Page 18 of Lord of Pain
Jack nods as much as my arm will allow. I've picked a good spot for this conversation. His bookie's office is in a dilapidated office park in the Bronx. All the security cameras in the area are already disabled and no one who wants to live longer than tonight is going to take a stroll through this tiny parking lot.
"Look, we- we can come to an arrangement here," he rasps. "I don't know who sent you but-" He croaks as my arm tightens around his throat and there's a tiny cracking noise.
"Ah, that's likely your C2 slipping sideways," I say conversationally. "Those cervical vertebrae are so fragile, huh? If the C2 breaks, you'll never turn your head again."
He lets out another terrified croak.
"When it breaks, your head sags sideways, ear touching your shoulder. It's disgusting," I continue, arm tightening. "It might have happened once or twice when I've had someone in a choke hold. Occasionally, I accidentally crush their esophagus. The cartilage cracking sounds fucking disgusting."
I slam him face-first against the building, a crumbling brick wall that lets off a little cloud of dust as he hits it.
"It's time for complete transparency between us, Jack." I slap a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. "How are you planning on paying off that debt to the Italians? Because if there wasn't a plan, your bookie wouldn't be taking your bets right now. Does that includeselling Violet and her sisters to those corporate fucks you work with?"
"It's not like that," he stammers. "Poppy and I are looking out for them. They need stability. All three of them are naive and unreliable. They need guidance. This world will gobble them up and spit them out."
My thumb digs into the corner of his left eye as he whimpers. Slamming him harder against the brick wall, I enjoy the weak puff of air escaping his bloody lips.
"Your idea of stability is selling 18-year-old girls to your country club pricks so that they can control them for the rest of their lives? What do you get?"
His right eye is darting back-and-forth, desperately scanning the parking lot. Does this dumb fuck really think someone's going to come to the rescue? Clearly, he knows nothing about this neighborhood.
"Well, not a thing," he says, struggling for the correct tone of self-righteousness. "Except- except for the satisfaction of seeing them taken care of-"
I slam his head against the wall again, my thumb pushing harder against his eye.
"They're just helping me with a few debts," he stammers. "Raising a family is expensive, after all." It is everything I can do to keep from laughing, but that's going to mess up the sinister vibe I've got going here.
"Here's what's going to happen next," I say conversationally. "You're going to tell me exactly how much they're paying you and how they're planning on keeping those girls under control. And if I feel you are not being thorough in your explanation, I'mpopping your left eye out like a grape." My thumb digs in deeper and a little trickle of blood goes down his pale face.
"I have a twenty-million-dollar gambling debt!" he half screams, his bound hands beating futilely against my arm.
"What else?"
"And- and I become vice-president over Mergers and Acquisitions I'll be the fourth highest manager in the company with- with stock shares!" Jack bleats, trying to get his head loose from my grip.
"Twenty million for three beautiful, well-educated girls? Actually, that's pretty cheap, Jack. You're not a strong negotiator," I say. "Out on the open market you could've tripled that deal."
Jack's eyes widen and he croaks out, "Really?"
This motherfucker.
That's it.
Pulling out my knife, I flip his eyeball out, shoving my fist up under his jaw to jam his mouth shut, smothering his scream. Dropping the eye on the ground with a flick of my fingers, I raise my knife. Now, it's just one clean arc to slash across his carotid artery and I'm done here.
A high whine passes my head, like a mosquito on steroids and a bullet slams into the brick wall next to us before I can cut his throat. And then another. Whipping Jack around, I use him as a human shield as I pull out my Glock, firing into the darkness. It takes four steps to get to his shitty Jaguar and then I kick him loose, grabbing the keys off the driver's seat and starting the car. I'm roaring out of the parking lot as two more bullets slam intothe back of the car, the chassis shuddering under the impact. Another one shatters the rear window.
"Tupyye, nazoylivyye, vmeshivayushchiyesya ublyudki!Stupid fucking interfering pieces of shit!" I take the corner on two wheels. I couldn't tell if those bullets were meant for me or for Jack, but somebody just fucked up my tidy plan. Pulling out my phone, I call Ivan.
"Get over to Violet Monroe's apartment. Eleven forty-six Midden Ave, apartment 3B. Bring six men with you. She's under my protection and someone's probably coming for her. I'll meet you there in-" I check the car's map app, "-fifteen minutes."
"Understood," he says calmly. "We can be there in ten."
This car is a piece of shit. One of the wheels is wobbling ominously with a high whine. It probably got hit with some debris from the bullets. Still, I get it to the parking garage under Violet's building and park in a secluded corner before racing up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. Pulling out my Glock, I press my ear to her door. I can hear the low murmur of Ivan's Russian accent.
Knocking once, I call out, "It's Roman. Do not shoot me."
Ivan opens the door, trying to control a grin. His team are holstering their guns.
