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“Come now, Mahoe, we know the Kalama's launder money through your dealership. If you tell us what we want to know, we'll let you get back to your wife and kids,” Bruno promises, pointing the knife his way.
“They'll kill me,” Mahoe whispers.
Bruno steps forward and makes a quick, shallow cut on Mahoe's neck. “I'm afraid you don't have many options here.” Mahoe winces from the tiny scratch.
He chooses to stay silent, and Bruno tears the front of his shirt, exposing his chest and stomach. After the material is ripped, Bruno makes another cut down his hairy chest, this one deeper. Mahoe screams in pain. The blood flows down, staining his khaki pants.
I get closer and punch him in the face. His head cracks from the impact. When Mahoe only winces in response, I plow my fingers through my hair. Bruno steps forward and adds another cut, this one crossing over the first to make an x down his front. Mahoe bellows from the pain. More blood pours down his skin. He's tougher than he looks because he doesn't utter one word to give us what we want.
“Listen, Mahoe, we know you're afraid of the Kalama’s. What if we can get yourfamigliasafely to the mainland? Give you a little spending money to get you started?” I ask, trying to appeal to him another way.
“They'd never stop until we were found and dead,” Mahoe says, meeting my eyes with each word.
I kick him squarely in the chest, and he screams as the chair moves slightly back. I'm wearing combat boots that are now leaving bloody footprints as I walk away. Bringing my hands up, I rub my neck in frustration. I didn't expect this encounter to go easy, but I figured we could appeal to his love for his famiglia to win him over. We can dole out more punishment for as long as it takes, but I was hoping he'd cave, and we could move on. As soon as we have the information we need, we're planning to steal the money. Bruno and my assignment are to make a nuisance of ourselves to get the Kalama brothers agitated. Blowing up the warehouse was our introduction. Bruno puts his knife back in his boot and goes around Mahoe, roughly grabbing the material of his jacket and shirt. He pulls both down to expose his back. The arms of both the jacket and shirt are stuck at his elbows because of the ropes. He then goes for his belt, it's dark leather with a large buckle. He doesn't hesitate to lash out five hard slaps that echo in the space. Mahoe howls from the impact.
“It doesn't have to be this way, Mahoe. We can help you escape,” I say again, leaning forward with my hands on my knees. I hope my face conveys the genuineness of my gesture.
“Fuck off, haole,” Mahoe spits out.
Bruno slashes the belt countless times, and Mahoe cries out. When Bruno takes a break from the belt, I punch Mahoe, and blood flies out of his mouth.
“Let's go,” I say to Bruno.
“We'll give you some time to think about our offer,” I call over my shoulder to Mahoe as I start to leave the building. Before Bruno follows me, he stuffs a bandana in Mahoe's mouth.
***
Twelve hours later, Bruno and I are back at the warehouse. The stench of human waste assaults us before we see Mahoe. Blood and piss stain his crotch. He has a black eye and is slumped forward in his chair. From the chaffing around his arms, it looks like he spent a lot of time trying to free himself from the restraints. I take out the gag and he dry heaves. I uncap the water bottle and gesture so Mahoe will tilt his head back. He does, and I start pouring the liquid haphazardly into his mouth. He chokes and gasps for air.
“When is the money scheduled to be delivered to your dealership?” I ask without further conversation.
Mahoe says nothing as I stand there in front of him. Bruno takes out his blade and hands it to me. I gingerly step forward to his side and watch where I'm stepping.
I put the endpoint of the knife to his jugular and growl, “time is running out for you. After this, we'll go find your wife and those two pretty little girls of yours. We'll beat the shit out of your wife than rape her in front of your 8-year-old daughters. We may or may not leave your girls alone. In the end, they will suffer before we put bullets in their brains, one by one, so they know what's coming before they die. Do you really want to leave your famiglia to that fate?”
Mahoe starts crying, the sobs wracking his body. I step away and hand the knife back to Bruno, ensuring Mahoe sees me take the weapon from his body.
“You're a sick prick, haole,” Mahoe grinds out through his tears.
“You have one last breath to tell me,” I say, pointing my Glock at his face.
“Sunday at 2 am, a duffle full of cash will be placed in my safe,” Mahoe confirms.
“How much cash are you expecting from this delivery?” I ask.
“Three million.”
I squeeze the trigger. Mahoe immediately slumps forward. Bruno gets his phone out and calls for a clean-up crew. I walk out of the warehouse into the early morning air. The fresh air is welcome, and I holster my gun in the inside pocket of my jacket. We drove separately, so I wait for Bruno to come out of the heavy steel door.
“I'll meet you at the usual spot-on Friday morning, so we can go over our plan,” I say.
“I'll update the Capo,” Bruno informs me, nodding his head in confirmation.
I leave the industrial area without a backward glance.
Chapter 8
Leilani
