Page 58 of Finish Line
I punch him in the gut. “Oof!”
“We don’t know anything!” Thing one cries. “Honestly, we’re just grunts. We do what they say and don’t get told anything important.”
“I don’t believe that. Ratchet, slice them up,” I order.
“My pleasure,” Ratchet draws out. He walks along the table, studying the knives before picking a skinning knife. He moves so he’s standing in front of thing one and cuts open his shirt. He then proceeds to make short, shallow cuts that will sting, but won’t cause him to bleed out. We still need him alive, for now.
The man lets out a hiss with every cut Ratchet makes. After a dozen or so on thing one, he moves on to thing two. He stands in front of him, wiping both sides of the blade on his shirt.
“Do your best, but you’re not going to break me,” thing two tells Ratchet.
Ratchet laughs. “I got all night. I’ll make you talk one way or another.”
Ratchet begins making cuts on thing two, who grits his teeth, trying not to let the pain show. Little does he know Ratchet can see through him. He has this freakish way of knowin’ when someone is in pain, even if they don’t show it. It makes his job as the enforcer that much easier.
Some of the other brothers are sittin’ around in folding chairs, watchin’ the show. While others are out checkin’ on the pigs and wanderin’ around the perimeter of the barn. The ones sittin’ in here will switch with the others after a while. And me, I won’t leave this barn until I get the information I need.
“Ratchet, let a couple of the guys get some practice in,” I tell him.
Ratchet steps away, grabs a rag off the table and cleans his knife. Rascal and Sketch step up. I nod, giving them the okay to use our friends as punching bags.
After twenty minutes of taking hits, I call Rascal and Sketch off. I walk up to thing one, eyeing his already bruising body.
“Are you ready to talk?” I ask him.
He groans in response. I won’t be gettin’ any information out of him. He’s too weak. I walk over to thing two.
“What about you?” I say.
Thing two spits at me again. This time, blood flies out of his mouth. I take a step back to avoid bein’ covered in it.
“Ratchet, let’s make the cuts deeper this time,” I call to him.
“You got it,” he says with a smile. Somethin’ ain’t right with him. I’ve known it since we were kids. But every time we torture someone and he givesthatsmile, I’m reminded of it all over again. He’s one of my best friends and is one loyal son of a bitch. I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of his anger. It’s a calm anger, which makes it the most dangerous kind.
“Better yet, why don’t you stab him a few times?” I suggest.
“That’s not a bad idea.” He sets his skinning knife down and picks up a five-inch blade. He turns back to thing one and stabs him in the abdomen twice. The man cries out in pain and his head falls to his chest.
“Do you wanna talk, or do you wanna get stabbed?” Ratchet asks thing two.
“Fuck . . . you . . .” thing two hisses out at Ratchet.
Ratchet shoves his knife into the man’s abdomen, just above his hip. The guy cries out in pain. Ratchet leaves the knife in and looks him dead in the eyes. Then he twists the knife a mere fraction of an inch and thing two cries out again.
“There’s a tunnel . . .” thing two sputters out.
“What?” I ask.
“A tunnel? Where?” Ratchet asks the man.
“The p-p-parking . . . garage . . .” His head falls to his chest and he’s out.
Ratchet turns to me, but before he says anything, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Clutch’s name flashes across the screen.
“What?” I answer.
“Tech found a tunnel under the damn parking garage!” Clutch shouts.
