Unwritten Laws 01(330)

“There are two more copies of that tape,” I tell him, wondering why I didn’t go this route before. “They’re with lawyer friends of mine, and they’ll be given to the FBI upon my death.”

Royal probes me with his gambler’s eyes. “The tapes don’t actually worry me much, Mayor. My daughter was delusional all her life. Katy was a known alcoholic and drug addict, and she had a suicidal dose of narcotics in her system when that recording was made. It’s the witness I care about. He’s the only reason you’re still alive.”

Holding the cigarette at shoulder height—the height of Caitlin’s face—Brody steps closer to her. While her eyes track the glowing orange flame, Royal takes Pithy’s straight razor from his back pocket and turns it in the air until it catches the light.

“I do remember this,” he murmurs. “Quite well, actually. I bought it off a madam who’d worked in Storyville as a girl. It’s a terror weapon, really, made for teaching whores lessons, not for killing. The blade is too fragile.” He cocks his head at Caitlin. “You actually remind me of Pithy Nolan in some ways. She thought she knew it all, too. How strange that this gift circled all the way back to me after all this time … and nearly killed me. I believe I’ll pay Pithy a visit next week. Get reacquainted.”

As I try to hide my fear for Pithy, he says, “Ladies’ choice, Ms. Masters. The flame or the knife?”

She gazes back at him without fear. “What are you hoping to find out? I don’t know the name.”

Royal touches the duct tape ringing his neck. “I’m sorry I can’t take your word for that.”

After another contemplative drag off the Camel, he reaches out and cups his left hand behind Caitlin’s head. Then he draws the blade of the straight razor from the corner of her eye to the crease at the edge of her mouth.

I scream, but when he pulls away the blade, I see no blood. He was just teasing her …

As Caitlin and I sag with relief, Royal stabs the tip of the cigarette into her left cheek, pressing it deep into the skin. The pole clangs as she yanks her head away, banging her skull against the steel.

An angry red welt like a bullet wound has risen in the center of her once-perfect cheek. I kick my manacled leg away from the pillar, hoping to break a weak link, but it’s pointless. Caitlin is moaning now. Tears pour from her eyes. Stooping, I seize the chain with both hands and yank it as hard as I can. In seconds, my palms are lacerated and bleeding.

“All is vanity,” murmurs Royal, stepping behind her. “Amazing what the prospect of a permanent scar will do to motivate a woman.”

Now Caitlin’s trembling from head to toe. The old man draws on the cigarette, and its tip glows bright again. My chain clinks and rattles as I try to break free from the wall, but it’s no use.

Royal beckons his son-in-law forward, and Regan obeys, brandishing the flamethrower. “Do you know what German infantrymen nicknamed the Flammenwerfer?” Brody muses. “Skinstealer.”

This nickname has its intended effect. Brody may not see it, but the threat of imminent agony and disfigurement has unsettled the deepest part of Caitlin’s being. Outwardly, though, she somehow remains composed.

“Now … about that witness.”

Caitlin closes her eyes and turns her head away from her tormentor.

“The tip of that cigarette was about a thousand degrees Fahrenheit,” Brody says. “The Flammenwerfer burns at twenty-five hundred. The pain you feel now is like a paper cut compared to it.” He pulls a strand of black hair from her eyes. “Can you imagine? I honestly can’t.”

As I struggle maniacally to free myself, Brody stares at me as he might a troublesome dog. “Save yourself the pain, Cage. That chain is tempered steel.”

Still I struggle, shredding my palms on the chain. Only one thing is going to stop this torture—a name. But whose? I don’t even have enough raw data to make up a credible candidate for “Huggy Bear.” What was the name from her phone? Rambin …?

“I don’t know the witness’s name,” Caitlin says in an exhausted voice, “but he’s out there. And he will tell his story. It will probably be our deaths that finally push him to go to the FBI. He’ll tell them what he knows”—Caitlin looks Royal full in the face—“and that will be the end of you.”

He peers into her eyes as though intrigued. “How subtle are you, I wonder?” Then he walks behind her again, and her whole body shudders. When Brody circles back in front of her, she practically folds her shoulder blades around the pole to get away from him. On the third circuit, he takes out the razor and severs the rope binding her wrists. Then he backs away to give his son-in-law a clear field of fire.