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“Now, stand up and pick up the sledgehammer,” Hector commanded.
I did what he said, favoring my left hand as I walked to the chair and picked up the sledgehammer, then turned, holding it in both hands, and waited.
“What are you doing?” Moose asked, his eye moving between Hector and me, before stopping to stare at the hammer in my hands, his face conveying his obvious terror. “You can’t…”
“Jorge said you’ve been uncooperative,” Hector answered, walking forward then crouching in front of Moose and waving his hand back at me. “I thought maybe your partner would be more persuasive.”
“Take out his knee,” Hector demanded, rising and moving to the right to give me access.
“Nooooo,” Moose bellowed, and I paused.
Suddenly Hector was right in my face, his hand clenching my jaw tightly.
“You don’t listen to him; you listen to me … Take out his fucking knee.”
Without further ado, I lifted the sledgehammer high over my shoulder, aware of the pain in my hand but still intent on following his order. I marched to Moose, swinging as I moved, and hit his knee so hard, I could hear the bone shatter seconds before he let out a blood-curdling scream.
I looked over my shoulder at Hector, sweating pouring down my face now.
“The other one,” he said, taking a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket in the front of his shirt and lighting it.
“No, please, God, no,” Moose pleaded between sobs and wheezes.
I paused, wiping the sweat from my brow with my forearm.
“Who hired you?” Hector asked, taking a drag.
“I can’t … He’ll kill me.”
“What the fuck do you think we’re doing right now, ese?”
“Lila, please,” Moose begged, trying to reason with me, even though he obviously knew I was beyond reason.
Heedless to his begging, I awaited instruction from Hector.
“You want to know the funniest part, ese? The shit she’s on … She’s going to tell me everything I want to know anyway.” He looked back at me and said, “Do the other one.”
Hector had barely finished his sentence before I was swinging back and connecting with Moose’s left knee.
Screams echoed off the walls of the warehouse, and I wondered how the entire city didn’t hear Moose’s pain.
“Bitch, who hired you?”
I turned my attention from Moose to Hector and said monosyllabically, “Your brother, Carlos.”
Hector’s rage mingled with Moose’s cries filling the space as he moved, his gun aimed at Moose’s head.
Moose had a moment to look at me and whisper, “Sorry,” before Hector unloaded the clip in his face.
Bits of blood, skin, bone, and possibly brain splattered across my face, chest, arms, and torso, yet still I stood, silently holding the sledgehammer.
“Everything okay, jefe?” one of Hector’s men asked, stepping into the room.
“Carlos is on his way,” Hector managed, right before the sound of gunfire rang outside the walls.
Hector and his man ran out, toward the action, leaving me behind without a word.
After standing there for a moment, my eyes on the door they’d just left, I walked over to the folding chair and put the sledgehammer back where I got it. Then I went and sat in the empty chair next to it, listening to the sounds of yelling and shots being fired.
