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“Yeah, I’m sure. The fucker who attacked Mo lived here.”
Virgil nodded. “Is this his family home?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Cal said he wasn’t married and no children. The house is owned by Owen Cardiff, who doesn’t have a job. His criminal record is just a list of petty crimes. Four known associates, Richard Johnson, Mark Rizzo, and Butch Foles. The one who attacked Mo was Jack Mitchum.”
“Any connection to anyone we know?”
I shook my head and stamped out the cigarette, sliding the filter into my pocket. “Not that Cal was able to figure out. Not that it matters.”
Virgil turned to face me, his arms crossed, brows knitted into a frown.
“So we’re doing this?”
“Yeah, we are.” I stared back at Virgil, trying to figure out what the fuck he was thinking but refused to say. His blue eyes matched our father’s in color and impenetrability. “What, goddammit?”
Virgil sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to figure out if this is about Mo, Cal. or Ma.”
“Probably a little bit of all three. Problem?”
Virgil smiled. “Hell, no, I just wanted you to admit this was a little bit about Mo.”
“Asshole,” I growled. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll go to the back door,” Virgil offered with a smile. “I like to be a surprise.”
I nodded and stepped off the curb, looking left and then right even though no cars had come down the block since we arrived ten minutes ago.
“Two minutes,” I called out as Virgil jumped the six-foot fence with the ease of a panther.
Then I made my way to the door.
The music stopped after the second round of knocking, but I didn’t reach for my piece, not yet. The blinds flickered to my right, but I kept my focus on the door. Heavy footfalls sounded, and I guessed that Cardiff’s associates were likely inside, which played right into my plans.
The door flew open, and a man with black hair stood there, a cigarette hanging out one side of his mouth. “What the fuck do you want?”
A tough guy. They were always the most fun to take down.
“You Cardiff?”
“Who’s askin’?”
“I am.” I folded my arms and stood there, waiting for an answer. I could play this fucking game all day. I wouldn’t, but I could.
“Well?”
“He ain’t Cardiff, I am.” The man who spoke was taller than his black-haired friend by at least five inches and about fifty pounds, mostly in his gut. “The fuck you want with me?”
I took a step inside, and both men reached for their guns. Fucking revolvers. Amateurs.
“The name’s Ashby, and I heard from a friend you have a message for me.”
Cardiff’s eyes went wide, and his friend’s nearly bugged out of his head. “Look, man, that was a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah? Then help me understand it.”
I kicked the door shut behind me and locked the doorknob. The deadbolt. The chain. Then, I smiled.
“Go on, I’m all ears.”
For every step I advanced forward, they backed up, giving up ground and letting me take charge.
“Look, man, I mean…Mr. Ashby, one of your men got a little rough with Butch.” He looked over his shoulder at the man with a fading black eye. “Tell ’em, Butch.”
The man with a buzzcut nodded. “Fucking bitch said she was into rough stuff, and I paid for it. She lied,” he grunted and shook his head, totally unaware of Virgil creeping up behind him.
I nodded, a look of understanding on my face. “You call taking pliers to a woman’s lady bits ‘rough stuff’?”
In the sex business, you came across all types. But the fucking serial killers in training were a special breed, and they had to be dealt with.
“Damn right I do. Didn’t leave any permanent damage, did I?”
The fact that he could be so indignant only fueled my anger, hell, doubled it. After what they did to Mo, they deserved a hell of a lot more.
“Did you get off?”
His blond brows dipped in confusion, his face paled. “What?”
“What you did, tugging on Lisanne’s pussy lips with a pair of pliers, did you get off? Nut? Come?”
“What the fuck, man?”
I took another step forward.
“I’ll make it easy for you. Did your dick get hard inflicting torture on her?”
His confused eased into disgust. “Fuck no. I ain’t no fucking pervert.”
“Wrong answer.”
I sent my fist flying, so it crashed down on his jaw and brought him to his knees before I turned back to Cardiff.
“So he tortured a woman, not because that’s his kink but just to do it.”
“He paid his money,” Cardiff insisted.
“For sex. He paid to get his dick wet, to bust a nut, not to just fucking torture someone.” Despite the anger flooding my veins until it was thick like lava, I was calm.
“He got his ass beat, as he should have, and you sent someone to beat up a woman? Am I understanding that right?”
