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“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked. It seemed he kept forgetting he’d been shot recently.
“Someone’s got to make the kid piss his pants,Signor,” Aurelio said, withdrawing a small leather roll from his cardigan pocket.
“And you don’t think I can do that?” I asked, because I was fairly certain I had what it took to scare a kid.
“You might exert more… pressure than is necessary,” Aurelio said, his lips twitching.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll get the kid secured. Don’t do anything that’ll rip out those stitches,capisce?”
Aurelio nodded, and I turned back to the apartment’s front door. It squeaked on its hinges as I opened it, but it closed behind us with a quiet click.
It took less than a minute to navigate the short, stained carpet hallway to the kid’s apartment. I grabbed my lock pick and unlocked the door, then withdrew my gun and crept inside. Fortunately, this door was much quieter than the one on the main entrance.
With the curtains open, the light that spilled in from outside was more than enough to illuminate the small space. I could clearly see the kid sprawled out on the ratty sofa; his eyes were closed, and he was snoring quietly. “Like taking candy from a baby” sprang to mind because this was just too fucking easy.
I holstered my gun and moved to the end of the sofa, behind the kid’s head, then in one swift move, I covered the kid’s mouth and wrapped an arm around his neck.
The kid’s eyes shot open and he flailed like a fish out of water.
“Calm down,ragazzo,” I hissed.
He froze, then muttered something that came out muffled.
“If I remove my hand, you’re going to be nice and quiet,si?”
The kid nodded, eyes still wide.
I kept my arm around his neck but removed my hand from his mouth, revealing a face full of freckles. There were just a few across his forehead and chin, but across his cheeks and down his nose, there were so many, they covered most of his skin.
“T-take whatever you want, man,” he stammered.
I almost laughed. I looked around the tiny apartment, at the stack of old juice jugs on the kitchenette counter, the dirty laundry on the floor in front of the bathroom door, the stack of empty food containers on the broken coffee table.
“What exactly is it you think I’m here to take?” I asked. It was a fair question, in my opinion. There wasn’t a thing worth stealing in this shithole.
“I’ve got phones. I swear. You can take them, man; just take them and go.” His gaze swiveled to the old, beaten chest beneath the window, then back again.
“Do I look like someone who would need to steal a chest of phones?” I asked.
He shook his head emphatically.
I dragged the kid up until his back was flush with the sofa’s armrest and looked around for a chair to get him ready for Aurelio.
No chair, though. Apparently, we’d have to improvise.
“My friend here has a few questions for you,” I said as I maneuvered the kid around so that his feet rested firmly against the floor.
Aurelio took his cue and moved around in front of the kid, taking up the space between the sofa and the coffee table. He unfastened the tie that secured the leather roll in his hand and let it flop open for the kid’s viewing pleasure.
The moment the small, thin knives, pliers, and other pointy things came into view, the kid dug his heels into the floor, trying to push his body back into the sofa.
“God, man. God, no,” the kid whimpered. I could feel the sobs starting to choke his chest.
I did not feel like a big, strong man at the moment. The playground bully, maybe, picking on the youngest, puniest kid in the yard.
“You took a little trip this evening,” Aurelio said as he withdrew one of his thin knives. “I’d like you to tell me all about it. Do you think you can do that?” he asked as he touched the tip of the knife to his own fingertip, making a drop of blood well up.
The kid nodded. I couldn’t see his face, but I had no doubt his eyes were as wide as saucers and glued to the knife.
