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“Can’t, buddy. It needs a signature.”
He mutters a string of curses. Jackass. Romeo and Keres stand off to the side, and the door is opened a few seconds later by a sweaty guy with a receding hairline. His open belt smacks the doorframe like we interrupted him taking a shit or jerking off. He pants for breath.
“Mr. Boone?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He looks down at my hands, empty except for my bike helmet, which he gets to see a whole lot closer up when I smash it into his nose.
His hands fly to his face as he howls, blood seeping between his fingers. I push him back into the hallway and step inside with Romeo and Keres close behind me.
“What the fuck?” He staggers backward, stumbles on the bottom stair, and falls flat on his ass.
“I have somebody here who’d like to speak to you.”
“About what?” he mumbles through his hands still clutched to his face.
“About your involvement with Oscar Lang and his buddies and their very lucrative operation,” Keres snaps.
Even in the dim light of the hallway, I can see the color drain from his face at her words. Keres steps forward, her face twisted with disgust.
I cock my head, studying her reaction. I have no idea who this man is that she’s looking for or what connection she has to human trafficking that led her on this path, but there’s no mistaking the pure hatred seeping from her pores. “You recognize him?”
She shakes her head. “No, but that means nothing. I didn’t recognize Lang either.”
I lift Boone by his hair. “How about we continue this little chat upstairs. You tell us what we want to know and we might even let you live.” That’s not a complete lie, although I can tell it’s doubtful he’ll see another sunrise.
With one hand still cradling his broken nose, he tries to nod but can’t with the tight grip I have on his hair.
I tap the side of his face and release my hold on him. “Lead the way then.”
He turns and lurches up the narrow stairway. As we get closer to his apartment, the sounds of screaming, moaning, and flesh slapping against flesh get louder.
“The fuck?” Romeo mutters.
“Were you having a little fun time with yourself when we arrived, Jeremiah?” I ask.
“I w-was just…” He tosses the cushions off his couch, probably looking for the remote, while porn continues to play on his TV. One woman is being fucked by at least ten masked men who all stand around with their cocks in their hands waiting their turn while she screams at them to stop.
Romeo stuffs his hands into his pockets, his upper lip curled with disgust. “Or is this one of those real-life action things?”
“Like snuff movies,” I suggest, like I know what the fuck I’m talking about. But I do know that the kind of evil fucks who gang rape a woman and film it are highly unlikely to allow her to live and tell anyone about it.
Keres glares at Boone, her eyes burning into him so fiercely that it’s a wonder he doesn’t burst into flames. “Is it? Did you and your sick as fuck buddies rape and kill her and film it?”
“No!” He vigorously shakes his head. “She’s alive. It’s a movie. She’s an actress. I swear.”
Keres’s lip curls like she doesn’t believe him. Her entire body bristles with an anger that makes me realize this is about something way deeper than revenge. I find myself putting my hand on her shoulder and saying, “We’ll have someone look into it. Okay?” I tell myself I’m gonna do it because if that woman actually is being raped, the sick fucks doing it deserve to have their dicks cut off and shoved up their asses. But I can’t ignore that I’m equally motivated by a need to reassure her. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah. Okay.” Her voice contains none of her usual snark.
She shifts all her attention to Boone just as he locates the remote and turns off the TV. The faceless woman’s screams continue to ring in my ears in the sudden silence.
I remain by her side, unwilling to take a chance with the furniture. “He’s all yours. Lorenzo said he might know the man you’re looking for. Take it away.”
I catch a hint of appreciation in the look she gives me as she approaches Boone. He staggers backward until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he sits down.
She stands over him, only five-foot-four, but with her hands on her hips, dressed head to toe in black leather, she looks every inch the fearless death spirit of her namesake. “Tell me how you knew Oscar Lang.”
“I d-didn’t.”
