Bad Boy Soldier (Bad Boy 3)

"Who you think would come here? Who knows about?" George asked, frowning.

"No one," I said. "Just the crew and my handler."

"Okay," George said and nodded. "I watch Celia. She was very upset. You should come back, not leave her alone for whole night."

"I'll be back."

I arrived at the house where Celia's mother and Spencer lived, parking a half block away and walking quietly up to the house and around the back to what I expected would be a rear entrance. I was right—there was a sliding screen door leading off to a patio. The yard was fenced, and I expected that if Spencer decided to run, I could catch him before he was able to get out the back gate. I checked out the fence, to see any other escape routes, and then I went back around to the front door and rang the doorbell.

There was no answer, so I rang it again.

Finally, I saw the outline of a figure through the frosted glass pane in the door and realized someone was peering out the eyehole.

"What do you want?" came a male voice. Spencer.

"I need to talk to you about Celia," I said.

"What's the problem with her?" he asked, not opening the door.

"I don't want to talk on the front porch. Let me in. It's private."

"You really think I'm that stupid?" Spencer replied, laughing. "Go away, little boy."

"She's been badly hurt," I said, trying to sound really upset. "She wanted me to talk to you."

"Get lost before I call the police. You're not here about Celia. You should know one of my staff is here. My assistant, Stuart. He's a witness."

"No, you're right," I said, stalling for time. "I'm not here about Celia. I have something you might want to see," I said, trying to think what I could do to get him to open the door. Then it came to me. "I got it at the cabin in Alexandria. You know, the one near the bay?"

"What cabin?" he said, but now his voice wavered. "I don't own a cabin in Alexandria."

"Oh, really?" I said. "That's funny, because I saw the property title and it's clearly in your name. I have a tape here that I found there. In the room in the basement? In a locked cupboard? You might want to see this. Your assistant might want to see it was well. In fact, your entire office might want to see it."

I reached to my jacket and patted my pocket meaningfully, as if I really had something in it.

When he didn't respond, I smiled. I heard him talking to someone, his voice hushed and soon, the door opened and a pasty-faced young man came out, slipping on a jacket.

"Stuart, I presume?" I said, smiling coldly.

"Yes," he said. "I know you're here and I know who you are, in case anything happens to Mr. Grant."

"Go home," I said and turned back to the door, which was closed once more, but I suspected that Spencer would be so curious about what I had, so worried about what it could be, that he'd let me in. I was counting on it.

Once Stuart left, his car backing down the driveway and driving off down the street, I turned back to the door.

"You can send me away, but I thought you and I could negotiate about this tape. We could find a mutual price. If not, I can always take it to the police."

Good, that would make him open the door. He'd think I was just a thug wanting to extort money from him instead of a thug wanting to beat his face to a pulp.

He opened the door and I pushed inside, knocking into him in the process before closing the door behind me. The force sent Spencer sprawling onto his back.

"What the fuck?" he said, struggling up to his feet. "What did you do that for? I let you in." He frowned, adjusting his clothing. "Show me the tape."

"You think I'm that stupid?" I said, and then I ploughed him one with a right hook that struck squarely on the chin. It knocked him back three steps and he ran into the back of the sofa, holding his hands up in protection—and maybe supplication—but I didn't let that stop me.

"This is for Celia," I said and punched him again, striking him in the gut. He grabbed his stomach and bent over. Then, I hit him in the nose. By now, he was cowering, blood pouring out of his nose, which I assumed I had broken. "And this," I said, holding up a fist, "this is for all the little girls you hurt."

Then I punched him one last time. That punch sent him back over the sofa and he crashed onto the floor. I stood and watched, my heart pounding in my chest. I hoped I hadn’t killed him, but I couldn't be sure. I usually knew my limit in a fight, but I was still furious about Celia. About Sean. About Donny. About everything that he had ever done to Graham and Celia and everyone he hurt all those years…