The Vigilantes (Badge of Honor 10)

He looked at JC, who had gotten on his knees.

Curtis then went to him and said, “Hands behind your back.”

As Curtis wrapped JC’s wrists, he asked, “What’s that bag of powder? Meth?”

JC shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he said nervously. “Coke. Take all you want.”

Curtis ignored that. “And those pills in the packet?”

He saw JC and Gartner exchange nervous glances. He pushed JC to the floor and put a knee in his back.

“What the fuck are they?” Curtis said. “Tell me, or I’ll just shoot you now.”

“Roofies,” JC said quietly, closing his eyes.

Curtis said nothing as he considered that while taping together JC’s ankles.

Then, with an amused tone to his voice, he said: “Roofies? Really!”

Curtis then leaned over Gartner and, using the pocketknife, cut the tape that was wrapped around his head and pulled the gag from his mouth.

“I think we all need a drink,” Curtis said. “I know you’ve got to have something here, Danny Boy.”

&nb

sp; Gartner made a forced smile. “Sure. Bourbon. Vodka. Gin. What do you want?”

“Where is it?”

Gartner nodded toward a bookshelf across the room.

Will Curtis grabbed the first bottle he saw on the bookself. It was vodka, Stolichnaya, specifically Stoli Razberi. Beside it was a bottle of Jack Black and one of Bombay Sapphire. And next to those were six somewhat clean highball glasses.

As he walked back to the desk, Curtis didn’t know what pissed him off more about the vodka.

That it’s goddamned Russian, or that it’s candy-ass flavored.

Well, maybe the raspberry will make the pills easier to swallow.

Gartner and JC watched Curtis’s every move as he splashed about an inch of Stoli into each of two glasses. Then he took from the cellophane packet four of the Rohypnol pills and dropped two in each of the glasses of vodka. There was a little fizz as the pills began to dissolve in the alcohol.

He took the bottle of Stoli Razberi back to the bookshelf, picked up another glass, then the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As he poured, he turned to glance at Gartner and JC.

“If you’re getting the clear stuff,” Curtis said, “then I’m getting the dark stuff. Wouldn’t want to get them confused, no?”

He carried the glass of Jack Black to the desk and set it down. Then he picked up one of the glasses of vodka. He took it over to where Gartner lay on the carpet. Grabbing Gartner by the arm, Curtis got him back up on his knees. Then he held the glass to his lips. Gartner shook his head. Curtis grabbed him by his thinning gray-black hair and yanked back. Gartner’s jaw dropped open and Curtis poured in the vodka, then moved his hand under the jaw and closed Gartner’s mouth. It took a moment, but Gartner finally swallowed most of it.

He repeated the process with JC, though he had to hit JC on the head with his pistol after he spit out the first glass of vodka. Curtis had then mixed two more roofies with another three inches of Stoli Razberi, then grabbed a stunned JC by his blood-soaked thick black hair and poured the drink down his throat.

Then Will Curtis went back to the desk, sat in the chair, and began sipping from the Jack Daniel’s while watching the alcohol-fueled roofies take effect.

And for reasons he did not understand, particularly considering the circumstances, he suffered not one single flashback.

Maybe this is what they mean by finding peace through justice.

“Okay, let’s go, you assholes.”

Curtis didn’t expect a reply. Under the influence of the Stoli-Rohypnol mixture, Gartner and JC were more or less out cold. Even when he kicked them in the ass with his boot toe, they barely responded.