing some video game and eating candy while wearing his hoodie and Snoopy slippers. I mean, fucking Snoopy slippers.

I sigh. I was hoping for someone who might be more of a challenge.

“Hello, Kevin.”

He spins around in his gaming chair. And his face drops.

Within the next ten minutes, I’ve got Kevin gagged and tied to a chair, and I’ve taped a tarpaulin over the floor.

I bend down to look him in the eye. “Now, I asked you nicely what you’ve been up to and who you’ve been working for. But if you’re not going to play ball, we’ll have to try another method.” And I get to work.

I can practically feel the aggression radiating off me and can’t wait for the smell of blood to sting my nostrils.

He can’t stop his limbs from shaking or the tears leaking down his face as I regard him with a twisted smile.

I stalk toward him as he struggles against the rope binding him to the wooden chair.

“One last chance, Kevin,” I say as I yank down the gag.

“W-what are you going to d-do to m-me?” His voice quivers like a cup of Jell-O, but he still won’t answer my questions.

“You’ll see.”

“I didn’t do anything. Please believe me. I just use this stuff to play computer games and…and watch porn, I swear!”

Shaking my head, I pull the gag back up and unpack my equipment. Implements of torture.

Knives for different purposes—stabbing, carving, skinning. Pliers. A chain saw. An axe. Oh, I’m going to have some fun tonight.

I feel a bead of sweat drip down my back as the adrenaline builds, my breaths shallow.

Kevin’s eyes are wide, and he looks like he’s going to puke.

I break all his fingers on one hand in turn. Relishing the crack as each bone splinters.

“No…!” he screams in a muffled voice.

Asking him the same questions again, and getting no answer, I pick up my carving knife.

“Please!” he tries to beg through the gag.

And I stab his shoulder and twist the knife in.

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