Page 31 of Triple Threat

“Fuck you, man!” I ground the barrel of the gun into his leg and he screamed, pissing all over himself. That didn’t take long, he was soft. He let out a few sobs before pointing at a black nylon bag by the sofa.

“There, take whatever cash you find in that bag, dress yourself, and the keys for the SUV outside, Reese?” He gobbed out another blubbery noise but pointed toward the bar between the kitchen and the common room. “Thank you,” I said. “Why don’t you take a shower, give me a little time to talk to our friend here, alone.” I dragged Reese out the door and paused a moment to pull the flimsy thing shut. I threw him off the minimalist cracked deck and holstered the pistol while I walked down the steps and collected him again. He tried to crawl a few steps, but the wound in his leg made him scream like a bloody dog. It was amusing so I followed him for a few steps before putting my shoe in his ass and sending him face first into the dirt. He cried and coughed, then made a retching noise.

“How did you get into the Death Squad?” I asked.

“My… my father… my father,” he said.

“Was he in the Final Prophecy Center?”

“No, he stayed with Guillame,” Reese said.

“Playing both sides?” I asked.

“No, he supports the general, and I didn’t.”

“That might have been a mistake,” I said.

“My father will pay you… ransom me to him,” Reese said. “Please…”

“Let me ask you something. Did she ever ask you for mercy, did she ever sayplease?” I found a length of chain anchored to the ground, something a person who doesn’t deserve a dog keeps a dog on. I unhooked the chain and tied it around Reese’s good foot and he screamed. “You really disappoint me,” I said as I tossed the other end of the chain over a thing that once, many years ago, might have been a tree. It would do to hold his weight and I dragged him up like a fish.

“Please, man, please don’t hurt me anymore,” he cried.

“No more?” I scoffed. “No more? I haven’t even started.”

“You shot me. You fucking shot me!”

“That’s just because you tried to run,” I said. I pulled a small pocketknife and showed it to him. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and this is going to make sure you answer me, and that you don’t lie to me.” I drew the blade across his ballsack, lightly, just so he knew where the knife was. I had to step back because he pissed himself again, and started thrashing against the chain, and his own weight. Reese sang like a bird. He vomited too. I’m sure if he hadn’t pissed out of fear twice already, he would have done it again. He told me everything he knew about the Death Squad, about why they had their schism withle Generale,what he knew about the finances, and then what I was expecting.

Reese confessed to a laundry list of sins, crimes, and things that I considered unforgivable, even as a professional. I thought about Sadie again, about what might have happened to her between the foster home we’d been in and the road when I almost hit her, and I imagined him… putting his hands on her, her face and body bruised and bloody like the pizza delivery girl; like Rosalyn…

I cut his balls off, then put them in his hand. He started weeping once he realized what he was holding.

The rest of what I did to him was cruel, but if his confessions were true, it was not unwarranted or undeserved. Rosalyn had gone, driving the SUV through part of a fence in her escape. I put what was left of Reese inside the trailer, with his goons next to him. The trailer caught fire easily and went up like well-seasoned tinder.

The drive back home would feel very long. I had Sadie in my thoughts making it even longer. The only way to get back in my right mind would be taking her. I didn’t think an escort would do it this time.

I needed it after such a swath of killing.

I needed her.

Chapter Eleven

Sadie…

I didn’t know why I cared about this mythical figure… this Lock. I didn’t know what had prompted me to even ask.

I swallowed hard, sitting on the end of the sofa, staring out over the windswept Chesapeake Bay, hugging my knees. What felt like a tennis ball was in my throat as I replayed the images from Roan’s screens over in my mind.

I thought he’d been playing a video game. The rainbow figures in the thermal imaging collapsing, jerking backwards… falling…

“Sadie?” I jumped slightly and felt tears roll down my cheeks.

“Come now, Poppet… talk to me.” Conan’s voice was gentle. I sniffed and fixated my gaze on his reflection in the night-darkened glass in front of me.

“Th-that wasn’t a video game, was it?” I asked.

He sighed, his broad shoulders dropping slightly. He was impeccably dressed, as always. Gray slacks and a matching gray vest, crisp white dress shirt… although no tie. Not now. Instead, his collar was open at the throat, his sleeves rolled back over his muscular forearms, his big hands gripping the silver head of his cane, folded neatly on its top, the rubber foot sinking into the plush cream carpet between his expensive shoes.

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