Page 131 of Oddly Fine

Beckett eyed him impassively.

“Tsk, tsk,” Beckett said, patting Jovan’s face lightly. “Mind your language. Young virgin ears are present,” he said, nodding towards Hayes.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, words crystal clear even with his accent. “You can do what you want—I won’t talk,” he assured them, looking awfully brave, so he obviously wasn’t buying their threats. Beckett considered him for a moment, then turned to Hayes, as if inviting possible suggestions.

Hayes was a little out of his depth here. He’d been a marksman specialist. He wasn’t exactly versed in the complex art of interrogation. But he’d read a lot of books, so he was willing to add something to the suggestion box.

“Do we have pliers?” Hayes asked. “Maybe start with removing fingernails?”

Bozo squirmed in his chair at that. Beckett pretended he hadn’t noticed.

“Takes too long,” he decided after a moment of deliberation. He sighed, then walked over to the table and smiled, having clearly come up with a new strategy to get Bozo to talk.

“Alright then—” Beckett sounded positively gleeful as he picked up the revolver. “Nice piece you got here. There aren’t too many guys who want to fuck with revolvers these days.” Flipping the cylinder release, he tipped the gun sideways and the bullets fell into his open palm.

Hayes counted seven.

Beckett showed them to Bozo, and said, “Always wanted to do this.” He loaded a single bullet into one of the empty chambers, making sure Bozo was watching.

Hayes barely caught the motion of how Beckett tipped it back and removed the bullet a split second before spinning the cylinder and slapping it back into place. Beckett truly was a master when it came to sleight of hand.

“What do you say we play us a nice little game of Russian roulette?” Beckett asked and gave Jovan a toothy smile.

“I’m Serbian,” Jovan snarled in disgust.

“You’re a captive, is what you are,” Beckett said coldly, dropping any pretense of civility. “See, the thing is, you don’t think I’ll shoot you. Maybe you think I’ll pussy out—or that I’ll grow a conscience, but unfortunately—I lost my good sense a longgggg time ago. Your life, my life,” he shrugged, pulling up a chair to sit squarely in front of Bozo. “It’s more or less all the same.”

He put the gun to his temple and cocked the hammer. “I’ll give you a fair chance, and take the first two,” he said, before he pulled the trigger.

Hayes had seen the bullet exit the chamber—at least—he was pretty sure he had—yes—no. Yes. He’d for sure seen the bullet slip back into Beckett’s palm. The sleight of hand had been clever and quick, but Hayes was positive that he’d witnessed the covert move. Still, his heart was hammering like he’d just run a 4-minute mile as he watched his boyfriend press it to his temple and pull the trigger. Nothing happened beyond an empty click, but Hayes couldn’t help himself. He reached for Beckett reflexively, placing a hand on the arm holding the weapon.

“Don’t,” Hayes growled.

“See now, this guy is still a little sane,” he told Bozo, casually shrugging off Hayes’ hand. “Unfortunately, as you can see, I’m the one still holding the gun.” He cocked the hammer again and in the same breath, pulled the trigger again. He didn’t even wince as it clicked and nothing happened, but Hayes saw Bozo flinch and grow pale.

Good. It was working.

“Alright, buddy. Now it’s your turn,” he said conversationally, cocking the hammer again. “What is your boss moving for the Rosarios?”

Bozo looked between Beckett and the gun barrel that was suddenly pressed against his forehead. He swallowed hard, eyes widening with shock.

“Come on, Bozo. I’m going to count to three, and when I’m done—”

Bozo swallowed audibly, beads of sweat rolling down his temples.

“One,” Beckett said.

Bozo wiggled in his chair, trying to get away from the gun pressed firmly to his head.

“Two.”

Bozo opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Three—”

Beckett pulled the trigger. Another empty click.

Bozo heaved a sigh of relief.