Page 37 of Burn this City

Enzo coughed, and the doc looked up, eyebrows quirked.

Laboriously, Barsanti changed position, every movement sluggish and clearly taking much more effort than normal, but just that he was stirring seemed to be a good sign. His breathing was the only sound in the room as he managed to sit up into a cross-legged position. He remained that way as if not quite trusting his balance.

Sal tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the glass. “Drink.”

Barsanti glanced at him and for a few heartbeats, Sal expected him to ignore it or slap it out of his hand, but then he took it and drank the whiskey quickly, before handing back the glass. No “thank you”, though Sal didn’t begrudge him that.

“We still got business, you and I. You should change out of your clothes. Guys, I’ll handle it. Take a break.”

Enzo nodded to the doc and they both left. Sal crouched before Barsanti, who still sat there, looking a little more focused and clear-eyed than before.

“Handle what, exactly?” Barsanti’s voice was raw from the coughing, but Sal was oddly relieved that he’d found some of his attitude.

“Getting you changed.” Sal noticed Barsanti’s head wound had also been looked after. He’d probably just split his scalp there.

Barsanti stared at him, now more cautious, even lightly alarmed.

“Believe it or not, that was the nicest option I had.”

“Right. ‘Nice’.” Barsanti shook his head.

Sal grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up. Barsanti’s movements were somewhat uncoordinated and came with a noticeable delay, like those of a drunk, but he helped. “I’m going to be evennicerand let you rest a while.”

In truth, Sal also needed more time to think. If not for the doc, he might have attempted to torture again pry open that crack—surely there was one when a man tried to kill himself. Nobody came out of a near-death experience without taking something emotional and deep from it.

“All right.” Barsanti walked mostly under his own steam, while Sal guided him to the master bedroom, the only room in the whole damn house where there was some measure of privacy and Barsanti likely felt safest. He let go of Barsanti once they were past the door and crossed his arms, and broadened his stance while remaining in the doorway.

Barsanti moved like a much older man, and the coughing was near constant. He shed his shirt first and dropped it on the floor at his feet. Then the undershirt, revealing a body that Sal had already admired, if in a purely calculating way. Now that view had grown teeth and claws that dug into the animal parts of his brain. Barsanti was hot, in a “wholly unapproachable but unable to defend himself now” way.

Hands on the button of his slacks, Barsanti paused.

Sal pretended ignorance and kept his gaze fixed on Barsanti’s face.

Eventually, Barsanti pulled down his trousers and boxers, kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his wet clothes, then pulled off his socks. He sat down on the bed, not a stitch of clothing left on him, and regarded his wrists, prodding the reddened, swollen areas. “While you’re being so nice, can I make a phone call?”

Probably Beth.“Maybe. Going to say goodbye?”

Barsanti looked up. “There’s a thing I need to fix, and …” He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “Ultimately, it won’t matter, of course, but …” He cleared his throat.

“Get dressed.”

Barsanti shook himself and got up again, then walked to his closet, opened it and dressed after wiping himself down with a towel right there. Boxers, socks, undershirt. He didn’t seem to have any truly casual clothes except workout stuff—just the same type of clothes he’d taken off, the same grey tailored slacks, the same black socks, black boxers, white undershirt and tailored white shirt. He ran a hand through his hair, too short to get untidy in anything but a fashionable way, then walked up to Sal and offered his wrists again.

Sal resisted the impulse to grab them and pull him closer. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t think you were going to risk my hands being free.”

“Sure, but let’s talk first.” Sal had other angles of attack he hadn’t used yet. He reached into his right thigh pocket and pulled out a fresh zip cuff. “What does Andrea have on you? Were you planning to take his place and he found you out? Why are you willing to kill yourself?”

“It’s not about Andrea, and no, I don’t see myself as boss either. I’m not like you.”

“Huh. I think we’re not that different, Jack.”

Barsanti almost jumped when Sal said his first name. “I gotta say, you being ‘nice’ is even scarier than you pushing me under water.” If that was a joke, it fell flat because his voice shook.

Can’t imagine why.Sal placed the plastic loops around Barsanti’s wrists and tightened them, again, leaving about a finger of space in either loop. “Bed?”

“I guess.” Barsanti walked over to the side of the bed he apparently preferred and lay down on the covers. A quick inspection revealed two ways to tie him to the bed. To the side using one of the legs of the bed, or above his head using the frame underneath the headboard.

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