Travis stands near the open doorway, looking around the interior of the unit like he just realized what kind of night this is going to be.
Dante sits zip tied to a metal chair bolted into the floor. His breathing has already started to speed up as he looks between the three of us.
Travis clears his throat. “Are you guys going to torture him?”
Beau and I answer at the same time.
“Yes.”
Travis blinks.
He shifts his weight and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’m built for this. My stomach is too weak. I can’t watch.”
Beau jerks his thumb toward the outside of the building. “That’s why you’re supposed to be the lookout in the getaway car.”
Travis nods quickly. “Cool. Thanks. Yup, I’ll be out there.”
He pauses and looks back at Dante.
“Good luck, Dante.”
He takes two steps toward the door, then stops again.
“Actually, fuck you. You’re a piece of shit.”
Then he turns and jogs out of the storage unit toward the car.
The second Dante hears the door slam outside, Beau steps forward.
He doesn’t wait for introductions.
Beau drives his fist into his face with full force. Dante’s head snaps sideways. Blood sprays across the concrete. Before he can recover, Beau grabs his shirt, yanks him upright, and hits him again. The crack of bone shiftingcarries through the room. Dante gags, breath ripping out of him in a wet wheeze.
“I’m going to reset your expectations,” Beau says calmly, hitting him again. “There’s no negotiation happening here.”
Dante chokes on blood and spit.
“There’s just pain,” Beau adds, letting him slump back against the chair. “And how fast you decide to stop it.”
Beau steps back.
“Now, where is Elliot’s manor?”
Dante’s shirt is soaked through with blood. The gunshot wound in his foot has drained the color from his face, leaving his skin gray and slick with sweat. Every breath comes shallow and frantic, but his teeth stay clenched like he believes he can hold himself together through pure stubbornness.
I light a cigarette and watch him.
Dante blinks through the blood running into his eyes and forces himself to focus on Beau again.
“You think you’re getting shit out of me?” he rasps. “Go fuck yourself.”
Beau reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. A second later the opening riff of “Hunted Down” by Soundgarden rolls through the warehouse.
I exhale smoke slowly.
Beau always likes music when he works.
Back when we were deployed overseas, he used to blast it before interrogations. Loud enough to drown out the screaming.
