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“Hm. Of course it is.” He’ll let me beat the shit out of Danny Gibson for the right price. I’m undecided if I will or not. I take out my wallet, having expected this, and make a point of counting out ten hundred-dollar bills. I shove them into his jacket pocket. “I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Of course. Guard!”
The guard returns and unlocks the door.
“Uncuff Mr. Gibson,” he tells the man who hesitates but does as he’s told.
Holzman steps aside and I enter the room where Danny Gibson is sitting on the other side of the table. An ugly smirk on his face as he takes my measure.
He looks different than he had in the photos I saw. Bulkier with muscle. And meaner. His head is shaved showing off a tattoo of the year 1999. I guess it was a significant one for him. His face is pock-marked and he’s a big guy. The thought of him touching Isabelle makes my blood boil. Turns my hands into fists.
The door closes behind me and I pull the chair out. Gibson is still sizing me up. He doesn’t know who I am.
“That bitch send you? I already told her I’d shut my mouth. I have, haven’t I?”
“What bitch would that be?”
He goes quiet, probably worried he’s already said too much.
“No one sent me, Danny. I’m here to hear your side of the story,” I say, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. At least he doesn’t stink. I guess I expected him to stink.
“What, are you from the state? No. No way. Not dressed like you are.”
“Just a private citizen.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
“Tell me what happened the night you murdered Christian York.”
“Like I asked, what’s in it for me?”
“That’ll depend on how honest I think you’re being.”
He snorts but leans back and studies me some more. “I’d been casing the house. Just planning to grab a few things and get out before anyone was the wiser. That’s it.”
“So, if you were casing the place then you’d have known the girl would be home.”
He swallows and I watch his throat, think what a delicate thing life is. How easily it can be snuffed out. One slit and it’s over.
“What did you want to steal exactly? It’s not like they had anything of value.”
“Everyone’s got something.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t there to take anything from them,” I say, leaning closer. “That gash have something to do with your updated story?”
He looks momentarily uncomfortable and looks away.
“Because from what I’ve read, you swore up and down you were hired to do a bigger job than steal some trinkets.”
He draws in a deep breath and exhales. “Who are you?”
“I’m the husband of the woman you tried to rape that night. She was sixteen years old at the time. Did you know that?”
His face loses all color and sweat breaks out across his forehead.
“I guess that didn’t matter much,” I add, knowing it’s true. Scum. “What was the amount you were paid?”
He grits his teeth, fingers intertwined so tightly the veins on the backs of his hands are popping.
“What’s rape worth these days anyway?” I ask.
“What the fuck is this?” he asks me. “Guard!” he shouts to the closed door.
“Or weren’t you hired to rape her first? I’m really curious about that part.”
“I’m done in here. Guard!”
“He won’t come.”
“Guard!”
Nothing.
“Who paid you?”
He shakes his head.
I lean across the narrow table, half getting up, and wrap my hand around his throat. “Tell me who the fuck paid you and what exactly they hired you to do.”
I squeeze.
His eyes bulge.
I need to put the thought of Isabelle trying to fight him off out of my mind before I kill the fucker. I ease my hold, sit back down.
“Fuck it,” Gibson says with a shake of his head. “He wasn’t supposed to show up.”
I wait.
“I was fucked up then. In a bad fucking place.”
If he wants my pity, he’ll be waiting a long time. Until hell freezes over.
He swallows hard. “The girl was the target. That what you want to hear?”
“What I want to hear is the truth.”
“Well, then you just heard it.” His eyes narrow and I wonder if he’s less stupid than I thought. “The guy said he didn’t care what I did or what I took as long as the girl was dead at the end. I had to make it look like a break-in gone wrong.”
“Guy?”
He nods.
“Name?”
“I don’t fucking know. We didn’t exactly exchange business cards.”
“How did he find you?”
“My reputation precedes me,” he says with something akin to pride. Asshole.
“I bet. Go on.”
“Gave me some cash to think about it. Show me he was serious. A down payment, he said. Judging by the amount he was dead serious,” he pauses. “Told me I could walk away with it. I should have. But he promised me two more payments just like it. One when I agreed, the other when the job was done. I should have known something was up when that second payment showed up in some fucking bank account I couldn’t touch.” He shakes his head.
