“What are you going to do to them?” the client asks, interrupting my thoughts. “They have nothing to do with this. They know nothing.”
“It’s not my decision to make,” I inform him. “You will have to take that up with The Ruin, should you choose to come clean.”
He breaks down again as I walk around to the pulley and start to crank the lever, hoisting his body into the air.
“This is a version of the Strappado,” I explain it as if I’m a tour guide who’s bored with the whole routine. “You may have heard of it. I will warn you, it won’t be pleasant, and you no longer have the ability to tap your foot. I’ll give you a safe word, should you change your mind. Do you have a preference?”
He cries out in pain as his elbows start to hyperextend backward, his bodyweight dipping forward from the force of gravity.
“How about Molly?” I suggest. “Surely, you can remember that.”
“Please,” he whimpers. “Please.”
The pulley strains against his weight, and it’s a test of my endurance as I turn the crank and pull the rope up by his wrists. I have the stomach for most things, but even I can admit this is a rather gruesome sight. I focus on his feet until I hear the telltale snap of his shoulders dislocating, followed by his screams of sheer agony.
One glance at his arms hanging like useless meat sacks from the hook sours my breakfast, and I’m already considering the next phase when he surprises me.
“Molly! Molly! Molly! Let me down. Please. I’ll tell you fucking anything. Oh God, motherfuck. I’m going to die. I’m going to fucking die.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.” I lower him to the floor and stare at him, waiting impatiently. “Spit it out then.”
“He’s in Miami,” he pants, delirious from the pain. “The address is in my phone, under Pizza Hut. He’s leaving in two days to try to stash the rest of the money in the Bahamas.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I walk over to my bag and retrieve a shot of morphine. “You could have saved yourself a lot of pain.”
“What are you going to do to him?” he whimpers.
“I told you. It’s not my call to make.” I lean down and stab the needle in his arm. “He stole from The Ruin. Actions have consequences, and we all have to pay, no matter how much we may not want to. But you get to go home tonight. You get to see your little girl, your wife, and your son. Life will go on, and with some luck, you may forget this ever happened.”
“What did you give me?” he whines.
“Just a little morphine.” I remove the restraints from his wrists. “You’re going to thank me for it when I move these joints back into place.”
2
Alessio
Luca drives me to my penthouse in downtown Manhattan with an efficiency that reminds me why I pay him so well. He navigates New York traffic with ease, never flustering over the permanent chaos that seems to reside on the streets here. The journey is quiet, as I prefer it, and I take the time to review the candidates I will be interviewing this afternoon. Their names blend together, and my eyes blur as I read through the files, complete with background checks. I have no particular draw toward any of them, but I won’t until I meet them in person. I prefer to keep socialization to a minimum in my personal life, but my gut instincts about people are next to none. A side effect of my trade, perhaps. Regardless, I have no doubt I will decide within seconds if any of the candidates are trustworthy. And if they are not, I will have to contend with Gwen when I return home empty-handed.
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes briefly, not to rest but to clear my mind. Typically, I would have a long, punishing session in my home gym after an assignment, but there isn’t time today. I have contracts to review and two additional meetings with clients I must contend with before concluding my business in New York. For the sake of efficiency, I intend to carry out both contract killings this evening, and still have time to spare to study the new file on my desk before my 6 a.m. appointment in the morning.
“Mr. Scarcello, would you like me to wait?” Luca asks.
I blink and glance at the tower outside. My penthouse is in the heart of Tribeca, and though I do not feel a particular kinship with New York, I can appreciate the location and the views.
“Take a break, Luca,” I tell him. “I’ll be ready at three o’clock.”
“As you wish, sir.”
He waits for me to exit, then whisks the car away as the doorman to the building greets me with a respectful bow.