Packing Heat(12)
I ignored the girl. I walked over to him, and he nodded as I approached.
“I was wondering when you’d show.”
“Vince sent me.”
“No shit.”
“Is that her?”
He nodded. “That’s her.”
“She talk yet?”
“Not a fucking word.”
“How hard have you worked her?”
“Not hard. Giving her a little break now before Lonnie goes back to work.”
I shuddered but kept it off my face. Lonnie was the mafia’s torturer, more or less. He was a brutal fucking guy but looked like any other middle-aged dad. I glanced around the room and spotted him standing next to a little table where he had his instruments arrayed in neat lines. He was balding, pale, and thin, and he wore a long sleeve T-shirt tucked into khaki shorts and boat shoes. He looked like he just came from the fucking golf course.
I looked back to Ernesto. “What’s next?”
“Like I said, Lonnie gets to work. She’ll break eventually.”
Just then, Lonnie walked back over to the girl. The whole room went silent and somber, and I forced myself not to look away. That would be weakness, and everyone else would take note of it.
But I didn’t want to fucking watch this. Nobody wanted to watch it. Still, the least we could do was at least watch what we were doing to this poor fucking girl. She was my enemy, but I didn’t wish Lonnie on anybody, not fucking ever.
He started with a pair of pliers. He asked her a simple question, waited for her to answer, and then yanked out one of her fingernails. The woman screamed and struggled, but she didn’t say a single word.
That went on for both hands. Every single nail was torn off. Blood was dripping down the chair, and her face was drawn, pained, but she didn’t speak.
I was impressed. Not many people lasted that long. Lonnie was unflappable, though. He simply gave her a short rest before returning to work.
The mood in the room was grim. These were violent criminals, men who were used to killing and fighting, but watching this was something else. Lonnie returned to her with a contraption that looked like pliers, but each side was a razor sharp blade, like a cigar cutter.
He slid her pinky finger into the tool.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
He cut off her finger at the first knuckle.
She screamed, and he waited patiently for her to finish. He slid the contraption onto her next knuckle.
“What is your name?” he asked again.
Again, no response.
Again, he cut off her finger to the next knuckle.
I clenched my jaw.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Dasha,” the girl said, sobbing. “My name is Dasha.”
“Good. It’s nice to meet you, Dasha.”
She spit at him. He wiped it off before sliding the contraption to the end of her pinky finger.
“Who do you work for?”
“Fuck you.”
He cut the remaining bit of her pinky off.
She screamed.
“Who do you work for?”
“The Spiders,” she sobbed. “The fucking Spiders.”
“How did they know about that whorehouse?”
She shook her head. “Go to hell, you fucking sick bastards. You rapists. You sick fucking rapists.”
He took her ring finger. He repeated the procedure until her ring finger was gone.
“How did they know?” he asked, starting on the middle finger.
“A journalist,” she sobbed. “A girl named Cassidy. Oh god, please, leave her out of this.”
Lonnie nodded to Ernesto.
“First good bit of information,” Ernesto said.
“You believe her? Look at the fucking girl.”
“Lonnie believes her. I do too then.” Ernesto looked at me. “Go follow up on this.”
“We only have a first name.”
Lonnie looked at Dasha. “Where does she live?”
“I only have a phone number.”
“Give it to me.”
She recited it. Ernesto shrugged and looked at me. “Is that enough?”
“That’s enough.”
“Take care of this journalist. Find out what she knows and then kill her.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Go.”
I quickly left the room. Dasha’s eyes followed me as I went, and I knew she was in for a lot more pain before the night was through.
I got out my phone and called Vince. He answered right away.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Brutal,” I said.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s just a fucking girl. Strong and stubborn, but Lonnie is breaking her.”
“She picked the wrong business, Rafa. Don’t forget what they’ve done to our people.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” I knew men the Spiders had killed, men who weren’t bad guys.