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“It was her. She put me up to this.”
“Her? Tell me.”
Anwar let a trickle of blood drop from his mouth and onto his pants leg before answering. “My wife. The bitch spends money like it is water. You pay me well but it is never enough for her. Never!”
Waller sat down in a chair across from the captive. He put the gun down and looked intrigued. “So Gisele put you up to this? To steal from me to cover her spending?” He clapped his hands together. The so
und was like a gunshot and Anwar flinched. “I had my doubts about her from the beginning, Anwar, I told you this, did I not?”
“I know, sir, I know. And as usual you were right. But for her I never would have done this terrible thing. It made me sick to do it. Sick because you have been so good to me. Like a father. Better than a father.”
“But you’re a man. And a Muslim. You should be able to control your woman. It is part of your culture. Your faith.”
“But she is Brazilian,” exclaimed Anwar, as though that would explain everything. “She is a she-devil. A wicked, wicked slut. No one can control her. I have tried, but she beats me. Me! Her own husband. You have seen the marks yourself.”
Waller nodded. “Well, she is much larger than you. But you are still a man, and I despise weakness in men.”
“And she cheats on me with other men. And women!”
“Repulsive,” said Waller in an indifferent tone. “So you know where she is?”
Anwar shook his head. “I have seen nothing of her for a week.”
Waller sat back and spread his hands. “If we find her, what do you suggest?”
Anwar spit on the concrete floor. “That you kill her, that is what I suggest.”
“So you trade her life for yours, in effect?”
“I swear to you, Mr. Waller, I never would have thought of betraying you. It was that bitch. She made me do it. She drove me crazy. You must believe me. You must!”
“I do, Anwar, I do.” Waller stood, walked over, made a fist, and drove it into Anwar’s already swollen face. The little man slumped to the side, his dead weight kept in the chair only by the bindings. Waller grabbed him up by his slicked hair. “Now you have been suitably punished. You are valuable to me. Very valuable. I cannot afford to lose you. But this is your only forgiveness, do you understand?”
Anwar, the blood trickling from his mouth, mumbled, “I understand. I swear that I do. Thank you. I do not deserve such mercy.” He started sobbing.
“Crying is not manly, Anwar, so stop it, now!”
Anwar choked back his last sob and looked up, his right eye puffy, his left one nearly closed.
Waller smiled. “I must reveal something to you. You will find it of interest I’m sure. We located your wife. We have Gisele.”
“You have her?” said an astonished Anwar.
“And I agree with you, she is a she-devil. A woman designed by God to drive men insane. Would you like to see her, tell her what you think of her before we kill her?”
“It would give me great pleasure,” muttered Anwar unenthusiastically.
“Or perhaps you would like to do the honors? A bullet to the brain of the evil woman? It may do you much good. A catharsis. A character builder.”
Anwar flinched. “I am an accountant. I have no courage for that.”
“Fine, fine. I just thought I would extend the offer.” Waller turned to one of his men. “Pascal, bring the woman in to face her wronged husband.”
Pascal, a small, trim man in his thirties, passed through another door. A few moments later the door opened again and Anwar could see his wife’s head peering around the doorframe. Normally her skin was even darker than her husband’s. But now she looked terribly pale, her eyes wide in stark terror.
“You miserable bitch. You devil. See what you have caused. You have… you have…” Anwar faltered as the door opened farther and Pascal marched in holding the severed head by the dark strands. Pascal didn’t smile at the horror on the husband’s face. He just clutched the back of the head and held it up, as he had earlier been instructed to do by his employer.
“Oh God. Oh God. No, no, it cannot be.” Anwar looked at Waller, then back to his wife’s head. “It cannot be.”
