Page 191 of The Wicked
“If we’re being logical, that’s still kidnapping,” Milk said.
“Worse than kidnapping,” Upper supported. “It’s double kidnapping; we’ve taken kidnapping to a level that borders on diabolical because we took a kidnapped person and kidnapped them, which means we are the kidnappers of the kidnapped.”
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense, Upper,” Dog said.
Milk shrugged. “It made sense to me.”
“Of course it would; you’re…you.” Dog frowned.
“I hope you didn’t mean that in an offensive way,” Milk said, turning slightly to face him.
“Please, by all means, take all the offense because that is what I was aiming for.”
I sighed. “Guys, back to Saucy Chika—”
“Who is Saucy Chika?” Upper asked, confusion in his tone.
“The guy we kidnapped,” Devil answered, and then silence fell again. He closed his eyes for a second before snapping them back open. “No, we didn’t kidnap—he was—you know what? It doesn’t fucking matter; let’s go untie him and get answers.”
We all seemed to agree with that as we returned to the kitchen. Saucy Chika’s eyes were wide, and his hums of protest became frantic as Devil tore off the tape not so gently from his mouth.
“Fuck!” Saucy Chika cursed, breathing harshly with his mouth as he looked frantically around at us. “Who’re you lot?” His thick roadman accent coated his words.
“Your worst nightmare,” Dog whispered, dragging it out dramatically.
“My what?” the confused man asked.
“Ignore him,” Devil said, undoing the knots on Saucy Chika’s legs. “He was diagnosed with idiotism a while back.”
The man frowned. “Is that actually a thing?”
Devil extended his hand to help pull him up. “It’s now a thing; he was patient zero.”
“Oh.” Saucy Chika eyed Dog warily like the idiotism thing was contagious. “Why you lot letting me out, though?” he asked no one in particular, rubbing his wrist while Devil gave him his space to collect himself.
I took a step forward. “Because we didn’t kidnap you.”
“Yeah, we just took you from your kidnappers. Which makes us worse than them,” Upper said.
Devil settled his gaze on Upper. “We got an anonymous email that a package they would send would answer questions about Arturo Garza’s chihuahua. We got to the location and found him.”
“Oh.” Upper frowned. “Anonymous email…” He looked at Dog. “Were you able to track it?”
“No luck; I was hoping you’d have some.”
Upper nodded. “On it.” He left the kitchen.
I studied the victim in front of me; his brows were drawn down in confusion, his eyes unfocused.
“What is it? Does the name Arturo Garza sound familiar to you?” I asked him.
His throat bobbed. “Bruv, I don’t…” He trailed off, swaying on his feet; I quickly rushed towards him, holding him steady while Devil took care of his other side.
“I think we should get him to a chair,” I said to Devil and then looked at Milk. “Can you arrange a quick sandwich and maybe some milk with sugar?”
“Sure.”
Devil and I led him to the living room, and Dog followed right behind us.
