Page 51 of Wild Temple
I craned my neck around and glared at him.
He jammed the gun in my face. "I said get down!”
He may have been 5’6”, 120 pounds, but that gun would punch all the same.
I complied, squatted down, and sat crisscross applesauce.
"You can go," Slim said. "We’ll take it from here.”
The cops nodded and took off.
They spilled out of the building and hopped into their patrol cars. Doors slammed, and engines revved. Gravel spit as tires spun. The cops tore off down the road, going back the way they came.
I looked at Slim and smiled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He laughed. "I can assure you, there's going to be nothing pleasurable about this experience.”
I got the distinct impression that Slim had overseen his fair share of torture sessions.
"Just so you're aware, we’re both deputies with the Coconut County Sheriff's Department. People know where we are. They know where this location is. And if anything happens to us, they will come looking."
Slim laughed again. "You think I give a shit who knows you're here? What on earth are they going to do? Nothing. That's what they're going to do. If you haven't figured it out, we own everyone around here. The cops, the judges, the politicians. We even have contacts at the embassy and the consular’s office. Nothing happens in this town without our permission. You two have been running around the last couple of days fucking up our operation, killing our men, stealing our merchandise. Did you think we wouldn't find you? Did you think you could act with impunity? Surely you can’t be that stupid?”
"Apparently, we made some critical errors in judgment," I said.
A genuine laugh escaped his mouth at that one. "That might just be the understatement of the year.”
I didn’t know who this asshole was, but I had a pretty good idea.
“Where’s Hannah and Isabella?”
“Who?” Slim asked, genuinely confused.
“Hannah’s the girl with the map,” one of his associates muttered.
"Oh, yes, right. The map. Where is it?”
"You’re going through all this trouble just to get a map to a fictional temple that doesn't exist," I said just to rile him up.
Slim leaned in close and whispered, "Oh, it exists, my friend. The legend of Pura Jiva and the Mata Vaya span centuries.”
"What do you want to do, bottle it and sell it on the street?”
Slim laughed again. "No, I want to drink it, you fool. My business partner and I have acquired a great many things. Amassed a large amount of wealth. But there is one thing we can't buy.”
"Good taste.”
He frowned at me. "Longevity. Something you will never know.”
“You’re Caspian’s local partner,” I said.
“I handle some of the more unpleasant aspects of the business.”
Slim snapped his fingers, and one of his goons moved to a worktable against the far wall. He surveyed several items, laid out like surgical instruments—pliers, a ball-peen hammer, a blowtorch, a hacksaw, and various other tools that could be used to cause great amounts of discomfort.
The goon returned with the ball-peen hammer.
Slim took it and marveled at it, feeling the weight of it in his hand. A diabolical grin curled his thin lips. "I suspect it won’t take many blows from a hammer like this to mangle that handsome face of yours. One blow could shatter your cheekbone. Another could take out several teeth. A nice shot to the skull could cause brain damage. Although you two seem to be a few brain cells short as it is. How about we both save ourselves a lot of time and trouble, and you just tell me where the girl with the map is?"
