Page 37 of Volt
“This is going to hurt, so get ready,” he says, and I nod. “On three.”
“One…”
I feel the pressure of his thumbs a moment before I feel the white-hot pain that starts in my face then quickly radiates to every other part of my body. I grit my teeth, biting back the scream that’s trying to burst from my mouth. The pain is more intense than getting punched was, and my eyes immediately well with tears.
Doc steps back and laughs. “Took it like a champ.”
“Please,” Cosmo replies. “I’ve seen little girls handle pain better than him.”
“Eat shit,” I say, disturbed by how high-pitched and nasally my voice suddenly sounds.
The guys all laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Still guffawing, Doc walks over to one of the cabinets and pulls out a bottle. He shakes a couple of pills into his hand then grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the corner then comes back to me.
“Ibuprofen,” he says. “It’ll help with the swelling. Once that goes down, you won’t sound like you’ve been sucking on an oxygen canister.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
I pop the pills and chase it with a long swallow of water. Their laughter eventually fades, easing the room into a silence that’s crackling with tension. We all exchange glances, the obvious question hanging in the air all around us. Doc finally looks over at me and nods.
“You were right to clean up the scene and get the bodies out of there. It, at least, buys us a little time while they try to figure out what happened to their guys,” he says.
“Hey, who knows? They may not even connect this to us,” Cosmo offers hopefully.
“Doubtful. We’re the only ones on his radar right now. Even if it wasn’t us, Zavala is going to assume it was,” Doc counters.
“So, what are we going to do with the bodies?” I ask.
“Cosmo, call Leonard,” Doc says. “Tell him to fire ’em up.”
The big man nods and pulls out his cell phone, stepping outside to make the call. Leonard works at one of the funeral homes we’ve done some business with over the years. Whenever we’ve needed a body to disappear, Leonard’s always helped us out. Doc turns to us.
“All we can do is wait. It’s going to blow back on us sooner or later, so we just need to hang on and prepare,” Doc says.
“You know, when we were out there tonight, I got to thinking about Zavala and the fact that we haven’t gotten any useful intel in four days,” I say.
“And what about it?” Doc asks.
“This guy is controlled. He compartmentalizes,” I say. “He’s got two lives—home life and work life.”
“Peas and carrots. They never touch,” Adam says.
Doc looks at him with a strange expression on his face, but after a moment, he seems to get it. He nods then looks at me again, waiting for me to continue.
“I got to thinking we haven’t gotten anything because he doesn’t talk about his work at home. He doesn’t want to bring his work home. Doesn’t want it to touch his perfect life with his beautiful wife and kid,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s a regular Norman Rockwell painting. If Normal Rockwell were painting a murderous crack-dealing family anyway,” Adam grouses.
“So, what are you thinking then?” Doc presses.
“I’m thinking he doesn’t talk business at home. So, we need to find out where he does talk business,” I say. “Can you squeeze your source again? See if they can find out where he has an office where he talks business?”
Doc nods, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Peas and carrots,” he says. “Damn boy, you actually are smarter than they say.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Prez.”
“I’ll get on that. If he’s got an office somewhere, we’ll find it,” he says. “In the meantime, get the trash over to Leonard and let him cook it for us. After that, get some rest. You both look like shit.”
A rueful smile crosses my face as I get to my feet. “Yes, sir.”
