Then I see him standing before a man with shoulder length graying hair who’s sitting on a chair in front of him.
The man turns his attention to us as we walk in and fixates his gaze on me like he knows me.
I’m sure he does.
“Another one of you,” Dr. Pearson says in a slurred voice like he’s been drinking too much.
“What do we know Massimo?” I ask, ignoring the comment.
I want to know how to proceed.
“He’s talking, just not answering the questions we have,” Massimo replies.
“And that’s just the way the world works.” Dr. Pearson cuts in and laughs like he’s told the funniest joke ever. “The birds and the bees, the bears in the trees, the dogs and the cats and the rats and the bats.”
I smile, not to humor him. I do it because I know what he’s up to.
It’s a fucking act. Anything to distract us. I can always tell when someone’s acting out from a high and when they’re faking it.
He’s faking.
He laughs louder and makes a show of displaying his teeth.
“Pearson,” I say, and Massimo steps aside, allowing me to take charge.
I roll the sleeve up my arms so Pearson can see my prison tattoos. Most times that’s all I need to do to scare the shit out of someone, letting them know they should be afraid of me.
Pearson’s eyes drop to the tattoos on my knuckles then roam up to my arms.
I smile wide when I get the desired effect.
“You can cut the shit about the birds and bees, and the bears in the fucking trees,” I tell him.
“Do you really think I’m going to tell you what you want?” he asks.
“I think you will with the right sort of persuasion.” I throw a punch in his face so hard it sends him flying backward. He lands on the ground, wailing from the pain and spits out broken teeth.
“You crazy motherfucker!” Pearson shouts.
“Yes, that is exactly what I am,” I agree, pulling my guns from my back pocket and aiming them at him. I cock the hammer on both. If I didn’t need him alive I would shoot him dead, but I hold my temper.
“You sick bastard,” I shout. “You cared for my son. His name is Aleksei Romanov. You looked at me just now like you knew me.”
“I do know of you,” he whimpers. “You need to let me go.”
“I want to know where my son is.”
“You know I can’t tell you.” He sounds more coherent now, proving I was right. That shit earlier was all an act.
I reach forward and rip the sleeves off his shirt exposing the Order tattoo on his forearm
“Because of this?” I hold the cold steel barrel of my gun on his arm and he shudders.
“I can’t tell you,” Pearson says and I send a bullet right into the center of the tattoo for some encouragement. Blood spurts from his arm and he howls with pain.
“We can go all night, but guess what I’ll leave you with just the right amount of life in you to talk to me. And just the right amount of pain to break you. You’re a doctor, you know the drill.”
The fucker already looks sick. Sick like he’s going to vomit, or die.