“It’s okay to scream you know,” he informed me as he paced back and forth in front of my chair. “This is not going to be fun for you, but I want you to know I won’t be offended if you decide to scream.”
“Fuck off, you piece of shit,” I replied. I tried not to think about how reedy my voice sounded. When I hear new lawyers at trial using this tone of voice, I know they’re in for a rough time. Shame and fear started rising in me again. It might not be productive, but I had some things to say.
“Honestly Larroca, you’re such a piece of shit, I don’t know why anyone bothers to even work with you. Even if you weren’t so sloppy as to get caught up by stupid mistakes, like running a stop sign, you’d still probably be brought up on charges for looking like the literal definition of a killer. You ever hear of something called camouflage? It must be hard for you to blend in looking like an off-brand Dahmer. You’re so worthless I can’t even decide if I should make fun of you for your...”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence, as Larroca casually backhanded me across the face. It wasn’t particularly hard, but I could feel where my lipped cracked. The iron taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Oh yes,” he said, “You will certainly be screaming by the end of this.”
I told him to fuck off again and truly prepared myself for what was next. I clenched my jaw and decided that no matter what happened, I was not going to scream. There’s no way I would give this monster the satisfaction. I knew that for damn sure.
He stood in front of me as he slowly rolled up his shirtsleeves. If he was intentionally going slowly to build the suspense, it was working. Not that I would say something like that to him of course. I forcibly suppressed a shudder.
“Everyone thinks they are so tough,” he said, “As you know, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and no one is ever as tough as they think they are.”
He had finished rolling up his sleeves and was cracking his knuckles one by one. Methodically cracking both joints on each finger individually before pausing and moving on to the next.
“I’m sure even as I speak you’re giving yourself some type of internal pep talk,” he continued, “I wonder what it is. A classic, ‘I’ve handled worse’, is patently false, but would fit you. Oh, maybe you’re holding out hope that someone will come and save you? Some white knight is going to burst through the door and take care of everything? Unlikely, and it certainly won’t happen before I’ve gotten the information I need out of you. This only goes one way. You tell me what I want to know, I do horrific things to you, and then you serve as a message to everyone else in this city that I am not to be trifled with.”
My jaw hurt from clenching so hard. I blinked back tears. He was probably right, but I wasn’t giving the asshole anything.
“Uh-oh, is someone thinking about turning on the waterworks already? There’s nothing to be sad about yet, sweetheart. That’s what comes next. Everyone believes that they can resist torture, but they can’t. And if you don’t believe, well I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
He grinned again. Oh yeah, that was definitely a “boohoo” kind of grin.
I didn’t even see him cock back his fist. It’s not until his knuckles were hitting my face that I was even aware that I’d been struck. My head whipped to the side from the force of the punch and I saw stars. Tears involuntarily ran down my face as my vision slowly came back.
Larroca was examining his knuckle. A frown on his face.
“Honestly, I’m a little disappointed,” he said, “After such tough talk, I was hoping you’d at least put up some sort of a challenge. Instead, I hit you once and you’re crying. Very well. If you want something to cry about then I should oblige you.”
This time I was paying attention and watched as he cocked back his arm to hit me again. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Maybe that’s why, or maybe it was just my angle—but either way, I was the first to see the window break.
Not thirty feet away, a window smashed inward, and Fixer came tumbling into the room. I couldn’t see much looking through my tears and with him moving so quickly, but I could tell he was a little bit worse for the wear than the last time I saw him.
It looked like Larroca was wrong. My white knight had arrived. Granted he came through the window and not the door, but I couldn’t help but think everything would be okay now. Fixer just had to get us out of the death trap first.
18
The Fixer
The crash of the glass shattering was loud. I hoped it’d startle Larroca long enough to give me time to peel my body off the floor where I landed after smashing through the window. Some shards gave me small lacerations, but the adrenaline was pumping and I didn't feel the pain.
When I finally hopped to my feet and braced myself against the wall, my gun up, I spotted Larroca still paused over Theresa, his hand in the air. His eyes narrowed as he saw me. There was recognition in those eyes. Then, just for an instant, a flash of fear.
Nice to know I’ve still got it.
I was also fairly certain I’d gotten him. I raised my gun to fire, but Larroca was fast. He dove behind Theresa before I could pull the trigger.
Fucking coward.
Larroca lifted her into his arms. She struggled and screamed as he started dragging her away. I tried to find a shot, but there was no way I could hit him and not risk killing her.
“Larroca!” I shouted. “Face me, you coward!”
“Them first,” Larroca called back.
Five guys were suddenly rushing me. I swore under my breath and ran toward the far end of the room, firing as I went. I saw my shot take out one guy, exploding his chest as he dropped in a fountain of dark blood.
A second guy took one of my shots in the shoulder. He dropped, but I could tell he was not out for the count. Then one of the goons managed to get behind me. He tackled me, and when I hit the ground, my breath left my body and my gun flew from my hand. I watched it skitter away.
In a hot second, the goon had gotten a thick, sweaty arm around my neck, choking me. Pressing up from the ground to get a little leverage, I threw an elbow into his ribs hard enough to hear one crack. His arm on my neck loosened enough for me to squirm out from under him.
Which was when I walked into the fist of another goon. The blow sent me back against the wall. But this brawler wasn’t very smart. He charged me. Before he could get in range to punch me, I landed a kick on his knee that shattered it. As he fell forward, I stepped aside and grabbed the back of his head. I smashed his face into the wall so hard, most of his teeth fell out.
The guy who’s ribs I smashed was back to standing, now. He had one hand pressed to his side, the other up in a fighting position. The pain he was in was written all over his face, yet he was persistent.
“Larroca really pay you this much?” I asked the guy.
“Come and find out.”
Rather than engage in a fist fight, though, I just bowed my head and plowed into him like a mac truck. His already snapped rib caved more and I could hear it actually puncture one of his lungs. For a moment, the guy left his feet, then smashed on the ground. I didn’t have time to watch him gasp for his last breaths because two other guys were already circling me.